Chapter 298 – The clown is actually myself

“I’m not an officer.” Derek dodged Alan Wilson’s question, it’s good to see what’s going on, it’s not necessary to get involved, that’s what he really thought.

“Oh!” This made Alan Wilson slightly disappointed, if Gandhi had left British India at this point in time, the Viceroyalty would have been able to use Patel’s hand to ruffle Nehru’s feathers.

It wasn’t that there was any prejudice against Nehru that must have put him out of touch with leading India, it was just that a bit of short term suppression shouldn’t have been a problem, it didn’t mean that Patel coming to power was any better.

In fact Nehru’s political composition, the Conservative Party, of which Mr. Churchill was a member, considered Bolshevik.

The Labor Party thought it was the Socialist Party, Alan Wilson’s view again between the two, not as radical as the Bolsheviks and not as ideological as the Socialist Party.

It should probably resemble the most idealized state of the Cannon Party, which is the Institutional Revolutionary Party in Mexico.

The Institutional Revolutionary Party is a left-leaning party can be how much bold criteria, otherwise Trotsky how would think to run to Mexico.

The Institutional Revolutionary Party of Mexico advocated cooperation with the bourgeoisie to develop the national economy and industrialize the country in the hope of raising the welfare of the workers by bringing wealth to the rich first.

Since then, the alliance between the bourgeoisie and the workers’ aristocracy has been the cornerstone of the Institutional Revolutionary Party’s regime. In fact, this was also the basic mode of operation of the later nationalist regimes in Latin America, such as the Vargas regime in Brazil and the Peronist regime in Argentina.

Pulling in the bourgeoisie did not mean that the Party of the Revolutionary System compromised, because Latin America had the same problem as the patriarchal Spain and Portugal, and it was the Catholic Church that was that most reactionary symbol.

Having packed up the Catholic Church, the second step was for the Revolutionary Institutional Party to carry out land reforms in Mexico.

This is what Nehru would do in the future, and the final step was to push for the nationalization of foreign investment. After repeated battles with opposition factions, Mexico eventually nationalized the entire oil industry in 1938.

It is easy to see that the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) government wanted to be both anti-imperialist and self-supporting, while also attempting to maintain relations with the United States.

At that time, Mexico was, besides the Soviet Union, a strong supporter of the Republican government in the midst of the Spanish Civil War.

Mexico was also the most vocal opponent of the Franco regime’s entry into the United Nations. This is as far as a Nehru-like figure can go.

It’s nice to be able to develop a country so close to the U.S., against U.S. pressure, for decades.

That’s about as far as Mexico can go, and Nehru could only go so far even if he went from one victory to another while he was alive.

As for Patel as the spiritual mentor of Modi’s old fairy, while the claims are more to the taste of imperialism, the first doesn’t have a long lifespan, and the second, politicians don’t say the same thing as they do.

Since Nehru came to power with India ultimately posing no threat, Patel came to power in case he got something uncontrollable. This will make things very difficult for a lot of countries. You have to realize that the Argentine junta was at war with the British Empire when it came to power.

So for the British Empire to be wary of socialists but even more so imperialists.

Alan Wilson still didn’t give up, stating that Gandhi might cause a stir if he arrived in the United States.

To this Derek demurred and gave no reply, in a thousand words he was a businessman not an official.

Eventually Alan Wilson gave up trying, it would be better to think about how to organize the lives of Greta Garbo and Ingrid Bergman, like a game of tennis or something. There were certainly tennis courts in Delhi, again built by the British.

Alan Wilson is not interested in tennis, but it depends on who is playing, and in his previous life he was also a fan of the sport whenever Kournikova and Sharapova were on the court, and Williams, big and small, could only get a change of stage.

Tennis was a magical rite of passage, incumbent on all citizens of the British Empire, and he hated to see himself with nothing to do, playing tennis as long as it gave his eyes something to do.

In India it was a sin not to have at least one big sweaty session a day, and caused a deeper sense of guilt than a thousand murders.

Greta Garbo and Ingrid Bergman were both over five-foot-seven, athletic nerves were considered strong among women, and being Scandinavian, they could tell that the two hadn’t failed to engage in this type of exercise, even though they didn’t fight often.

Being able to clearly see that Ingrid Bergman was better both in terms of reflexes and strength, which could be blamed on the fact that she was also just over thirty years old, and had more of an advantage over Greta Garbo, who was ten years older.

“That’s no respect for seniors at all.” While thinking so, a painful grunt brought Alan Wilson’s attention back to reality, Greta Garbo twisted her foot.

Getting up straight away and entering the arena with a healthy stride, Allen Wilson inquired with concern, “Oh my God, twisted your foot?”

Greta Garbo was indeed struggling to go up against Ingrid Bergman, who was ten years younger and a step deeper in nerves and strength, and because of that move led to the current consequences, she was not a man after all despite her unisex beauty in men’s clothing, but had misjudged the current situation.

“Greta!” Ingrid Bergman with an apology, seeing that the other party’s foot nude has been red and swollen, although theoretically has nothing to do with Ingrid Bergman, but after all, it is still a little related.

“It’s fine, let’s go back.” Greta Garbo took a deep breath, still maintaining her cold expression.

At dinner time, it was still Allen Wilson who was busy, the two actresses looked on, Allen Wilson said if he wanted a doctor to take a look, which was rejected by Greta Garbo, who had also been injured because of filming.

In her era of breaking into Hollywood, Hollywood was nothing more than a sweatshop, and the treatment of actors was nowhere near as good as it is today.

“I’ll send Greta back.” Ingrid Bergman opened her mouth somewhat apologetically after finishing her meal.

Alan Wilson, who wanted to say yes, suddenly ghostly said the opposite, “You’re also a woman, it’s better for me to do this kind of thing.”

Greta Garbo, who hadn’t said anything, changed her gaze slightly, and her gaze toward Ingrid Bergman became meaningfully unclear.

“Alright! Tough luck.” Ingrid Bergman’s reply made Greta Garbo gulp.

After the fellow villager left, the apartment was left with Alan Wilson and Greta Garbo.

Greta Garbo didn’t take her eyes off the man in front of her for a moment, watching the other man gather up the dishes until she grabbed her bare feet and gently squeezed them in the name of a massage.

“You couldn’t resist?” Greta Garbo spoke first before Alan Wilson made his final move, “I would advise you that you should calm down and cool off, you’re only in your mid-twenties and have a bright future ahead of you.”

“Has Ms. Greta ever played a cop?” Alan Wilson looked at the unresisting Greta Garbo, if he had known this effect, he would have arranged to play tennis long ago, there was no need to wait until today.

Greta Garbo glared at Alan Wilson, this time it didn’t work and was carried straight to the bedroom.

The evening cicadas chirping outside the window broke the two men, who were in the midst of a post-war relationship remodeling period, out of the blankness of their heads.

“I need to pee, carry me to the bathroom.” Greta Garbo sat up and reached out to nudge Alan Wilson, who was also using the darkness as clothing.

The latter rose to serve and the two left the bedroom together, not long after the sound of drenching came.

“Greta, Greta are you there?” At the door of Greta Garbo’s apartment, Ingrid Bergman called out as she knocked but waited for no reply, saying freely, “Is it not back? Did ……”

Ingrid Bergman snapped around to look at the apartment in the distance, she felt as if she had discovered something extraordinary, the clown is actually myself?

Counting the time spent traveling across the ocean, it was true that the days were more torturous for women of their age. But it couldn’t be! Ingrid Bergman didn’t even say anything.

It wasn’t that Ingrid Bergman was a bad actress, it was just that she’d never thought about it that way, but now that her suspicions were out there, she just couldn’t trust her guesses.

“The Viceroyalty takes no position on the current internal strife in the Congress Party. We all know that Mr. Nehru and Mr. Patel, both widely respected politicians in the subcontinent, are on par with each other, both in terms of subcontinental prestige and international prestige.”

Inside the Viceroy’s residence, Sir Barron, with a difficult look on his face, made a solemn statement to the representative of the Congress Party, and the British Empire recognized the dual giant model of the Congress Party in addition to Gandhi.

But in reality Nehru’s position in the Congress Party was still higher than Patel’s, and it has to be said that this statement was harboring mischief. Alan Wilson sat in his seat and did not speak, only speaking in approval when needed.

Meanwhile, Ingrid Bergman is going on the offensive against what she sees as her seniors, starting with Greta Garbo blaming herself for her injuries and side-stepping the fact that Greta Garbo must not have slept all night.

Greta Garbo nodded her head when she didn’t sleep all night, while reassuring Ingrid Bergman that she didn’t care.

Stay awake all the way back to not being able to hear my knock? At this point Ingrid Bergman felt that enough was enough and there was no need for the next step in the trial.

“What Sir Baron said is already clear, we hope that the two leaders who are widely respected and loved in the subcontinent. Be able to put aside sub-differences, after all, the drought has only just passed and the whole of British India still needs to be united.”

After Alan Wilson’s brief endorsement, he returned to a state of sitting in silence and fuming, the man in the Viceroy’s House heart already did not know where to go. Sir Barron, on the contrary, has been speaking, with a feeling that the glory days have returned!

Expressing the concern of the Viceroyalty for the present stabilizing situation in British India, which of course was confined to words.

At least in the newspapers, the dispute between the twin giants of the Congress Party was not a big deal, nowhere near as big as Vivienne, who had been brushing up against it for a month.