"You do your own shopping!," I sputtered. "Yes," she smiled, punching me in the arm (it seems to be something Oklahoma women are born with, they always touch who ever it is they are speaking to -- a six-year old girl I know does the same thing although she is very shy otherwise), "some things never change, and that is okay with me."
I couldn't help contrasting this with the bandits who run for elections in India. They rarely venture out on their own, prefering to have menials do their chores. When they do come out, it is with a battalion of armed guards. The only way to get a personal audience with an Indian politician is by going to his house. Most people I know have met politicians only when they want to make sure that the bribes paid to a subordinate made it to the big honcho. (They don't even collect their own money; their menials do that too for them.)
I remember that when our class in grade school read of Olaf Palme, the Norwegian prime minister, being assasinated when walking back from a movie, we were filled with wonderment. Do such politicians really exist?, we wondered. Guess they do everywhere but in dear old India.
