We drive out of the city for a couple of miles into the setting sun to the industrial suburb of Sudhar where there is a crisis because the weavers can’t get yarn as it is all being exported. The union has called a meeting about it and I’ve been asked to say a few words.
Approaching the centre along a narrow road crowded with traffic, vendors, cows and goats till we get to the meeting organised in the street. A dozen police are there to protect us. Or so I’ve been told. We get out of our minibus and walk towards the meeting, around four hundred, all men. Suddenly I’m garlanded with roses and hoisted up and carried to the platform amid cheers. The speeches are all very declaratory and I struggle to match the style. So I keep it short. And not much later, for reasons of security, we set off back into town.
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