Earlier this year， soon after the Indian electorate swept<br >Indira Gandhi into the dustbin， a lady novelist named Lois<br >Gould wrote a purportedly satiric piece for the New York<br >Times. Evidently her ire had been aroused by the statement<br >of Morarji Desai， the new prime minister: " When a wom-<br >an becomes devilish， she beats all the records. Now I can t<br >say that she [Mrs. Gandhi] is all devil..， but the good is<br >suppressed and the devil is on top. " Infuriated that Desai<br >had thus kicked feminism in the groin， Miss Gould sei~ed on<br >comedy as an effective weapon to demolish him， and she con-<br >jectured three personalities for her lampoon--Dr. J. S.<br >Mindblow of Harvard， Dr. R. V. Doppelgang of Yale， and<br >a Dr. Tatiana Moxie， academic connection unspecified. The<br >second I read these names， the Times feU from my nerveless<br > hand and I was overcome by the mixture of neuralgia and<br >depression that parlor comedians always induce in their<br > auditors. That the fair columnist was as funny as a cry on<br > the moors was instantly apparent， but I forced myself to<br >finish her piece， and my suspicion was corroborated. As a<br > novelist Miss Gould is doubtless superlative; I have yet to<br >find out. As a wag， she had waded beyond her depth.<br ><br ><br >
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