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Patel, suspected of sleeping pill overdose. We will call you if we find anything, ok? You guys bunked my classes for dates and flow forget me. Anyway, let's find your boy,' the prof said and hung up.
Besides furniture shopping, I had to finish an office presentation. My boss, Michel's boss was due from New York. Hoping to impress him Michel asked me to make a presentation of the group, with fifty charts.
For three consecutive nights last week I had worked until 1: Don't take it the wrong way. But do consider taking a bath,' my wife said. I looked at her. I think she is overcautious sometimes.
I don't bite back. I will,' I said and stared at the computer again. Thoughts darted through my head. Should I call some hospitals myself? What if Prof Basant dozed off again? What if he could not collect the students? What if G. Patel was dead? And why am I becoming so involved here? I took a reluctant shower. I opened the office presentation, but found myself unable to type a single word. I refused breakfast, though regretted it moments later — as hunger and anxiety did not go well together.
My phone rang at 1. His name is Govind Patel, twenty-five years of age. A second-year student of mine found him. But won't talk. Even to his family. Must be in shock. It is a government hospital. What do you expect? Anyway, they will flush his stomach and send him home. I won't worry too much now.
Will ask a student to check again in the evening. What happened? Listen, don't get too involved. India is a big country. These things happen all the time. The more you probe, the more the chances of the police harassing you. However, the operator did not know about the case and there was no facility to transfer the line to the ward either. Anusha, too, was relieved that the boy was safe. She then announced the plan for the day — the dining chair hunt. It would begin at Ikea on Alexandra Road.
We reached Ikea at around three o'clock and browsed through the space-saving dining sets. One dining table could fold four times over and become a coffee table — pretty neat.
Let him recover. Must be one of those crazy reasons of youth — rejection in love, low marks or drugs. Your ID is on your book cover. You really don't need to get involved. Should we take six or eight? I protested that we rarely had so many guests at home. Six chairs would be enough. My mind strayed back to the businessman. Yes, everyone was right. I shouldn't get involved. But yet, of all the people in the world, this boy had sent me his last words.
I couldn't help but get involved. We ate lunch in the food court next to Ikea. To the office. Ok, you are a free man now. I did my shopping,' my wife said.
I want to go to Ahmedabad. I want to meet Govind Patel. Maybe I was sounding crazy. Michel will kill you. He won't get promoted unless he impresses his boss. My face was argument enough.
She knew I would not talk sense until I had met the boy. You can check the tickets. I entered the room the nurses had led me to. The eerie silence and the darkness made my footsteps sound loud. Ten different instruments beeped and LED lights flickered at regular intervals.
Cables from the instruments disappeared into the man I had travelled thousands of miles to see — Govind Patel. I noticed the curly hair first. He had a wheatish complexion and bushy eyebrows. His thin lips had turned dry because of the medicines.
How did I shook hands and sat down. His mother came into the room. She looked so sleep-deprived, she could use a sleeping pill herself. I greeted her as she went out to get tea. I looked at the boy again. I had two instant urges — one, to ask him what happened and two, to slap him. Sorry, I should not have written that mail. You should not have done what you did. He took a hard look at me and then turned his gaze sideways.
There is nothing heroic in this. Cowards pop pills. What happened to you? We fell silent as his mother returned with tea. A nurse came in and told his mother to go home, but she refused to budge. Finally, the doctor had to intervene. She left at I stayed in the room, promising the doctor I would leave soon. What can you do about it? You can't change what happened,' he said tiredly.
Sometimes, it is important to know what happened. To me, people only do things out of self-interest. What's in it for you? And why should I waste my time telling you anything?
There, that was my incentive. And why would anyone care? My story is not trendy or sexy like the IITs and call centres. The heater and our conversation kept the room warm.
That does not seem right. I considered slapping him again. That means at a certain level you trusted me.
I located you and flew out within hours of your mail. You still question if I care? And now this cocky attitude, this arrogance is part of your business? Can't you talk to me like a friend? Do you even know what a friend is? We became quiet. The clock showed midnight. He sat there stunned. Everyone had behaved nicely with him today. I stood up and turned away from him. I sat down next to him. Because I had two, the best ones in the world.
I had shifted up to a sofa from the floor. We were in Ishaan's house — Ishaan, Omi and I. Ishaan's mom had brought in tea and khakra for us. That is why I moved. Fuck, now at this stage.
Omi, don't you dare move now. Nobody moves for the next five overs. We were chasing to win. India's score a ball ago was after forty-five overs. Twenty-seven runs in five overs, with eight wickets to spare and Tendulkar on the crease.
A cakewalk. The odds were still in India's favour, but Tendulkar was out. And that explained the frowns on Ishaan's forehead. Ishaan glared at Omi, chiding him for his shallow sensory pleasure in a moment of national grief. Omi and I kept our tea cups aside and looked suitably mournful. The crowd clapped as Tendulkar made his exit. Jadeja came to the crease and added six more runs.
Twenty-one more runs to win in four overs, with seven wickets in hand. Over 46 'He made The guy did his job. Just a few final closing shots left.
Why are you getting so worked up? I reached for my tea cup, but Ishaan signalled me to leave it alone. We were not going to indulge until the fate of the match was decided. Ishaan was pissed with us anyway. The match was in Vadodra, just two hours away from Ahmedabad. But we could not go - one, because we didn't have money, and two, because I had my correspondence exams in two days. Of course, I had wasted the whole day watching the match on TV instead, so reason number two did not really hold much weight.
That is one reason I like cricket, there is so much maths in it. Tendulkar goes, they panic. It isn't about the average. It is like the queen bee is dead, and the hive loses order,' Ishaan said.
Omi nodded, as he normally does to whatever Ishaan has to say about cricket. We have to decide what Mr Ishaan is doing about his future, right? Ishaan had always avoided this topic ever since he ran away from NDA a year ago. His dad had already sarcastically commented, 'Cut a cake today to celebrate one year of your uselessness. I needed to sit them down to talk about our lives. Of course, against cricket, life is second priority. I have an idea that works for all of us. We don't have a lot of choice, do we?
Me, too? Idiots like him love to be part of something, anything. However, this time we needed Omi. But later when Ish? Look, the match is starting. Ok, over dinner. Let's go to Gopi,' Ish said.
Who's paying? Beep, beep, beep. The horn of a car broke our conversation. A car zoomed outside the pol. I am going to teach this bastard a lesson,' Ish said, looking out the window. Comes and circles around our house everyday' 'Why? He used to be in coaching classes with her.
She complained about him there too,' Ish said. Beep, beep, beep, the car came near the house again. Ish picked up his bat. We ran out the house. The silver Esteem circled the pol and came back for another round of serenading. Ish stood in front of the car and asked the boy to stop. The Esteem halted in front of Ish. Ish went to the driver, an adolescent. Enviado por Barbara Emille flag Denunciar.
I could say what I liked about them without hurting their feelings. And once I knew that my own death was looming, I could no longer make any excuses. It was now or never. This was my only chance to leave for posterity a piece of work that was truly mine. And it is usual for screenplays to disappear into a bottom drawer, never to be seen again. I know that novels disappear too, but at least they still exist, whole works, whether hard copy or digital, as objects, and that has always been their appeal for me.
A book stands alone. A screenplay is only a suggestion for a story, but a novel is the thing itself. It was a feeling like no other, in late , to hold a copy of my first novel in my hand. It seemed so brazen to have made an object that took up room in the world.
I knew what Highsmith meant. Now, I thought, I can die happy. Yes, I have regrets, but as soon as you start re-writing your past you realise how your failures and mistakes are what define you. As it was, I seemed to stumble around, making life up as I went along. Looking back, I can make some sense of it, but at the time my life was all very makeshift and provisional, more dependent on luck than on planning or intent. I was twenty-two. I was meant to be in Oxford studying for a postgraduate degree in history, but a few weeks into the first term I decided to quit.
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