Kabir

As far as good moments go in a really lousy situation, this is perfect. She smiling at me. Me smiling back. Then Mr Bhonsle screws it up.

He gets to his feet with a great snort. He is swaying.

‘This should not be happening,’ he announces loudly. ‘This should not be happening in a democracy.’

If he was mad earlier, now he is just furious. I shouldn’t have given that old man his bottle. He’s dead drunk.

He puts the bottle down with a bang. ‘I only came in here for some thank-you cards,’ he says. ‘Why should I be a hostage? This has nothing to do with me.’

‘Sit down,’ I tell the old man. ‘You’ll screw it up for all of us.’

‘Thank-you cards,’ he says. ‘I was supposed to retire today. I didn’t want to retire. They asked me to. Told me it was time.’

Harish tries to hush him. The old man just gets louder and more angry. ‘And then they bought me a clock. The perfect gift. It’s time. You’re old and useless. It’s time!’

The old man staggers forward a few steps. We try to hold him back but he’s surprisingly strong, pushing away our hands. He shouts. Years of talking over the chatter of bored students have given him a voice of great power. A schoolteacher’s voice.

‘They got rid of me. And what did I do? I bought a bunch of envelopes to put thank-you cards in.’

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bunch of small envelopes. He flings them into the air. They rain down on us like confetti. He stands there in the rain of envelopes and laughs.

‘Thank you, Mr Bhonsle. Thank you for giving your whole life to teaching bored students who didn’t care. Thank you for holding the best attendance record among the teachers. Thank you for standing up in front of the class and hearing them all giggle at the last desk.’

‘Enough, teacher,’ says one of the two terrorists guarding us. ‘Shut up and sit down.’ They are watching him with amusement. I guess a full stomach has made them feel better as well.

‘I will not shut up!’ says Mr Bhonsle, incensed. ‘I have the right to speak. Article 19 of the Constitution gives it to me as a Fundamental Right. I will not shut up.’ He points at the terrorists. ‘And you—you are illegal. There is no place for you in our Constitution. India is a secular republic. Secular! Do you even know what that means? No difference between one religion and another. You are illegal and the law shall deal with you.’

‘They have to catch us first,’ says one of the men, grinning.

‘We have the finest laws in the world. Do you know that? The very finest Constitution. But we are a nation of lawless people. A nation that has no civic sense. A nation where any man who has a gun thinks he can get away with anything.’

No prizes for guessing that the old man teaches political science. He wags a finger at us. ‘Laws are only as good as the people appointed to enforce them. What’s the point of having the world’s best laws if we have the world’s most corrupt guardians?’

‘But you know what the real problem is?’ he continues, standing there swaying from side to side. ‘The problem is not that our lawmakers are corrupt. The problem is not that the police are corrupt. The problem is not that our administrators are corrupt. The problem is that we are corrupt.’ His shaking hand points at us, one by one.

‘You want something done? You look for a person of influence. You want something done fast, you pay.’

He laughs. ‘Oh, we complain about the state of things. Then we look for the shortest, easiest way to get things done—and damn the law.’

The terrorists are still smiling and enjoying the show. ‘Masterji, the bell has rung. Sit down,’ says one of them. He comes over and points his gun at Mr Bhonsle, smiling all the while.

Mr Bhonsle seems to suddenly run out of indignation. ‘And so, class, let me end the lesson by saying, there is no hope for this nation. You and I are what is wrong with it. Jai Hind!’ He sits down abruptly. So abruptly that his feet give way and he sprawls on the ground. Then he just turns over and falls asleep.

I lie there thinking about what he has said. I think about the promise I made to Sharmila to try and change the world. This is a crap world to try and change. The old people have screwed it up well and good.

As if to emphasize how screwed up the world is, the image of Bhai Thakur flashes on screen. He is addressing a massive rally. ‘Will we let someone hold a gun to the head of Mother India? To take her hostage? Bharat Mata is in danger. It is time for us to rise.’

I don’t know what makes him think Bharat Mata belongs exclusively to him and his gang. Hindus aren’t the only ones who belong here. We’ve got Christians, Sikhs, Jains, Buddhists, Muslims—a whole rainbow of religions. All of whom are born and who live on this soil. What does our religion have to do with the love we have for the place we call home? We love the land we are born on. Rabble-rousing idiot. He is a terrorist in his own way.

I turn to look at Diya. She’s staring at the screen with a peculiar expression. I think it’s hatred. Then she drops her head and her hair hides her face.

The letter is still in my pocket. I can feel it heavy against my heart. Give it to her. Get it over with. I hesitate. Against all odds, I have grabbed a few moments with her and it has made me greedy. I want just a few more. Just a little more time before it runs out for both of us.

Harish eases his weight down beside me. ‘I am so never going on a diet again. Food is so like God. It is God!’

‘You’ve been blessed pretty heavily by God in that case,’ I say.

‘I’ve got three slabs of chocolate in my pocket. I want to eat them, but I know I’m going to be sick. But I definitely want to eat them soon. I don’t want to die thinking there was chocolate in my pocket and I never ate it. I don’t want to die with regrets.’

I laugh. Harish opens a button on his pants to accommodate his bulging stomach and says, ‘So, do you have any regrets?’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. Stuff that you thought you’d do. But which you won’t now. Like getting married, having kids and stuff.’

‘I never thought I would live long enough to get married and have kids and stuff.’

‘You are seriously weird, dude,’ says Harish. ‘How long have you been walking around with a death wish?’

I shrug. He is silent for a while, then he speaks again. ‘Falling in love. I’d like to know what that is all about.’

I say nothing.

‘I mean, how do you know that you’re in love? Right now, any girl sits next to me, my heart starts beating faster. You should have heard it during dinner when Diya was sitting with us. I thought I was going to have a heart attack and die.’

‘I thought you were going to have a heart attack too, from how much you were eating.’

‘I mean,’ says Harish, ‘I could be in love with Diya. But is it her, or just any girl? So how do you know a girl is really the one?’

‘You know,’ I say. ‘You just know.’

‘And then what? You’re happy! You’re in heaven. You’re willing to die for her!’ His expression becomes worried. ‘What if she’s not into you, dude? What if she can’t stand you?’

‘That doesn’t stop you from loving her. Love comes. And all you can do is accept it.’

‘But dude—it must hurt.’

‘Better to have loved and hurt than not know what it is at all.’ My eyes are on her as I speak.

Harish looks at me. Then at her. Comprehension dawns on his face. ‘It’s her. You’re in love with her!’

I look away and shrug like it isn’t true. But Harish is all over me. ‘Lucky bastard! What are the odds of that? You meet when your lives are in danger. And you find love!’

‘At least keep your damn voice down!’ I hiss.

He looks at me seriously. ‘You know we might die, right? This might not be the best time to fall in love.’

‘What better time could there be?’ I say. ‘At least I know what it’s like before I die.’

‘Bastard,’ he says. He looks across to where Diya is sitting. ‘She tries to hide it, but she just looks sad all the time.’

For a guy who nearly got shot for not paying attention, he does pay quite a bit of attention.

After that conversation, he is impossible. He keeps darting looks between Diya and me. He stays glued to any conversation at all that we have. If she says, ‘pass the water’, Harish shoots upright and watches us avidly.

I can’t give her the letter with him watching my every move.

Idiot.