A few of us who have reason to meet him occasionally refer to him as Lord Emsworth, that Empress of Blandings loving Wodehousian character who appears to live on his own terms, afraid only of saintly aunts, and devoted to pottering around as an end in itself. Our desi Emsworth, too, is given to dawdling, is amiably good-natured to a fault, prone to providing random advice bereft of any context (such as suggesting raw turmeric instead of powder in one’s food), shares liberally of his bar and table — but like another bon vivant, the late Khushwant Singh, has no
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