My nephew, a fine IPS officer now, confided that the worst is not the long hours or public scrutiny, magane, but the quiet, corrosive doubt planted by anonymous letters after every honest decision. It’s the stain on the wall that remains, no matter how many coats of whitewash you apply. I find myself humming a old Bhimsen Joshi kriti, ‘Rama Rama Rama,’ for his peace of mind.
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