Revolution Twenty20 Read online

  ‘Of course, the rate is different for you. I’d imagine ten lakhs.’

  ‘What?’ Shukla-ji said, shocked.

  Bedi finished his drink in a large sip. ‘It’s thirty acres, sir. For a normal person it would be forty.’

  ‘See, that is why people like me have to come to education. What is happening in this country?’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘DM has to bless it too. But Pradhan is honest. However, if it is for a college, and VNN recommends, he will approve it,’ Bedi said.

  ‘How honest?’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘Honest enough to not take money. But not so honest that he will stop others from taking it.’

  ‘That’s good. If you are honest, keep it to yourself,’ Sunil said, speaking for the first time that evening.

  ‘Sunil,’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘What, sir?’

  ‘You leave now. I will send something for you. But we will take care of this project from now,’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘Sir, but …’ Sunil said.

  ‘You have done your job,’ Shukla-ji said and handed him a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label.

  Sunil took the cue. He thanked him for the bottle, bowed as much as the human spine allowed and left.

  ‘I know DM Pradhan, his daughter is a friend,’ I told Shukla-ji.

  ‘Not much of an issue there. Still, good to have his blessings,’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  Shukla-ji went inside his bedroom. He returned with a heavy plastic bag. He gave it to me.

  ‘What’s this?’ I said.

  ‘Ten lakhs,’ he said, ‘for VNN.’

  ‘Ten lakhs?’ I said. My hands trembled as I held the heavy bag. I had never seen, or lifted that much money.

  ‘It’s just a number,’ the MLA said. ‘Bedi-ji, help the boy. And help yourself too. I don’t like empty glasses.’

  ‘Sure, Shukla-ji,’ Bedi said and called for the waiter.

  ‘Are people in education happy with money or they want other stuff too?’ Shukla-ji asked Bedi.

  ‘Like what?’ Bedi asked.

  ‘Girls, if they want to have a good time. I have a man, Vinod, who can arrange that,’ MLA Shukla said.

  ‘Oh, will let you know. Money usually does the job though,’ Bedi said.

  ‘Good.’ He changed track. ‘Can Gopal work from your office for a while? Until he has his own?’

  ‘Of course, Shukla-ji.’

  The waiters ran to refill our glasses.

  ‘The trust papers are ready. We can sign them this week. But one question, Gopal,’ Bedi said.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘What’s the name of the college?’ Bedi said.

  I hadn’t thought about it.

  ‘I have no idea. Maybe something that signifies technology.’

  ‘And our city,’ Shukla-ji said. ‘Let me tell people I did this for them when the time comes.’

  ‘GangaTech?’ I said.

  Shukla-ji patted my shoulder. ‘Well done. I like you, Gopal. You will go very far.’ Shukla-ji personally filled my glass to the brim with whisky.

  17

  I flipped through the documents Bedi had plonked on my desk. I sat in an extra room at his education consultancy office.

  ‘Pay to incorporate a trust?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, to the Registrar of Companies. Every trust has to be registered there,’ Bedi said.

  ‘But why pay a bribe? We are opening a non-profit trust,’ I said.

  ‘We are paying a bribe because if we don’t the Registrar will stall our approval.’ He was irritated.

  I sighed in disbelief.

  ‘Anyway, forty thousand maximum. Now, can you please sign here?’ Bedi said.

  Over the next two hours I signed on every page of the six copies of the forty-page GangaTech Education Trust incorporation document. I cracked my knuckles while Bedi hunted up some more stuff for me to sign.

  ‘What’s this?’ I said when he handed me a stack of letters. Each letter had a thick set of files attached to it.

  ‘Your application to the University Grants Commission, or the UGC, to open a college. The files contain details about the proposed college.’

  I went through the files. It had sections such as course descriptions, facilities offered and faculty hiring plan.

  ‘It is standard stuff, taken from earlier applications,’ Bedi said.

  I signed the letters. ‘So, they send an approval or what?’ I said.

  ‘They will send a date for inspection of the site. Once they inspect, they will give you an in-principle approval to start construction.’

  ‘I imagine we have to pay somebody to clear the inspection?’ I said.

  Bedi laughed. ‘You learn fast. Of course, we pay. A thick packet to every inspector. However, right now we pay to obtain an inspection date. First things first.’

  My eyebrows went up. ‘Joking, right?’ I said.

  ‘No, any government work, especially in education, requires a fee. Get used to it.’ He then listed out the palms we had to grease in order to open a place to teach kids in our country. Apart from the UGC, we had to apply to AICTE, or the All India Council for Technical Education. They clear the engineering colleges. Also, every private college requires a government university affiliation. For that, we had to get approvals from the vice-chancellor of a state university. Shukla-ji’s connections and a generous envelope would do the trick.

  ‘Otherwise the vice-chancellor can create a lot of hassle,’ Bedi said, speaking from past experience.

  ‘So, who are these UGC and AICTE inspectors, anyway?’ I said.

  ‘University lecturers from government colleges are appointed as inspectors. Of course, since it is such a lucrative job, the lecturers have to bribe to become one,’ Bedi said.

  ‘Whom?’

  ‘Senior management at UGC, or someone in the education ministry. Anyway, that is their business. We have to focus on ours. Please inform Shukla-ji we will need funds for all this.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Don’t forget the VNN meeting,’ Bedi said. ‘And definitely don’t forget the bag.’

  ‘I can’t wait to get rid of it,’ I said. ‘It is scary to keep so much cash in the house.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Bedi said. ‘One VNN visit and it will all be gone.’

  We reached the Varanasi Nagar Nigam office, opposite Shaheed Udyaan, at six in the evening. The official had told us to come after working hours. If you are willing to pay, government offices can do more overtime than MNCs.

  ‘Welcome, welcome. I am Sinha,’ a man greeted us in the empty reception area. He led us upstairs. We climbed up two floors of the dilapidated building. Sinha, deputy-corporator, had known Shukla-ji for over a decade and referred to him as his brother.

  ‘If my big brother wants it, consider it done,’ Sinha said. He didn’t mention that big brother would need to give little brother a gift.

  I took out the maps, property documents and our formal application. Sinha pored over them with a sonorous ‘hmmm’.

  ‘We can only start when we have the land re-zoned,’ I said.

  ‘Re-zoning is tough,’ Sinha said. ‘Higher-ups have to approve.’

  ‘How long will it take?’ I said.

  ‘You look young,’ Sinha said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I said.

  ‘Impatience, the first folly of youth. You are opening a college, what is the hurry?’

  ‘It’s still going to take years. But I want to get all the approvals done,’ I said.

  Bedi signalled me to be quiet. Sinha laughed.

  ‘Don’t you have to get the building plan approval too?’ the deputy-corporator said.

  ‘Yes,’ Bedi said. ‘Can your junior officers handle that?’

  ‘Send the documents to me, send everything home. Everything,’ Sinha said, stressing the last word.

  I got the drift. I patted the plastic bag I had kept on the floor.

  ‘I have brought something here,’ I said.