‘Who’s getting married?’ Raghav said, still laughing.
‘You and Aarti. Aren’t you?’ I said. I reminded myself I had to smile through this.
Raghav looked at me. I had never discussed Aarti with him. In fact, I hadn’t discussed anything with him in years.
‘I hope I can talk to you as a friend? We were once, right?’ I said. I took a bite of the samosa and found it spicy as hell.
Raghav nodded on a sigh. ‘Things aren’t going so well between me and Aarti.’
‘Really?’ I faked surprise.
‘I haven’t spoken to her in weeks.’
‘What happened?’ I said.
Raghav squirted tomato sauce over his samosa.
‘It’s my fault. When the paper started, I didn’t give her enough time. Soon, we drifted apart. The last couple of months she seemed so disconnected,’ Raghav said.
‘Did you guys talk about it?’ I said.
‘No, we planned to, but didn’t,’ he said.
‘She loves you a lot,’ I said.
‘I don’t know,’ Raghav said. He twirled his samosa in the sauce without eating it.
‘She does. I know her from childhood, Raghav. You mean everything to her.’
Raghav seemed surprised. ‘Do I?’
‘She wanted to marry you, isn’t it?’
‘At the wrong time. Look at me, I am nowhere with respect to my career,’ Raghav said.
‘Your career is different from others. You can’t measure it in money. In terms of helping people, you are doing quite well.’
‘I blew that too,’ Raghav said.
‘You are fine. You are a sub-editor at a big paper. And if you marry Aarti, you can go far.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know there’s pressure on Aarti’s family to enter politics?’ I said.
Raghav kept quiet.
‘You do, right?’
‘I heard,’ he muttered.
‘So, Aarti’s father can’t and Aarti won’t. Son-in-law, maybe?’
Raghav looked up, intrigued. ‘How you think, man!’
I rolled my eyes. ‘I’m not smart. So, I have to make up for it in other ways.’
‘You are not smart?’ he said.
‘You do love her?’ I asked.
‘Things aren’t okay between us,’ he admitted.
‘You can fix them I am sure. After all, your charm worked on her the first time,’ I said.
Raghav gave a shy smile.
‘Don’t call her. Go meet her at the hotel. Take an entire day off for her. That’s all she wants, your time and attention. She’ll return your love ten times over,’ I said, looking sideways.
Raghav kept quiet.
‘Promise me you will go,’ I said and extended my hand.
He shook my hand and nodded. I stood up to leave. I repeated Shukla-ji’s line.
‘Life may not offer you the same chance twice.’
Raghav walked me to my car. He barely noticed the car though.
‘Why are you doing this for me?’ he asked.
I got into the car. I rolled down the window. ‘Aarti is a childhood friend. Besides …’
‘Besides what?’ Raghav said.
‘Everyone has to do their bit,’ I said as the driver whisked me away.
I didn’t keep in touch with Raghav after that. He called me many times. I either didn’t pick up or pretended to be busy. One of the times I did pick up, Raghav told me he and Aarti had started talking again. I told him I had inspectors in my office and hung up.
I had sworn on Baba’s soul that I would never call Aarti. She didn’t either, apart from a single missed call at 2 a.m. one morning. I called her back, since technically, I had not initiated the call. She did not pick it.
The missed call and call-back drama between men and women almost deserves its own user manual. I gathered she had made the call in a weak moment, and left her alone.
I invited the boring consultants back for the BMS programme talks. The plan made a lot of sense. We started the process to expand into business studies. We had a new set of government people who had to approve our plans, and thus a new set of palms to be greased. We knew the business would be profitable. Millions of kids would be tested, rejected and spat out of the education system every year. We had to keep our net handy to catch them.
I spent more time with the college faculty, and often invited them home in the evenings. They worked for me, so they laughed at my jokes and praised me every ten minutes. I couldn’t call them friends, but at least they filled the empty space in the house.
Three months passed. We launched the BMS programme and, with the right marketing, filled up the seats in a matter of weeks. I rarely left the campus, and did so only to meet officials. Meanwhile, the case against Shukla-ji became more complex. He told me the trial could take years. He tried for bail, but the courts rejected it. Shukla-ji felt the CM had betrayed him, even as the party sent feelers that he could be released from jail provided he quit politics. I went to meet him every month, with a copy of the GangaTech Trust accounts.
One day, Raghav called me when I was at home. I didn’t pick up. Raghav continued to call. I turned the phone silent and kept it aside.
He sent me a message: ‘Where r u Gopal, trying 2 reach u.’
I didn’t reply at first. I wondered if his repeated attempts meant trouble, like he had discovered another scam or something.
I texted: In meetings. Wassup?
His reply hit me like a speeding train.
Aarti n I getting engaged. Wanted to invite u 2 party nxt Saturday.
I couldn’t stop looking at this message. I had wanted this to happen. Yet, it hurt like hell.
Unfortunately, I’m not in town. But congratulations!!!: I sent my response, wondering if I had put one exclamation mark too many.
Raghav called me again. I avoided his call. He tried two more times, when I finally picked up.
‘How can you miss our engagement?’ he said.
‘Hey, am in a faculty meeting,’ I said.
‘Oh, sorry. Listen, you have to come,’ Raghav said.
‘I can’t. I am leaving for Singapore to explore a joint venture,’ I said.
‘What, Gopal? And why don’t you ever call back? Even Aarti says you are too busy whenever I ask about you.’
‘I am really sorry. I am busy. We are doubling our student intake in the next two years,’ I said.
‘You will miss your best friend’s engagement? Won’t she be upset?’
‘Apologise to her on my behalf,’ I said.
Raghav let out a sigh. ‘Okay, I will. But our wedding is in two months. On the first of March. Please be in town then.’
‘Of course, I will,’ I said and circled the date on the calendar.
‘I’ll let you attend to your staff. Take care, buddy,’ Raghav said.
Instinctively, I composed a ‘congrats!’ message to Aarti and sent it. She did not reply.
I looked around my big house as empty as my soul.
42
On 1 March, I booked a room at the Taj Ganga. The fourth-floor room had a little balcony, with a view of the hotel pool and lawns. I had tossed the SIM card out of my phone two days ago. I had told my staff I had to go out of town. I stayed in my room the entire day. I came to the balcony at eight in the evening. In the faint light of dusk, I read the card again.
Mrs and Mr Anil Kashyap
Invite the pleasure of your company
For the wedding of their beloved son
Raghav
with
Aarti
(D/O Mrs and Mr Pratap Brij Pradhan, DM)
At 8 p.m.
On 1 March 2010.
Poolside Lawns,
Taj Ganga, Varanasi
I could see the wedding venue downstairs. The entire garden area was littered with flowers and lights. Guests had started to arrive. In one corner the DJ was setting up the dance floor and testing music tracks. Along one side of the lawn were the
food counters. Kids were jumping about on the two ornate chairs meant for the bride and groom on the small stage. The actual wedding pandal, where the ceremony would be held, was covered with marigold flowers.
I stood there in silence, listening to the shehnai, faintly audible on the fourth floor.
The baraat arrived at 9 p.m. Raghav sat on a horse. The DJ increased the volume of the music. I watched from above as Raghav’s relatives danced in front of the horse. Raghav wore a cream-coloured bandhgala suit. Even though I hate to admit it, he looked handsome even from this distance. I would have worn something more expensive, but still not looked so regal. I scolded myself for making comparisons again.
Aarti arrived at the venue at nine-thirty. She walked slowly to the stage. A gasp of wonder shot across the crowd as they saw the most beautiful bride they had ever seen in their life.
She looked like an angel, in an onion-colored lehnga with silver sequins. And even though I didn’t have binoculars, I could tell she looked perfect. During the ceremony, cousins gathered around Raghav and Aarti. They lifted the couple, making it difficult for them to garland each other.
I couldn’t bear it after the jai-mala ceremony. I had wanted to see Aarti as a bride, but I did not have to watch the whole wedding live.
I came back into the room, shut the door and drew the curtains. I switched on the TV at full volume to drown out the sounds coming from outside.
I replaced the SIM in my phone. Messages popped in one after another as the phone took its first breath in days.
I had forty messages from the faculty, ten of them from the dean himself. Most of them talked about various issues in the college. Raghav had sent me five messages, asking me if I had received the card. I couldn’t tell how many missed calls he might have made. One message startled me the most. It came from Aarti. It said:
Come. But only if you want to.
I thought about replying, but remembered that she won’t exactly be checking her phone on stage.
I called the dean.
‘Where are you, Director Gopal?’ the dean said in a high-pitched voice. ‘We are so worried.’
‘Dean Srivastava … Dean Srivastava …’
‘Gopal!’ he said, sensing the tension in my voice.
‘Get me out of here,’ I broke down completely.
‘Where are you? Where are you?’
‘Taj Ganga, 405 … I don’t want to be here.’
‘I am coming,’ he promised.
In an hour I was seated beside the dean in his car and on my way back to campus.
‘So, what were …’ he began but fell quiet. He understood, after one look at my face, that I didn’t want to talk.
‘Dean Shrivastava, I want to work hard. Let’s take GangaTech to new heights. I want us to be present in every field of education. Keep me busy. So busy that I don’t have time to think.’
‘You are already so busy, sir.’ He looked troubled.
‘More. Why aren’t we in coaching classes?’ I said. ‘There’s money there. I want a proposal for engineering and MBA coaching. Okay?’ I said, my voice ringing.
‘Are you okay, Director Gopal?’ the dean said.
‘Are you listening to me? I want the proposal,’ I said, screaming loud enough to make the driver shift uncomfortably in his seat.
‘Yes, Director,’ the dean said.
He dropped me home. I went straight to the bar near the dining table. I opened a new bottle of Black Label whisky we’d bought for the inspectors. I poured it out in a glass to the brim. Neat. The maids filed in.
‘Where were you, sahib?’ they said.
‘I had work,’ I said. The whisky tasted bitter, but I swallowed it all.
‘Dinner?’
I shook my head. The maids left the room. I went to the bookshelf and took out the scrapbook.
I poured myself another glass. I drank half of it in one gulp, but when my body rejected it, I had to spit it out.
I fell on the floor. I used the scrapbook as a pillow and went off to sleep.
Epilogue
I checked the time. The hospital clock showed 6.00 a.m.
‘So getting drunk and crashing down is a habit,’ I said.
Gopal gave me a sly smile.
‘That’s the only time it happened,’ he said. ‘Apart from tonight, of course.’
I saw Gopal’s face. He seemed young enough to look like a student. Yet, his face had the hard coating of experience, of bitter lessons from life that made him appear older than his biological age.
‘So, Aarti and Raghav got married a year ago?’ I said.
‘A year and twenty days,’ he said.
‘What has happened since?’ I said.
‘Shukla-ji is still in jail. I meet him every month. I am trying to buy back his share of the college with my earnings and make it my own college. He needs money for his other businesses. Let’s see.’
‘What about Raghav and Aarti?’ I asked.
‘I am not in touch. I stay in my college. Elections are in two months. He is the one.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Raghav’s contesting. His picture is on election posters all over the city,’ Gopal said.
‘It could have been you. How do you feel about that?’ I said.
Gopal shrugged. ‘He’ll be a better MLA than me. What would I have done? Made more money. With him, there is a chance he could change something.’
‘That’s generous of you,’ I said.
Gopal sat up straight and restlessly removed the sheets off him. ‘But I am still not a good person, right?’ he said.
‘I never said that,’ I said.
‘I told you, I am not worthy enough to be a hero in your story,’ Gopal said.
I kept quiet.
‘I could be the villain,’ said Gopal, his eyes sparkling.
‘I’ll let the readers decide how they want to consider you. I simply write about people. I don’t cast them as heroes or villains,’ I said.
‘Raghav is a good man. I am not half as good as him,’ Gopal said.
‘Stop judging yourself,’ I said.
‘Chetan-ji, put your hand on your heart, and tell me, am I a good man?’
I realised my approval meant a lot to him. Yet, I wanted to be genuine. I thought about it for a while.
‘Forget it, sir. Don’t answer it. Let’s take a walk.’
He got off the bed. He seemed much better. We took a morning stroll in the hospital lawns.
‘Never drink so much again, promise me,’ I said.
‘I won’t,’ he said.
‘Promise me you will find somebody,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘That I can’t promise.’
‘Do you miss her?’ I said.
He kept quiet.
‘Did you meet her after her marriage?’
He shook his head. I figured out now why he had hesitated to come to Ramada to drop me. I checked the time. I had a flight in two hours. I had to rush to the hotel, pack and head to the airport.
‘I have to leave,’ I said. He nodded. He came out to drop me to the car.
‘The revolution will come,’ Gopal said. ‘We will have a better nation one day.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘You also write about it. Once GangaTech becomes big, I will try to fix the system. I am sick of giving envelopes to people.’
‘We have to change things,’ I said.
‘Everyone must sacrifice for it,’ Gopal said.
‘Yes, I agree,’ I said as the driver started the car.
‘Bye, sir,’ Gopal said as I left.
I rushed back to my room and packed fast. I came downstairs in the hotel lobby to check out.
‘Did you have a good stay, sir?’ a pretty girl in a sari asked me.
‘Yeah, memorable,’ I said.
I saw her nametag. It said: ‘Aarti Kashyap. Guest Relations Officer’.
She smiled. ‘Happy to hear that, sir.’
My car drove out of the Cantonment area.
I saw a huge political party hoarding at the traffic signal. I couldn’t read from a distance, but I saw a young candidate’s picture. I called Gopal.
‘All okay, sir. Will you make it in time for your flight?’
‘Yes … Gopal?’
‘What?’ he said.
‘You are a good person,’ I said.
Chetan Bhagat, Revolution 2020: Love, Corruption, Ambition
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