Revolution 2020: Love, Corruption, Ambition

by Chetan Bhagat

  ‘Gopal bhai, I didn’t do it.’

  ‘College made with corrupt money! You have made money from us too.’

  ‘It is the editorial. They are stupid, impractical people,’ Sailesh said.

  I banged my fist on the table.

  ‘I want to meet your editor-in-chief. If you want me to book any ads after this,’ I said.

  Sailesh glanced at my chequebook. He stood up.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said. I followed him to the editorial floor.

  In his glass cabin, Ashok Kumar, the editor-in-chief, was in a meeting with some sub-editors. Sailesh went in, the sub-editors came out. Sailesh signalled for me to enter.

  Ashok scanned me from tip to toe. ‘You are from MLA Shukla’s office?’ he said.

  ‘I am the director of GangaTech College,’ I said and offered my hand. He shook it in a cursory manner and asked me to sit down.

  ‘I saw the full-page ads,’ Ashok began, looking a bit puzzled about my presence in his cabin.

  ‘Did you see the article you did on us?’ I said.

  ‘I am sure I must have. Who did it?’ Ashok said. He put on his spectacles and turned to his computer to search.

  ‘Sir may not remember the reporter,’ Sailesh told me. ‘Should we search by date?’

  ‘Raghav Kashyap wrote it,’ I said.

  ‘The new hire?’ Ashok said, upbeat for the first time. He quickly located the article on his computer. He turned the monitor towards us. ‘This one?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I must congratulate the reporter. He’s new, yet his stories are getting noticed.’

  ‘If you write nonsense you will get noticed,’ I said.

  ‘What happened Sailesh-ji. Why is your client so upset? We have done a half-page profile on their college,’ Ashok said.

  ‘Why the last two paras? And the headline?’ I butted in.

  ‘What?’ Ashok said and skimmed the article again. ‘Oh, the corruption stuff. What is the big deal in that?’

  ‘It affects our image,’ I said, bringing down both my palms forcefully on the table.

  Ashok didn’t appreciate my display of emotion. He stared at me. I removed my hands from the table.

  ‘If you are so concerned about image, why did you open a college with MLA Shukla?’ Ashok said.

  Sailesh realised this wasn’t going well.

  ‘Sir, GangaTech is expected to be our biggest account,’ Sailesh said.

  ‘So, we should stop reporting news in a fair manner?’ Ashok said.

  ‘The allegations have not been proved,’ I said. ‘A three-year-old dead issue is brought out on the day of the opening. Is that fair?’

  ‘Ashok sir, let’s talk in private for two minutes,’ Sailesh said.

  I stood outside the office as they spoke. I looked around. I asked a peon where Raghav Kashyap sat. I saw his tiny cubicle. It occupied less space than the sofa in my office. I saw Raghav. He was typing furiously on his computer, unaware of the world around him.

  Sailesh called me back in. ‘Don’t worry, it is all settled. Ashok sir will speak to the MLA directly. We will sort it out. Please, let’s continue our association,’ Sailesh said.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘What about the reporter?’

  ‘What about him?’ Sailesh said. ‘He is a trainee.’

  ‘I want him to apologise to me,’ I said.

  Sailesh looked at Ashok.

  ‘That’s up to him,’ Ashok said. He picked up the phone and asked his secretary to send Raghav in.

  Five minutes later, Raghav knocked on the door.

  ‘Sir, you called me?’ Raghav said, then saw me. ‘Hey, Gopal. You here?’

  ‘You guys know each other?’ Ashok said, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘He interviewed me,’ I said.

  Raghav seemed surprised by my terse statement. He realised I didn’t want to establish any prior connection.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Raghav said, as he noticed the serious mood in the room.

  Sailesh recounted our earlier discussion.

  ‘Apologise?’ Raghav said. ‘Gopal, you want me to apologise to you?’

  ‘Do you guys know each other from before?’ Ashok said, catching on to the undercurrents.

  ‘We went to the same school,’ I said.

  ‘And sat at the same desk. Close friends,’ Raghav said. ‘Why don’t you tell them that?’

  Why don’t I tell them you took my girl, you asshole, I wanted to say. Or that you are so jealous of my success that you planted a stinker article?

  ‘These corruption allegations are unfounded. And there is no need to mention them in a college profile,’ I said.

  ‘I had to be balanced,’ Raghav said. ‘Shukla is a known crook.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I said, my voice loud.

  ‘Mr Gopal, let’s not raise our voice. Raghav, you don’t have to be an activist in every story,’ Ashok said.

  ‘Sir, I hardly wrote anything. I didn’t probe the building violations in the college.’

  ‘There are no violations. All our plans are approved,’ I said.

  ‘And how did Shukla get these approvals? Anyway, I didn’t mention any of that.’

  ‘Even the Ganga Action Plan is old news, Raghav,’ Ashok said. ‘Unless you have new, solid evidence, no point repeating it. We can’t keep spoiling someone’s name.’

  Raghav ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. ‘Fine, I won’t do it until I find something solid. May I leave now?’

  ‘You haven’t apologised to Gopal sir,’ Sailesh said. ‘GangaTech’s our client.’

  ‘Editorial only apologises for genuine errors,’ Raghav said.

  ‘Or if your chief editor tells you to,’ Sailesh said, his voice firm.

  Raghav looked at Ashok. Ashok kept quiet.

  ‘Sir, how can you …’ Raghav began.

  ‘Raghav, let’s get it over with. I have to sign off the next edition in one hour,’ Ashok said, turning back to his computer screen.

  Silence for ten seconds or so.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Raghav said on a sigh.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, but Raghav had already stomped out of the room.

  23

  ‘You and Raghav had an argument?’ Aarti said. She had called me late at night, her preferred time.

  ‘He told you?’ I said.

  ‘I suggested that the three of us meet up and he almost bit my head off,’ she said.

  ‘No way! I like your head,’ I said.

  ‘The hotel opens next week. I thought I would take permission and show you guys the place beforehand. It is so beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘You can show him separately,’ I said.

  ‘What happened?’ Aarti said. ‘You met him, right? Why doesn’t anybody tell me anything?’

  ‘It was work-related, don’t worry. All settled now.’

  ‘If you say so. Can you come around tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good night, Director saheb!’

  I waited for Aarti at the Ramada Hotel entrance. The security wouldn’t let me in. Aarti arrived and flashed her staff card and I followed her in. She wore a maroon Banarasi sari, her uniform. ‘Aarti Pratap Pradhan – Guest Relations Trainee,’ her badge said.

  ‘Wow, you look so different,’ I said.

  ‘Different? Formal? Is that all you say?’ she mocked.

  ‘No … You look great. But I didn’t expect to see you in a sari,’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t expect what? That your stupid classmate from school could get a real job?’ she wiggled her eyebrows, hands on hips.

  ‘Yeah. You are quite stupid,’ I pretended to agree, which made her punch my arm playfully.

  We entered the hotel lobby. Construction workers were using noisy polishing machines on the already shiny Italian marble. Smell of paint pervaded the air. She took me to a restaurant with plush velvet chairs.

  ‘This will be our bar – Toxic.’

  The hotel would ensure that even as people visit
ed the city to wash their sins, they’d commit new ones. We walked around the hotel to see the rest of the facilities.

  ‘So, why won’t people tell me anything?’ she said.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘What happened between Raghav and you?’

  ‘The college didn’t like a story the newspaper did. He apologised. End of story.’

  I gave her a two-minute summary of what had happened, making her swear that she would never tell Raghav I told her. She told me she hadn’t even told Raghav she was meeting me, so there was no question of telling him anything. That’s what human relationships are about – selective sharing and hiding of information to the point of crazy confusion.

  We found ourselves in an ethnic-theme restaurant. ‘Aangan, for Indian cuisine,’ she explained. She took me to the gym next. I saw the treadmills with TVs attached to them.

  ‘Imported?’ I said.

  She nodded. ‘Sometimes I feel so guilty,’ she said. Girls can handle simultaneous multi-topic conversations with ease.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I spoilt your friendship with Raghav,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not true,’ I said.

  She sat down on a bench-press. I took a balancing ball and used it as a stool.

  ‘All three of us used to be friends in our childhood. What happened?’ she said, her eyes filling up.

  ‘Life,’ I said. ‘Life happened.’

  ‘Without me, things wouldn’t be so bad between the two of you,’ she said.

  ‘No, that’s not true. I didn’t deserve you. Raghav had nothing to do with it,’ I said.

  ‘Never say that,’ Aarti said, her voice echoing in the empty gym. ‘It’s not that you don’t deserve me. You are a great guy, Gopal. And we click so well.’

  ‘But you don’t feel that way about me, I know, I know. I am hungry. Where are we having lunch?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not like that with girls. It’s sometimes about timing, and sometimes about how much you push.’

  ‘I didn’t push enough for a relationship?’ I said.

  ‘You pushed too much,’ she said and wiped her eye.

  I didn’t know if I should console her. One, she belonged to someone else. Two, we sat at her workplace.

  I picked up a 20-pound dumbbell instead. I found it heavy. However, I pretended to lift it easily in front of Aarti. Raghav could probably lift twice as much, I thought. Why did I always compete with Raghav on every damn thing?

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry if I put too much pressure.’

  ‘You came at a time when I didn’t feel ready for anything. You wanted it too much. You wanted to lean on me. I didn’t think I could be a strong enough support.’

  ‘What is this? My performance evaluation day?’ I said. I did a set of five with the dumbbell before keeping it down.

  ‘I am just saying … I don’t know why. I guess I really need to talk.’

  ‘Or need to be heard,’ I said.

  We looked at each other.

  ‘Yes, exactly that. How well you know me, Gopal.’

  ‘Too well,’ I said and smiled.

  ‘You want to see the rooms before we have lunch?’ she said.

  ‘Sure. Where are we eating?’ I said.

  ‘At the staff canteen,’ she said.

  We took stainless-steel elevators to the third floor. She had a master key card to every room.

  ‘I am not supposed to bring anyone to the hotel, by the way,’ she confided.

  ‘So?’ I said, wondering if it meant we should leave.

  ‘I am telling you how important you are. I am risking my job for you.’

  ‘If they fire you, I will hire you.’

  Our eyes met. We burst into laughter. We had not shared such a moment in years. We used to laugh like this in school – in sync and for the silliest of things – a burping kid in class, her mimicking the teachers, me pretending to sleep during History period.

  She opened room number 3103. I had never seen anything so luxurious in my whole life. ‘Cool,’ I said.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ She sat on the large bed with its six cushions of bright red silk. ‘This bed is heaven! Sit and see.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I said.

  ‘Sit, no,’ she said.

  We sat next to each other, me on the edge of the bed.

  ‘It’s nice,’ I said, as if I was a mattress inspector by profession.

  ‘It’s more comfortable lying down,’ she said.

  I looked at her, aghast. She saw my expression and started to laugh, holding her stomach.

  ‘I am not saying let’s,’ she said. ‘Since when did you become so serious?’

  We spent the next twenty minutes playing around with light switches and bathroom taps. I had never been with her in a solitary place like this. It was going to my head. And I sensed a slight tension in the air. Maybe the tension was only on my side.

  ‘Let’s go.’ I checked my watch. I had to be back in the campus soon.

  ‘Okay,’ she said and shut the washbasin tap.

  We stepped out of the room. A man in a crisp new suit saw us come out.

  ‘Aarti?’ he said, surprised.

  The colour vanished from Aarti’s face.

  ‘Sir,’ she said. I read the tag on the man’s suit. Binayak Shastri, Banquet Manager.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he said.

  ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘this is Mr Gopal Mishra. He is a client.’

  ‘We haven’t opened yet,’ he said, still suspicious.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, offering him my hand. ‘I am the director of the GangaTech group of colleges.’

  He shook my hand.

  ‘We are thinking of doing a college event here,’ I said.

  We walked towards the elevator. I was hoping he would ask no further questions when he said, ‘What kind of event?’

  ‘A dinner for the top companies that we call for placement,’ I said.

  Aarti avoided eye contact with everyone.

  ‘Sure, we will be happy to assist you,’ Binayak said, as he handed me his card.

  I guessed that our staff-canteen lunch plan had to be dropped.

  ‘I am running late, but my team will get in touch with you,’ I said as we came to the lobby.

  Aarti gave me a professional smile and disappeared behind the reception desk. Binayak chose to wait with me till my car arrived.

  ‘How come you wanted to see the rooms?’ Binayak asked.

  ‘We will have guest faculty. Maybe from abroad,’ I said. At that moment, thankfully, my driver drove into the porch.

  24

  Over the next two months we managed to fill a hundred and eighty seats out of the two hundred in our first batch. For the first time, I actually handed money to Shukla-ji’s accountant. Many students paid their fee in cash. Farmers’ kids, in particular, brought money in gunny bags, with bundles of notes accumulated over the years.

  ‘Make my son an engineer,’ a farmer pleaded with folded hands.

  It made life so much easier. For the job and dowry market a B.Tech degree never hurt. Dean Shrivastava and his gang of twenty faculty members took care of the classes. I kept myself busy with projects such as getting the hostel mess operational, hiring new staff and ensuring that the remaining construction work continued as per schedule. I had a limited social life. Once a week I had dinner with faculty members, mostly to discuss work. A couple of times, I ended up at Shukla-ji’s place.

  ‘You are the director of the institute. How can you still stay in your tiny old house?’ he said one day, after too much whisky.

  ‘The faculty bungalow will be ready soon. I sleep in the office most of the days,’ I said.

  Aarti, however, had come back into my life, as the only non-work person I spent time with. Ramada opened, she joined work and sat prettily at the Guest Relations desk in the lobby. On her first day of work I sent her a box of chocolates and flowers. Maybe I sh
ouldn’t have, but I felt the day was important to her. I made sure the bouquet had only white roses for friendship – no red ones.

  Hey, thanx. Really sweeeet of u!! :) came her SMS.

  I read the message fifty times. I finally composed a reply. U r welcome. For a gr8 future career woman.

  She replied after ten minutes. Why r u being so nice to me?

  I had no answer. I used a women’s trick. When in doubt, send a smiley.

  I sent three. :) :) :)

  She messaged: Meet up after work? 7 p.m. CCD?

  Sure, I replied promptly.

  I drove down from the campus to Sigra to meet her. She told me about her day at work. She had helped settle five Germans into the hotel, arranged three cars for a ten-member Japanese delegation and sent a surprise birthday cake to an American in his room. She seemed happy. I didn’t think she missed being an air hostess.

  ‘So we met today. What do you do in the evenings otherwise?’ she said.

  ‘Not much. Stay on campus. Work,’ I said.

  ‘That’s horrible. What about friends?’ Aarti said.

  I shrugged. ‘I have colleagues in the college. That’s company enough.’

  She patted my hand. ‘You should have friends. Look at me, I have you.’

  ‘What about Raghav?’ I said.

  ‘He works late at the newspaper. He has no time …’ she said, withdrawing her hand. She did not tell me how Raghav would feel about our regular meetings, which is what I had really asked. She only told me Raghav would not find out.

  ‘You have to meet friends after work.’ She sounded like she was convincing herself.

  ‘I probably bore you to death with my hotel stories but …’

  ‘You never bore me. Even if you don’t say a word,’ I said.

  With that, Aarti and I became friends-who-meet-after-work. We met twice a week, sometimes thrice. We ate at new restaurants, visited cafés, took walks in the Ravidas Park and occasionally watched movies.

  We had some unspoken rules. We didn’t have long chats on the phone, and mostly texted each other. We never visited the past or talked about touchy topics. I would never touch her, even though she would sometimes hold my arm mid-conversation. At movie theatres, we would enter and leave separately. That’s what boys and girls did in Varanasi, anyway. When Raghav called, I would quietly step away so I couldn’t hear her. Finally, when Raghav finished work, she would leave.