Kishore Singh: It's ok Navjot, all is forgiven

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If we've been going out less and less after a hard day's work, blame it on the capriciousness of Delhi's society. Conversation doesn't exactly flow with acquaintances when you know they have been involved in scams, are under tax investigation, on bail, or likely to go to jail. "Whatever you do," warned my wife about a distant relative whose son's engagement we had gone to attend, "don't ask him what he thought of conditions in jail." I nodded, "It is a happy occasion, no doubt, and I will keep my counsel, but should we be attending the event in the first place?"

The distant relative several times removed had allegedly taken potshots with a rifle at an intruder lobbing off the branches of a tree outside his house. What was probably warning fire proved fatal, and for a few days the said relative found himself behind bars. But money and lawyers were soon able to prove to reasonable satisfaction that it was not him but his Man Friday who was responsible for the fire, and so all ended happily "" or almost. For when we do meet, it entails a degree of embarrassment, since we must act as though nothing has happened when, in fact, another man has been paid to go to jail for the actions of his master. Bit of a conversation popper...

In Delhi, of course, there is no escaping people who have run foul of the law. Bina Ramani is a regular presence at parties thrown by others (I have not heard of any that she hosts these days), and though she has been vindicated for most part, it is clear that people find her uncomfortable to have around. "It is all right to smile at her if she acknowledges you," my wife has told me, "but you must not talk to her."

I have been similarly forbidden from talking to the Nawab of Pataudi for his involvement in blackbuck hunting (and then going into hiding like a coward), though I cannot, in all honesty, claim that he is in the least anxious to engage me in conversation. Still, it has cast a little pall on our few polo watching excursions in case we should find ourselves face to face with him, eliminating at least one option from our Sunday afternoons.

The other evening, at a party co-hosted by the ambassador of Spain at the Claridges Hotel, I came back with a glass of Torres' finest wine to find my wife in animated conversation with a young man about his plans for the hotel trade, and how he hoped to build the country's largest convention centre. Later, she said to me, "I like young people with ambition, and now I am sad I did not ask him his name." "That," I said helpfully, "was Sanjeev Nanda." "You mean," she gasped, "of the BMW fame "" or should that be ill-fame?" I nodded. "I'm glad I did not know that earlier," said my wife, "else I would not have known what to talk to him about."

This morning, she said it is unfair that old shadows should continue to colour our view of people who have either been cleared by the courts or paid their due somehow. "Did you stop talking to Sarla's husband because he was fined for talking on his cellphone while driving?" she asked. "Of course not," I assured her. "Because we have not stopped talking to our friends who at some time have been fined by the traffic police," she passed judgement, "we should be generous and forgiving and welcome back all delinquents into society. Henceforth, we will talk with them so they know it is okay to let bygones be bygones..."

I'm sure Navjot Singh Sidhu will be delighted at the news.