Revolution 2020 by Chetan Bhagat

Author:Chetan Bhagat [Bhagat, Chetan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9788129122995
Google: f5yaAwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd.
Published: 2014-01-08T18:30:00+00:00

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?’

‘Manoj, sir,’ he said.

‘Where are you from?’ I said.

‘Sarnath, sir,’ he said.

‘Parents work there?’ I said.

‘We have land, sir. My father is a farmer.’

I immediately softened. ‘You don’t want to be a farmer?’

He didn’t answer, afraid of how he might be judged by the response. I understood.

‘Any problems at Ganga'I'ech?' I said.

‘No, sir,’ he said nervously.

‘Don’t feel shy, tell me,’ I said.

‘Too much English, sir,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand it well.’

‘Learn it. The world wont let you live otherwise. Okay?’ I said.

He nodded.

I turned to the professor. ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ I said.

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