Revolution Twenty20 Read online

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We all have to do our bit. For change we need a revolution. A real revolution can only happen when people ask themselves – what is my sacrifice?’

  ‘Sounds like your newspaper’s tagline,’ I mocked.

  He had no answer. I stood up to leave. He followed me out. I decided not to call my car, but to walk out into the lane and find it.

  ‘What did you come here for?’ Raghav said. ‘I can’t believe you came here to check on me.’

  ‘I had work in the area. My car needed servicing. I thought I will visit you while it gets fixed,’ I said.

  ‘Nice of you to come. You should check on Aarti too sometimes,’ he said.

  I went on red-alert at the mention of her name.

  ‘Yeah. How is she doing?’ I said.

  ‘Haven’t met her in a while, but she seems stressed. I have to make it up to her. You should call her, she will like it,’ he said.

  I nodded and came out of his office.

  37

  I lay down in my comfortable bed at night. However, I could not sleep a wink. There were three missed calls from Aarti. I didn’t call back. I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say to her.

  How did it go? she messaged me.

  I realised she’d keep asking until I told her something. I called her.

  ‘Why weren’t you picking up?’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, I had the dean at home. He left just now.’

  ‘You met Raghav?’ she asked impatiently.

  ‘Yeah,’ I sighed.

  ‘So?’

  ‘He had people in his office. I couldn’t bring it up,’ I said.

  ‘Gopal, I hope you realise that until I break up with him, I am cheating on him with you. Should I talk to him?’

  ‘No, no, wait. I will meet him in private.’

  ‘And I need to speak to my parents too,’ she said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I have three prospective grooms lined up for meetings next week. All from political families.’

  ‘Have your parents gone insane?’ I exploded.

  ‘When it comes to daughters, Indian parents are insane,’ she said. ‘I can stall them, but not for long.’

  ‘Okay, I will fix this,’ I said.

  I pulled two pillows close to me.

  ‘See, this is what happens after sex. Roles reverse. The girl has to chase now.’

  ‘Nothing like that, Aarti. Give me two days.’

  ‘Okay. Else I am speaking to Raghav myself. And in case he asks, nothing ever happened between us.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said.

  ‘I never cheated on him. We decided to get together, but only did so after the break-up. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  Sometimes I feel girls like to complicate their lives.

  ‘He will be devastated otherwise,’ she finished.

  I ended the call and lay down on the bed, exhausted.

  My eyes hurt due to the extra white clothes people had worn for the funeral. I looked at people’s faces. I could not recognise any of them.

  ‘Whose funeral is it?’ I asked a man next to me.

  We stood at the ghats. The body, I saw, was small. They took it straight to the water.

  ‘Why are they not cremating it?’ I asked. And then I realised why. It was a child. I went close to the body and removed the shroud. It was a little boy. In sunglasses.

  ‘Who killed him?’ I screamed but the words would not come out …

  I woke up screaming at the white ceiling of my bedroom and the bright lights I had forgotten to switch off. It was 3:00 a.m. Just a nightmare, I told myself.

  I tossed and turned in bed, but could not go back to sleep.

  I thought about Raghav. The guy was finished. His paper would shut down. He would find it tough to get a job, at least in Varanasi. And wherever he was, Shukla’s men could hurt him.

  I thought about Aarti – my Aarti – my reason to live. I could be engaged to her next week, married in three months. In a year, I could be an MLA. My university approvals would come within the space of a heartbeat. I could expand into medicine, MBA, coaching, aviation. Given how much Indians cared about education, the sky would be the limit. Forget Aarti becoming a flight attendant, I could buy her a plane. If I played my cards right, I could also rise up the party ranks. I had lived alone too long. I could start a family, and have lots of beautiful kids with Aarti. They would grow up and take over the family businesses and political empire. This is how people become big in India. I could become really big.

  But what happens to Raghav? The dead-alive Keshav asked me. I don’t care, I told him. If he went down, it is because of his own stupidity. If he were smart, he would have realised that stupid bravado will lead to nothing. There would be no revolution in this country by 2020. There wouldn’t be one by 2120! This is India, nothing changes here. Fuck you, Raghav.

  But Keshav was not done with me. What kind of politician will you be, Gopal?

  ‘I don’t want to answer you. You are scaring me, go away,’ I said out aloud, even though there was nobody in the room. Really, I knew that.

  What about Aarti? A voice whispered within me.

  I love her!

  What about her? Does she love you?

  Yes, Aarti loves me. She made love to me. She wants me to be her husband, I screamed in my head until it hurt.

  But will she love you if she knows who you really are? A corrupt, manipulative bastard?

  ‘I work hard. I am a successful man,’ I said aloud again, my voice startling me.

  But are you a good person?

  The clock showed 5:00 a.m. Day was breaking outside.

  I went for a walk around the campus. My mind calmed a little in the fresh morning air. Little birds chirped on dew-drenched trees. They didn’t care about money, the Mercedes or the bungalow. They sang, for that was what they wanted to do. And it felt beautiful. For the first time, I felt proud of the trees and birds on the campus.

  I realised why Keshav kept coming to me. Once upon a time, I was Keshav – sweet, innocent and unaware of the world. As life slapped me about several times, and thrashed the innocence out of me, I had killed my Keshav, for the world didn’t care about sweetness. Then why didn’t I crush Raghav completely yesterday? Maybe that Keshav hasn’t died, I told myself. Maybe that innocent, good part of us never dies – we just trample upon it for a while.

  I looked at the sky, hoping to get guidance from above – from god, my mother or Baba. Tears streamed down my face. I began to sob uncontrollably. I sat down under a tree and cried for an hour. Just like that.

  Sometimes life isn’t about what you want to do, but what you ought to do.

  Shukla-ji was eating apples in the jail verandah. A constable sat next to him, peeling and slicing.

  ‘Gopal, my son, come, come,’ Shukla-ji said. He wore a crisp white kurta-pyjama that glistened in the morning sun.

  I sat on the floor. ‘Had a small favour to ask you,’ I said.

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  I looked at the constable. ‘Oh, him. He is Dhiraj, from my native place. Dhiraj, my son and I need to talk.’

  The constable left.

  ‘I’ve told him I’ll get him promoted,’ Shukla-ji said and smiled.

  ‘I have come with a strange request,’ I said.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Shukla-ji, can you help me hire some … call girls? You mentioned them long ago.’

  Shukla-ji laughed so hard, apple juice dripped out of his mouth.

  ‘I am serious,’ I said.

  ‘My boy has become big. So, you want women?’

  ‘It’s not for me.’

  Shukla-ji patted my knee and winked conspiratorially. ‘Of course not. Tell me, how old are you?’

  ‘I will turn twenty-four next week,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, your birthday is coming?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, on November 11,’ I said.