But I couldn't see much. Mayawati's enormous hoardings threw blinding purdahs over every streetscape. It was exactly like visiting Madras in Jayalalitha's day--the same painted grimace, the same lurid pink, the same empty words. I winced over my naive joy her first time round, that a Woman and a Dalit had become CM of a Big Bitoda like UP. I felt so stupid when she ganged up with the very manuvadis she railed against. I knew now it didn't really matter, manuvadi, anyvadi. A throng of utterly villainous-looking lawyers buzzing over fruit chaat outside the High Court made it seem worse. It was good to escape into the Residency and switch to feeling angry with the Brits instead.
