Aiyyo, "Cockroach Janta Party" — I saw the name and straightaway thought of the old printing press floor after hours, when the one bulb would flicker and those fellows would march out from behind the monotype machine as if they owned the place. Our local union secretary was a big man with a voice like a temple bell, but he couldn't get the municipality to fix the drain outside the shop; the cockroaches had a better organising committee than us. Makes you wonder, no — if a party can't even keep the street clean for the poorest man walking barefoot, maybe the cockroaches are the only ones with a proper manifesto.
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