From Jammu Kashmir to Maharashtra, in a land of empty advertising slogans and fantastic wealth that barely conceals vast poverty, you can see the first signs of a popular new uprising.
When the early morning fog rises and drifting skeins from wood fires carry the sweet smell of India, the joggers arrive in Lodi Gardens. Past the tomb of Muhammad Shah, the 15th-century Mughal ruler, across a landscape manicured in the 1930s by Lady Willingdon, wife of the governor general, recently acquired trainers stride out from ample figures in smart saris and white cotton dhotis. In Delhi, the middle classes do as they do everywhere, though here there is no middle. By mid-morning, children descend like starlings. They wear pressed blazers, like those of an English prep school. There are games and art and botany classes. Shepherded out through Lady Willingdon's elegant stone gateway, they pass a reed-thin boy, prostrate beside the traffic and his pile of peanuts, coins clenched in his hand.
