I prepared a proposal for Ojha as per his directions. We proposed
Bill Gates make a visit to a self-run, not-for-profit school. We would
celebrate the annual day of the Dumraon Royal School with Mr Gates
as chief guest. The MLA forwarded the proposal to the rural ministry.
‘They have ninety requests,’ Ojha said, ‘and he can only visit ten
places during his trip. So they will shortlist and let us know.’
'I didn’t realize there would be so much competition,’ I said,
surprised.
‘I’m going to Patna tomorrow. Come with me and I’ll introduce
you to the ministry people.You can persuade them.’
I accompanied the MLA in his lal-batti car on the three-hour ride to
Patna. We reached the state government offices. I met Mr Shyam
Kaushal, a middle-aged official in the rural welfare ministry, in his
dusty office. He wore a grey safari suit that I think all government
employees get free with their offer letters.
‘Headache.This whole Gates trip is a headache,’ he said and held
his head.
He showed me the file of requests. Alongside, another fat file
contained press requests for interviews, communication with the
foundation and papers on various official government functions being
planned.
‘Why do we go crazy over these white guys visiting India?’ Mr
Kaushal said.
‘Because of this white guy, my school will get a whitewash,’ I said.
‘Do you speak good English?’ he said. ‘Because they will call you
many times.’
‘I manage,’ I said.
‘Manage means what? When he comes, who will talk to him?’
‘I will.’
‘What will he see in your annual day? It’s a Hindi-medium school.
The entire programme will be in Hindi, right?’
I kept quiet.
‘See.’ He opened the file. ‘There is this school in Patna that really
wants him. They will do a skit in English for him. About the invention
of computers and the role of Microsoft.’
I saw the request. It had come from the Delhi Public School in
Patna.
‘This is an English-medium school. He can find this anywhere.
What’s so Bihari about it?’ I said.
‘Well, it is convenient. We can take him to DPS straight from Patna
airport.’
‘Mr Kaushal, I think Mr Gates wants to see the real Bihar. The posh
English school you will take him to means nothing.’
‘So what to do?’
‘Bring him to Dumraon Royal. Don’t worry, we will do a dance or
something without words.’
Mr Shyam Kaushal remained hesitant. Government employees are
the lowest risk-takers on earth.
Finally, he shook his head. ‘Something needs to be there in
English. His team has told us.They want Mr Gates to engage with the
event.’
‘Okay, we’ll do something in English.’
‘What?’
‘I'll figure it out,’ I said.
A knock on the door startled us. MLA Ojha came in. Mr Kaushal
stood up automatically. Government employees have a servile switch
in their brains. It makes them grovel in the presence of netas.
‘Listen to us poor Dumraon people at least once, Kaushal ji,’ Ojha
said. Mr Kaushal folded his hands. ‘Trying, Ojha sahib. Goras want to
see the real Bihar but in English. I'm going crazy.’
Ojha slapped my back.
‘Rajkumar ji went to the best English college in India. He will
handle them well.’
I smiled. I did go to the best English college, but my English still,
well, sucked.
*
My cell phone rang in the middle of a maths class. The call came
from an unknown number. The class III students looked at me. I held
a chalk in one hand and the phone in the other. I cut the call and
continued to teach.
'Twenty-three multiplied by twelve,’ l wrote on the squeaky
blackboard.
The phone rang again.
‘Do this sum, I’ll be right back,’ I said and stepped out of class.
‘Is this Mr Madhav Jha?’ asked a female voice in an unfamiliar
accent when I picked up the call.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘This is Samantha Myers from the Bill Gates Foundation, calling
from New Delhi.’
‘What?’ I said. I tried to figure out her words despite the strange
accent. ‘Hello. Myself Madhav. What can I do for you?’
I kicked myself for saying ‘myself Madhav’.
‘I am part of Mr Gates’s advance party. We would like to inspect
your school before we decide our itinerary.’
She spoke so fast I couldn’t understand most of what she said.
‘Yes, Mr Bill Gates. Is he coming?’
I had not had any update since my visit to Patna a week ago.
‘Well, I need to visit you first.’
*
‘Your school is...’ Samantha paused as she hunted for the right
word.
‘Not in great condition?’ I said.
I had taken her on a school tour.
The plaster was coming off the walls. The noise of kids repeating
mathematical tables drowned out our conversation. Students peeped
out of classroom windows. They stared at the alien creature with
golden hair and white skin.
‘No. I wanted to say quaint.’
‘Quaint?’ I said. I didn’t understand the word.
‘Different. Different in a charming sort of way.’
I failed to understand the charm of a school with leaky roofs and
furniture that was falling apart. White people think differently, I guess.
We came to the staffroom. She greeted my mother and the other
teachers. Tarachand ji brought us two cups of tea. Samantha noticed
the damp walls.
‘We will whitewash everything.The local government has assured
us,’ I said.
‘Yeah, that is fine. Can we sit outside? I’d love to get some sun,’
Samantha said.
We walked out, carrying a classroom chair each. We sat in the
fields facing the school entrance. The February sun felt warm. It made
Samantha’s golden hair shine even more. She was pretty. Why had she
left the comforts of her own country to roam dusty villages in India?
‘This is gorgeous,’ she said, looking at the rice crops sway in the
air.
‘Mr Gates will like it? We can arrange the annual-day function in
the fields.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he will.’
‘We’re a little short on funds. But we will do our best to put up a
good show.’
‘Sure. Are there enough toilets for the dignitaries?’
‘Well,’ I said, wondering what to say. In some ways, the entire field
was available as a toilet.
‘Western-style toilets, I meant.’ Samantha laughed. ‘Most of the
delegation is from the US.’
‘We will have temporary ones put up,’ I said.
‘You don’t have them at the school?’
I looked at her. She seemed more curious than judgemental. I
decided to be honest.
‘We are a poor school. We don’t have the money to do many
things. We are doing this to get noticed so some government officials
might help us.’
Samantha frowned.
‘We will, however,’ I said,‘do a good show. The local MLA is with
us.’
‘I believe you will. Since you mentioned lack of funds, would you
like to be considered for our grants programme?’ Samantha said.
‘What’s that?’
‘Our foundation gives grants, or a sum of money, to deserving
social projects.We had you as a tourist stop for Mr Gates, but you are
doing social service, too.'
‘Well, it is service for us. My mother has given her entire life to this
school. Even I turned down job offers to come here,’
‘Great.You can make a pitch tor that, too.’
’Pitch?’
'The grants programme is highly competitive. We get a lot of
wonderful proposals, but give funding to only a few.'
‘What do I need to do?’
‘Ideally, you need to submit a proposal and make a presentation to
the selection panel. However, there’s no panel meeting expected
anytime in the near future.’
‘Then?’
Samantha paused to think.
‘Please, Miss Samantha, I realty need money tor my school. You
have seen the condition it is in’
Samantha finally spoke. ‘Here's what I suggest. Make a good
speech to the visiting delegation. Mr Gates himself will be present. If
he and the delegation like what you say, they may grant you something
on the spot.’
Really?’
’If you can say something inspiring, a pitch that comes across as
genuine, a small grant might be possible.’
What's a small grant?’
‘Twenty thousand dollars. Maybe more. But like I said, it may not
work.’
I let out a huge breath. Eight lakhs could transform my school.
‘A speech, eh?’ I said.
‘Yes, not too preachy, not salesy. just from the heart.’
‘How long?’
‘Five to ten minutes. In English, of course.’
‘ What?’ I said and jumped up from my chair. My sudden
movement caused her to spill her tea.
‘Sorry? Everything okay?’ Samantha said.
I sat back down.
‘English?’
‘Yes. But we are speaking in English.’
‘I can barely talk to you. Addressing a US delegation in English in
front of an audience? I can’t.'
‘Well, we could have translators. But I’m afraid that just doesn’t
have the same effect.’
We finished tea. She called her driver. Kids continued to stare from
the classroom windows at the white princess in her white Innova.
‘My English is terrible,’ I said to her. She got into the car.
‘It’s completely your choice.’
The driver started the car. I continued to stare into Samantha’s grey
eyes.
‘So?’ she said.
‘I’ll do it,’ I said and inhaled deeply. ‘I will make a speech in
English.’
My heartbeat was louder than the car’s engine.
‘Nice. Look forward to it. See you in April,’ she said coolly.
The car zoomed off. I stood still, wondering why on earth I had
agreed to give a speech to the richest man on the planet.
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