Designs, Accidents

But there's hope for our flatfoots yet. If Rane and Rodricks have anything to do with it, our redoubtful force will soon be led to the light. The means to these worthy ends have provoked much good-humo-ured comment. Pratapsinh Rane, durable CM, has announced sternly that henceforth the police will be ruthlessly policed. Set a thief, say the cynics, laughing all the way to the vaults with their illicit loot. But Rane, I am told, means business. So does my friend Wendell Rodricks, whose valiant attempts to save the force from itself have been universally applauded. Wendell and I share the same ancestral Goan village, Colvale. He lives and works there. I visit, with nostalgia and envy, once in a rare moon. An exceptionally gifted fashion designer, Wendell has done much to burnish the haute in India's couture and has now turned his talents to refurbishing the cops. Khaki is out; blemishless blue and unsinful white are in. Touches of glittering chrome complete the angelic effect. But where are the harps? Will a change of clothes lead to a change of heart? "Greasy palms," Wendell says firmly, "will not be allowed to soil my beautiful uniforms." Any bets on that, Patrick?