Last week, a girl was molested in Guwahati by a savage mob while a journalist filmed the entire incident and put it on the news. That may be one of the saddest openings to a humour column ever (second only to ‘Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy is over’). But this is India, and we like our WTF-ness the way we like our food; in large, unrelenting, acidity-inducing doses.

First the National Commission for Women sent a team in to cheerfully let slip the girl’s name, then it emerged that the journalist had possibly goaded the crowd and spurred the molestation on for coverage. This is India, the only country in the world where a man can direct your rape like it’s a Sanjay Leela Bhansali opus. And then, after he was fired for his sins, the NCW demanded that the girl be given a government job, because apparently the only cure for the psychological trauma of molestation is death by ennui, corruption and boredom. The only way this could have gotten stupider is if Raj Thackeray had driven the head of the NCW home from the hospital to file her nomination for president against Purno Sangma (whose name, it must be said, sounds like a Maharashtrian man asking his mother to finish a story).