Suits are malevolent magicians' sleeves for socialists, full of patrician loops and tricks, small, embroidered, cryptic messages of deference and privilege. They are ever the uniform of the enemy. They are also the greatest British invention ever.
My mother is a Chitrapur Saraswat from Mangalore and half-Telugu, and my father is a Bohri Muslim. My mother's father, J Rameshwar Rao, was the Raja of Wanaparthy, a principality of Hyderabad. He was influenced by the socialist movement and became the first Raja to give up his title.
In the little hall leading to it was a rack holding various Socialist or radical newspapers, tracts, and pamphlets in very small print and on very bad paper. The subjects treated were technical Marxist theories.
If you read the history of the national Socialist party, they're all people who felt like life should have been better to them. They're disappointed, vengeful, angry.
The income tax is a twentieth-century socialist experiment that has failed. Before the income tax was imposed on us just 80 years ago, government had no claim to our income. Only sales, excise, and tariff taxes were allowed.
We are not socialists, we are Peronists. We are pragmatic.
'Socialism' became this weird household word partially because right-wingers call Obama a socialist, which he is the farthest from.
I could become very rich in Guatemala but by the low method of ratifying my title, opening a clinic, and specialising in allergies. To do that would be the most horrible betrayal of the two 'I's' struggling inside me: the socialist and the traveller.