There are lots of fantastic things you can do on a Tuesday evening if you are not involved in the demanding duties of ‘desh bhakti’.
You can have “plans” for your first day as a married man, as a newspaper scion in Bombay probably did.
You can deliver yet another rousing, fact-free speech like the pradhan rhetorician did to those who pay through their noses to hear how hot air sounds.
You can go pub hopping or do some shopping; you can catch a movie or watch a movie hall burning.
Or, if you are the studious type, you can prepare for WTF: Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.
On the other hand, if you live in Mysore, are happily unemployed and doing your *FRCS*, you could drive 150 minutes to the banks of the Hemavathi river in H.D. Deve Gowda’s home district, Hassan, and reach a temple said to be 400 years old.
And you could hear the divine Pandit Venkatesh Kumar—arguably India’s finest living Hindustani vocalist—tear through the darkness, both literary and figurative.
This is what this ‘vachana’ means.
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