Sonia’s cricket fantasy

In cricket, you understand, a bowler tries to get the batsman out. It is not asfast-moving as football — does papa still root for AC Milan? — so there is plenty of time for the cameras to focus on the VVIPs who turn up to watch. Even though I don’t completely understand the game — must ask Rahul to explain it to me when he’s home next time I had a great time. All the TV and press cameras naturally kept focusing on me. You should have seen them, mamma, scrambling all over each other to capture my every mood, my every gesture. I presented my more photogenic left profile to the cameras and they just went wild. Which was what I wanted. Nobody bothered about that man, Vajpayee. He was completely ignored!

Mamma, verismo, just for a moment I imagined that I was the bowler and that Vajpayee was the batsman. Imagine, mamma, tua figlia running down the wicket, her auburn tresses dancing in the wind, and bowling such a fine delivery that Vajpayee is beaten. He lamely and awkwardly hits out. I make a loud appeal for lbw. The umpire shakes his head in the negative. I then prepare for my nextdelivery. This time the ball slices through the air and sends Vajpayee’s mid-stump flying in the air. I scream in delight and the whole nation goes delirious with happiness. The Congress party, with me as captain, has finally done it!

Just a dream, mamma, but it may become a reality sooner than you think. As I wrote in my letter to the party, the Congress must ready itself for its responsibilities. But there’s a lot of hard work ahead for tua figlia. As Rajiv once said, people sometimes forget that we, the famiglia, are the natural leaders of this country, and have to be constantly reminded of it. Sometimes, it gets on my nerves, this endless play acting, this endless feeling that one is trapped in an Antonioni film. Qualche volta, sometimes, I say to myself, baasta! enough!, let me quit. But then I think of the famiglia and the bambini, the party and the paese, and above all of my marito’s memory, and I carry on.

I have given up my Bulgari watches and as for my Shahtoosh shawls, they have all beenmothballed away. The old Sonia is morto, dead. Adesso, it is a Sonia more Indian than Indians, more Hindu than Hindus, more Muslim than Muslims, more Sikh than Sikhs, less Christian than Christians.

Asked George to make me a list of all the temples my late mother-in-law visited, so that I can go there too. Last week, Priyanka and I went to the Venkateswara temple at Tirumala. Now George says that we had better do a puja at the historic temple of Dakshaprajapati Mahadev at Kankhal. My mother-in-law, I believe, had gone there just before those successful 1980 elections and prayed for the good of humanity. Then I may have to go to the Anandmayi Ashram at Nainisharanya, near Sitapur, in Uttar Pradesh and the Lalitadevi Mandir close by.

Mamma, verismo!, the things you have to do in politics. Day before yesterday, I cracked the whip in the party and redistributed responsibilities at the highest levels. Some of the old buffos were unhappy, but they dared not show it. I believe they are whining about it, or soGeorge informs me, but they are doing it very, very quietly. They certainly know what’s good for them. The biggest headache I have is to give them important sounding responsibilities to match their grande egos.

But, mamma, why am I boring you with such trivia? Tell me what’s happening there. I believe our old Franco Zeffirelli has just made a new film, Scorpioni — sounds like it has Maneka Gandhi as its heroine, going by the title! Have Anuska and Nadia written?

Ti amo,Sonia