The year just ended was supposed to usher us into that heaven that Rabindranath Tagore wrote so poetically about—a land of milk and honey where every Indian has a house, festooned with electric lights; where every farmer has doubled his income; where I and my fellow citizens zip across the country in bullet trains that can travel faster than a politician’s lies; where a USD 5 trillion economy has brought prosperity for all.
That was the year that should have been. The year that actually was, though, was one in which we spent crores covering up our shanties and slums to shield the sensibilities of visiting dignitaries; where the most unfortunate among us have to be relocated to keep them from becoming a human stain on the magnificence of the upcoming G20 summit.

