Even before the Superman craze, I was known as Super Sudheen. While others were walking, I was flying. I crossed barriers with ease. First I crossed the Marxist one. I swore by dialectical materialism, then switched my hero worship to Marx Brothers. I was felicitated by the Afghan President and his Soviet admirers, who were dazzled by my intellect—a mix of Marxism, essence of our epics, a dash of the ever-dependable Swami Vivekananda and an endearing instinct for new patrons. The newspapers ignored me, so Super Sudheen landed straight into the Hindutva brigade. In those days, the Khaki knicker brigade needed intellectuals and despite the post-office red of my knickers, I was snapped up. My achievements were near-miraculous. For a few weeks, I even converted the aristocrat Commie Russy Karanjia of Blitz to a Hindutva fan, though by that time old age had made him barmy. Oh, the BJP delighted in me! My rise was swift, Atalji and Lalji drank from the fountain of my wisdom. Like Pierre Salinger, press secretary to John Kennedy, I spoke words of wisdom to the leadership, and someone compared me to Kennedy aide Theodore Sorensen, Kennedy’s ‘intellectual blood bank’. In Mumbai’s Jaslok Hospital, doctors were puzzled when they once found my blood slightly blue!