The impetus for this no-politics line is a rare evening I spent in the company of some extraordinarily refined folk gifted with wide and uncluttered minds. It was a convivial, relaxed, polite, unhurried, stimulating dinner where not a single voice was raised and where no points were sought to be scored. There was no chief guest or celeb in attendance, no one claimed to know the ''inside story'' or the ''latest'' from 7, Race Course Road or 10, Janpath, no one had any gratuitous wisdom to dispense. We talked about cabbages and kings in the form of books and films and eateries and gout and fashion and TV-inspired greed and sex at 43. Usually, after one of the official and semi-official parties I attend once a week—no more—I return home nursing a depression. Not so that night. Surprisingly, I felt refreshed. I arose next morning in rather good humour and wondered why the previous evening had been such a success.