Three Mistakes Of My Life Part 15

'Navaldharis is a hardcore entrepreneur community in Gujarat Everyone there does business. And they say, a true Navaldhari businessman is one who can rise after being razed to the ground nine times.'

'I am in debt, Doctor. I lost more money in one stroke than my business ever earned.'

There is no businessman in this world who has never lost money. There is no one who has learnt to ride a bicycle without falling off. There is no one who has loved without getting hurt. It's all part of the game.' Dr Verma shrugged.

'I'm scared,' I said, turning my face to the wall. 'Stop talking like middle-cla.s.s parents. So scared of losing money, they want their kids to serve others all their lives to get a safe salary.'

'I have lost a lot.'

'Yes, but age is on your side. You are young, you will earn It all back. You have no kids to feed, you have no household to maintain. And the other thing is, you have seen less money. You * an live without it.'

I don't feel like doing anything. This earthquake, why did this liappen? Do you know our school is now a refugee camp?'

'Yes, and what are the refugees doing? Lying in bed or trying to recover?'

I tuned out the doctor. Everyone around me was giving me advice, good advice actually. But I was in no mood to listen. I was in no mood for anything. The shop? It would remain closed for a week more. Who would buy sports stuff after an earthquake?

'Hope to see you out of bed tomorrow,' Dr Verma said and left. The clock showed three in the afternoon. I kept staring at it until four. 'May I come in, Govind sir,' Vidya's cheeky voice in my home sounded so strange that I sprang up on bed. And what was with I he sir?

She had the thick MX. Khanna book and a notebook in her hand.

'What are you doing here?' I pulled up my quilt to hide my pajamas and vest attire.

She, of course, looked impeccable in her maroon and orange salwar kameez with matching mirror-work dupatta.

'I got stuck with some sums. Thought I'd come here and ask since you were not well,' she said, sitting down on a chair next to my bed.

My mother came in the room with two cups of tea. I mimed to her for a s.h.i.+rt.

'You want a s.h.i.+rt?' she said, making my entire signalling exercise futile.

'What sums?' I asked curtly after mom left.

'Maths is what I told my mom. Actually, I wanted to give you this.' She extended the voluminous M.L. Khanna tome to me.

What was that for? To solve problems while bedridden?

My mother returned with a s.h.i.+rt and left. I held my s.h.i.+rt ill one hand and the M.L. Khanna in another. Modesty vs Curiosity, I shoved the s.h.i.+rt aside and opened the book. A handmade, pink greeting card fell out.

The card had a hand-drawn cartoon of a boy lying in bed. She had labelled it Govind, in case it wasn't clear to me. Insidf it said: 'Get Well Soon' in the cheesiest kiddy font imaginable. A poem underneath said: To my maths tutor/ pa.s.sion guide/ sort-of-friend, 1 cannot fully understand ycrur loss, but 1 can try. Sometimes life throws curve b.a.l.l.s and you question why.

There may be no answers, but I a.s.sure time will heal the wound.

Here is wis.h.i.+ng you a heartfelt 'get well soon'.

Your poorest performing student, Vidya

It's not very good,' she murmured.

'I like it. I am sorry about the sort-of friend. I am just...,' I said.

'It's ok. I like the tag. Makes it clear that studies are first, right?'

I nodded.

'How are you doing?'

I overcame my urge to turn to the wall. 'Life goes on. It has to. Maybe an air- conditioned mall is not for me.'

'Of course, it is. It isn't your fault. I am sure you will get 1 here one day. Think about this, aren't you lucky you weren't in the shop already when it happened?

Imagine the lives lost if the mall was open?'

She had a point. I had to get over this. I had to re-accept liittoo Mama's smug face.

I returned her M.L. Khanna and kept the card under my pillow.

'Ish said you haven't come to the shop.'

'The shop is open?' I said. Ish and Omi met me every evening but never mentioned it.

'Yeah, you should see bhaiya struggle with the accounts at home. Take tuitions for him, too,' she giggled. 'I'll leave now. About my cla.s.ses, no rush really.'

'I'll be there next Wednesday,' I called out. 'Nice girl,' my mother said carefully. 'You like her?'

'No. Horrible student.'

Ish and Omi came at night when I had finished my unappetising dinner of boiled vegetables.

'How are you running the shop?' my energetic voice surprised them.

'You sound better,' Ish said.

'Who is doing the accounts?' I said and sat up.

Omi pointed at Ish.

'And? What is it? A two for one sale?'

'We haven't given any discounts all week,' Ish said and sat next to me on the bed.

Ish pulled at my pillow to be more comfortable. 'Wait,' I said, jamming the pillow with my elbow.

'What's that?' Ish said and smiled as he saw an inch of pink paper under my pillow.

'Nothing. None of your business,' I said. Of course it was his business, it was his sister.

'Card?' Omi said.

'Yes, from my cousin,' I said.

'Are you sure?' Ish came to tickle me, to release my death grip on the pillow.

'.Stop it', I said, trying to appear light hearted. My heart beat fast as I pinned the pillow down hard.

'Pandit's daughter, isn't it?' Omi chuckled.

'Whatever,' I said, sitting on the pillow as a desperate measure.

'Mixing business with pleasure?' Ish said and laughed. I joined in the laughter to encourage the deception. 'Come back,' Ish said.

'The loans ... It's all my fault,' I told the wall. 'Mama said we can continue to use the shop,' Omi said. 'No conditions?' I said, surprised. 'Not really,' Omi said.

'And that means?' 'It is understood we need to help him in his campaign,' Ish said. 'Don't worry, you don't have to do anything. Omi and I will help.'

'We have to pay his loan back fast. We have to,' I said.

'We'll get over this,' Ish looked me in the eye. Brave words, but for the first time believable.

'I am sorry I invested...,' I felt I had to apologise, but Omi interrupted me.

'We did it together as business partners. And you are the smartest of us.'

I was not sure if his last line was correct anymore. I was a disaster as a businessman. 'See you tomorrow,' I said.

After they left, I pulled out the card again and smoothed the ceases. I read the card eight times before falling asleep.

My break from work brought out hidden skills in my friends. Save a few calculation errors, they managed the accounts just fine. They tabulated daily sales, had their prices right and had offered no discounts. The shop was clean and things were easy to find. Maybe one day I could create businesses and be hands-off. I checked myself from dreaming again. India is not a place for dreams.

Especially when you have failed once. I finally saw the sense inherent in the Hindu philosophy of being satisfied with what one had, rather than yearn for more. It wasn't some cool philosophy that ancient sages invented, but a survival mantra in a country where desires are routinely crushed. This shop in the temple was my destiny, and earning that meagre income from it my karma. More was not meant to be. I breathed out, felt better and opened the cash drawer.

'Pretty low for two weeks. But first the earthquake, and now the India-Australia series,' Ish said from his corner.

'People really don't have a reason to play anymore,' Omi said.

'No, no. It's fine. What's happening in the series?' I said. I had lost track of the cricket schedule.

'India lost the first test. Two more to go. The next one is in Calcutta,' Ish said.

'd.a.m.n. One-days?'

'Five of them, yet to start,' Omi said. 'I wouldn't get my hopes high. These Australians are made of something else.'

'I'd love to know how the Australians do it,' Ish said.

Mama's arrival broke up our chat. 'Samosas, hot, careful,' he said, placing a brown bag on the counter.

In my earlier avatar, this was my cue to frown, to comment about the grease spoiling the counter. However, the new post-quake Govind no longer saw Mama as hostile. We sat in the sunny courtyard having tea and samosas. They tasted delicious, I think samosas are the best snack known to man.

'Try to forget what happened,' Mama sighed. 'I have never seen such devastation.'

'How was your trip?' Omi said. Mama had just returned from Bhuj. 'Misery everywhere. We need camps all over Gujarat. But how much can Parekh-ji do?'

Mama had stayed up nights to set up the makes.h.i.+ft relief camp at the Belrampur school. Parekh-ji had sent truckloads of grain, pulses and other supplies. People had finally begun to move out and regain their lives.

'We'll close the camp in three weeks,' Mama said to Omi, 'and I can go back to my main cause, Ayodhya.'

The camp had won Mama many fans in the neighbourhood, Technically, anyone could seek refuge. However, a Muslim family would rarely go there for help. Even if they did, camp managers handed out rations but emphasised that everyone in the camp was a Hindu. Despite this soft discrimination, the new-me found it a n.o.ble exercise.

'Mama, about your loan,' I turned to him, but he did not hear me.

'My son is coming with me to Ayodhya. You guys should join,' he said. He saw our reluctant faces and added, 'I mean after you restore the business.'

'We can help here, Mama,' Omi said. 'Is there any project after 1 he camp?'

'Oh yes, the spoonful of mud campaign,' Mama said. We looked puzzled.

'We are going to Ayodhya for a reason. We will get gunnybags full of soil from there. We will go to every Hindu house in Belrampur and ask them if they want a spoon of mud from Rama's birthplace in their house. They can put it in their backyard, mix it with plants or whatever. A great idea from Parekh-ji.'

I saw Parekh-ji's twisted but impeccable logic. No one would say no to a spoonful of soil from Ayodhya. But with that, they were inadvertently buying into the cause. Sympathy for people fighting for Ayodhya would be automatic. And sympathy converted well into votes.

Mama noted the cynicism in my expression.

'Only a marketing strategy for a small campaign. The other party does it at a far bigger scale.'

I picked up another samosa. 'It's ok, Mama. Politics confuses me,' I said. 'I can't comment. We will help you.

You have saved our livelihood, we are forever indebted.'

'You are my kids. How can you be indebted to your father?' 'Business is down, but on the revised loan instalments...,' but Mama cut me again.

'Forget it, sons. You faced a calamity. Pay when you can. And now you are members of our party, right?'

Mama stood up to hug us. I half-heartedly hugged him back, I felt sick owing people money. 'Mama, I am sorry. 1 was arrogant, rude and disrespectful. I realise my destiny is this shop. Maybe G.o.d intended it this way and I accept it,' 1 said.

'We are all like that when young. But you have started believing in G.o.d?' Mama said and beamed.

'I'm just less agnostic now.'

'Son, this is the best news I've heard today,' Mama said. 'Something good has come out of all this loss.'

A man dragged a heavy wooden trunk into our shop. 'Who's that? Oh, Pandit- ji?' I said.

Pandit-ji panted, his white face a rosy red. He arranged the trunk on the floor.

'A sports shop closed down. The guy could not pay. He paid me with trunks full of goods. I need cash, so I thought I will bring this to you.'