Looking far older than his age after his stroke, Paswan walked sedately to his chopper, paused for soundbytes and then inquired from a lackey if his casserole of machchli chawal had been hauled in. Now reduced to being a small fish in Bihar's big poll pond, Paswan wouldn't do without his daily fish on the platter.

Nitish Kumar and Priya Ranjan Das Munshi bumped into each other at the VIP guest-room. It took them a nanosecond to prime for the embrace as cameras clicked. Priya said in halting Hindi, "Nitishji se hamara lamba sambandh hain", at which point a securityman whispered incredulously, "ye kahan ka neta hain bhai?"

Friendly neighbours do not always make informed neighbours. Nitish walked to his 'copter suavely, taking journalists in his stride. The twinkle in his eyes and boyish smile did not betray the angst of a man who came within a sniffing distance of power twice. Barely had the whirr of rotors died down when there was a sharp cry from one end of the field.

Somebody said 'Lalu' and every journaist worth his byline scrambled towards a silver Bolero some 300 yards away. Heels and wheels came to a halt in remarkable conjunction. Lalu got off the car -- followed by 32-year-old Khalid Noor, the Osama lookalike who has become his mobile poll mascot -- straightened his kurta and walked to his blue twin-seater without even a cursory look at mediamen.

Arguably one of India's most loquacious politicians, Lalu Prasad is remarkably reticent with the media these days and wouldn't even spare it a wave. An aide walked up with his indispensable spittoon and the doors were slammed shut. Next came the Congress troika from Delhi, Sheila Dixit, Mani Shankar Aiyar and Krishna Sahi.

A graceful Dixit suggested they grab a spot of tea at the lounge. Aiyar nodded, his face grimacing with every step as he limped along. "I suffered a serious foot injury in London seven months ago... it still hurts," he explained. With fewer lackeys and hangers-on than their local counterparts, the three eased into conversation.

Dixit was excited about going to Mussourie over the weekend. "I will spend two days there to wash my sins." Pat came Mani's reply in baritone: "I think the entire Ganges will not be enough to wash away my sins." Krishna Sahi laughed affably. Elections have become a rite of passage for politicians as they go about their routines with mechanised monotony, the real concerns perhaps farthest from their minds.

A reporter asked Aiyar about the ethical standpoint of his party teaming up with RJD. He waved him aside ("I am here to talk to voters, not to make your headlines") and made the painful trudge to the 'copter. Though L K Advani's motorcade stopped right at the chopper's door, the BJP chief turned around and invited questions, patiently answering them with a measured, been-here-done-this air.

When Advani finally took off, a cop manning the VIP lounge dabbed his forehead with a hanky and told this correspondent, visibly exhausted after all the legwork across the 20,000 sq. feet arena: "Aaj ke liye tamasha khatam." Talk about bottomlines!