Revolution Twenty20

by Chetan Bhagat

  ‘What’s your admission strategy?’ Shrivastava said.

  ‘We are advertising in all newspapers. Participating in career fairs, also approaching schools and coaching classes,’ I said.

  ‘Approaching schools for what?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ll go to schools and make a presentation on our college,’ I said.

  ‘Who cares about the presentation? Did you fix the principals?’ Shrivastava said.

  ‘We will, don’t worry,’ Bedi said.

  ‘We will what?’ I said. I hated it when Bedi didn’t tell me things beforehand.

  ‘I will explain to you. Let’s go, we have other meetings,’ Bedi said and stood up. ‘Thanks, sir, will see you on Friday.’

  Shrivastava came to see us off at the door. ‘When do I get my first salary?’ he said.

  ‘I will send the cash home,’ I said.

  We had five more faculty prospects to meet. Shukla-ji had given us an Innova car for exclusive use of the college. We proceeded to Mughal Sarai to meet a retired chemical engineering professor.

  ‘I am so relieved the dean is done,’ Bedi said as the car reached the highway.

  ‘He seemed more Mr Deal than Mr Dean to me,’ I quipped.

  ‘He has worked in private colleges before. He knows he is in demand. Don’t take his tantrums personally,’ Bedi said.

  ‘What did he mean by “fix” the school principals?’ I said.

  ‘The schools have a big influence on where the child goes next. Many try for an IIT and NIT, most don’t make it. Where do they go?’

  ‘Where?’ I said.

  ‘That’s where we come in. Private colleges can fulfil your dream of becoming an engineer, even if you didn’t clear the entrance exam. The problem is, there are so many private colleges now. How does the student choose?’

  I asked the driver to decrease the temperature of the air-conditioner, to beat the forty degrees outside. ‘How?’ I said.

  ‘They go with the school teachers’ and principals’ advice. Who else can they trust?’

  ‘True,’ I said. ‘So, we ask the principal to recommend our college?’

  ‘Exactly! You are smart,’ Bedi said, probably in sarcasm.

  ‘Do we bribe them too?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. But never say that word, especially to school principals. Anyway, it is a straightforward calculation. We give them ten per cent of the fee we take for every admission.’

  A defined sum doesn’t sound like a bribe.

  ‘We give ten per cent to anyone – coaching classes, career fair organisers or whoever helps us fill up the college.’

  ‘Ten per cent it is,’ I said.

  ‘You are working on the media plan, right?’ he said.

  My thoughts went to our media strategy, then to Raghav, and from there to Aarti. It is amazing how the brain will connect one thought to another until it gets to where it wants to be.

  Bedi continued to talk about how we will fill two hundred students for the first batch. I tuned out, looking at the fields outside and remembering Aarti’s flowing hair as she took a sip from my drink in Raghav’s balcony. Life is a bitch when the only woman you can think of belongs to someone else.

  20

  I saw Raghav enter the campus from the window of my office. I had screamed at the carpenters to get my office desk and chairs finished in time. Apart from the missing visitors’ sofa, my office had become functional. The air-conditioner worked. I increased the cooling to maximum to ensure Raghav noticed it. I surrounded myself with files. He came and knocked on the half-open door.

  ‘Yes?’ I said and looked up.

  ‘We did say two o’ clock, right?’ Raghav said. He wore a white shirt and blue jeans.

  ‘Hi, Raghav. Sorry, I keep so busy, I lose track of time sometimes,’ I said.

  He sat across me. I sat on the director’s chair. I wondered if he noticed how I had a far more plush chair than his.

  He took out his notepad, pen and a few printouts. ‘I did some research, whatever I could find on the college.’

  ‘You won’t find much. We are new,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but I found a lot on one of the trustees, Shukla.’

  ‘Of course, he is a popular politician. But he isn’t really involved in the functioning of the college.’

  ‘He’s involved in many other things though.’ Raghav smoothed out the printout with the questions.

  ‘Tea?’ I said.

  He nodded. I rang the bell. I had asked the peon to bring tea in the bone china cups we kept for special guests. Not that Raghav counted as special. However, I wanted him to know we had tea in fancy cups.

  He looked around the huge twenty-by-eighteen-feet office. I wanted to ask him if anyone in his newspaper had such a big office, but controlled myself.

  He noticed an architect’s model of the campus behind me. ‘Can I take a look?’ he said.

  ‘Sure,’ I said and jumped up. ‘Let me show you all the facilities.’

  I explained the campus layout to him. ‘The hostels are here. We will keep adding more rooms with successive batches. The classrooms and faculty offices are here, in the main building we are in right now. The labs are in a separate building. All imported equipment.’

  ‘What will be the faculty ratio?’ Raghav said, taking frantic notes.

  ‘We are targeting no more than one teacher per fifteen students,’ I said, ‘which is better than the AICTE norms. One day we want to be better than BHU.’

  He looked at me.

  ‘Just as a goal. Who else is there to compare with?’ I said.

  He shrugged his shoulders in support.

  The tea arrived. I had instructed the peon to serve at least five snacks. He brought nuts, biscuits, samosas, potato chips and cut fruits.

  ‘That’s not tea. That’s a meal,’ Raghav said.

  ‘Please have. We can continue the interview later,’ I said as the peon served us.

  We ate in silence. I didn’t want to discuss anything other than the college with him. He picked up his notepad as he ate.

  ‘What kind of investment went into this college?’ he said.

  ‘Lots. Engineering colleges aren’t cheap,’ I said and laughed, avoiding any real figures.

  ‘How much exactly?’ he said.

  ‘Hard to say. I had the land, but if you had to buy it, you can imagine the prices,’ I said.

  ‘Isn’t this agricultural land?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, you know that, Raghav. Remember Baba’s court case?’

  ‘You managed to get it from your relatives?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but that’s not going into the interview, right?’ I said.

  ‘No. But tell me, how did this agricultural land get re-zoned?’

  ‘We applied, the VNN approved,’ I said.

  He continued to take notes.

  ‘Everything is approved,’ I repeated, perhaps too defensively.

  ‘Because of Shukla?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ I said, somewhat irritated. ‘Because we followed procedures.’

  ‘Fine. How much did the college cost apart from the land?’ he said.

  ‘I am not sure if I can reveal that. It is, after all, competitive information. But anyone who visits our campus can see it is state of the art,’ I said.

  ‘More than five crores?’ he persisted. I shouldn’t have entered his guessing game.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘More than ten?’ he said.

  ‘How is the actual number relevant?’ I said.

  ‘Where did the money come from?’ he said.

  ‘From the trustees and their associates.’

  ‘Whose associates? Yours or Shukla’s?’ he said.

  ‘I gave the land. Shukla-ji arranged for the funds, for the benefit of this town. We are a non-profit trust,’ I said.

  ‘Do you know where the MLA arranged the funds from?’ Raghav asked, without looking up from his diary.

  ‘No. And I don’t see why I should know. It is his and his fri
ends’ private wealth.’

  ‘Are you aware of Shukla’s involvement in the Ganga Action Plan scam?’ he said.

  ‘No, Raghav. I don’t want to comment on anything other than GangaTech. If you have all the information, we can end the interview.’

  Raghav put away his pen. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, I am done. Don’t worry, I will do a balanced piece.’

  ‘Thanks, I will see you out.’

  We walked together to the campus gate. He had come on an old scooter that belonged to his dad.

  ‘I could have sent my car to pick you up,’ I said. ‘It is too hot.’

  ‘It’s fine. I have to go to many places,’ he said and put his helmet on.

  ‘Do you miss engineering?’ I said, my first general question to him.

  ‘Not really. Never became one, I guess,’ he said.

  I felt the time was right to deliver my final punch. ‘You are from BHU. You’d look great on our faculty list. Want to join?’ I said. Yes, I could hire him. BHU may not have taken me, but I could take their graduates.

  ‘Me? Faculty? No way. Besides, I have a job,’ he said and sat on the scooter.

  ‘You don’t have to come much. Help me with the inspections, and maybe come once a week,’ I said.

  He was about to start his scooter, but stopped midway. He mulled over my words.

  ‘We pay well. Maybe more than your newspaper,’ I added.

  He smiled and shook his head.

  ‘Why not?’ I said, irked by his easy rejection.

  ‘I can’t be part of a corrupt enterprise,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It is Shukla’s college.’

  ‘It is mine,’ I protested.

  ‘I know you will run it, but he is behind it, right?’

  ‘So? How can you call us corrupt? We haven’t even opened yet.’

  ‘It’s built with money made by corrupt practices.’

  ‘I have worked my ass off for three years, Raghav. Three years, Sundays included. How can you make a statement like that?’

  ‘He is accused of stealing twenty crores from the Ganga Action Plan. Government money meant to clean our river.’

  ‘It is an accusation. Not proven,’ I said.

  ‘Right after that he made many property investments, including this college. Can’t believe you didn’t see through it. How can a politician have so much money? He comes from a humble background.’

  ‘Can you prove wrongdoing?’ I said.

  ‘Not yet. But are you sure he didn’t do anything?’ he queried.

  I couldn’t control myself anymore. ‘You are jealous,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are jealous that I am doing well. I am not supposed to do well, right? After all, my AIEEE rank was lower than yours. Isn’t it, Mr JEE?’

  ‘Easy, buddy. This is not personal,’ he said and kick-started his scooter.

  ‘Then what is it, Mr Reporter?’

  ‘It’s my job to figure out the truth, that’s all.’

  Before I could respond, he zoomed off. He left behind a cloud of dust that stung my eyes more than anything ever had in the past year.

  The day of the AICTE inspection felt like an exam day. Our faculty of twenty reached the campus at 8:00 a.m. Sweepers scrubbed the floors till the last minute. The IT specialist ensured that the desktops in the computer room worked. We had arranged a dinner at Taj Ganga for the inspection committee. Shukla-ji had promised me he’d come, but backed out at the last minute due to an urgent rural visit. Sweat beads formed on my forehead. I made the fifth trip to the campus gate to check if the inspectors had arrived yet.

  ‘Stand straight,’ I hollered at the security guard, ‘and salute all guests.’

  ‘Relax, Director Gopal,’ Dean Shrivastava said, ‘I will handle them.’

  They arrived only at eleven. Ashok Sharma, our junior-most faculty member, waited with bouquets at the main building entrance.

  The head of the inspection committee shook my hand. ‘I am Jhule Yadav, ex-professor from NIT Delhi.’

  ‘I am Gopal Mishra, promoter and director of the college. Meet Dean Shrivastava, ex-director of NIT Allahabad,’ I said.

  Yadav and Shrivastava exchanged glances, sizing each other up like boxers in a ring. We walked to my office and sat down on the new sofas that smelt of varnish.

  ‘NIT Allahabad?’ Yadav asked. ‘You had a Barua in Electrical? He went to Stanford later.’

  ‘Yes,’ Shrivastava said, ‘I hired him.’

  ‘Barua was my student,’ Yadav said and slapped his thigh.

  Suddenly the lights went out. Everyone sighed as darkness engulfed us. We had power supply issues in the nearby villages. We had no electricity for six hours every afternoon.

  ‘We have a generator,’ I said, and went to tell the peon to switch it on.

  The office was turning stuffy.

  ‘Should we go outside?’ said one middle-aged member of the inspection team.

  ‘Any minute now, sir,’ I said. The tube-light in my office blinked as power came back on.

  ‘How many lathe machines are there in your machining lab?’ asked an inspector.

  ‘Eight,’ Shrivastava said. ‘We will take a round later.’

  ‘Shrivastava sir, why walk around in the heat?’ Yadav said.

  ‘Your team member asked a question, sir,’ Shrivastava said.

  Everyone turned to the inspector who had asked the lathe machine question. ‘You are?’ Shrivastava said.

  ‘Mr Bhansali,’ said the inspector.

  ‘Mr Bhansali, why don’t we all move to my office for course-related questions? Unless you need the promoter.’

  ‘You look young,’ Bhansali said to me.

  ‘I am young,’ I said.

  ‘What are your qualifications?’ he said.

  ‘I have built this college,’ I said, ‘and I have hired the best faculty.’

  ‘But …’ Bhansali said as Shrivastava cut him.

  ‘Let’s go, sir. I will answer everything,’ Shrivastava said and escorted them out.

  When everyone was out, Shrivastava came back into my office. ‘Bhansali is new. The other six won’t say a word. Lunch is coming, right?’

  ‘Yes, the caterer is already here,’ I said.

  ‘Good. And the packets?’

  ‘Packets?’

  ‘Gopal, do I have to explain it? This is AICTE.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You mean the envelopes. Of course, I have them ready.’

  ‘Good. Give it to them after dessert. How much?’

  ‘Two for Yadav, and twenty-five each for the rest?’ I said.

  ‘Make it fifty for Bhansali,’ Shrivastava said. ‘What’s for dessert?’

  ‘Moong daal halwa,’ I said.

  ‘My favourite!’ Prof Shrivastava said and left.

  We had booked a private room in Taj Ganga for the AICTE inspection dinner. We had also invited our entire faculty and senior government officials who had helped us in the past. They came with families. This party of a hundred people burnt another hole in GangaTech’s pocket.

  We hadn’t earned a rupee of revenue yet. We had spent six crores already on construction, equipment, faculty, and of course, fixing government officials.

  However, Shukla-ji didn’t seem to care.

  ‘Relax, we will recover the money,’ Shukla-ji said. He handed me a whisky with soda.

  I scanned the room. ‘We have paid bribes to at least thirty people in this room,’ I said.

  Shukla-ji laughed.

  ‘What have we done wrong? We only wanted to open a college,’ I said.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Shukla-ji said. ‘If we had a straightforward and clean system, these professors would open their own colleges. Blue-chip companies and software firms could open colleges. The system is twisted, they don’t want to touch it. That is where we come in.’

  ‘When will we make money? I paid five lakhs today for the inspection.’

  ‘Pay them some more,’ Shukla-ji said.<
br />
  ‘Who?’

  ‘The inspectors.’

  ‘Why?’ I said. ‘Shrivastava sir said it is enough. We will get the approval in a week.’

  ‘I want them to not only clear the college, but also say great things about GangaTech,’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘In writing?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, which we will use for marketing. Ten thousand more to the minions, fifty more to the main guy. I’ll arrange the cash.’

  He took out his phone and made a call.

  Shukla-ji and I went to the dinner buffet. We filled our plates with food, and came to one corner of the room. ‘The cash will arrive in an hour,’ he told me.

  ‘Why do you trust me so much, Shukla-ji. I could steal your money.’

  ‘You don’t have a family. Whom would you steal for?’ he said.

  21

  The AICTE approval came on time, as promised by Prof Shrivastava. We had one final step before we opened for admissions. We needed the state university affiliation. Mangesh Tiwari, the vice-chancellor, had sat on our application for months.

  We were at Shukla-ji’s place. ‘Affiliation is a simple job. We are offering him double the market rate. Mangesh is turning senile,’ Bedi said.

  ‘How much does he want?’ Shukla-ji asked.

  ‘It’s not about the money. He doesn’t like us. Doesn’t even take our calls,’ Bedi said.

  ‘What is the solution?’ I said.

  ‘Use some contacts. Non-political if possible, he is a college batchmate of our DM,’ Bedi said.

  ‘I know the DM’s daughter. Old school friend,’ I said.

  ‘Well, do whatever it takes. I want admissions to open next week. Full-page ads in every paper,’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘Don’t worry, next Sunday Varanasi will talk only about GangaTech,’ I said.

  I had promised myself not to call Aarti. However, I had no choice.

  ‘Look who’s calling today!’ Aarti chirped.

  ‘You sound happy,’ I said.

  ‘Do I? Maybe because you called. I don’t really have another reason.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing. I have to find a job in Varanasi.’

  ‘That’s not so bad.’

  ‘Will your college have its own plane?’ she said.

  ‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘But if we do, we will make you cabin supervisor.’