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  ‘Who’s getting married?’ Raghav said, still laughing.

  ‘You and Aarti. Aren’t you?’ I said. I reminded myself I had to smile through this.

  Raghav looked at me. I had never discussed Aarti with him. In fact, I hadn’t discussed anything with him in years.

  ‘I hope I can talk to you as a friend? We were once, right?’ I said. I took a bite of the samosa and found it spicy as hell.

  Raghav nodded on a sigh. ‘Things aren’t going so well between me and Aarti.’

  ‘Really?’ I faked surprise.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to her in weeks.’

  ‘What happened?’ I said.

  Raghav squirted tomato sauce over his samosa.

  ‘It’s my fault. When the paper started, I didn’t give her enough time. Soon, we drifted apart. The last couple of months she seemed so disconnected,’ Raghav said.

  ‘Did you guys talk about it?’ I said.

  ‘No, we planned to, but didn’t,’ he said.

  ‘She loves you a lot,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Raghav said. He twirled his samosa in the sauce without eating it.

  ‘She does. I know her from childhood, Raghav. You mean everything to her.’

  Raghav seemed surprised. ‘Do I?’

  ‘She wanted to marry you, isn’t it?’

  ‘At the wrong time. Look at me, I am nowhere with respect to my career,’ Raghav said.

  ‘Your career is different from others. You can’t measure it in money. In terms of helping people, you are doing quite well.’

  ‘I blew that too,’ Raghav said.

  ‘You are fine. You are a sub-editor at a big paper. And if you marry Aarti, you can go far.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know there’s pressure on Aarti’s family to enter politics?’ I said.

  Raghav kept quiet.

  ‘You do, right?’

  ‘I heard,’ he muttered.

  ‘So, Aarti’s father can’t and Aarti won’t. Son-in-law, maybe?’

  Raghav looked up, intrigued. ‘How you think, man!’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘I’m not smart. So, I have to make up for it in other ways.’

  ‘You are not smart?’ he said.

  ‘You do love her?’ I asked.

  ‘Things aren’t okay between us,’ he admitted.

  ‘You can fix them I am sure. After all, your charm worked on her the first time,’ I said.

  Raghav gave a shy smile.

  ‘Don’t call her. Go meet her at the hotel. Take an entire day off for her. That’s all she wants, your time and attention. She’ll return your love ten times over,’ I said, looking sideways.

  Raghav kept quiet.

  ‘Promise me you will go,’ I said and extended my hand.

  He shook my hand and nodded. I stood up to leave. I repeated Shukla-ji’s line.

  ‘Life may not offer you the same chance twice.’

  Raghav walked me to my car. He barely noticed the car though.

  ‘Why are you doing this for me?’ he asked.

  I got into the car. I rolled down the window. ‘Aarti is a childhood friend. Besides …’

  ‘Besides what?’ Raghav said.

  ‘Everyone has to do their bit,’ I said as the driver whisked me away.

  I didn’t keep in touch with Raghav after that. He called me many times. I either didn’t pick up or pretended to be busy. One of the times I did pick up, Raghav told me he and Aarti had started talking again. I told him I had inspectors in my office and hung up.

  I had sworn on Baba’s soul that I would never call Aarti. She didn’t either, apart from a single missed call at 2 a.m. one morning. I called her back, since technically, I had not initiated the call. She did not pick it.

  The missed call and call-back drama between men and women almost deserves its own user manual. I gathered she had made the call in a weak moment, and left her alone.

  I invited the boring consultants back for the BMS programme talks. The plan made a lot of sense. We started the process to expand into business studies. We had a new set of government people who had to approve our plans, and thus a new set of palms to be greased. We knew the business would be profitable. Millions of kids would be tested, rejected and spat out of the education system every year. We had to keep our net handy to catch them.

  I spent more time with the college faculty, and often invited them home in the evenings. They worked for me, so they laughed at my jokes and praised me every ten minutes. I couldn’t call them friends, but at least they filled the empty space in the house.

  Three months passed. We launched the BMS programme and, with the right marketing, filled up the seats in a matter of weeks. I rarely left the campus, and did so only to meet officials. Meanwhile, the case against Shukla-ji became more complex. He told me the trial could take years. He tried for bail, but the courts rejected it. Shukla-ji felt the CM had betrayed him, even as the party sent feelers that he could be released from jail provided he quit politics. I went to meet him every month, with a copy of the GangaTech Trust accounts.

  One day, Raghav called me when I was at home. I didn’t pick up. Raghav continued to call. I turned the phone silent and kept it aside.

  He sent me a message: ‘Where r u Gopal, trying 2 reach u.’

  I didn’t reply at first. I wondered if his repeated attempts meant trouble, like he had discovered another scam or something.

  I texted: In meetings. Wassup?

  His reply hit me like a speeding train.

  Aarti n I getting engaged. Wanted to invite u 2 party nxt Saturday.

  I couldn’t stop looking at this message. I had wanted this to happen. Yet, it hurt like hell.

  Unfortunately, I’m not in town. But congratulations!!!: I sent my response, wondering if I had put one exclamation mark too many.

  Raghav called me again. I avoided his call. He tried two more times, when I finally picked up.

  ‘How can you miss our engagement?’ he said.

  ‘Hey, am in a faculty meeting,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Listen, you have to come,’ Raghav said.

  ‘I can’t. I am leaving for Singapore to explore a joint venture,’ I said.

  ‘What, Gopal? And why don’t you ever call back? Even Aarti says you are too busy whenever I ask about you.’

  ‘I am really sorry. I am busy. We are doubling our student intake in the next two years,’ I said.

  ‘You will miss your best friend’s engagement? Won’t she be upset?’

  ‘Apologise to her on my behalf,’ I said.

  Raghav let out a sigh. ‘Okay, I will. But our wedding is in two months. On the first of March. Please be in town then.’

  ‘Of course, I will,’ I said and circled the date on the calendar.

  ‘I’ll let you attend to your staff. Take care, buddy,’ Raghav said.

  Instinctively, I composed a ‘congrats!’ message to Aarti and sent it. She did not reply.

  I looked around my big house as empty as my soul.

  42

  On 1 March, I booked a room at the Taj Ganga. The fourth-floor room had a little balcony, with a view of the hotel pool and lawns. I had tossed the SIM card out of my phone two days ago. I had told my staff I had to go out of town. I stayed in my room the entire day. I came to the balcony at eight in the evening. In the faint light of dusk, I read the card again.

  Mrs and Mr Anil Kashyap

  Invite the pleasure of your company

  For the wedding of their beloved son

  Raghav

  with

  Aarti

  (D/O Mrs and Mr Pratap Brij Pradhan, DM)

  At 8 p.m.

  On 1 March 2010.

  Poolside Lawns,

  Taj Ganga, Varanasi

  I could see the wedding venue downstairs. The entire garden area was littered with flowers and lights. Guests had started to arrive. In one corner the DJ was setting up the dance floor and testing music tracks. Along one side of the lawn were the