The 3 Mistakes Of My Life (24 page)

up man like him to cry. However, it was even harder to work for months and lose

an election. We stood outside the counting booths. Electoral officers were still

tallying the last few votes, though the secular party had already started rolling

drumbeats outside.

'Look at the Belrampur votes,' Mama pointed to the ballot boxes. 'Clean sweep

for the Hindu party. That's my area. The two other neighbourhoods given to me,

we won majority votes there, too.'

His group of a dozen twenty-something supporters held their heads down.

'And look what happened in the other neighbourhoods. That Muslim professor

has nothing to do all day. He even met the old ladies. But Hasmukh-ji? Huh, chip

on shoulder about being upper caste. Cannot walk the lanes and feels he can win

elections by waving from the car. And look, he ran away two hours into the

counting.'

Mama wiped his face with his hands and continued. 'Am I not from a priest's

family? Did 1 not go to the sewer-infested lanes of the Muslim pols? Aren't there

Hindu voters there? Why didn't
he
go?'

The secular party workers jeered at Mama's team. Tempers rose as a few of

Mama's team members heckled the drum player.

'It's going to get ugly,' I told Omi in his ear, 'let's get out of here.'

'I can't go. Mama needs me,' Omi said.

A white Mercedes drove up in-front of the vote-counting station. A jeep of

bodyguards came alongside. The guards surrounded the area as the Mercedes'

door opened. Parekh-ji stepped outside.

Mama ran to Parekh-ji. He lay down on the ground and 'I am your guilty man.

Punish me,' Mama said, his voice heavy.

Parekh-ji placed both his hands on Mama's head. 'Get up, Bittoo.'

'No, no. I want to die here. I let the greatest man down,' Mama continued to

bawl.

Parekh-ji gave the youngsters a firm glance. Everyone backed off. Parekh-ji

lifted Mama up by the shoulders, 'Come, let's go for dinner to Vishala. We need to

talk.'

Mama walked towards Parekh-ji's ear, his head still down.

'Come son,' Parekh-ji said to Omi. Ish and I looked at each other. Maybe it was

time for Ish and me to vanish.

'Can Ish and Govind come along? They came to Gandhinagar,' Omi said. I

guess he wanted us to have a treat at Vishala, normally unaffordable for us.

Parekh-ji looked at us and tried to place us. I don't know if he could.

'Hop into the jeep,' he said.

The Vishala Village Restaurant and Utensils Museum is located at the outskirts

of Ahmedabad, in the village of Sarkhej. Along with a craft museum and village

courtyards, there is an ethnic restaurant that serves authentic Gujarati cuisine.

We took a semi-private room with seating on the clay floor. Parekh-ji's security

staff sat outside, near the puppet show for kids. Their guns made the guest's

importance known to the waiters and insured us good service. Within minutes,

we had two dozen dishes in front of us.

'Eat, and don't get so sentimental about politics. Emotional speeches are fine,

but in your mind always think straight,' Parekh-ji lectured Mama.

We gorged on the dhokla, khandvi, ghugra, gota, dalwada and several other

Gujarati snacks. I felt full even before the main course arrived.

'Now, listen, Parekh-ji said as he finished his glass of mint chaas, 'things are

not as they seem. Hasmukh-ji's defeat has a back story. We expected it.'

'What?' Mama said while Omi, Ish and
I made valiant inroads into the food.

'Hasmukh-ji's seniority in the party earned him a ticket. But he is part of the

old school. The same school as the current chief minister. Our high command in

Delhi is not happy with them.'

'They are not?' Mama echoed stupidly.

'No. We might be a Hindu party, but it doesn't mean we preach religion all day

and do no work. Gujarat is a place of business, it is not a lazy place. The high

command did not like the way the administration handled the earthquake. People

lost a lot in that, I know you boys did too,' he turned to us.

We nodded. The mention of the earthquake still hurt.

'The by-elections for these seats came as a boon. The old school put their

candidate. We knew they were weak. Of count, hardworking people like Bittoo

tried their best But, a dud candidate is a dud candidate. So we lost both the

seats. With the main election in twelve months, the entire party machinery is

shaken up. And the high command finally gets a chance to make a change.'

'What change?' Mama said.

"They are replacing the chief minister.'

'What? For losing two seats?' Mama said, 'the total number of seats is...'

'A hundred and eighty plus,' Parekh-ji said as he broke his bajra rati, 'but like I

said, it gave a reason to change. And Gujarat is vital to our party. We can't afford

to lose it.'

We gorged on the dhokla, khandvi, ghugra, gota, dalwada and several other

Gujarati snacks. I felt full even before the main course arrived.

'Now, listen,1 Parekh-ji said as he finished his glass of mint chaas, 'things are

not as they seem. Hasmukh-ji's defeat has a back story. We expected it.'

'What?' Mama said while Omi, Ish and
I made valiant inroads into the food.

'Hasmukh-ji's seniority in the party earned him a ticket. But he is part of the

old school. The same school as the current chief minister. Our high command in

Delhi is not happy with them.'

'They are not?' Mama echoed stupidly.

'No. We might be a Hindu party, but it doesn't mean we preach religion all day

and do no work. Gujarat is a place of business, it is not a lazy place. The high

command did not like the way the administration handled the earthquake. People

lost a lot in that, I know you boys did too,' he turned to us.

We nodded. The mention of the earthquake still hurt.

'The by-elections for these seats came as a boon. The old school put their

candidate. We knew they were weak. Of count, hardworking people like Bittoo

tried their best But, a dud candidate is a dud candidate. So we lost both the

seats. With the main election in twelve months, the entire party machinery is

shaken up. And the high command finally gets a chance to make a change.'

'What change?' Mama said.

"They are replacing the chief minister.'

'What? For losing two seats?' Mama said, 'the total number of seats is...'

'A hundred and eighty plus,' Parekh-ji said as he broke his bajra rati, 'but like I

said, it gave a reason to change. And Gujarat is vital to our party. We can't afford

to lose it.'

'No dessert here or what?' Parekh-ji said as there was a delay after the main

courses were cleared.

'Who will get the aamras for the sahib?' Mama screamed at the waiters.

Sixteen

Where's your smallest chocolate cake?' I was at Navrangpura's Ten, the best

cake shop in Ahmedabad. Vidya turned eighteen on 19 November 2001. She

could now officially make her own decisions. Unofficially, she had done that since

birth.

'No bag please,' I said as I kept the cake box in my rucksack of books. I kept

the rucksack upright in my lap until I made it to Vidya's place.

Entering Vidya's house while hiding a cake was hard enough. Ish being in the

house made it worse. India was playing England It Kolkata Eden Gardens in a

day-night match. Ish had plonked himself in front of the sofa with sandwiches,

milk, chips and biscuits - everything that he needed to survive for the next eight

hours. Ish's dad sat on the dining table, continuing his PhD on the newspapers of

India. As was often the case when Ish was around, uncle had a disgusted

expression on his face.

I snuck the rucksack between my arm and side body to keep it horizontal.

'India's batting - Ganguly and Tendulkar. Seventy no loss after ten overs,' Ish

said and screamed, 'Mom, sauce!'

Uncle picked up the ketchup bottle from the dining table and banged it as hard

as possible on the coffee table in front of his son.

'Thanks dad,' Ish said. 'Can you move. Can't see the TV.'

Ish's dad gave his son a dirty look and moved.

'Sit no,' Ish said to me.

'Tuitions,' I said, pointing to Vidya's room.

'Oh, you've come for that. She's studying on her birthday, dedication dude.'

'Some people are serious about their lives...,' Ish's dad ranted while still

reading his paper.

Ish pressed the volume button on the TV remote as loud as possible in protest.

'His mother has made him into a monster,' Ish's dad said and left for his

bedroom. Tendulkar struck a four and the monster clapped.

'Don't worry, dad's fine,' Ish said as he saw my nervous expression. 'Hey, wish

her and all. She'll like it. I forgot this morning.'

Ish grabbed a sandwich and topped it with lots of chips and ketchup. He took a

big bite. My friend had found bliss. I had to find mine.

I climbed the stairs, my heart beating fast. 'Happy birthday, Miss Eighteen,' I

greeted as I shut the terrace door.

She wore a shiny red kurti and white pants. The choice of clothes was a bit

over the top but it was ok on a birthday I guess.

'Did you know eighteen is the only number that is twice the sum of its digits?'

she said.

I took out the cake and placed it on the white plastic table.

'A cake from Ten! Someone is going high-class,' she teased.

'You like chocolate. They have the best.' I opened the box. She stood up from

her chair and came next to me to see the cake.

'You've changed since we have had this thing.'

'What thing?' I peeped into her big eyes.

'This thing,' she said and came forward to kiss me. We kissed during almost

every class since the last month, so it wasn't a big deal. Sometimes we kissed

everytime she solved a problem. At other times, we took a kissing break every

fifteen minutes. Once, we didn't kiss at all as she did a mock test. However, we

made up for it in the next class where we spent the first ten minutes kissing and

the rest discussing her mistakes. When we felt desire, we kissed. When we felt

guilty, we studied. Somehow, we balanced mathematics and romance within the

hour quite well.

We went to the edge of the terrace. The last bit of sunlight disappeared as the

sky turned dark orange. The evening breeze held a chill. At a distance, we saw the

dome of Omi's temple.

She entwined her hands with mine and looked at me. 'You tell me,' she said as

she removed a strand of hair from her face, 'should I
become a doctor?'

I shook my head.

'Then how do I get out?'

'Apply to whichever college and just go,' I said.

'How?' she said as she tugged my hand. 'How will I even get the application fee

to apply? How will I support myself in Mumbai?'

'Your parents will eventually come around. They will pay for your studies. Until

then...'

A loud roar went through the pol and startled us. India had hit a six.

'Until then what?' she said after the noise subsided.

'Until then I will support you,' I said. We looked into each other's eyes. She

smiled. We took a walk around the perimeter of the terrace.

'So my tutor doesn't believe I need to figure out maths problems?'

'Figuring out the maths of life is more important,' I said. 'What's that?'

'Who you are, what do you want versus what people expect of you. And how to

keep what you want without pissing off people too much. Life is an optimisation

problem, with tons of variables and constraints.'

'Is it possible to run away and not piss off my parents?'

'You can minimise the pissed-off state, but can't make it zero. We can only

optimise life, never solve it,' I said as we came to a corner.

'Can I tell you something weird?' 'What?'

'When you talk hardcore maths, like these terms that totally go over my head,'

she said, her hand in take-off motion above her head.

'Yes.'

'It turns me on.'

'Vidya, your boldness...,' I said, shocked. 'Makes you blush, right?' she said

and laughed. 'So we are cutting this cake or what?' I said to change the topic.

'Of course, follow me to Café Vidya,' she said.

We slid under the water tank and sat on the floor. She had brought six pink

cushions and a rug. 'I brought them from my room, so we can have a little party

here,' she said and passed a couple to me. Under the cushions, she had a stereo.

'Music?' she said, her face pretty as a song. I nodded.

'I'll put on Boyzone, my favourite,' she said. I took out the packet of eighteen

candles that came with the cake.

'Let's light all of them,' she said.

I wanted to go switch on the terrace light as it had become dark.

'Let it be,' she said and pulled my hand as she lit the eighteenth candle.

'What if someone comes?'

'Both my parents have bad knees. They never climb up to the terrace. And Ish,