Bombay, the late George Fernandes used to say, made him feel at home. And why not? Long before he had begun to straddle the corridors of power in Delhi, and rub shoulders with an array of prime ministers, he had slept on Bombay’s pavements, picketed on its streets, worked in its shanties, led agitations at the imposing gates of its docks and municipal corporation – seen its underbelly.
He had lived in its old-style tiny tenements and ‘chawls’, absorbed the relentless rhythm of its suburban railways, and intimately knew one of its two greatest resources – the labour class.

