Revolution Twenty20

by Chetan Bhagat

  Raghav chatted with his friends. Aarti sliced the cake for everyone. The music became loud again. I made another drink and leaned against the wall, wondering if I should leave.

  Aarti offered me cake on a paper plate. I declined.

  ‘So, when does your college open?’ she said.

  ‘In three months GangaTech starts admissions,’ I said.

  ‘Really? Can I apply?’ She laughed.

  ‘I’ll print you a degree if you want, you do not even have to attend classes,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’ she said, wagging a finger. ‘Yeah, give me an Electronics Engineer degree like Raghav’s. But better marks than him.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  She laughed even more. I had tried so hard the last four years to get over Aarti. Yet, one laugh of hers had set back years of effort. Suddenly it felt like we had never been apart.

  I had to leave. ‘I better go,’ I muttered.

  ‘Why?’ she said, ‘You just came.’

  ‘I don’t fit in here.’

  ‘It’s okay. I hardly know these people either. All nerdy engineers. Come, let’s go to the balcony.’

  We sat in Raghav’s balcony. I took little sips of my drink. The breeze blew Aarti’s hair in my face. I moved away a bit.

  ‘You finished your course at the aviation academy?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, Frankfinn ended two months ago. I am applying to all the airlines. Let’s see if they call me for interviews,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no airline in Varanasi.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll have to move to Delhi or Mumbai. There’s even a new low-cost airline in Bangalore. It depends.’

  ‘On what?’ I said.

  ‘Where I get a job. Of course, now it is complicated as Raghav’s here.’

  ‘He can be a journalist in other cities too,’ I said.

  ‘I guess,’ she said as she tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘But he likes Varanasi. He knows this place and the issues here. How is your drink? Can I take a sip?’

  I gave her my glass. ‘How much does he get paid for this Dainik job?’ I said. I had to know how much Raghav made.

  She took a few sips and kept the glass for herself. ‘A third of what Infosys would give him,’ she said.

  ‘Wow. And his parents are okay with it?’

  ‘No way! They went ballistic when he told them. It isn’t just about the money, he isn’t using his engineering degree. They are still upset.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what? He doesn’t care. He feels the revolution begins at home. Society changes only when individual family norms are challenged.’

  ‘Revolution?’ I said.

  ‘Oh yeah, he is quite into that. The Great Indian Revolution. Oops, I finished your drink. I am so sorry,’ she said and touched my arm in apology.

  ‘It’s fine. I’ll make another one. And you are cool with his career choice?’

  ‘Of course, I believe one should follow their passion. Am I not working towards mine? So an air hostess isn’t the same as a revolution, but still, that’s me.’

  ‘What exactly is this revolution?’ I said, irritated.

  ‘Well, Raghav believes there will be a real people’s revolution in India one day, that’s his thing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ask him, he will explain it to you. Wait, I will get us more drinks.’

  She went back in. I waited in the balcony. I did not want to be with the smug software types inside. I imagined a day when students from my college would get jobs. I wondered if big software companies would ever visit GangaTech. Of course, we had to open for admissions first.

  She came back with a tray. It had two drinks, and a plate with sandwiches, cake and potato chips.

  ‘I thought you might be hungry,’ she said. Aarti cannot help but be the caring mother types.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking my glass.

  ‘Now tell me, why did you forget me?’ Aarti said.

  ‘Who said I had forgotten you?’ I said. Our eyes met. It felt awkward after about three seconds. I blinked first.

  ‘I have a mobile phone now. Do you want my number?’ she said.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. Shukla-ji had given me a cellphone too. We exchanged numbers.

  ‘I’d like to see your college sometime,’ she said.

  ‘Let it open. I’ll do an inauguration,’ I said.

  ‘Is the college your passion?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s the best opportunity life gave me.’

  ‘Have you felt passionate about anything, Gopal? It’s an amazing feeling,’ Aarti said.

  I remained silent as I stared at her, my passion.

  ‘Anything?’ she said.

  ‘Money, I want to make lots of money,’ I said.

  She threw up her hands in the air. ‘Oh, come on,’ Aarti said, ‘That’s not passion. That’s ambition.’

  ‘I don’t know, let’s go in.’ I stood up. I didn’t want Raghav to see us alone.

  ‘Stay here,’ she said cajolingly and pulled me down by my hand. ‘We haven’t met for ages. What are you up to? Do you have a girlfriend?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You should get one. It is amazing to be in love. A feeling even better than passion,’ she said.

  ‘It’s amazing to be in love only when the other person loves you back,’ I said. I regretted my statement instantly.

  ‘Ouch! Below the belt.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said.

  ‘That was so long ago. And Raghav and I are happy. So happy.’

  ‘Should we go back in?’ I said.

  ‘If you are willing to open up,’ Aarti said, ‘you can find someone nice, Gopal.’

  ‘I don’t need anyone,’ I said and looked away.

  She held my chin and turned my face towards her. ‘You will own a college. I will be just a flight attendant selling chips, if I am lucky. You can get someone better.’

  ‘Someone better than you?’ I said.

  ‘Totally,’ she said.

  ‘That is not possible, Aarti,’ I said. Before she could answer, I stood up again and returned to the party.

  I went up to Raghav and told him I had to leave to meet a contractor. He didn’t seem to mind it much. I came outside his apartment and took the stairs down. Aarti came after me. ‘Gopal!’

  I looked back at her from the steps. ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t tell me you still have feelings for me?’

  I swallowed hard. ‘Not at all,’ I said and sprinted out.

  19

  ‘How long is your break?’ I shouted. A group of labourers sat under the banyan tree near the main campus building. ‘It’s two-thirty, lunch ended an hour ago.’

  We had only a week left for the final AICTE inspection. The classrooms needed a last lick of paint. The workers didn’t care.

  ‘Your work will be done, sahib,’ said one of the workers, folding the newspaper he had been sitting on. He wore a tattered vest and dark trousers with cream paint all over it.

  ‘My college won’t open if the inspector is unhappy with us,’ I said.

  ‘Who is going to say no to your college?’ the worker stood up.

  The other workers tightened their turbans. They picked up their brushes and moved to the classrooms. I remained under the banyan tree, exhausted by my daily ritual of hauling up the men every two hours. I glanced down at the newspaper left behind by the workers. A headline caught my attention: ‘Varanasi needs more colleges’.

  I picked up the newspaper. Under the headline was the writer’s name – Raghav Kashyap.

  The article talked about how the youth population of Varanasi had grown significantly in the last ten years. At the same time, the number of colleges had not kept pace with the demand. It made recommendations on how the government could make education a priority. He even argued that the government should allow colleges to make a legitimate profit, so that corporate bodies could enter the sector and improve quality. Even though it came from Raghav, I l
iked the article. It augured well for my business.

  The article had a separate box with a list of colleges about to open in Varanasi. It had five names, and I saw GangaTech in the list.

  ‘Wow,’ I said to myself, excited. I had never seen GangaTech’s name in print. I dialled Shukla-ji’s number.

  ‘Well done!’ Shukla-ji said. ‘Wait and see how much press we get when we open.’

  I wanted to call Raghav and ask if he could do a detailed piece on my college. A reputed newspaper talking well about GangaTech could do wonders for our opening.

  I didn’t have his mobile number. I could easily obtain it from Aarti. However, I didn’t want to call her. I took the newspaper to the campus building. My office still didn’t have furniture. I sat on a plastic chair and reminded myself to call the carpenter.

  I looked at my phone contacts. Aarti always came first, given that her name begins with ‘Aa’.

  ‘I am only calling her to get Raghav’s number,’ I told myself many times before I felt courageous enough to call.

  She picked up after four rings. ‘Hey, what a surprise,’ she said.

  ‘Hi, how are you?’ I said. I did not want to exchange pleasantries. However, to jump directly to my query seemed abrupt.

  ‘I’m a little low, but that’s okay,’ she said. ‘How are you? It was nice chatting with you at the party.’

  I guess I should have enquired why she felt low. However, I side-stepped it. ‘Yeah, listen, do you have Raghav’s number?’ I said.

  ‘Of course. How come you want it?’

  ‘There’s an article of his I read in the paper today, on education. I liked it, wanted to tell him.’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ she said. ‘He will be so happy.’ She read out the number to me.

  ‘Thanks, Aarti,’ I said. ‘Speak later then?’

  ‘You don’t want to know why I am low?’ she said.

  When a girl asks you that, you’d better say yes. ‘I do. Why?’ I said.

  ‘Mom and dad won’t let me leave Varanasi,’ she said.

  ‘Really? How will you fly for an airline then?’ I said.

  ‘Exactly. What am I supposed to become here? A boat hostess?’

  ‘Convince them,’ I said, for lack of better advice.

  ‘They won’t listen. I may have to run away.’

  ‘Are you crazy? They will come around,’ I said.

  ‘Will you talk to them?’ she said.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  ‘Who am I? Raghav will be better, no?’ I said.

  ‘Raghav? He doesn’t even want me to go. Plus, he is so busy at the newspaper, he won’t meet me, let alone my parents.’

  ‘You have no other friend? Somebody from the aviation academy?’ I said. ‘Or maybe even your faculty?’

  ‘You don’t want to do it, is it?’ she said.

  ‘No, I just … I just don’t think I am the best person to talk to them about this.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Fine’ means somewhere between ‘whatever’ and ‘go to hell’ in Girlese.

  ‘Okay, the site engineer is calling me,’ I lied. ‘I will speak to you later.’

  I hung up. I checked the duration of the call. I had spoken to her for seven minutes and twenty-two seconds. I felt like calling her again, and advising her on how to deal with her parents. Maybe I should have agreed to meet her parents; after all, she had chosen me from all the people she knew. I almost pressed re-dial when I checked myself.

  Only pain will come from being close to her. She belongs to Raghav, and there is no place for me in her life, I scolded myself.

  I called Raghav. He picked up the phone immediately.

  ‘Hi, it’s Gopal,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ he said. ‘What’s up, buddy? Thanks for coming to the party that day.’

  ‘You are welcome. How’s the new job?’

  ‘They are letting me write, even though tame stuff.’

  ‘I read your article today. Pretty good.’

  ‘You read it? Wow. Thanks.’

  ‘You mentioned GangaTech, thanks for that too.’

  ‘Oh, our research team made that table. You are about to open, right?’

  ‘Yes, almost ready. Would you like to visit? Maybe you can do a story specific to GangaTech.’

  ‘Yeah, I could,’ Raghav said, his voice hesitant. ‘Though the policy might be to not talk about specific institutions.’

  ‘Oh, in that case, forget it,’ I said. I didn’t want to take a favour from him, anyway.

  ‘But I could do a story on you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yeah, a young boy from Varanasi opens a college. It is something. And in that interview we can talk about GangaTech.’

  ‘I am more of an employee,’ I said.

  ‘MLA Shukla is the real person, right?’ Raghav said.

  ‘He is a trustee, yes.’

  ‘And he paid to build the college?’

  ‘Well, he arranged for the funds,’ I said.

  ‘From where?’ Raghav said.

  I didn’t like his interrogative tone. ‘He knows lots of charitable people,’ I said. ‘Anyway, do you want to interview me? Either way is fine.’

  ‘Of course, I do. When do you want to do it?’

  ‘I have an inspection next Friday. After that? Maybe the weekend,’ I said.

  ‘Sure, I will see you. Where? Dainik office?’

  ‘No. Come to my office,’ I said. I stressed the last two words. I have a huge office now, buddy, I wanted to tell him.

  ‘Oh, sure. Where’s your campus?’

  ‘Ten kilometres outside the city on the Lucknow Highway. You will see the board on your right.’

  I came out of the campus building. I examined the three-storey structure. We had to paint it gray in the coming week.

  My phone rang. It was Bedi.

  ‘Yes, Bedi sir,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve lined up seven solid faculty members for interviews tomorrow. Are you free?’

  ‘I have no choice but to be free. I am on the site all day, can you bring them here?’

  ‘No way. We have to go to their houses. Three other colleges are opening in the area. They all have offers. We have to lure them,’ he said.

  I sighed. Every day brought a new challenge.

  ‘Fine, I will arrange a car from Shukla-ji’s office,’ I said.

  We reached Prof MC Shrivastava’s house in Ashok Nagar at eight a.m. sharp, as instructed by the retired electrical engineering professor from NIT Allahabad. We had to get someone from NIT, if not an IIT, to be the dean. We had almost struck a deal with a retired NIT Bhopal professor. However, he found a better offer closer home in Indore. Prof Shrivastava was AICTE gold standard, with over thirty years’ experience. Like all things golden, he didn’t come cheap.

  ‘Two lakhs a month?’ I asked. ‘But we have just started.’

  Mrs Shrivastava, the professor’s wife, served us tea and poha for breakfast. She joined the negotiations. ‘Sri Amma College has made an offer. One and a half lakhs, plus a car with a driver,’ she said.

  ‘Madam, the university we are affiliated to controls our fee,’ I said. ‘Plus, we are new. I don’t know how admissions will go.’

  ‘Is that our problem?’ Mrs Shrivastava asked, quite correctly.

  Bedi jumped into the fray. ‘Whatever reasonable requirements you have, tell us. We will accommodate,’ he said.

  ‘But we have a budget,’ I said.

  Shrivastava put his spoon down. ‘Who are you,’ he said to me, ‘the owner’s son?’

  ‘I am the owner, Gopal Mishra. The college is on my land,’ I said.

  ‘And Shukla-ji? Doesn’t he decide on this?’

  ‘He is a silent trustee,’ I said. ‘I decide.’

  The professor looked at me for a few seconds, surprised at my defiance.

  ‘Mr Mishra, the dean is most important. I know the AICTE people. With me, consider the inspection done,’ Shrivastava said.

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p; ‘We have a setting in the AICTE too,’ I said, ‘please understand. If I give you a high package, all other members of the faculty will demand similar levels.’

  ‘You don’t have to disclose my salary,’ he said.

  ‘How will we keep it hidden? The accounts department will have the details,’ I said.

  ‘Pay part of it in cash,’ Shrivastava said. Silence descended over the table. He had already provided a solution. A more practical dean would be hard to find.

  ‘How much?’ I said.

  ‘Fifty per cent? Maybe more,’ he suggested. ‘It only saves me taxes. And nobody feels jealous of me. In fact, my on-paper salary will be lower than that of the teachers.’

  ‘We knew we had come to the right place,’ Bedi said.

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  We settled for a one-lakh-cash-seventy-thousand-cheque package per month. The new dean came on board immediately. He offered to help us hire other faculty, for salaries ranging from thirty to eighty thousand a month, depending on experience and the degrees they possessed.

  ‘I’ll charge ten thousand per hire as search fee, apart from my salary.’

  ‘That’s fine. When can you start?’ I said.

  ‘Anytime,’ he said. ‘I will come to campus three days a week.’

  ‘Three days?’ I said. ‘You are the dean of the institute. How can the college work without you?’

  ‘I am the dean, that is why three days. Else, once a week is enough,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Which faculty goes to teach every day in private colleges? Don’t worry, I will tell the AICTE inspectors I am there every day.’

  ‘But who will manage the faculty? Who will ensure that classes are held on time and the students are taught properly?’ I said, my heart beating fast. I didn’t know if this was how a college dean should be.

  ‘It’s a private college. We will manage. Tell him, Bedi-ji, how it works,’ Shrivastava grinned.

  Bedi finished his cup of tea and nodded. ‘Of course. We will figure out the teaching arrangements and all later. Right now our focus is the inspection, and then the admissions. Later on, senior students can teach first-year students. Happens in many colleges.’

  Mrs Shrivastava cleared the table. We moved to the drawing room.