Three Mistakes of My Life by Chetan Bhagat

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I put the phone in my pocket

'What? Trying to sell you something?' Ish said.
'Yes, wooing me, hard,' I said as I locked the cashbox.


I knew it, that old man wouldn't listen,' Mama said.
His mood alternated between anger and tears. It was hard for a tough, grown-
up man like him to cry. However, it was even harder to work for months and lose
an election. We stood outside the counting booths. Electoral officers were still
tallying the last few votes, though the secular party had already started rolling
drumbeats outside.
'Look at the Belrampur votes,' Mama pointed to the ballot boxes. 'Clean sweep
for the Hindu party. That's my area. The two other neighbourhoods given to me,
we won majority votes there, too.'
His group of a dozen twenty-something supporters held their heads down.
'And look what happened in the other neighbourhoods. That Muslim professor
has nothing to do all day. He even met the old ladies. But Hasmukh-ji? Huh, chip
on shoulder about being upper caste. Cannot walk the lanes and feels he can win
elections by waving from the car. And look, he ran away two hours into the
counting.'
Mama wiped his face with his hands and continued. 'Am I not from a priest's
family? Did 1 not go to the sewer-infested lanes of the Muslim pols? Aren't there
Hindu voters there? Why didn't he go?'
The secular party workers jeered at Mama's team. Tempers rose as a few of
Mama's team members heckled the drum player.
'It's going to get ugly,' I told Omi in his ear, 'let's get out of here.'
'I can't go. Mama needs me,' Omi said.
A white Mercedes drove up in-front of the vote-counting station. A jeep of
bodyguards came alongside. The guards surrounded the area as the Mercedes'
door opened. Parekh-ji stepped outside.
Mama ran to Parekh-ji. He lay down on the ground and 'I am your guilty man.
Punish me,' Mama said, his voice heavy.
Parekh-ji placed both his hands on Mama's head. 'Get up, Bittoo.'
'No, no. I want to die here. I let the greatest man down,' Mama continued to
bawl.
Parekh-ji gave the youngsters a firm glance. Everyone backed off. Parekh-ji
lifted Mama up by the shoulders, 'Come, let's go for dinner to Vishala. We need to
talk.'
Mama walked towards Parekh-ji's ear, his head still down.
'Come son,' Parekh-ji said to Omi. Ish and I looked at each other. Maybe it was
time for Ish and me to vanish.
'Can Ish and Govind come along? They came to Gandhinagar,' Omi said. I
guess he wanted us to have a treat at Vishala, normally unaffordable for us.
Parekh-ji looked at us and tried to place us. I don't know if he could.
'Hop into the jeep,' he said.
The Vishala Village Restaurant and Utensils Museum is located at the outskirts
of Ahmedabad, in the village of Sarkhej. Along with a craft museum and village
courtyards, there is an ethnic restaurant that serves authentic Gujarati cuisine.

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