Revolution 2020 (13 page)

‘Come, I will
take you to CCD. It opened last week,’ Sunil said.

                                                             ♦

We walked to Cafe
Coffee Day at IP Mall, Sigra. Sunil bought us two cold coffees with a
crisp new hundred-rupee note. I could live on that cash for a week.

‘What was
that? They own a college?’ I said.

‘It is the
Verma family from Allahabad. They are into country liquor. Now they
have opened a college.’

‘Why?’ I
said.

‘Money.
There’s huge money in private colleges. Plus, it enhances their
name in society. Now they are noble people in education, not liquor
barons.’

‘They behaved
like goons’

‘They
are
goons. Brothers had a fight, college split and now they try to bring
each other down.’

‘I can’t
do this,’ I said.

‘Don’t
worry, we will get you another college. We will bargain hard. They
have seats to fill.’

‘It scares me
to even think of studying at these places. Liquor barons running
colleges?’

‘Yeah,
politicians, builders,
beedi-
makers. Anybody with experience
in a shady business does really well in education,’ Sunil said.
He picked his straw to lick the cream off.

‘Really?’
I said. ‘Shouldn’t academicians be opening colleges? Like
exprofessors?’

‘Are you
crazy? Education is not for wusses. There’s a food chain of
people at every step,’ Sunil said. He jiggled his leg as he
spoke to me. He took out his mobile phone. Cellphones had started to
become common, but they still counted as a status symbol.

Sunil called someone
who seemed to be in a crisis. ‘Calm down, Chowbey-ji. MLA
Shukla-ji has blessed the fair. Yes, it is closing time. Give us two
more hours ... Hold on.’ Sunil turned to me. ‘Events
business, always on my toes,’ he said to me in an undertone.
‘Mind if I step out? I’ll be back.’

‘Sure,’
I said.

I sat alone with my
drink. I scanned the crowd. Rich kids bought overpriced donghnuts and
cookies to go with their whipped-cream coffee.

Two men in leather
jackets came inside CCD. I recognised them from the funeral. I
shilled sideways on my seat to avoid them. However, they had already
seen me. They walked up to my table.

‘Celebrating
your fathers death?’ said one. His muscular arm kept a cup of
chai on the table.

‘I don’t
have the money right now,’ I said in a soft voice.

‘Then we will
take your balls,’ said the person with the moustache. He
gripped a can of Coke in his right hand.

‘Except they
are not worth a lakh each,’ the teacup goon said. They laughed.

Sunil returned after
his call. He was surprised to see the new guests.

‘Your
friends?’ he said.

I shook my head.

‘His
father’s,’ said the teacup guy.

‘I have seen
you ...’ Sunil said.

‘ I his is our
town. We are everywhere,’ the Coke guy said.

‘You work for
MLA Shukla-ji, don’t you?’ Sunil said.

‘None of your
business,’ the teacup guy said, his voice a tad nervous.

‘I saw you at
his house. Hi, I’m Sunil. I am a manager at Sunshine Events. We
work with MLA Shukla-ji a lot.’ Sunil extended his hand.

After a few seconds
of hesitation, they shook Sunil’s hand.

‘Your friend
owes us money. He’d better pay up soon. Or else.’ The
teacup guy paused after ‘or else’, partly for effect but
mostly because he didn’t know what to say next.

Sunil and I kept
quiet. The moustache goon tapped the table three times with his bike
key. After a few more glares they left.

I let out a huge
sigh. Fear had flushed my face red. ‘I don’t need
college. I’d be dead soon anyway,’ I said.

‘You okay?’
Sunil said. ‘Let me get some more coffee.’

I’d have
preferred he gave the extra money to me instead of more coffee, but
kept silent. Over my second cup, I gave Sunil a summary of the story
so far - my childhood, Kota, my failure, Baba’s death.

Sunil placed his
empty cup on the table with a clink. ‘So now you have loans.
And no source to pay them?’ he summarised.

‘My home,
maybe. But it is not worth much. And I won’t have a place to
live in after that.’

‘And the
property dispute?’

I had mentioned the
property dispute to Sunil in brief. I had not given him specific
details. ‘That’s an old dispute,’ I said, surprised
Sunil caught on to it.

‘What property
is this?’

‘Agricultural
land,’ I said dully.

‘Where?’
he said.

‘Ten
kilometres outside the city.’

Sunil’s eyes
opened wide. ‘That’s quite close. How big is the land?’

‘Thirty acres.
Our share is fifteen acres’

‘And what does
your uncle say?’

‘Nothing. He
wants the full thing. It is a mess. Many papers are forged. The case
has been going on for twelve years’ I finished my beverage. ‘So
yes, I’m fucked. Maybe they can sell my house and recover the
money. Thanks for the coffee.’

I stood up to leave.

‘What will you
do?’ Sunil said, still in his seat and pensive.

‘I will join a
shady part-time college and take whatever job I can get.' ‘Wait,
sit down,’ Sunil said.

‘What?’
I sat down.

‘I’ll
suggest something to you. And I will help you with it as well. But I
need a cut. A big cut.’

‘Cut?’ I
said.
Cut
of
what,
my
fucked-up
life?

‘So, ten per
cent. Done?’ Sunil said.

‘Of what?’

‘Of whatever
you make. Ten per cent equity in your venture.’

‘What
venture?’ I said, exasperated.

‘You will open
a college.’

‘What?!’

‘Relax,’
Sunil said.

‘Do you take
bhang like the sadhus on the ghat?’ I said. How else could I
account for his hallucinations?

‘See, you have
the land. That’s the most important part. Land close to the
city,’ he said.

‘I don’t
have
it. The case has been dragging with no end in sight.’

‘We can fix
that.’

‘We? Who? And
it is agricultural land. You can only grow crops there. It’s
the law,’ I said.

‘There are
people in our country who are above the law,’ Sunil said.
‘Who?’ I said.

‘MLA
Shukla-ji,’ he said.

‘Shukla who?’

‘Our MLA,
Raman Lal Shukla. You’ve never heard of him?’ Sunil

said.

‘You mentioned
him earlier on the phone’ I said.

‘Yes. I have
done twenty events with his blessings. How else could I get city
authority approvals? I personally take his cut to him. I will take
you too. For my own cut,’ he said and winked at me.

‘Cut?’

‘Yes, cut. Ten
per cent. Forgot already?’

‘What exactly
are you saying?’

‘Let us meet
Shukla-ji. Bring whatever property papers you have.’ ‘You
serious?’

‘Do I look
like someone who is not serious?’ Sunil said.

I saw his gelled
hair and the flashy sunglasses perched on his head. I reserved my
opinion.

‘You want me
to open a college? I haven’t even been to college,’ I

said.

‘Most people
who own colleges in India haven’t. Stupid people go to college.
Smart people own them,’ said Sunil. ‘I’ll set it up
for next week. And remember.’

‘What?’

He snapped his
fingers. ‘My ten per cent.’

Aarti and I went for
a long boat ride. Her green dupatta flew backward in the early
morning breeze. ‘Decided what to do next?’ she asked.

‘I am
exploring private engineering colleges.’

‘And?’

‘Too expensive
and too shady,’ I said.

I paused to rest.
The boat stood still in the middle of the river. I wondered if Aarti
would come and sit next to me to massage my palms. She didn’t.

‘So? What
next?’ Aarti said.

‘A
correspondence degree and a job.’

‘What about
the loans?’

‘Manageable.
Baba settled most of them,’ I lied. I did not want to burden
her with my woes and spoil my time with her.

‘Good. Don’t
worry, it will work out.’ She got up to sit next to me. She
took my hand in hers and, as if thinking of something else, began to
crack my knuckles.

‘You are happy
with Raghav, right?’ I asked.

I hoped she wouldn’t
be, but was pretending like I wanted her to be.

‘Oh yes’
She looked at me with shining eyes. ‘Raghav is a good person.’

I withdrew my hand.
She sensed my disappointment.

‘I never said
he’s not.’ I looked away.

‘You cool?’

‘Yeah,’
I said and managed a fake smile. ‘How is he, anyway?’

‘Told his
parents he won’t take up engineering as a profession. They
aren’t too happy with that.’

‘He’s an
idiot. What will he do?’

‘Journalism,’
she said. He loves it. 'That’s what he is meant to do. He wants
to change things. He’s also joined university politics’

‘Totally
stupid,’ I said. 1 picked up the oars again. Aarti went back to
her seat.

We kept silent on
the ride back. The splash of oars in the water was the only sound
breaking the silence. Aarti's hair had grown, and now reached her
waist. I saw her eyelashes move every time she blinked. The dawn sun
seemed to light up her skin from the inside. I avoided looking at her
lips. If I looked at them I wanted to kiss them.

She
belongs
to
someone
else
now,
even
your
limited
brain
should
know
that.
My head knew this, but my heart didn’t.

‘Why did we
grow up, Gopal?’ Aarti said. ‘Things were so much simpler
earlier.’

                                                             ♦

I had never been to
an MLA’s house before. We reached Shukla-ji’s sprawling
bungalow in the Kachehri locality at three in the afternoon. Police
jeeps were parked outside and security guards surrounded the entire
property. Sunil introduced himself at the gate, and later we were let
in.

Several villagers
sat in the front lawn, awaiting their turn to meet the MLA. Sunil had
said MLA Shukla stayed alone. His family mostly stayed abroad as his
two sons went to college there. Filled with party workers, MLA
Shukla’s home resembled a party office more than a residence.

Sunil had brought
along Girish Bedi, ‘an experienced education consultant’.
I had a rucksack full of property documents and court-related papers.
Guards checked my bag three times before we reached the MLA’s
office.

A middle-aged man in
a crisp white kurta-pyjama sat behind an ornate, polished wooden
desk. Despite a slight potbelly, for a politician Shukla-ji could be
considered handsome. He gestured at us to sit as he continued to
speak on his cellphone.

‘Tell the
scientist that Shukla wants to see the report first. Yes, I have to
see it. It’s my Ganga too. Yes, okay, I have a meeting now,
bye.’

The MLA sifted
through the files on his desk as he spoke to us.

‘Sunil, sir.
Sunshine Events. W ... we do career fairs,’ Sunil said, the
stammer in his voice in sharp contrast to his confidence in the
outside world.

‘Tell me the
work,’ Shukla-ji said.

‘Land, sir,’
Sunil said.

‘Where? How
much?’ Shukla-ji said. His eyes stayed on his files as his ears
tuned in. Politicians can multitask better than most people.

‘Thirty acres,
ten kilometres outside the city on the Lucknow Highway,’ Sunil
said.

The MLA stopped his
pen midway. He looked up at us.

‘Whose?’
he said. He closed his files to give us his full attention.

‘Mine, sir’
I said. No idea why I called him sir. ‘I am Gopal Mishra.’
I opened my rucksack and placed the property documents on the table.

‘And you?’
Shukla-ji said, turning to Bedi.

‘Education
consultant. He helps design and open new colleges. Our own person,’
Sunil said.

‘New college?’
Shukla-ji said.

‘It is
agricultural land, sir,’ Sunil said.

‘You can
obtain permission to convert agricultural land to educational use,’
Bedi spoke for the first time.

‘You look
young’ Shukla-ji said to me. ‘Who are your parents?’

‘They died,
sir,’ I said.

‘Hmmm. What’s
the problem?’ Shukla-ji said. His finger traced the location of
the land to the centre of the city.

‘My uncle,’
I said.

‘This is right
near the upcoming airport,’ Shukla-ji said, as he made sense of
the map.

‘Is it?’
I said.

Shukla-ji picked up
his intercom. He told his staff not to disturb him until this meeting
was over.

‘Gopal, tell
me everything about the land dispute,’ Shukla-ji said.

Over the next hour I
told him my entire story. ‘And the fact is I even owe your men
two lakhs,’ I said as I ended my monologue.

‘Would you
like tea? Soft drink?’ Shukla-ji said.

I shook my head.

‘You owe money
to my men?’ Shukla-ji said.

‘No sir, not
your men,’ Sunil said and stamped my foot. ‘Bedi sir,
tell him your view.’

I did not realise
that the loan sharks operate with the MLA’s blessings, but
denied any overt links with him.

‘Ideal
engineering college site, sir,’ Bedi said. ‘His share of
fifteen acres is enough.’

‘Why fifteen?
When there is thirty, why would we take fifteen?’ Shukla-ji
said.

I felt overwhelmed
with emotion. For the first time in my life a powerful person had
shown support for me. I missed out that he said ‘we’.

Sunil gave me a smug
smile. He had brought me to the right place.

‘Fifteen is
enough, sir,’ I said, not sure how we would get even that.

‘Thirty. Keep
the remaining for later. It is close to the city ... Once the college
opens and the airport is built, we may even get residential or
commercial zoning,’ Shukla-ji said.