Revolution 2020 (24 page)

‘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.

‘What?’
I said.

‘Give me a
puff.’

‘Are you
crazy?’

‘Why? Just
because I am a girl? True colours of a Varanasi man, eh?’

‘You will reek
of it.’

‘I’ll go
straight to the shower. And what are all the Banarasi paans for? I’ll
have a fragrant one before I go,’ she said.

I passed her the
joint. She took a few puffs. ‘It doesn’t seem to have any
effect on me,’ she grumbled.

We finished our tea
and stood up. She walked close to the water.

‘Come, let’s
see the aarti lamps in the water,’ she said.

‘It’s
late,’ I said. ‘We’d better go.’

‘I like it
here. Come,’ she said and sat on the sand. She patted the
ground next to her.

I sat down beside
her. ‘Your phone will ring again,’ I said.

‘Whatever,’
she said. ‘When he worked at
Dainik,
he never called.
Now it is a break, so he does. Wait until his
Revolution
2020
starts’

‘Is he serious
about it?’ I said disbelievingly.

‘Oh, yeah. The
first issue comes out in two weeks,’ she said.

I finished my joint
and contemplated the holy river. The world came to wash away their
sins in Varanasi. Did they ever stop to think about Varanasi for a
moment - about what its people would do with all the sins they left
behind? The grass had turned me philosophical.

I flexed my fingers,
preparing myself for the tough ride back. Aarti took my right hand
into her lap and started to massage it.

I looked at her in
surprise.

‘Nice?’
she said.

I didn’t say
anything. Not a thing. I didn’t withdraw my hand either. A full
moon emerged in the sky.

‘It’s
purnima,
she said softly.

The sand beneath us,
her face and the moonlight.... Suddenly she began to blink furiously.

‘You okay?’
I asked.

She shook her head,
still blinking. A particle of sand had blown into her eye. I withdrew
my hand from her grasp and cupped her face.

‘Open your
eyes,’ I said.

She shook her head
again.

‘Open, Aarti,’
I said. I cradled her head with both hands.

She opened her right
eye. I blew into it. ‘You okay?’ I said.

She nodded, her eyes
shut again. I heard her sniff.

‘Are you
hurt?’ I said.

She began to sob.
She rested her forehead on my shoulder.

‘What’s
wrong, Aarti?’

‘I’m
scared for Raghav. I hope he doesn’t fail in life.’

I held the back of
her head. She buried her face in my chest. It felt strange to console
her about her boyfriend. However, I liked the feel of her against me.

‘He’ll
be fine. I hate him, but Raghav is capable. He’ll be fine. He
is a little impractical but not bad at heart,’ I said.

She lifted her head,
her face turned up to me trustingly.

I stroked her hair.
'I miss how you cared for me,’ she said.

Our faces were only
a breath apart. The proximity stunned me. I couldn’t speak.

‘I have no one
to talk to when I am low. Thank you,’ she said.

Droplets from the
Ganga splattered on us. I felt compelled to move my face forward. My
lips met hers. She didn’t kiss me back. She didn’t move
away either. But soon - too soon - she pushed me away.

‘Gopal!’
she said.

I didn’t say
anything. I kind of expected it. In fact, I wanted her to yell at me
more.

‘I’m
sorry,’ I said. I looked away. In the distance I saw the aarti
diyas wobble on the water, as if admonishing me.

‘Let’s
go. I am late,’ she said. She was up in a split second and was
taking rapid strides towards the boat. I paid the tea-shop owner and
ran to catch up with her.

‘I have to row
you back. You can’t run away,’ I said.

She kept silent. She
refused to even look at me. Okay, I admit I had done wrong, but she
didn’t have to treat me like this. A few moments ago she had
massaged my hands and buried her face in my chest. She sat as far as
possible from me in the boat.

I slapped the oars
hard on the water as I rowed back,

‘I said sorry
already,’ I said midway.

‘Can we not
talk please?’ she said.

The boatman noticed
our sour moods.

‘Didn’t
like the
maal?'
Phoolchand asked. I didn’t respond.

Aarti walked on.

‘Where are you
going? I will drop you home,’ I said.

‘I’ll
take an auto,’ she said and disappeared from my sight.

Even Baba’s
death hadn’t left me so sleepless. But Aarti’s flight
from Assi had me staring at the office walls at 4 a.m. two nights
after the boat ride. I was too nervous to call or message her though
I could think of nothing but her. Her face, her drenched eyes and her
lips on mine ... I couldn’t focus on the contractors plans for
my upcoming bungalows bathrooms. I sat through faculty meetings like
a zombie, staring at my phone nonstop.

‘Expecting a
call, sir?’ Dean Shrivastava said.

I shook my head,
only to check my phone again.
How
can
god
give
girls
so
much
power?
How
can
they
turn
productive,
busy
and
ambitious
men
into
a
wilting
mass
of
uselessness.

‘Sir, so you
are okay with us conducting mid-terms next week?’ said Anmol,
the civil engineering professor.

‘Yes,’ I
managed to respond while wondering what I’d do if she didn’t
call
ever.

On my third
sleepless night my phone beeped at two in the morning.

A message from her:
Don't call or message me.

What made her send
this message? I hadn’t called or messaged.

I was sitting there
holding the phone when my phone beeped again.

Ever, said her next
message.

She
isn
’
t
sleeping
and
she
is
thinking
of
me
- my
optimistic, irrational brain kicked into action.
Why
did
she
send
these
messages?
What
do
they
mean
in
Girlese?
Since
Girlese
often
means
saying
the
opposite
of
what
is
meant,
did
this
mean
-
call
me?

Okay
, I
replied. I waited for an hour but got no response.

Soon I drifted off
into a dream about boat rides.

                                                        ♦

A fluorescent pink
A3-sized sheet fell out of the morning paper. I thought it was a
flyer for a travel agency or tuition classes. However, it had a
masthead like a newspaper. Aha, I smirked, Raghav’s attempt to
change the world.

Revolution
2020,
it said in big, bold font. Below was a letter from
the editor, headlined: ‘
Because
Enough
is
Enough
’
.
I read on.

What do you say
about a society whose top leaders are the biggest crooks? What do you
do in a system where almost anyone with power is corrupt? India has
suffered enough. From childhood we are told India is a poor country.
Why? There are countries in this world where an average person makes
more than fifty times that an average Indian makes. Fifty times? Are
their people really fifty times more capable than us? Does an Indian
farmer not work hard? Does an Indian student not study? Do we not
want to do well? Why, why are we then doomed to be poor?

I laughed at Raghavs
self-indulgent trip. I sipped my morning tea and continued to read.

This has to stop. We
have to clean the system. Che Guevara, the great revolutionary, once
said, ‘Power is not an apple that falls from a tree into your
lap. Power has to be snatched from people who already have it.’
We have to start a revolution, a revolution that resets our corrupt
system. A system that shifts power back into the hands of the people,
and treats politicians like workers, not kings.

Of course, this wont
happen overnight. This also won’t happen until the real
suffering begins. As India’s young population increases, we
will need more good colleges and jobs. Soon, there won’t be
enough. People will realise who is fooling them. It could take ten
years. I call it Revolution 2020, the year in which it will

happen, the movement
that will finally shake the muck off India. When the Internet will
connect all colleges across the country. When we will go on strike,
shut down everything, until things are fixed. When young people will
leave their classes and offices and come on to the streets. When
Indians will get justice and the guilty will be punished.

And it will all
begin in Varanasi. For that reason, we bring you
Revolution
2020.

Yours truly,

Raghav Kashyap

Editor

I smiled as I saw a
crudely sketched map of India under the article. It had a dot on
Varanasi, with arrows connecting it to various cities. The map had a
little ‘Revolution 2020 potential plan attached to it. In
various cities, it listed the main colleges that would lead the
revolution there.

My accountant came
into my office for my signatures on the month-end accounts. My amused
expression puzzled him.

‘What
happened, sir? Reading jokes?’ he said.

I nodded.

The front page also
carried an expose on cremation shops in Varanasi selling ordinary
wood as sandalwood after spraying it with synthetic perfume.

My accountant saw
the pink-coloured paper.

‘Is this an
ad? A poster?’ he said.

‘I have no
idea,’ I said.

I turned over the
Revolution
2020
page and couldn’t help but
laugh. In contrast to the bombast in the front, the back page had
matrimonial ads! I read one out aloud.

‘Wanted
beautiful/educated/fair/homely virgin for twenty-five-year Kayasth
Brahmin engineer working in stable government job. Girl must be
willing to stay in joint family and respect traditional values’.

I handed Raghav’s
paper to my accountant.

‘Searching for
a girl, sir?’ he said.

I looked how I felt
- offended.

‘Sorry, sir,’
he said. ‘Sir, we have more requests for admissions,’ he
sought to change the subject.

‘We are full,’
I said, ‘you know that. We have as many students as we are
authorised to take.’

‘Sir, if the
AICTE can adjust...’

I sighed. ‘How
many more?’

‘Five, ten
...’ he said. ‘Twenty at the most.’

‘Take them
in,’ I said. ‘I’ll manage the AICTE when the time
comes.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ he said and left the office.

I picked up the pink
rag, ripped it apart, bundled up the shreds and threw them in the
dustbin.

                                                          ♦

Every Friday I made
rounds of the classes. I kept a three-day stubble to look old enough
to be a director. I entered a classroom where a maths class was in
progress.

The professor
stopped lecturing when he sighted me. The entire class of forty
students stood up. It felt good. I could go to any of the eight
classrooms and the same would happen. Money, status and power
-however evil people may say these are - get you respect in life. A
few years back I was begging at career fairs for an admission. Today,
hundreds stood up to attention when I arrived.

‘Good
afternoon, Director sir,’ the professor said.

I nodded in
response. A boy in an ill-fitting shirt in the front row blinked
rapidly when I addressed him. ‘What is your name?’