Revolution Twenty20 Read online

  ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘Why? Just because I am a girl? True colours of a Varanasi man, eh?’

  ‘You will reek of it.’

  ‘I’ll go straight to the shower. And what are all the Banarasi paans for? I’ll have a fragrant one before I go,’ she said.

  I passed her the joint. She took a few puffs. ‘It doesn’t seem to have any effect on me,’ she grumbled.

  We finished our tea and stood up. She walked close to the water.

  ‘Come, let’s see the aarti lamps in the water,’ she said.

  ‘It’s late,’ I said. ‘We’d better go.’

  ‘I like it here. Come,’ she said and sat on the sand. She patted the ground next to her.

  I sat down beside her. ‘Your phone will ring again,’ I said.

  ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘When he worked at Dainik, he never called. Now it is a break, so he does. Wait until his Revolution 2020 starts.’

  ‘Is he serious about it?’ I said disbelievingly.

  ‘Oh, yeah. The first issue comes out in two weeks,’ she said.

  I finished my joint and contemplated the holy river. The world came to wash away their sins in Varanasi. Did they ever stop to think about Varanasi for a moment – about what its people would do with all the sins they left behind? The grass had turned me philosophical.

  I flexed my fingers, preparing myself for the tough ride back. Aarti took my right hand into her lap and started to massage it.

  I looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Nice?’ she said.

  I didn’t say anything. Not a thing. I didn’t withdraw my hand either. A full moon emerged in the sky.

  ‘It’s purnima,’ she said softly.

  The sand beneath us, her face and the moonlight… . Suddenly she began to blink furiously.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked.

  She shook her head, still blinking. A particle of sand had blown into her eye. I withdrew my hand from her grasp and cupped her face.

  ‘Open your eyes,’ I said.

  She shook her head again.

  ‘Open, Aarti,’ I said. I cradled her head with both hands.

  She opened her right eye. I blew into it. ‘You okay?’ I said.

  She nodded, her eyes shut again. I heard her sniff.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I said.

  She began to sob. She rested her forehead on my shoulder.

  ‘What’s wrong, Aarti?’

  ‘I’m scared for Raghav. I hope he doesn’t fail in life.’

  I held the back of her head. She buried her face in my chest. It felt strange to console her about her boyfriend. However, I liked the feel of her against me.

  ‘He’ll be fine. I hate him, but Raghav is capable. He’ll be fine. He is a little impractical but not bad at heart,’ I said.

  She lifted her head, her face turned up to me trustingly.

  I stroked her hair. ‘I miss how you cared for me,’ she said.

  Our faces were only a breath apart. The proximity stunned me. I couldn’t speak.

  ‘I have no one to talk to when I am low. Thank you,’ she said.

  Droplets from the Ganga splattered on us. I felt compelled to move my face forward. My lips met hers. She didn’t kiss me back. She didn’t move away either. But soon – too soon – she pushed me away.

  ‘Gopal!’ she said.

  I didn’t say anything. I kind of expected it. In fact, I wanted her to yell at me more.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I looked away. In the distance I saw the aarti diyas wobble on the water, as if admonishing me.

  ‘Let’s go. I am late,’ she said. She was up in a split second and was taking rapid strides towards the boat. I paid the tea-shop owner and ran to catch up with her.

  ‘I have to row you back. You can’t run away,’ I said.

  She kept silent. She refused to even look at me. Okay, I admit I had done wrong, but she didn’t have to treat me like this. A few moments ago she had massaged my hands and buried her face in my chest. She sat as far as possible from me in the boat.

  I slapped the oars hard on the water as I rowed back.

  ‘I said sorry already,’ I said midway.

  ‘Can we not talk please?’ she said.

  The boatman noticed our sour moods.

  ‘Didn’t like the maal?’ Phoolchand asked. I didn’t respond.

  Aarti walked on.

  ‘Where are you going? I will drop you home,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll take an auto,’ she said and disappeared from my sight.

  27

  Even Baba’s death hadn’t left me so sleepless. But Aarti’s flight from Assi had me staring at the office walls at 4 a.m. two nights after the boat ride. I was too nervous to call or message her though I could think of nothing but her. Her face, her drenched eyes and her lips on mine … I couldn’t focus on the contractor’s plans for my upcoming bungalow’s bathrooms. I sat through faculty meetings like a zombie, staring at my phone non-stop.

  ‘Expecting a call, sir?’ Dean Shrivastava said.

  I shook my head, only to check my phone again. How can god give girls so much power? How can they turn productive, busy and ambitious men into a wilting mass of uselessness.

  ‘Sir, so you are okay with us conducting mid-terms next week?’ said Anmol, the civil engineering professor.

  ‘Yes,’ I managed to respond while wondering what I’d do if she didn’t call ever.

  On my third sleepless night my phone beeped at two in the morning.

  A message from her: Don’t call or message me.

  What made her send this message? I hadn’t called or messaged.

  I was sitting there holding the phone when my phone beeped again.

  Ever, said her next message.

  She isn’t sleeping and she is thinking of me – my optimistic, irrational brain kicked into action. Why did she send these messages? What do they mean in Girlese? Since Girlese often means saying the opposite of what is meant, did this mean – call me?

  Okay, I replied. I waited for an hour but got no response.

  Soon I drifted off into a dream about boat rides.

  A fluorescent pink A3-sized sheet fell out of the morning paper. I thought it was a flyer for a travel agency or tuition classes. However, it had a masthead like a newspaper. Aha, I smirked, Raghav’s attempt to change the world.

  Revolution 2020, it said in big, bold font. Below was a letter from the editor, headlined: ‘Because Enough is Enough’. I read on.

  What do you say about a society whose top leaders are the biggest crooks? What do you do in a system where almost anyone with power is corrupt? India has suffered enough. From childhood we are told India is a poor country. Why? There are countries in this world where an average person makes more than fifty times that an average Indian makes. Fifty times? Are their people really fifty times more capable than us? Does an Indian farmer not work hard? Does an Indian student not study? Do we not want to do well? Why, why are we then doomed to be poor?

  I laughed at Raghav’s self-indulgent trip. I sipped my morning tea and continued to read.

  This has to stop. We have to clean the system. Che Guevara, the great revolutionary, once said, ‘Power is not an apple that falls from a tree into your lap. Power has to be snatched from people who already have it.’ We have to start a revolution, a revolution that resets our corrupt system. A system that shifts power back into the hands of the people, and treats politicians like workers, not kings.

  Of course, this won’t happen overnight. This also won’t happen until the real suffering begins. As India’s young population increases, we will need more good colleges and jobs. Soon, there won’t be enough. People will realise who is fooling them. It could take ten years. I call it Revolution 2020, the year in which it will happen, the movement that will finally shake the muck off India. When the Internet will connect all colleges across the country. When we will go on strike, shut down everything, until things are fixed. When young people will leave their classes and offices an