After more than six decades, curious to see how my beloved country was doing, I returned to Earth for a day. I was in for a surprise.

I picked up a newspaper and discovered I was still very much in the news. I had no idea I was such a powerful man. I seemed to be running the country. I switched on the television, hoping to understand this phenomenon. Several gentlemen sat around a table, discussing the state of the nation. They were shouting at one another, but one name kept coming up with remarkable consistency. Mine.

I decided to take a walk. The roads were full of potholes. A man on a scooter swerved to avoid one and nearly knocked down a pedestrian. I overheard him muttering something about Nehru.

At a government office, I found a file that had been missing for six months. The gentleman behind the desk explained that the bureaucracy was still suffering from the Nehruvian legacy. I was beginning to suspect that my legacy had acquired supernatural powers.

At a hospital, there were not enough beds; at a school, there were not enough teachers; the Yamuna was filthy, and the air was unbreathable. Everywhere I went, people had something to complain about, and the blame always came back to me. I was beginning to enjoy my newfound importance.

I stepped into a restaurant for my favourite meal when the waiter told me the kitchen was running late. When asked why, he replied.

“Sir, the system is complicated. Colonial hangover. Nehruvian socialism”.

I decided not to argue. By evening, I was thoroughly exhausted. I seemed to have been appointed the permanent chairman of the National Commission for Explaining Failures.

As I prepared to leave, I switched on the television one last time. A debate was underway. The subject was whether India would have been a better country had I never existed. I watched for a few minutes. The anchor was aggressive, the panellists absolutely certain, and the facts appeared to be taking a holiday.

I smiled.

Perhaps I should have stayed another day. I might have discovered that I was also responsible for the weather, the traffic, the opposition’s electoral fortunes, the rising price of vegetables and perhaps even the shortage of good television debates.

I left with one comforting thought. It is reassuring to know that even after sixty-two years, I am remembered in my beloved India. 

Nehru ka bhoot sabse mazboot.