Private Delhi (Private 13)

Nisha continued nibbling as they chatted. First about themselves, then their kids, and then the entire world. The conversation veered to politics. “What’s happening in Delhi these days?” asked Nisha.

“The Lieutenant Governor is pissed off.”

“Why?” asked Nisha.

“It seems that Chopra’s daughter was engaged to Jai Thakkar, the CEO of that insurance company ResQ. The creep broke off the engagement after a few romps in bed with her.”

“Big deal,” said Nisha, licking tamarind chutney off her fingers. “It’s quite common these days to have terminated affairs and broken engagements.”

“True,” said Abha. “But Chopra is old school. You know, ‘family honor’ and all that. He’s vowed to set Thakkar right. You watch—that Thakkar will get into trouble one of these days. He’s been going around town bad-mouthing Chopra and his daughter. News is that Chopra sent him a chopped-off tongue as warning. I did a little snippet for the paper without mentioning names the other day.”

“Thakkar is quite powerful himself, right?” asked Nisha. “I’m told that ResQ is among the most profitable insurance companies in the States. He was on Guha’s Carrot and Stick the other night.”

“Tru

e, but you can’t live in Delhi and piss off the Lieutenant Governor. For the life of me, I can’t understand people these days. And that Ajoy Guha is another thing—he’s like a leech. Once he latches on he doesn’t let go of the story until he’s sucked every drop out.”

“Committed, eh?” offered Nisha.

“He lives for it. I don’t think he has much else. Tragic marriage,” said her friend. “The show is the perfect outlet for him to vent all his frustrations. There are also some pretty unsavory rumors about that new Health Secretary, Amit Roy. So high and mighty, yet the word is that he likes them young …”

Chapter 59

AMIT ROY STOOD in the wings of the school assembly hall, tired after what had been one of the best nights of his life. Images of the terrified girl still vividly played on a loop inside his head and he felt, not just euphoric, but exalted somehow, sensing a change within himself, as though his disconnection from a society that despised his kind was at last complete. What happened to him now was an irrelevance. He was at one with himself.

Oh, but first, there was this rather boring duty to attend to. Prizegiving at the Vasant Valley School. Yawn.

On stage, the principal made his announcement. “We have a special guest with us today. Mr. Amit Roy is the Principal Secretary in Delhi’s Health Department, and he is here to tell you about how each one of you can contribute toward making Delhi a healthier city. Please welcome him with a round of applause.”

Roy walked on, adjusted the microphone to his height, and spoke, his Adam’s apple bouncing. “I am delighted to be here today in order to award the prize for the best essay on the topic ‘Delhi’s Health: Is It Only the Government’s Problem?’ We received over five thousand submissions from across schools in Delhi but the winning one was from Vasant Valley, so you should be very proud of your school.”

He waited for the applause to die down and then spoke briefly about air pollution, availability of clean water, sanitation, and all the other difficulties the country’s capital was still grappling with, and what ordinary folks could possibly do to play a positive role.

“And that brings me to the end of my talk,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “I shall now announce the winner of the state essay competition.”

The children waited with bated breath. After all, the winner was one among them.

“And the winner, for her essay entitled ‘Health Care, Fair and Square?’, is Maya,” said Roy. “Maya Gandhe.”

He stood back as the auditorium erupted in applause, and from the crowd stood Maya Gandhe.

And the moment he saw her, Amit Roy decided this event wasn’t such a drag after all.

Chapter 60

SANTOSH WALKED THROUGH the congested by-lanes filled with vendors selling kebabs and waited for the man to appear. Neel had double-checked the records and confirmed that the cell phone number dialed from Thakkar’s desk phone belonged to someone called Iqbal Ibrahim, whose residential address was near the Jama Masjid.

As it turned out, Ibrahim was praying in India’s most famous mosque, the Jama Masjid. Built in 1656 by Mughal emperor Shah Jahan, the mosque was vast. Three great gates, four towers, and two forty-meter-high minarets constructed of red sandstone and white marble overlooked a gargantuan courtyard that could accommodate more than twenty-five thousand faithful for prayer.

Neel had given Santosh a photo of Ibraham he’d managed to retrieve from a database. He’d also supplied Santosh with the latest gizmo he’d developed. It was a pair of regular-looking eyeglasses that accommodated a camera and mic capable of transmitting to the Private Delhi office.

Reaching the mosque, Santosh put on the glasses. He noticed a crowd of people exiting. Prayers seemed to have ended. Then, after ten minutes, Santosh saw a man who resembled the picture he had. He continued staring in his direction, knowing that the camera would be relaying the image to Neel. Santosh watched as the man walked toward him, removing his prayer cap as he approached.

Santosh took a few tentative steps in the direction of the man and held out his arm for a handshake. “Mr. Iqbal Ibrahim? Could I have a few minutes of your time?” he asked.

The man smiled at him. “Please don’t be formal, Mr. Wagh,” he said courteously. Santosh had half a second to register the fact that the man knew his name, because Ibrahim’s statement was accompanied by an almost imperceptible nod of the head. A baton slammed into the back of Santosh’s head and he crumpled to the ground, his cane and phone falling along with him, the handset shattering.

Chapter 61