I couldn’t figure out why I’d started to hang out with her. I had become a buffer until her boyfriend got free from work. I guess I wanted a break from work too. And, of course, when it came to Aarti, my reasons went for a toss anyway.
‘So, Raghav has no idea we meet?’ I asked her one day.
She shook her head, and wiped her coffee moustache.
Raghav stayed out of my life after the inauguration day debacle. However, he couldn’t stay off his old tricks for long.
‘Varanasi Nagar Nigam eats, builder cheats’
Raghav Kashyap, Staff Reporter
I woke up to this headline a month after we opened. He often wrote about black-marketeer ration shop owners, LPG cylinders sold illegally, the RTO officer taking bribes and other routine Indian things nobody gives a fuck about. I would have ignored this article too, had he not mentioned GangaTech.
I skimmed a few lines.
The article said, ‘Surprisingly the inappropriate approvals and the resultant illegal construction are right there in front of our eyes. Unlike other corruption cases where the wrongdoing is hidden (like the Ganga Action Plan scam), here the proof is for all to see. Farms are turned into colleges, which then flout all norms to construct as much as possible. Colleges will soon have malls next-door. Politicians, meant to protect us and prevent all this, are often the culprits. This is not all, the city has new hotels, residential towers and office buildings where the VNN has taken its cut. We have proof to compare the vast difference between what is allowable and what VNN approved …’
A box next to the article listed the controversial approvals.
I read the list:
The V-CON apartment building, a ten-storey tower on a low-flying zone.
Hotel Vento, construction of which has taken over a neighbourhood park.
GangaTech College – Farmland mysteriously approved. College buildings constructed beyond permissible floor-space index.
I threw the newspaper away. I had improved my relations with Shukla-ji with great difficulty. I had told him that the reporter had apologised to me and that this would never happen again. I knew Raghav was taking revenge for the ‘sorry’ that day. He must have obtained GangaTech’s building plan from his shady sources in VNN.
I took out my phone. Before I could call him, however, Shukla-ji called me.
‘I don’t know how this happened,’ I said.
‘Behenchods these Dainik people are,’ Shukla-ji said.
‘This reporter has to stop …’ I said.
‘It’s not the reporter. The opposition must be doing this.’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Or maybe someone in my own party? Jealous bastards wanting to spoil my name.’
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
‘What?’
‘It is the reporter. I know him from before. He’s the crusader-activist types. Plus, he had to apologise to me. He is taking revenge.’
‘Who?’
‘Raghav Kashyap, the name is there in the article.’
‘I’ll fuck his happiness,’ Shukla-ji said.
‘Should I call him?’ I said.
‘Don’t. I’ll speak to his seniors.’
I said, ‘What about the article. Does it affect us?’
‘If VNN calls, direct them to me,’ Shukla-ji said.
No VNN officials called. Instead, they came straight to my college. The officials didn’t come alone, they came with two bulldozers.
Students peeped from classroom windows as the sounds of the earthmover disrupted classes. I came running to the gate.
‘Open the gates, we have come for demolition,’ said a man wearing cheap sunglasses and a yellow plastic helmet.
‘What?’ I said.
‘We have orders,’ said the VNN official. He took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
My heart beat fast. ‘What will you demolish?’
‘The main building. There’s illegal construction here,’ he said, his tone defiant.
The harsh morning sun hit our faces. ‘Can we talk?’ I said.
He shook his head.
I took out my phone. I called Shukla-ji. He didn’t answer.
‘This is MLA Shukla’s college. What is your name, sir?’ I said.
‘Rao. I am Amrit Rao. I don’t care whether you say MLA or PM.’
I coaxed him to be patient for ten minutes. He turned the ignition off on the bulldozers. I asked the peon to get soft drinks with ice for everyone. I continued to try Shukla-ji’s number. He answered at the eighth attempt.
‘What is it, Gopal? I had to call the CM. These stupid articles are the biggest headaches.’
‘Sir, we have bulldozers here.’
‘What?’ Shukla-ji said.
I handed the phone to Rao, who repeated his mission to the MLA. However, he became silent as the MLA spoke at the other end. Rao stepped aside to have a lengthy animated conversation with Shukla-ji for ten minutes.
Rao returned my phone. ‘Here, Shukla-ji wants to speak to you.’
‘Sir?’ I said, still dazed.
‘How much cash do you have in the office?’ Shukla-ji wanted to know.
‘Not sure, sir. Around two lakhs in the safe.’
‘Give it to him. Put the notes in an empty cement bag, topped up with sand.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
‘His colleagues should not see it. He has a solid reputation.’
‘Okay, sir.’
‘And he has to break something. He can’t go back without demolition pictures.’
‘What?’
‘Is there anything partially constructed you don’t need immediately?’
‘Sir, the students are going to see the demolition,’ I said.
‘No choice. This reporter friend of yours has kicked us right in the …’
‘He’s no longer a friend, sir,’ I said.
‘He’s fucked. Anyway, tell me what can be broken easily and will cost the least to fix?’
‘The machining lab. We can put the machines somewhere else,’ I said.
‘Do that. Then draw a cross sign with chalk outside the lab. Let them do the rest. Don’t forget the cement bag.’ Shukla-ji hung up.
I signalled the security guard to open the gates. Rao gave me an oily smile.
25
‘I can’t do a movie today. I have to leave in ten minutes.’ Aarti frowned as she stepped into my Innova.
I had come to pick her up at the hotel with tickets for the 7.30 p.m. show of Rock On.
‘Can you get a refund?’
I tore up the tickets.
‘Gopal!’ she said. ‘What are you doing? You shouldn’t have bought tickets without asking me.’
‘Why are you distraught?’
‘It’s about Raghav. I have to be with him.’
‘What?’ I said.
‘Don’t talk about Raghav. Whose rule is that, Mr Mishra?’
‘Mine. But I want to know why you are cancelling the plan.’
‘I’ll tell you. Can you drop me home?’
‘DM’s bungalow,’ I told the driver.
‘Keep it to yourself, okay?’ Aarti said. ‘He told me not to tell anyone. I can trust you, right?’
‘Do I have to answer that?’ I said.
‘Fine. Raghav lost his job,’ she said.
‘What?’ I said. A surge of warm joy ran through me.
‘I’m shocked. Dainik considered him a star reporter,’ Aarti said.
‘Did they give a reason?’ I said. The reason was sitting next to her.
‘I don’t know. He didn’t say. He just said the management asked him to leave.’
‘Recession?’ I said in a mock-concerned voice. ‘They cut staff in tough times to save costs.’
‘How much can you save by firing a trainee reporter? And Dainik is doing well.’
The car reached Aarti’s home.
‘Is he at your place?’ I said as she stepped out.
She shook her head. ‘I�
�ll go meet him. I wanted to come home and change.’
‘How did he sound? Upset?’ I said.
‘Very, very angry,’ Aarti said and rushed off.
I shouldn’t have called him. However, I couldn’t resist calling Raghav at midnight. I wanted to see if he would remain defiant in his unemployed state. I held a tall whisky glass in my right hand and the phone in my left.
I thought he wouldn’t take my call. However, he picked it up soon enough.
‘Do you need another apology?’ were his first words.
‘Hi, Raghav,’ I said, my voice calm. ‘How are things?’
‘Quite good. What is bothering you that you called?’
‘Don’t be upset with me,’ I said.
‘You only get upset with people you care about,’ Raghav said.
‘You cared about your job’.
‘Bye, Gopal,’ he said.
‘I told you not to write shit about us,’ I said.
‘I don’t need to ask you how to do my job.’
I took a big gulp of whisky. ‘Oh yeah, how can you? BHU pass-out, taking advice from an uneducated man like me.’
He remained silent as I filled my glass again. The whisky made me feel more confident than ever before.
‘It’s not about education, Gopal. It’s the person you have become. I can’t believe it!’
‘Rich. Successful. Hard to believe, huh? The person who cleared JEE is unemployed.’
‘I’ll find a job, Gopal. And tell that MLA of yours – just because he could get a trainee fired from Dainik doesn’t mean he can silence the truth.’
‘I could give you a job, Raghav. Want to work for me?’
I only heard a click in response.
‘Revolution 2020,’ Aarti said, chin in hands and both her elbows on the table.
We had come to the Ramada Hotel coffee shop. It was an off-day for her. She could visit the restaurants as a customer in regular civilian clothes. Waiters smiled at her in recognition, and she greeted them back. Ever since Raghav lost his job, she hadn’t met me too often as she wanted to be with him. Finally, on her weekly holiday I coaxed her to meet up.
‘What’s that?’ I said.
‘Don’t ask questions. Revolution 2020 – when I say this to you, what comes to your mind? What could it be?’
She blinked a couple of times as she waited for me to reply. I noticed how appealing she looked even in a simple orange T-shirt and black jeans.
‘A new restaurant? Is Ramada opening one?’
She laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ I said. ‘What is this Revolution 2020?’
‘It’s a new newspaper. Raghav’s.’
‘His own newspaper?’ I said, startled.
‘Yeah. He decided not to take up another job.’
Even if he wanted Raghav could not get a media job in Varanasi, at least in the top papers. Shukla-ji had informed all the major editors. Aarti, of course, didn’t know this. She didn’t even know why Raghav had lost his job.
‘Raghav said Dainik didn’t give him a reason. Is that fair?’ she said.
‘There’s politics in organisations. He will learn to fit in,’ I said.
‘He doesn’t want to fit in. He wants to change journalism. Give it some teeth,’ Aarti said.
We ordered our coffee. Alongside, the waiters also gave us freshly baked cookies and muffins.
‘Did we order all this?’ I said.
‘Contacts,’ she said and winked at me.
‘How can he start a newspaper?’ I said. ‘You need money.’
‘It’s not money. It’s the content that matters,’ Aarti said and took a sip. A sliver of foam was left behind on her lip.
‘Aarti, you really believe this? You are a practical girl.’
‘It’s fine, Gopal. You opened a college. Why can’t he do this?’
‘I had a backer – MLA Shukla, who had cash and connections.’
‘He hates him. Raghav says Shukla is the most corrupt leader Varanasi has ever had,’ Aarti said.
‘That’s speculation,’ I said. ‘Is there any successful person who hasn’t been criticised? Shukla is high-profile and rising. People are trying to bring him down.’
‘Okay, can we please not discuss politics?’ Aarti said. ‘The political gene ended in my family with my grandfather.’
‘You could join,’ I said. ‘People still remember your grandfather.’
She raised her hand and pumped her fist to make a mock-slogan gesture. ‘Vote for me, I will give you free cookies with coffee.’ She smiled. ‘No, thanks. I am happy in Ramada.’
I smiled back. ‘Anyway, so how exactly is he going to start his … revolving what?’
‘Revolution 2020. That’s his goal. That India must have a full-blown revolution by 2020. Power will be with the youth. We will dismantle the old corrupt system and put a new one in place.’
‘And he’s going to do that from Varanasi?’ I sounded as skeptical as I felt.
‘Yes, of course. Kids from big cities are cushioned against the system. They have decent colleges, get good breaks. The revolution has to start from a small city.’
‘He’s definitely got you on board,’ I said.
‘What better place to start than the city that cleanses?’ she said.
She spoke in an enthusiastic voice. Maybe this was what she liked about Raghav. His passionate approach to life, even if it was outlandish and fantastic. Girls don’t like reality that much. Or practical questions.
‘How does this newspaper work? Who pays for the printing, paper and promotion while the revolution comes?’
She sobered quickly. ‘So it isn’t exactly a newspaper to start with. It is like a newsletter. Just one big sheet.’
‘Okay?’ I egged her on.
‘On one side of the paper will be matrimonials. People from Varanasi love fixing marriages. So he will put ads for local brides and grooms on that side. Free at first, and charge later. Maybe some job ads too.’
‘Why wouldn’t people advertise in established newspapers?’
‘Revolution 2020 ads will cost much lower and will be extremely local. You can find brides and grooms down your own street.’
I nodded.
‘On the other side, Raghav will do local news stories. And since it is not a proper newspaper, he can be edgier and do more sting operations.’
‘He loves doing that,’ I agreed.
‘So that’s it. Printing costs are low, as there is only one big sheet to begin with. He will contact temples for the initial ads, so let’s see. Do you like the name?’
I shrugged my shoulders. She bit into a muffin.
‘Everyone has their thing, Gopal,’ Aarti said, her mouth full. ‘You have your college. This is his.’
‘It will never make money,’ I said.
‘So?’ She waved her muffin at me. ‘Money isn’t everything.’
‘Easy to say that when you are eating cakes in a five-star hotel,’ I said.
She grinned and kept her muffin down.
‘I like money,’ I said.
‘Nothing wrong with that. My deal is simple. Money or revolution, everyone should follow their heart.’
‘Sometimes your heart can lead you to a dead end,’ I said.
She paused and looked at me as she digested my statement. ‘Ahh,’ she pretended to marvel, ‘nice. Striking below the belt again, are we?’
‘Of course not,’ I said. I asked for the bill, which came with a twenty per cent staff discount.
We came to the lobby. ‘Do you have to leave soon?’ I said.
‘Not super-soon, why?’
‘I haven’t rowed for a year,’ I said.
26
Phoolchand, my favourite Assi Ghat boatman, recognised me from a distance. He looked amused to see me in a formal suit. He untied the boat for us. I helped Aarti on board and tipped him an extra hundred bucks. He slid a small paper packet in my hand.
‘What’s this?’
‘Good stuff. I
have sourced it from the Aghori sadhus. You have a matchbox?’
I understood what he had given me. Aarti did too, and gave me a sly smile. I bought a few cigarettes and matchbox from the paan shop.
I dipped the oars into the water, and together Aarti and I floated away.
‘It’s been ages. I have missed this, Raghav,’ she said.
‘Gopal,’ I corrected without looking at her.
‘What? Did I say Raghav? Oh, sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to …’
‘It’s okay,’ I said.
I rowed to the opposite bank of the river. The oars felt rough. My arms were not as strong as they used to be, when I did this on a regular basis. The main ghats of Varanasi are packed end to end with temples and ancient structures. The soft sandy shore on the other side of the river looked desolate. A small tea kiosk was the lone hub; it served the occasional tourists who went there on a boat. I anchored the boat to a tree stump. The evening sun turned the Varanasi skyline orange.
‘Let’s take a walk,’ said Aarti, raising her face to feel the breeze.
We viewed the buzzing ghats on the opposite side. We could see the frantic activity, but not hear a thing. We strolled for a while, then went to the kiosk and sat on stools to order tea.
‘Are you going to smoke what Phoolchand gave you?’
‘If you don’t mind,’ I said.
She shrugged. I opened the pack of cigarettes. I teased the tobacco out of one of them, and pushed the dried marijuana in. I lit it and took a puff.
‘May I try?’ she said.
I shook my head.
Her phone rang. She took it out from her bag. The screen flashed ‘Raghav calling’.
‘Shh! Quiet,’ she signalled to me. ‘Hi,’ she said into the phone. She listened as Raghav spoke for a while.
‘That’s great. Yes, put the pandit-ji’s picture in the paper. He will be so happy. He will give you all the marriage listings,’ she said and grinned.
‘Yes,’ she continued, ‘still at the hotel. This is a terrible industry, they make you work on an off-day … Yes, a whole bus of French tourists has arrived.’
She mimed at me to be patient. I nodded as I watched the sky turn dark.
‘Yes, baby, I miss you,’ Aarti signed off. She reached for the joint.
Revolution 2020: Love, Corruption, Ambition Page 18
