'Oh, I love this place,’ she said.‘Look at the balcony.’
‘Stop it. If you praise it so much, he will never give us a good
price,’ I said.
We were in an apartment close to Dak Bungalow Road in
Indiranagar, an upscale and relatively quiet neighbourhood in noisy
Patna.
After viewing many apartments smaller than the servant quarters of
100, Aurangzeb Road, we had finally stumbled upon the right one. It
was a colonial apartment building with twelve-foot high ceilings. It
had old teak windows and doors. Both the bedrooms had a sunny
balcony facing a park. There was a spacious kitchen with a loft for
storage. I knew Riya would take this place.
‘Shhh,’ she said and placed a finger on her lips.
‘Twenty thousand,’ the broker said, probably sensing our keenness.
‘So much? Have you had bhaang?’ I said.
‘It is the safest area in Patna. Madam is staying alone. And look at
the balconies,’ the broker said.
‘True, it is lovely,’ Riya said dreamily.
I glared at her. She placed a hand on her mouth, as if to say ‘oops’.
‘Fifteen,’ I said.
‘This is a gora flat, sir. Foreigners like these old places. I am
showing it to a firangi couple later today,’ the broker said.
‘We will take it. Done. Twenty,’ Riya said.
I shrugged at Riya. She smiled at me. Rich kids think money grows
like the rice in the fields of Dumraon.
*
‘This is gorgeous,’ Riya said. She took out her mobile phone and
started to take pictures.
We had come to Gol Ghar, a giant round planetarium-shaped dome
located opposite Gandhi Maidan. It had been built in 1784 as a granary
when the British wanted a place to store grain to be used in times of
famine. I bought the two-rupee ticket for both of us.
‘You could have bargained. He would have agreed for eighteen
thousand,’ I said.
‘I couldn’t let go of the place. I’m going to live there. It’s
important,’ she said. She clicked a picture of the bronze plaque, which
read: For perpetual prevention of famine in this province This
Granary Completed on 20th July 1786
We climbed the steps that took us to the top of the dome. We saw
wide green fields on one side and the clamour of the city on the other.
The dome walls were covered with paan stains, and couples’
names had been etched on the surface. Losers who think little before
destroying a city’s heritage do this sort of stuff. There’s a reason why
people say we Biharis are uncouth. Some people in my community
work hard to earn us that tag.
‘If they clean this place up, it will be awesome,’ Riya said.
‘Yeah, the authorities don’t care,’ I said.
‘It’s not just the authorities. If the people cared, the authorities
would care too,’ Riya said.
I nodded. Empty cigarette packets and peanut shells lay strewn all
over the steps and on the floor.
‘This could be a really cool IMAX theatre.’
‘What’s that?’
She told me about IMAX theatres in London; they had screens four
times the normal size.
I adjusted the heavy rucksack on my shoulder.
‘Books?’ she said.
I nodded. Her yellow-and-white dupatta fluttered in the breeze.
‘You want to know what classes I’m taking?’ I said.
‘I can’t ask you again,’ she said and smiled.
‘English. Spoken English.’
‘Oh,’ she said.‘Do you really need them?’
‘Yes, on an urgent basis,’ I said.
We walked down the Gol Ghar steps. I told her how the Gates
Foundation people would arrive in six weeks and I had to deliver a
speech.
‘No speech, no grant, eh?’ she said.
I nodded and haiied an auto. ‘Maurya Complex,’ I said to the
driver.
*
Maurya Complex is a grey box-shaped building with retail stores
on the ground level and offices on the higher doors. While the
building has no character, its compound area has some of the most
popular street food stalls of Patna.
‘Tried litti-chokha before?’ I said.
‘What’s that?’ she said.
I pointed to a stall where fresh littis were being made over red-hot
charcoal. The cook took a ball of dough and stuffed it with spiced
chickpea powder. Flattening the ball with his fingers, he roasted the
litti over the-coals. Once done, he gave the litti a quick dip in desi
ghee. He gave us the littis in a plate with salad, chutney and chokha.
‘What is chokha?’ Riya said.
The stall-owner explained how chokha is made with tomatoes,
eggplant and potatoes all mashed together and cooked with green
chillies, salt and other spices.
Riya took a bite. ‘This is unbelievable.’
Her expression made the stall-owner’s chest swell with pride.
'Like it?’ I laughed, knowing the answer.
‘Why don’t they have this in Delhi? All over India? The world?’
Riya said.
‘Bihari things are not considered cool.’
‘Why?’ she said, her mouth full.
‘It’s a poor state. Nobody wants our things, or us. Not yet, at least.’
‘From now on I’m eating this every day.’
We finished our meal. I passed her tissues to wipe her hands.
‘My mother makes even better litti-chokha,’ I said.
‘You make this at home?’ Riya said.
‘All the time.You should come sometime,’ I said.
She kept quiet. I sensed her hesitation. We stepped out of the
Maurya Complex.
‘You don’t have to come. I will bring some home-made littichokha
for you,' I said.
‘No, I would love to visit Dumraon. I want to meet your mother,
too. I’ve heard so much about her.’
We found an auto outside Maurya Complex. ‘Chanakya Hotel for
madam first. After that, Boring Road,’ I told the driver.
‘What did you say? Boring?’ Riya giggled.
‘What? Yes, my classes are on Boring Road.’
‘The name says it all.’
I laughed,
‘They aren’t bad. just tough to learn English in such a short time.
‘The challenge is, you have to focus on three things at the same
time: English, public speaking and, the most important, the actual
content of the speech,’ she said.
I looked at her. She had nailed the problem on its head.
The auto moved through the bustling traffic. I have no idea why
everyone in Patna loves honking so much.
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
‘Madhav,’ Riya said.
‘Yeah?’ I said.
‘Nothing.’
‘Say it, Riya.’
‘Would you like me to help you with English?’
I didn’t reply at once.
‘I’m sorry. It’s okay. I won’t ask twice.’
The auto reached Chanakya Hotel. As she stepped off, she held my
hand for a second.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply my English is superior to yours
or anything like that.’
‘When can we start?’ I said.
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