There are Times. Good times. Bad times. And then there’s a king of good times who appears to pass through bad times. But then, he anticipates the arrival of bad times, and decides to wade through these bad times by indulging in good times in the English countryside. Joining him in his lavish indulgence on good times are those who, at times, sit in the opposition, or in power at other times; they all fight at all times. But then, let me recall as to what I was doing on 02 March when the king flew to the Queen’s country? Ah yes, I informed the kirana-wala that I am a Modi supporter; he didn’t extend a discount. I deciphered Gandhi’s monologue into an epilogue and tried to impress my boss with a (questionable) conclusion that the former’s speech was actually a dialogue; the annual increment still remains in single-digits. I also enquired with the sabzi-wala as to when would he enrol his children in school? He informed me that he has already enrolled them for a crash course in Photoshop and doctoring videos at the neighboring Smriti Photo Studio, helmed by one Professor Irani. I attempted playing Kanhaiya to Yashoda, the girl-next-door; she immediately shifted her residence to the city of good times. In fact, she followed up with email while attending a PM-inaugurated “Women’s Day” celebration, asking me to address her as “Yashodaben”, unto time immemorial. Kya time aaya hai yaar?!