It was in Bennington, Vermont, that I enquired about whether it would be possible to visit any nearby art gallery. My host then suggested we drive up a few miles to the Singer Collection. I really didn’t know it was so far off, for we were soon crossing the state border in NY. The gallery had many originals, Durer, Constable, Wyeth et al, all grandmasters in the field, unforgettable. For one growing up in India, only admiring faded prints of oils and canvases, seeing the originals right in there, was a thrilling experience.

John, my host, and guide, pointed out a quaint building as we crossed the interstate. A beer bar ! “Notice doc, the two entrances”. One faced south to NY state, and the other to north, Vermont. On my query on the Janus-like Bacchus-inn, he chuckled as he told me “You see doc, serving and closing timings are different in the two states, and the enterprising proprietor has found an ingenious way of cocking-a-snook at the absurdity of law. The ale thirsty motorist can drive in from Vermont, and savour his draught or frothy, till the bartender taps times-up folks, shutters down law. The still thirsty drinker, needing one more for the road, pays for the bitter, picks up his hat, and waves goodnight to the barman. In a few minutes, he is back though, through the NY entrance, doffs his hat to the doorman, and yollers to the bartender, hi there, good morning! How’bout fixing me a drink Guv’nor”.