The tour guide tells me of the beauty of Kashmir. “Too much peace. Too much paradise. Too many mountains.” He uses “too much” as a compliment. I like this. “When you go there, all your dreams will come true. It is like a second Switzerland on earth.” His friend tries to take my hat. Politely, I take it back. Later he catches me up again beside a wall of pasted-up newspaper sheets to explain the current political crisis. The Prime Minister will lose a vote of confidence. The BJP will take power from Congress. (In the event, this does not happen; Congress wins the vote, and on the main bazaar of Paharganj they celebrate by lighting firecrackers in the middle of the road. Rickshaws and motor-scooters swerve. Sacred cows jog away in alarm. Some people guide the cows to safety.) Still later, he bumps into me again. Writes his name and number on a travel agency card. “My name is Bharat Singh. He was a famous freedom fighter. The British hang him.” “I apologise,” I say, “for my ancestors.” He shakes my hand. He is missing two fingers.
