The last time I felt so kaato to khoon nahi was when the late Giani Zail Singh -– he of the strangely protruding achkan and perpetually glazed expression -– clung to Ronald Reagan's hand, with the entire international media recording the event. 'Twas not a handshake. While walking down the red carpet, Gianiji, god bless his affectionate soul, just slipped his hand into Mr Reagan's like Nancy would have. I'll tell you one thing: None of his Hollywood background came to the Prez's rescue that day.

Decades ago, my dear old grandmother (who had this thing for Jawaharlal Nehru) had threatened to leave Hindustan for good if Jagjivan Ram ever became PM; she claimed that her stomach heaved at the sight of all that abundant down. It's not my fault that I've inherited her imperious aesthetics: at the vision of Laloo Prasad Yadav, I, too, feel critically queasy.

Then there's the dhoti, and as with all things Indian, there are ways and ways of wearing it and carrying it. On the one hand, we have the impeccable babu-moshai style of Jyoti Basu and the upper-crust draping by Atal Bihari Vajpayee. On the other, we have Mulayam Singh Yadav's ultra-dehaati insouciance -– part of the attire hiked high in hand, with one leg exposed, and in one memorable photograph, even the thigh. OK, so I'm an elitist, so beat me up. But why do I have to view such skin-flicks with magnanimity?

Do you think I've digressed from my, umm, underlying point? No, no... With the frightening prospect of Mr Kesri leading India, I hope to impress upon you the dire need for explaining to India's leaders what the term "public figure" entails. Fact is, or so says The Asian Age, 76% of Mumbaikars and I simply cannot bear the thought of the baniyaan-flaunting Mr Kesri representing India in any diplomatic capacity anywhere. As for domestic affairs, with Shailendra Mahato naming Mr Kesri in his confessional statement on the JMM bribery case, what's left to say?

Too, what Mr Kesri has accomplished by rudely jolting our roly-poly, Karnataki Sleeping Beauty, counts as high treason in my right-wing book. Whether one agrees with the logistics of it all or not, the Kashmir talks were on, a popular Budget was underway, stock-brokers had a song on the lips, Russia was playing ball -– and Mr Deve Gowda hadn't done quite enough harm to warrant this extreme step. It's as plain as those ubiquitous warts: with the UF consolidating at the Centre, and the BJP veritably beefing up in the states, Sitaram Kesri could see the throne quietly slipping away.

Among the reasons cited for the withdrawal of support were: the UF government's a) determined efforts to marginalise the Congress; b) failure to consolidate forces of secularism; c) failure to confront communal forces; and, d) lack of serious attempt to arrest the communal, divisive and separatist forces. Since I have tears of mirth rolling down my cheeks at this moment, I shall restrict myself to saying that the Congress, poor old thing, now seems to be fated to stick around like a big bag of cement on the floor of India's political ocean.

But let me be kindly and suggest a leader for it. Ever since I saw an old picture of a dashing Rajesh Pilot in his Air Force uniform, I've been feeling benevolent towards him (if Saisuresh Sivaswamy can hold a flame for Madhavrao Scindia, don't you dare make a sexist remark about me). In Pilot, the Congress has a commodity rare in its members – i e, provable patriotism. After all, none can deny that he has faced for his country a possible death. Or there's Sharad Pawar -– I simply adore a man with a sense of humour. Once upon a rally, Sharadrao, with a deadpan face, said, "Under the name of Chhatrapati Shivaji, the (Bal) Thackeray family is instituting a dynastic rule over Maharashtra." All that was missing was Sonia Gandhi's presence on the dais to turn it into a Buster Keaton farce. Any Congressman who can talk so conscientiously about the sins of dynastic rule, needs to be shown tremendous respect…

But hark, the Srinivasanian muse is upon me again… Speaking of the commandment to not chafe at others, I fear I do fail that test. It is well recorded what the gladiators in Arena think, and catches the fancies of this feisty old girl in the spring -– a case of Medusa hissing while the virtuous lie writhing, atangle in the diffused Net. Lowering the ideals of writing, emasculating secularist thinking, does do much for one's brazen morale as a whole. For baniyaan or no baniyaan,one uses what arms one finds in the interparietal battles on the moral dimensions of rank usurpations.

In the end, I rather feel envious of the man who would be king. All things considered, things have progressed rather better than gloomy pundits's predictions on the destiny of the old guards's wing. Watching all the approving Azads and Dhawans and Naiks going through a form of ritual suicide, Sitaram Kesri will probably agree with Noel Coward when that wit, in a flush of awareness of a certain reporter did say: "I see him as one great stampede of lips directed at the nearest derrière." For surely, this April, that will be the, er… bottom-line, indeed.

Tell us what you think of this column