And I hope not just you but our whole country will keep that spark alive.

For th ere is something cool about saying I come from the land of a billion sparks. Tha nk you, I said, ending my motivational speech at Tilak Hall, Varanasi. The claps and whistles were my cue to leave. Security volunteers formed a human barricade and soon I managed a neat exit from the hall. Thank you so much, sir, someone said right behind me. I turned around to face my host. Mr Mishra, I said, I was looking for you. Please call me Gopal, he said. The car is over there. I walked out with the young director of GangaTech College, Gopal Mishra. His bla ck Mercedes whisked us away from the crowded Vidyapath Road. Any more temples you want to see? Gopal asked. That s all Varanasi has, anyway. You s aw the ghats, right? Yeah, I went to the Vishwanath temple and Dasaswamedh ghat at five in the morning , I said. The aarti was out of the world. Gopal frowned. What? I said. You must be used to the aarti by now. I was seeing it for the first t ime, all those diyas floating at dawn. It is not that, he said, but did not elaborate. You will drop me at Ramada hotel? I said. Your flight is only tomorrow morning, Gopal said. Why don t you come home for dinner? Don t be formal I began. You have to come home. We must have a drink together. I have the finest whiskey i n the world, he said. I smiled as I shook my head. Thanks, Gopal, but I don t drink much. Chetan sir, one drink? I can tell people I had a drink with the Chetan Bhagat. I laughed. That s nothing to brag about. Still, say it if you want. You don t actuall y have to drink with me. Not like that, sir. I actually want to have a drink with you. I saw his intense eyes. He had sent me twenty invites in the last six months, un til I agreed to come. I knew he could persist. Okay, one drink! I said, hoping I wouldn t regret this later. Excellent, Gopal said. We drove ten kilometers outside the city on the Lucknow Highway to reach GangaTe ch. The guards saluted as the campus gates opened up. The car came to a halt at a gray bungalow. It had a stone exterior that matched the main college and hoste l buildings.

We sat in the living room on the ground floor. It opened out to a badminton cou rt-sized lawn. Nice house, I said as I sat on an extra-soft brown velvet sofa. I noticed the extr a-high elevated ceiling. Thanks. I made it myself. The contractor built it, but I supervised everything, Go pal said. He proceeded to the bar counter at the other end of the room. It s the bu ngalow of an engineering college director. You and your friends raided one, righ t? How do you know? I said. Everyone knows. We ve read the book. Seen the movie. We laughed. He handed me a crystal glass filled with a generous amount of Irish whisky. Thank you. I took my drink. Single malt, 12 years old, he said. It s the director s bungalow, but you don t have a daughter, I said. You aren t even mar d. The youngest director I ve ever seen. He smiled. How old are you? I was curious. Twenty-six, Gopal said, a hint of pride in his voice. Not just the youngest, but al so the most uneducated director you ve met. Uneducated? I never went to college.

What? I said as I twirled the ice-cubes in my glass and wondered how potent this d rink was. Well, I did do a joke of a correspondence degree. Wow! I said. It isn t a joke to open such a big college. Sixteen hundred students now, ji, across all batches. Each paying one lakh a year . We already have a sixteen-crore turnover. And you inaugurated the MBA coaching today. That s another new business. I took a sip. The smooth whiskey burnt my throat. Do you have beer? Or wine? I cou ghed. Gopal s face fell. Not only had I ignored his impressive business statistics, I ha d rejected his whiskey. Not good? Gopal asked. It s Glenfiddich, four thousand a bottle. I ll open Blue Label? That s ten thousand a bottle. It is not a price issue, I wanted to tell him but didn t. I don t drink whiskey. Too strong for me, I said instead. Gopal laughed. Live life. Start having fine whiskey. You will develop a taste. I attempted another sip and winced. He smiled and poured more water in my drink to dilute it. It ruined the scotch, but saved my sanity. Life is to be enjoyed. Look at me, I will make four crores this year. What is the point if I don t enjoy it? In most parts of the world, speaking about your income is taboo. In India, you s hare the figures like your zodiac sign, especially if you have lots. He seemed to have put the question more to himself than me. His dark eyes contin ued to bore into me. His eyes demanded attention. The rest of him wheatish compl exion, modest five-feet-seven-inch height, side-parted hair was reassuringly non descript. Yeah, of course. One should enjoy, I said as he cut me. Next year I will make five crores. I realised he would keep forecasting his salary until I demonstrated suitable aw e. Five crores! I said, my voice loud and fake. Gopal grinned. Baby, eat this, for I have made it, is probably the T-shirt slogan he would choose. That s incredible, I murmured, wondering how I could switch the topic. I noticed sta irs winding up. What s upstairs? I said. Bedrooms and a terrace. Come, I will show you. We climbed up the steps. We walked past a room with a luxurious king-sized bed. From the terrace I took in the panoramic view. This was a wasteland, all of it. My grandfather s old agricultural land, Gopal said . Ten acres? I made a guess. Fifteen. We had fifteen acres more, Gopal said, but we sold it to fund the construc tion. He pointed to a small array of lights towards the eastern wall of the floodlit c ampus. Right there, see. There is a mall coming up. Every Indian city is building malls now, I said. India shining, Chetan-ji, he said and clinked his glass with mine. Gopal drank more than four times my pace. I hadn t finished my first when he poure d his fifth. You big-city types. Drinking for style, he teased when I refused a re fill. I don t drink much. Really, I said. I checked the time; 10:00 p.m. When do you eat dinner? he asked. Up to you, I said, though I wished he d decide to eat right away. What is the big hurry? Two men, one educated, one uneducated. Having a good time, Gopal said and raised his glass in the air. I nodded out of courtesy. My stomach rumbled for food. We came downstairs to sit down in the living room again. Did you really go to the professor s daughter s house? Gopal said. I smiled. Love makes us do stupid things.

Gopal laughed out loud. He chugged his drink bottoms-up, then grabbed the half-e mpty bottle to make his sixth tipple. Love? Forget stupid things. Love fucks you, Gopal said. That s harsh, I said. Is that why there is no Mrs Director yet? Gopal s hand trembled as he continued to pour his drink. I wondered if I should st op him from drinking more. Mrs Director! Gopal smirked. He gripped the whiskey bottle tight. Easy, Gopal, you are drinking too fast. It s dangerous. Gopal plonked the bottle on the coffee table. Why dangerous? Who is going to fuck ing cry for me? If I live, I want to enjoy. If I die, who cares? Your parents? Gopal shook his head. Friends? Successful people don t have friends, Gopal demurred. It s true, no? His lavish house felt cold and isolated. I took the whiskey bottle and placed it back in the bar. Pessimist, eh? I said. Surprising, given you are doing so well. What well, Chetan-ji? Gopal said, now completely drunk and, presumably, completely honest. He pointed to the huge TV, stereo system and the silk carpet under our feet in q uick succession. What does all this mean? I ve lived with nothing Our conversation had become serious. I patted his back to cheer him up. So you re ad about my girlfriend in the book. How about you? You ever had one? Gopal didn t respond, but looked distraught. He placed his glass on the coffee tab le. Touchy topic, I figured too late. He retched. Are you okay? I said. He ran to the restroom. I heard him throw up. I browsed the display shelves to p ass time. I saw framed news stories about GangaTech, trophies, pictures of Gopal with guests who had visited the college. I wondered if my picture would also be there soon. When he hadn t returned in twenty minutes I called for the maid. She took me to th e bathroom. I knocked at the door. No answer. I banged my fists on the door. Not hing. Looks like we have to break the door, the maid said. I wondered how I, who had come as a chief guest for a college orientation progra mme, became involved with forcing open random toilets in Varanasi.