Three Mistakes Of My Life Part 25

I looked at her. She is too beautiful to study maths. Maths is for losers like me.

I took a sip. My lips still felt the sensation of her lips. I rested on my elbow but the concrete surface hurt.

'I'll get cushions next time,' she said. 'It's fine,' I said. We finished our coffee and came out. We switched on the terrace bulb. I flipped through the textbook to forget the kisses and coffee. The symbols of integration looked dull for the first time in my life. At one level, maths does suck.

'Thanks,' I said.

'For what?' she said.

'For the coffee and the ... you know.'

She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. 'Thanks for the gift, the gift of true close friendship.'

True-close-friendship, another hyphenated tag. It meant progress.

I came down the steps pa.s.sed through the living room on the way out.

'What a good, responsible boy. Ish hasn't learnt anything from him,' Vidya's father was saying to his wife as I shut the door behind.

I could have done my accounts much faster if I didn't have the parallel SMS conversation. My phone beeped a fifth time.

'Who the h.e.l.l are you SMSing?' Omi asked from the counter.

It was six in the evening, almost time to shut the shop. Ish had gone to one of the KVs and Omi had to leave soon for the evening aarti. Two dozen invoices, notebooks, pens and a calculator surrounded me.

'Nothing, I am bargaining with a supplier,' I said. I turned the phone to silent mode.

'Call him,' Omi said.

'I'll look desperate. I'd rather he calls first.'

'Do the accounts first, Govind. So many unpaid orders, it is a complete mess,'

Omi said, popping a candy from the jar into his mouth. I let it pa.s.s. Anything to get his mind off the SMSs.

My phone flashed again.

itz my bday.

i celebr8 my way.

u'll get cake or not??

I had saved Vidya's number as 'Supplier Vidyanath' in my phone, in case anyone picked it up. Also, I deleted her messages as soon as I read them.

'I hope you are staying away from Ish's sister?' Omi said. My hands froze as I manipulated the messages. I told myself, It is a coincidence. Omi doesn't know who I am messaging to. Be cool.

I replied to the SMS.

Ok, u win. will get a small 1 now let me work, you study 2 ?

I kept the phone aside. Smiley faces had entered my life.

'I teach her, Omi. Just a few months for her entrance exams,' I said. I dug myself deep into the paperwork.

'Does she...,' Omi began.

'Can I do the accounts or should we gossip about my students?' I glared at Omi. Mama came running to our shop. 'Switch on the TV fast.'

'Two planes crashed into the World Trade Center Twin Towers located in New York,' the BBC news channel reader said. The live visual was incredible even by sci-fi movie standards. The hundred-storey tall twin towers had deep incisions in the middle, like someone had cut through loaves of bread.

'Two planes in a row suggest a planned .terrorist attack,' a military intelligence expert said on the TV. 'The world will never be the same again,' the Israeli prime minister said.

We half-closed the shutters. Everyone in the temple gathered around TV sets where the towers crumbled down again and again in replay. Smoke, soot and concrete dust filled the streets of New York. Reports said thousands may be dead.

'What the...,' Ish said as he returned to the shop.

'Muslim terrorists, I guarantee you,' Mama said as his phone rang. He saw the number and stood in attention.

'Parekh-ji?' Mama said, his voice subservient.

I couldn't hear Parekh-ji's words.

'I am watching it,' Mama said,'They are turning into a menace Yes, yes sir we are ready for the elections Parekh-ji, yes,' Mama said, wiping sweat off his chest, 'Belrampur is not a problem ... yes, other neighbourhoods need work but you know Hasmukh-ji. He doesn't spend as much time...'

Bittoo Mama stepped away from us. Parekh-ji gave him tips on the elections next week.

Later at night, pictures of the first suspects were released. Four Muslim boys had joined a flying school a few months back. They had hijacked the plane using office box cutter knives and caused one of the most spectacular man-made disasters of the world. A stick-thin old man called Bin Laden released an amateur video, claiming it was all his big idea.

'What's up?' Omi asked Mama as he ended his call.

'Hasmukh-ji takes everything for granted. He doesn't pound the streets of his const.i.tuency.'

'Parekh-ji is not happy?' Omi said.

'He is fine with me. He isn't too worried. The bye-election is only for two seats in Gujarat The real elections are next year.'

'Mama, so next year,' Omi said and patted Mama's back, 'we will have an MLA in the family.'

The temple bells rang to signify time for the final aarti. Omi and Mama stood up to leave.

'I have to show Parekh-ji I deserve it. Winning this seat will help,' Mama said.

'You need any more help?' Omi asked. 'You already did so much,' Mama said and kissed Omi, 'but we must put extra effort next week. Parekh-ji said these attacks could work in our favour, Let's tell everyone at the puja.' They left the shop and went inside the temple.

'Your phone flashed. Is it on silent?' Ish said. He collected all the invoices scattered on the ground. We were closing the shop for the night.

'Oh, must be by mistake,' I said and picked it up, 'a supplier is sending me messages'.

I opened supplier Vidyanath's message.

when I study, I think kisses u and only u, v misses I put the phone in my pocket 'What? Trying to sell you something?' Ish said.

'Yes, wooing me, hard,' I said as I locked the cashbox.

I knew it, that old man wouldn't listen,' Mama said.

His mood alternated between anger and tears. It was hard for a tough, grown- 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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.