India, Nov. 29 -- While this is perhaps a universal phenomenon, Indians, I suspect - more than anybody else - revel in the paraphernalia of power. In my book, Being Indian (2004), the chapter on power begins with a random scene I witnessed at Indira Gandhi International Airport in New Delhi. A convoy of cars came screeching to a halt. The escorted car had a blue light on top. A policeman in the front seat, machine gun slung around his shoulder, leapt to open the door. A young police officer stepped out. Uniformed minions, walkie-talkies in hand, sprang to clear the way. The official at the entry point fell back with a deferential salute. Gun-toting escorts guided the officer to the VIP lounge.

The choreography of power in our country is ...