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  We went to the next stall. The red and white banner said ‘Shri Chintumal Group of Institutes, NH2, Allahabad’. A small map showed the college location, thirty kilometres from Allahabad city.

  ‘I can’t go to a college called Chintumal,’ I said.

  ‘Shut up. You never have to say your college’s name, anyway.’ Sunil picked up a brochure. Within seconds he found the relevant page. ‘Okay, this is seventy thousand a year. Final placement one lakh forty thousand. See, this makes more sense.’

  A fat man in his forties came to us.

  ‘Our placement will be even better this year,’ he said. ‘I am Jyoti Verma, dean of students.’

  I had never expected a dean to sell the college to me. He extended his hand. Sunil shook it purposefully.

  ‘Yes, your fees are also lower than theirs,’ I said and pointed to the Sri Ganesh stall.

  ‘Their placement numbers are fake. Ours are real, ask any of our students,’ Jyoti said.

  He pointed to his students, three boys and two girls, who had worn suits for the first time in their life. They smiled timidly. I browsed through the campus pictures in the Chintumal stall.

  A man from the Sri Ganesh stall came to me. He tapped my shoulder.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Mahesh Verma from Sri Ganesh. Did Chintumal say anything negative about us?’

  I looked at him. Mahesh, in his forties and fat, looked a lot like Jyoti Verma.

  ‘Did they?’ Mahesh said again.

  I shook my head.

  ‘You are considering Chintumal?’ he said.

  I nodded.

  ‘Why not Sri Ganesh?’

  ‘It’s expensive,’ I said.

  ‘What’s your budget? Maybe we can help you,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ I said. I couldn’t believe one could bargain down college fees.

  ‘Tell me your budget. I will give you a ten per cent discount if you sign up right now.’

  I turned to Sunil, unsure of what to say or do next. Sunil took charge of the situation.

  ‘We want thirty per cent off. Chintumal is that much cheaper,’ Sunil said.

  ‘They don’t even have a building,’ Mahesh said.

  ‘How do you know?’ I said.

  ‘He’s my brother. He broke off and started his own college. But it has got bad reports,’ Mahesh said.

  Jyoti kept an eye on us from a distance. Yes, the brothers did resemble each other.

  ‘We don’t care. Tell us your maximum discount,’ Sunil said.

  ‘Come to my stall,’ Mahesh signalled us to follow him.

  ‘Stop,’ Jyoti barred our way.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Why are you going to Sri Ganesh?’

  ‘He is giving me a discount,’ I said.

  ‘Did you ask me for a discount? Did I say no?’ Jyoti said, his expression serious. I had never seen a businessman-cum-dean before. ‘Mahesh bhai, please leave my stall,’ Jyoti said in a threatening tone.

  ‘He’s my student. We have spoken,’ Mahesh bhai said and held my wrist. ‘Come, son, what’s your name?’

  ‘Gopal,’ I said as Jyoti grabbed my other wrist. ‘But please stop pulling me.’

  The brothers ignored my request.

  ‘I will give you the best discount. Don’t go to Sri Ganesh and ruin your life. They don’t even have labs. Those pictures in the brochure are of another college,’ Jyoti said.

  ‘Sir, I don’t even know …’ I said and looked at Sunil. He seemed as baffled as me.

  ‘Shut up, Jyoti!’ a hitherto soft-spoken Mahesh screamed.

  ‘Don’t shout at me in my own stall. Get out,’ Jyoti said.

  Mahesh gave all of us a dirty look. In one swift move he ripped off the Chintumal banner.

  Jyoti’s face went as red as his college emblem. He went to the Sri Ganesh stall and threw the box of brochures down.

  I tried to run out of the stall. Jyoti held me by my collar.

  ‘Wait, I will give you a seat for fifty thousand a year.’

  ‘Let … me … go,’ I panted.

  Mahesh returned with three people who resembled Bollywood thugs. Apparently, they were faculty. They started to rip out all the hoardings of the Chintumal stall. Jyoti ordered his own security men to fight them.

  As I tried to escape, one of Sri Ganesh’s goons pushed me. I fell face-down and landed on a wooden table covered in a white sheet. It had a protruding nail that cut my cheek. Blood covered one side of my face. Sweat drops appeared on my forehead. I had finally given my blood and sweat to studies.

  Sunil helped me up. I saw the blood on the white sheet and felt nauseous. A crowd had gathered around us. I did not say anything and ran out. I left the stadium and continued to sprint down the main road for two hundred metres.

  I stopped to catch my breath and heard footsteps as Sunil jogged towards me.

  Both of us held our sides and panted.

  ‘Fuck,’ Sunil said. ‘Lucky escape.’

  We went to a chemist’s where I applied some dressing on my cheek.

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

  We walked to Café 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 ex-professors?’

  ‘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 doughnuts and cookies to go with their whipped-cream coffee.

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

  ‘Celebrating your father’s 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.

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

  ‘You work for MLA Shukla-ji, don�€