Okay, I'm walking down the road and see ahead of me an old man, clad in a white cotton dhoti and bareback, wearing his sacred thread and glasses. If you see him, magga and looking like the first hard wind blow taking him past the temple in the sea.
"Who he feel he is, boy? Gandhi?" The thought cross my mind soon as I see him.
He slower than me, so I catch up, and striking up a conversation I hear all about peaceful protesting etc.
So finally, not being able to quell meh natural nosiness, I asked rather rudely, " So baba, who you really is?"
"I am Gandhi."
Which makes my psychiatrist friend ask me some time after... "Now who you calling mad? If the man thinks he is Gandhi, his behaviour is perfectly normal."
I think this story perfectly explains the dunceys who think they are police.
"Who he feel he is, boy? Gandhi?" The thought cross my mind soon as I see him.
He slower than me, so I catch up, and striking up a conversation I hear all about peaceful protesting etc.
So finally, not being able to quell meh natural nosiness, I asked rather rudely, " So baba, who you really is?"
"I am Gandhi."
Which makes my psychiatrist friend ask me some time after... "Now who you calling mad? If the man thinks he is Gandhi, his behaviour is perfectly normal."
