The amazing thing about this diary is that it got written at all. How, in the midst of a gruelling electoral campaign, in the driving desert heat with temperatures ranging up to 49 degrees, dust storms blowing, a million distractions, dissidents to be kept in tow, the faithful to be rewarded, money-grubbers to be warded off, charlatans and soothsayers to be kept at bay, twenty-two wedding feasts to be digested, good sarpanches to be distinguished from bad ’uns, newspaper editors demanding moolah for ‘paid news’ or no news at all to be stared down, meeting after village meeting to be addressed, temples to be visited, dargahs to not be missed, sants, pirs and fakirs to be appeased, and miles and miles to go before you sleep—how on earth did candidate Manvendra Singh find the time, the energy, the dedication to keep a diary is what beats me. Did he really keep it, or did he fake it subsequently is the question that repeatedly came to me as I joined him on this fascinating account, honest, sincere, disarming, witty, of an election fought, and lost. Disappointment there is at the outcome, but little self-pity. Clearly, he lives to fight another day. And clearly too, he will win once more and go on to that fulfilment in public service that he so richly deserves. Most impressive of all is his determination to stick to his constituency despite the damage to his prospects through delimitation.