Revolution Twenty20

by Chetan Bhagat

  ‘Why fifteen? When there is thirty, why would we take fifteen?’ Shukla-ji said.

  I felt overwhelmed with emotion. For the first time in my life a powerful person had shown support for me. I missed out that he said ‘we’.

  Sunil gave me a smug smile. He had brought me to the right place.

  ‘Fifteen is enough, sir,’ I said, not sure how we would get even that.

  ‘Thirty. Keep the remaining for later. It is close to the city … Once the college opens and the airport is built, we may even get residential or commercial zoning,’ Shukla-ji said.

  I didn’t really understand what he said but I figured he knew more than me. Besides, he seemed to be on my side.

  ‘But how will we get this?’ I said. My uncle had been sitting on the property for years.

  ‘You leave that to us,’ Shukla-ji said. ‘You tell me this, can you run a college?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, because you will be the face and name of the college. I will be a silent partner,’ he said.

  ‘But how?’ I said. ‘I have no experience. I have no money.’

  ‘Mr Bedi will give you the experience. I will give you the money for construction and everything else.’

  I am missing something here. Why had the world suddenly decided to help me? What’s the catch?

  Sunil understood my dilemma.

  ‘Shukla-ji sir, if you could tell him your terms. And of course, whatever you feel is good for me,’ Sunil said and gave an obsequious grin.

  ‘I don’t want anything. Open a college, it is good for my city,’ Shukla-ji said.

  Nobody believed him. Yet, we had to indulge him. ‘Sir, please,’ Sunil said, ‘that won’t be fair.’

  ‘I’ll think about my terms. But tell me, boy, are you up to it?’ Shukla-ji looked at me. I think I grew older by ten years under that gaze.

  I hid my hesitation as much as possible. ‘How about we get the land and just sell it?’ I said.

  ‘It is tough to sell the land with all the past cases,’ Shukla-ji said. ‘It is one thing to get possession for you, quite another to find a new buyer.’

  ‘Exactly. The cases, how do we fix them?’ I said.

  Shukla-ji laughed. ‘We don’t fix cases. We fix the people in the cases.’

  The MLA had laughed, but his eyes showed a firm resolve. He seemed like the kind of guy who could fix people. And more than acquiring the land, I wanted to teach my relatives a lesson.

  ‘If you can fix them, you can take whatever share you want,’ I said.

  ‘Fifteen acres for me,’ Shukla-ji said. ‘I will keep it until the area gets re-zoned to commercial or residential. We will make the college in the other fifteen.’

  ‘How much ownership in the college do you want?’ I said.

  ‘Whatever you want. College is a trust, no profit there,’ Shukla-ji said with no particular expression.

  ‘Really?’ I said, surprised.

  ‘It is true,’ Bedi spoke after a long time. ‘Every college must be incorporated as a non-profit trust. There are no shareholders, only trustees.’

  ‘Why would a private player open a non-profit college?’ I said.

  Bedi took a deep breath before he proceeded to explain. ‘Well, you take a profit. The trustees can take out cash from the trust, showing it as an expense. Or take some fee in cash, and not account for it. Or ask a contractor to pay you back a portion of what you pay them. There are many more ways …’

  Bedi continued speaking till I interrupted him. ‘Wait a minute, aren’t these illegal methods?’

  Everyone fell silent.

  Shukla-ji spoke after a while. ‘I don’t think this boy can do it. You have wasted my time.’

  Bedi and Sunil hung their heads in shame. I had let them down with my curiosity about propriety.

  ‘I am sorry, I am only trying to understand,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ Bedi said, his tone irritated.

  ‘Are you telling me that the only way to make money from a college is through illegal methods? Sorry, I am not being moral, only questioning.’

  ‘Well,’ Bedi said, ‘you are not actually supposed to make money.’

  ‘So why would anybody open one?’ I said.

  ‘For the benefit of society, like us politicians,’ Shukla-ji said.

  Everyone but me broke into laughter. I guess the joke was on stupid, naïve me.

  ‘Listen, Gopal,’ Sunil said, ‘that is how the rules are. They are stupid. Now you can either figure out a way around them, or remain clueless. There has to be a trust, you and Shukla-ji sir will be trustees. Bedi will explain everything.’

  Bedi gave me a reassuring nod. Yes, the man knew the system, and how to bend it.

  ‘Mr Bedi, also explain to the boy not to question legality much. Education is not the business for him then,’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘Of course,’ Bedi smiled. ‘Shukla sir, taking money out of the trust is the least of the problems. What about all the permissions and approvals required? Every step requires special management.’

  ‘So that’s what the boy has to do. I am not visible in this. I am only the trustee, to benefit society,’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘Do what?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry, I will explain it,’ Bedi said. ‘You need Varanasi Nagar Nigam’s approval for the building plans, AICTE approval for the college. There are inspections. Everyone has to be taken care of. It is standard.’

  ‘Bribes?’ I said.

  ‘Shh!’ Shukla-ji reprimanded. ‘Don’t mention all this here. You do your discussions outside. Leave now.’

  We stood up to go.

  ‘Stay for a minute, Gopal,’ the MLA said.

  ‘Yes?’ I said after Sunil and Bedi had left the room.

  ‘Will you do what it takes?’ Shukla-ji said, ‘I don’t want to waste my time otherwise. Tell me now if you want to quit.’

  I paused to think. ‘It’s not easy,’ I admitted.

  ‘It is never easy to become a big man in life,’ Shukla-ji said.

  I kept quiet.

  ‘You want to be a big man, Gopal?’

  I continued to look down. I examined the black and white patterns on the Italian marble floor.

  ‘Or you want to remain an average kid while your friends race ahead of you.’

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. I looked up to make eye contact with him.

  ‘You have a girlfriend, Gopal?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You know why? Because you are a nobody.’

  I nodded. The memory of Aarti and Raghav kissing each other passionately in the BHU car park flashed through my mind. If I had made it to BHU and Raghav had gone to Kota, would her decision have been different? I saw Shukla-ji. Every inch of him felt wrong. But he offered me a chance. A job, an admission, a fucking chance, that is all one needs in life sometimes.

  ‘I’ll do it. It isn’t like I am the only guy in India paying bribes,’ I said. ‘But I want to be big.’

  Shukla-ji stood up. He came around his desk and patted my back. ‘You are already a big man,’ he said, ‘because you have me behind you. Now go, and leave your harami uncle’s details with my secretary outside.’

  ‘What about the money I owe your people,’ I said.

  ‘Two lakhs? It’s a joke for me, forget it,’ Shukla-ji said. He went back to his desk and opened a drawer. He took out two bundles of ten-thousand rupees and tossed them at me. ‘One for Sunil, the other for you,’ he said.

  ‘Why for me?’ I asked.

  ‘For running my college, Director sir.’ He grinned.

  16

  I accepted Shukla-ji’s ten thousand bucks, if only to pay for basic necessities. I allowed myself one indulgence – I took Aarti out for dinner to Taj Ganga, the most expensive restaurant in town.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Aarti asked again, as we entered the coffee shop at the Taj. ‘We could always eat chaat at the ghats.’

  She wore a new full length, dark blue dress her relatives ha
d sent from the US. She had matched it with fake, understated gold jewellery purchased from Vishwanath Gali.

  ‘My treat,’ I said.

  The waiter pulled out a chair for Aarti. She thanked him as we sat down. Aarti wanted to watch her weight but eat chocolate cake too. We decided to have soup and salad for dinner so we could save calories for dessert.

  She stirred the hot soup with a spoon. ‘Sorry, but how did you get the money for this? Baba left you a huge will?’

  I laughed. ‘No, he left me loans.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘I am starting a new business.’

  ‘Smuggling?’ Aarti inclined her head to one side.

  ‘Shut up. I am opening a college.’

  ‘What?’ Aarti said, loud enough for the entire place to hear.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Did you say you are opening a college?’

  ‘Yeah, on my disputed land.’

  ‘How? Isn’t the land stuck? And how will you make the college?’

  ‘I have partners. Good partners.’

  ‘Who?’ Aarti said.

  ‘I’ll tell you. We are finalising plans.’

  ‘Really?’ Aarti said. ‘Oh, so you are serious?’

  ‘Yeah, it is fifteen acres right outside the city. If we settle the dispute and get re-zoning done, it is ideal for a college,’ I repeated Bedi’s words.

  ‘Wow,’ Aarti said and chuckled. ‘You are hitting the big time, Gopal.’

  She meant it as a joke, but it hurt a little. ‘Why? You didn’t think I could?’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ Aarti said. ‘I am just … surprised.’

  ‘I have to do something in life.’

  ‘Sure. You will do more than something. What about your uncle?’

  ‘We are trying to reach an amicable settlement with him,’ I said.

  Shukla’s men, who handled the loan-shark business, had initiated the settlement process with Ghanshyam taya-ji. Amicable is not the word one could use to describe their methods.

  They had visited my uncle’s house thrice. The first time they emptied a bottle of goat’s blood in his front balcony. The second time they stabbed all the sofas and beds in the house with an assortment of knives. The third time, when they finally spoke, they brought out guns and proposed to buy off my uncle’s share of disputed land for eight lakh rupees.

  I did not want to give Aarti all these extra details.

  ‘What kind of college?’ she said.

  ‘Engineering.’

  ‘Cool,’ Aarti said.

  ‘If I want to be a big man, I have to do big things,’ I said.

  ‘You were always a big man to me, Gopal. You know why?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you have a big heart.’ Aarti lightly stroked my hand on the table.

  My heart, big or small, skipped a beat at her touch. I quickly launched into small talk. ‘How are things with you? How’s college?’

  ‘B-o-r-ing. But I am joining an aviation academy.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘They train you to become a flight attendant. The classrooms look like the interiors of a plane.’

  ‘Really?’ I mused, ‘There is so much happening in education.’

  ‘Yeah, most of us only get to be students. Not everyone can open a college,’ she teased.

  I smiled. ‘Long way to go. It’s difficult,’ I said.

  ‘You have faced more difficult things in life before. You will make it,’ Aarti said confidently.

  ‘You think so?’ I said.

  She nodded. Her nod meant the world to me. I wanted to ask her to date me again. Somehow I thought with my new college plan she might be inclined to say yes. Of course, only my brain comes up with such flimsy theories.

  ‘How’s Raghav?’ I asked, to bring myself back to reality.

  ‘A bit low, actually,’ she said.

  I felt a warm glow. ‘Really? Why?’ I expressed fake concern.

  ‘He lost university elections for general secretary.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It did to him. He lost because he wouldn’t horse-trade with other hostels. He wanted to fight fair.’

  ‘I’m not surprised he lost,’ I said, spearing a carrot.

  ‘He believes one has to be fair and win. Else, what is the point of winning?’ Aarti said.

  ‘Life doesn’t work like that, does it?’ I said, chewing slowly.

  ‘I don’t know. That is how it should work,’ Aarti said. ‘He’s going to contest again next year.’

  ‘Doesn’t he do too much?’ I said.

  ‘Oh yeah, between his BTech course, magazine and elections, he hardly has any time for me.’

  ‘And you like that?’

  ‘No, but I have no choice. If it makes him happy, so be it.’

  We finished our dinner. The chocolate cake arrived. Her eyes lit up. She pulled the plate towards herself. ‘Don’t steal my cake,’ she said and grinned.

  ‘Raghav is such a lucky guy to have you, Aarti,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said and gave a shy smile.

  ‘Aarti, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Yeah?’ She looked at me, her spoon poised above the cake.

  ‘Nothing, leave some cake for me if you can,’ I said and signalled for the bill.

  The doorbell woke me at midnight. I rubbed my eyes and reached for the door, still half asleep. My uncle, aunt and their son, my thirty-year-old cousin Ajay, stood outside.

  ‘Ghanshyam taya-ji?’ I said. ‘What happened? Please come in.’

  My relatives sat on the torn sofa in the front room. They didn’t speak for five minutes.

  ‘You have not come so late because you missed me, right?’ I said.

  ‘Why are you doing this to us?’ Ajay exploded.

  ‘Doing what?’ I said. ‘Do you want water? Tea?’

  ‘No,’ my uncle said. ‘Gopal, pay attention to your karma. God is watching. You will have to pay one day. Do not do this to us.’

  ‘Do what?’ I said. And why had they come at this time of the night?

  ‘Bittoo hasn’t come home from nursery school,’ my aunt said and burst into tears. This time they seemed real, unlike the crocodile ones at Baba’s funeral.

  They had come home because Bittoo, Ajay’s four-year-old son whom I had seen only once (in his mother’s lap, at my father’s funeral), was missing.

  ‘Oh, that is terrible,’ I said. ‘And this is about my karma?’

  ‘It’s those people, who want to buy the land,’ my uncle said. ‘We know they are with you.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said.

  My uncle folded his hands. ‘Don’t do this to us,’ he said.

  ‘I am not doing anything. Some people came to me to buy the land too. But I told them I cannot sell it,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’ Ajay said.

  ‘How can I? It’s disputed, right?’ I said.

  ‘But the people who came to us don’t want to buy. They want us to settle the bank cases, settle the dispute and give it all to you,’ uncle said.

  ‘That’s strange. So now the question is – do you value the land more or Bittoo? Correct?’

  ‘Shut up,’ Ajay said. ‘We know it is you who wants to buy it.’

  ‘I don’t have money to buy food. How can I buy land?’ I scratched my head.

  ‘Who are these people?’ my uncle said.

  ‘I don’t know. You can go to the police,’ I said, ‘but they sound like crooks.’

  ‘Avoid the police,’ my aunt said.

  ‘They can do anything. Bittoo is a little, young thing, it won’t be difficult to hide his body. Anyway, it is Varanasi, dead bodies are easy to dispose of,’ I said.

  Ajay jumped up from the sofa and grabbed my collar. ‘I know you are involved. Your father was straight, you are not,’ he said, his eyes wild.

  ‘Leave my collar, brother, right now,’ I said in a calm but firm tone.

  Ajay’s mot
her tugged at her son’s hand. Ajay released me.

  ‘What are they offering?’ I said.

  ‘Eight lakhs,’ my uncle said.

  ‘That’s not bad,’ I said.

  ‘That’s a fraction of the market price.’

  ‘But more than double of what you offered me,’ I said.

  ‘You are involved.’ Ajay glared at me.

  ‘Go home, taya-ji, and think it over. We all love Bittoo more than the land.’

  ‘Why is this happening to us?’ my aunt exclaimed at the door.

  ‘It’s all karma. Taya-ji will explain it to you.’ I smiled as I shut the door.

  It took three nights without Bittoo to make my relatives realise the value of the eight-lakh offer. I received a call from the MLA’s office when Mr Ghanshyam Mishra and Mr Ajay Mishra signed the papers.

  ‘Sharma here, PA to Shukla-ji,’ the caller said. ‘MLA sahib has invited you for dinner tonight.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Shukla-ji said as we clinked our whisky glasses together.

  Bedi, Sunil and I sat with him in his huge living room. It had three separate seating areas with plush velvet sofas, coffee tables and elaborate lamps and chandeliers. Three waiters served kebabs, nuts and mini-samosas in napkin-lined china plates. I noticed pictures of Shukla-ji’s family on the wall.

  ‘Nikhil and Akhil, my sons,’ Shukla-ji said. ‘Both are studying in the US. Will keep them away for a while.’

  Some said Shukla-ji was divorced. Others said he had another family in Lucknow. I didn’t feel the need to know.

  ‘Land is a big step,’ Bedi said grimly. ‘But there’s a long way to go. We are meeting the VNN people next week. Meanwhile, we should take care of the trust formalities.’

  Bedi explained how VNN, or the municipality, would give us the crucial agricultural-to-educational land re-zoning permit and clear plans so we can commence construction.

  ‘Get the re-zoning done soon. I’ve not paid eight lakhs for the land to grow rice,’ Shukla-ji said.

  ‘We will,’ Bedi said. ‘They know who is behind this. You are not a small entity, sir.’

  ‘That is true,’ Shukla-ji said in a dismissive tone to Bedi for stating the obvious. ‘But we have to take care of VNN, no?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Bedi said. ‘It’s re-zoning. The land value multiplies five times. Not cheap.’

  ‘How much?’ Shukla-ji said.