Revolution Twenty20

by Chetan Bhagat

  ‘Who is your team?’ the reporter asked him.

  ‘Well, we are a small newspaper called Revolution 2020. There are four of us, including me. We don’t have much experience but we are passionate about our work.’

  ‘What are you passionate about?’

  ‘Making a difference. Changing India for the better. That is what we live for,’ Raghav said.

  ‘Is it true that you believe India will have a revolution in the year 2020?’

  ‘Yes, but we all have to work towards it and make sacrifices for it.’

  ‘What exactly will the revolution be for?’

  ‘A society where truth, justice and equality are respected more than power. Such societies progress the most.’

  ‘Can you explain that?’

  ‘Power-driven societies resemble animal societies. “Might is right” is the rule of the jungle and applies to beasts. And beasts do not progress, humans do.’

  I turned off the TV. I couldn’t take his bullshit anymore. Neither could Shukla’s men.

  Nitesh, one of the party workers, called me in the morning.

  ‘You smashed what?’ I said on the phone.

  ‘His only computer is in pieces. We took hammers and broke the printing press too.’

  ‘Nobody saw you?’

  ‘We went at night. Ransacked the office. Bastard. He’s finished.’

  I got ready for work. I saw the Mercedes parked outside. I had a less than 300-yard commute to the office. Yet, I wanted to go in my new car.

  I thought about Raghav. After yesterday’s bravado and all that attention, a plundered office was all he was left with.

  He had no job, no business and soon nobody would give a fuck about his paper after this story died.

  ‘Where, sir?’ the driver said.

  ‘Office,’ I said.

  I made up dialogues to say to Raghav in my head.

  ‘The average-looking dumb Gopal Mishra, the boy you had preached to, saying, “you can try again next year”, is sitting in a Mercedes. You have a broken printing press. And you think you are handsome, right? Well, soon I will make your girlfriend mine. The girl you stole from me.’

  ‘Sir,’ the driver prompted. We had reached office.

  I entered my office. I sank into the leather chair and closed my eyes. I visualised Raghav’s face when I told him, ‘Aarti is with me.’ It would be amazing. I had planned it all. I would go to his office. I would drop the Mercedes keys on his table. I even had some lines ready.

  ‘Sometimes losers get ahead in life. Never forget that,’ I said out loud, to practise for D-day.

  I still didn’t have the right lines to break the news about Aarti being mine. I decided to try a couple of them.

  ‘Buddy, I am sorry to say this but Aarti is mine,’ I mumbled.

  That didn’t sound manly enough.

  ‘Aarti and I are a couple. Just wanted you to know,’ I tried a casual one. Couldn’t quite pull it off.

  How do you come up with a suitable sentence to convey something you have meant to say for years? I wanted my words to bomb-blast him, to hit him like a lethal weapon. I wanted him to know that he had made me feel inadequate all my life. I wanted him to burn with jealousy seeing my car, my life, and hurt like hell for losing the girl he stole from me. I wanted to tell him ‘I am better than you, asshole,’ without actually saying it.

  Aarti’s call disrupted my thoughts.

  ‘They attacked his office,’ she said, her voice disturbed.

  ‘Oh, really?’ I acted surprised.

  ‘Revolution 2020 can’t be published. The press is broken,’ she said.

  I scanned the files on my desk. I didn’t care if the stupid rag came out or not.

  ‘You there?’ Aarti said.

  ‘MLA Shukla could be jailed,’ I said.

  ‘He should, isn’t it? He stole money and dirtied the river.’

  ‘Are you on his side or mine?’ I said to Aarti, irritated.

  ‘What? How is this about sides?’ she said.

  ‘Are you with me?’ I said.

  ‘Huh?’ she said.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes. But shouldn’t we wait to tell Raghav till he settles down?’

  ‘Will he ever settle down?’ I said.

  She went quiet.

  ‘Come home,’ I said.

  ‘Your place?’ she said. ‘You are finally showing me your new home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tomorrow? I have a morning shift, will be done by three.’

  ‘I’ll send my car,’ I said.

  I kept one eye on the TV and another on the porch as I waited for the Mercedes to arrive with Aarti. The afternoon rain had slowed down traffic, and the car took longer than it should have. Images of Shukla-ji’s arrest flickered on TV.

  ‘I have done no wrong. I will be out soon,’ he proclaimed on one of the channels. He had pre-empted his own arrest to win some public sympathy. He had called me before going to jail. He seemed relaxed. Perhaps he had cut a deal with the party. Or maybe he didn’t realise that the party had made him the fall-guy.

  ‘It’s not so bad. If I pay, jail is like a hotel,’ he had told me.

  I saw the black car approach. My heart beating fast, I rushed out.

  34

  She stepped out of the car. She had come in her work sari.

  ‘Wow, you have a bungalow?’ she said. It’s not “mine”, it’s “ours”, I wanted to tell her, but didn’t.

  She hugged me but looked serious.

  ‘All good?’ I said.

  ‘Raghav’s exposé has created complete chaos. Even my family has been affected,’ she said.

  ‘What happened?’ I said. ‘But what is this, first come in!’

  She came in and stepped on the new silk carpet I had laid out in her honour. She saw the huge TV, the velvet sofas and the eight-seater dining table. For a moment, she forgot about Raghav.

  ‘Your college is doing this well?’ she said, wide-eyed.

  ‘This is only the beginning,’ I said, and came forward to hold her. ‘With you by my side, see where I take it. University status in three years.’

  ‘Big man, Gopal. You have become a big man,’ she said.

  I shook my head. ‘For you, I am the same,’ I said. I kissed her on the forehead.

  I offered to show her the house. We went upstairs and saw each of the three bedrooms. My room had a king-size bed with a twelve-inch mattress. Next to the bed, I had kept a rocking chair similar to Baba’s.

  She kept quiet throughout my guided tour. Every time I showed her something, like the marble tiles or the split air-conditioner, she looked suitably awed. However, she seemed more interested in watching the excitement on my face than the fittings.

  I threw myself on the bed. She sat on the rocking chair. We looked at the window as rain splattered on the panes.

  ‘It’s raining,’ she said, excited.

  ‘It’s an auspicious sign. The first time you came to our house,’ I said.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘It is ours, not mine. I made it for us,’ I said.

  ‘Shut up. You didn’t know we would be together when construction started,’ she said and grinned.

  I smiled. ‘Correct. But I have done it up for us. Else, why would I need such a big house?’

  ‘You are the director. It’s not a joke,’ she said.

  ‘You want to talk about Raghav?’ I said. I sensed she needed to.

  ‘We don’t have to,’ she said and shook her head, putting on a brave smile.

  ‘Come here,’ I said and patted the bed.

  She hesitated, but I extended my hand. She held it as I pulled her gently down. I kissed her, and she kissed me back with closed eyes. It wasn’t frantic or sexual. It was, if at all it is possible to kiss like that, chaste and pure. However, we kissed for a long time, our pace as gentle as the rain on the window. I felt her tears on my cheeks. I paused and held her shoulders. She hugged me and buried her face in my chest. I
t was what Aarti always did, and I loved it when she did that. It made me feel protective.

  ‘What’s up, my love?’ I said to her.

  ‘I am happy for you, Gopal. I really am.’

  ‘Us. Say happy for us,’ I said.

  She nodded, even as she fought back tears.

  ‘I am happy for us. And I don’t want to ruin your moment of showing me your house.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said.

  ‘You have worked so hard to get here. You deserve this,’ she said.

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’ I said.

  She shook her head and composed herself. I waited for her to talk.

  ‘I’m fine. Girls are emotional. You will get used to my drama,’ she said.

  ‘I live for your drama,’ I said.

  She smiled.

  ‘How’s Raghav?’

  ‘They ruined his office,’ she said.

  ‘Politicians are vindictive. Is he hurt?’ I said.

  ‘No, thank god. The computer and the machines are all broken. He is trying to bring the issue out but there’s no money.’

  ‘He wants money? He can ask me,’ I said. I wished he would come and beg me on bended knees.

  ‘You know he’ll never do that. He won’t even take money from me.’

  ‘So?’ I said.

  ‘He’s trying to figure stuff out.’

  ‘Are you still with me?’ I said.

  ‘Gopal!’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be sitting on your bed. I wouldn’t be, you know …’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I said. I took a pillow and sat against the headrest. She sat on her haunches, facing me.

  ‘You have to stop asking me so much. Please understand this is difficult for me,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Breaking up with him, especially at this time. And you want to break the news to him.’

  ‘That’s life, Aarti,’ I said. I planned to go meet Raghav next week.

  ‘One should be sensitive …’ she said.

  ‘Nobody was sensitive to me when I didn’t clear my entrance exam two years in a row. Nobody gave a fuck when Baba died. I lived with it. Aarti, he will learn to face life.’

  ‘You men … why are you so competitive all the time?’ she said.

  ‘Me? Raghav is nothing compared to me today. Why would I compete with him?’

  ‘We can still wait a few months …’ she said but I cut her.

  ‘I can’t bear you to be someone else’s girlfriend,’ I said, my voice loud.

  ‘Really?’ she said, patting my cheek.

  ‘Not for another second,’ I said.

  I tugged at the loose end of her Ramada sari, bringing her close to me. We kissed. The rain grew insistent, noisy, thumping the window rhythmically. We kissed and, naturally, my hand went to her blouse.

  ‘Mr Director,’ she smiled, ‘I thought you said you didn’t want to have me until he was out of my system.’

  ‘Isn’t he?’ I said.

  ‘Almost,’ she said, closing her eyes.

  ‘Well, maybe this will help get the remaining bits out,’ I said and brought her lips to mine again.

  I plundered her neck, planting as many kisses as the raindrops on the window. We undressed with a lot more awareness than the previous time.

  ‘These are my work clothes, please keep them carefully,’ she said as I tried to fold the never-ending sari.

  Our naked bodies felt toasty in the cold weather. We huddled under the quilt and explored each other for hours. The rain stopped, started and stopped again. She wanted to get closer to me, perhaps to justify leaving Raghav. I wanted to show her how much she meant to me. I could give up this oversized house, the black car, the entire college for her.

  This time she looked me in the eye as she surrendered herself.

  We dozed off.

  ‘It’s six o’ clock,’ she said, peering into her mobile phone on the side-table.

  ‘Ten more minutes,’ I said, nuzzling her shoulder.

  ‘Lazy bones, wake up,’ she said. ‘And I am famished. Such a big house and nothing to eat!’

  I sat up. Still groggy, I said, ‘There’s food. The cook made so many things for you. Let’s go downstairs.’

  35

  We had hot samosas, jalebis, masala cheese toast and hot chai.

  ‘This isn’t healthy,’ Aarti said. We sat on the dining table, facing each other.

  ‘Delicious in the rain though,’ I said.

  I switched on the lights as dusk fell. She ate in silence, digesting the food as well as what had just happened. I wanted to discuss the afternoon, but curbed my desire to blab about everything. Girls don’t like to discuss intimate moments, especially if you probe them. However, they also get upset if you don’t refer to the moments at all.

  ‘Quite wonderful,’ I said.

  ‘The samosas?’ she said, even though she knew my context.

  ‘No, the jalebis,’ I said.

  She threw a piece of the curvy yellow sweet at me.

  ‘The best afternoon of my life,’ I said, after our laughter subsided.

  ‘That’s what all men want,’ she said.

  I realised I shouldn’t discuss the topic any longer, lest she fall into a bout of self-inflicted guilt-induced depression.

  ‘Hey, you said Raghav’s exposé is affecting your family?’ I said.

  ‘Well, you know the CM fired Shukla, right? He didn’t resign or go to jail himself as he said on TV. The party told him to,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  She poured herself a second cup of tea. I imagined her living with me. How we would wake up in the morning and have tea in bed. Maybe we would have it on the terrace. Or in the lawns. I visualised us sitting on cane chairs and chatting for hours. I imagined her as the principal of the GangaTech College of Hospitality. The students would totally flirt with her, given she would be the cutest principal in history. I would expel them if they tried to …

  ‘Are you listening?’ She tapped her cup with a spoon.

  ‘Huh?’ I said. ‘Sorry. Yeah, the party removed Shukla-ji. So?’

  ‘The party doesn’t have a strong candidate for elections next year,’ Aarti said.

  ‘They will find someone,’ I said. I finished my tea and kept the empty cup on the table. She poured me some more. I almost went into a dream sequence again. I controlled myself and listened to Aarti.

  ‘They need a candidate who can win. They can’t lose this city. It is the party’s prestige seat,’ she said.

  ‘What difference does it make to you?’

  ‘They want dad,’ Aarti said.

  ‘Oh!’ I said. I had forgotten about Aarti’s grandfather’s connection to the party. He had won the seat for thirty years.

  ‘Yeah. Now dozens of politicians visit everyday, begging him – Pradhan-ji, please contest.’

  ‘He doesn’t want to?’

  Aarti shook her head.

  ‘Why?’ I said.

  ‘He doesn’t like politics. Plus, his health is an issue. He can’t walk or stand for a long time because of his knees. How will he campaign and do those rallies?’ Aarti said.

  ‘True.’

  ‘That’s not all,’ Aarti said, ‘you haven’t heard the most ridiculous suggestion.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I contest,’ Aarti said. She laughed hard, as if she had cracked a great joke. I didn’t find it funny.

  ‘That’s,’ I said, ‘something to think about.’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ Aarti said. ‘Me and politics? Hello? I thought you know me. They clipped my wings from flight attendant to guest relations. Now they will make me visit a thousand villages and sit with seventy-year-old men all day?’

  ‘It’s power, Aarti,’ I said. ‘Means a lot in this country.’

  ‘I don’t care about power. I don’t need it. I am happy,’ Aarti said.

  I looked into her eyes. She seemed sincere.

  �
�Are you happy with me?’

  ‘I will be. We have to resolve some stuff, but I know I will be,’ she said, more to herself than to me.

  She left soon after that. Her parents had visitors, more party officials, who also wanted to meet Aarti. I dropped her home, so I’d get some more time with her.

  ‘You’ll be alone on the way back,’ Aarti pointed out.

  I shrugged.

  ‘Thanks for a lovely day,’ she said as we reached her house.

  ‘My pleasure,’ I said. ‘Have a good dinner with the politicians.’

  ‘Oh, please. Shoot me in the head,’ she said. Both of us stepped out of the car. I leaned on the bonnet as she walked towards her gate.

  ‘Sure you don’t want to become an MLA?’ I said from behind.

  She turned to me. ‘No way,’ she said. ‘Maybe my husband can, if he wants to.’

  She winked at me before skipping towards her house.

  I stood there, surprised. Was she implying something? Did she want me to be the MLA? More specifically, did she want me to be her husband?

  ‘Aarti, what did you say?’ I said.

  But she had already gone into her house.

  I hadn’t known that the Varanasi Central Jail had private rooms. I went to meet Shukla-ji in his cell. As requested, I brought him three boxes of fruits, two bottles of Johnnie Walker Black Label and a kilo each of salted cashewnuts and almonds. The cop who frisked me for security collected the parcel and promised to deliver it. I thought the MLA would meet me in the waiting area, but I could go right up to his cell.

  He sat in his room, watching a small colour TV and sipping cola with a straw.

  ‘Not bad, eh?’ he said. He spread his hands to show me the fifteen-by-ten-feet cell. It had a bed with clean sheets, a desk and chair, closets and the TV. Yes, it didn’t seem awful. It resembled a government guesthouse more than a jail. However, it couldn’t be compared to Shukla-ji’s mansion.

  ‘It’s terrible,’ I said.

  He laughed.

  ‘You should have met me in my early days in politics,’ he said. ‘I have slept on railway platforms.’

  ‘I feel so bad,’ I said. I sat on the wooden chair.

  ‘Six months maximum,’ he said. ‘Plus, they get me everything. You want to eat from the Taj Ganga?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘How is the car?’ he said.