Half Girlfriend

complaints or demands. Pankaj, the MLA’s secretary, offered to push
me ahead in the queue. I declined. I had little interest in my
entitlements as a fake prince.
The villagers waited silently. There is something about people with
no hope for a better future in life. You can identify them from their
expression. Most of all, it is in their eyes, which don’t sparkle
anymore. They aren’t sad eyes. They are resigned eyes. The villagers
had accepted that life would be what happened to them, not what they
made of it. After all, this was rural Bihar. You can’t decide one day to
work hard and make it big in life. Nobody will let you. You have
ramshackle schools that teach you how to read and write, but not help
you make it in life. Even if you did educate yourself, you would find
no jobs. What is the point of dreaming big? It is better to sit, wait and
retire from life.
‘What have you come here for?’ I asked one of the village elders.
‘Power. We get it one hour a day in our village, Bastipur. Not
enough to pump water. We want to ask for two more hours.’
That’s it. The man wanted three hours of power in twenty-four
hours. And even for that he had to wait to meet his leaders with folded
hands. There must be millions of Indians like this, I thought. A lot
more than those who attend sushi parties on Aurangzeb Road, for
instance.
I waved a bunch of flies away. Pankaj came up to me.
‘Come, Ojha sir doesn’t like it that you’re waiting outside,’ Pankaj
said.
‘I’m fine, really,’ I said.
Ojha came out of his office. ‘You’re sitting on the floor?’ he said,
surprised.
‘Like everyone else,’ I said.
He looked around.‘Enough now, just come in, Madhavji,’he said.
We sat in the MLA’s living room. His wife brought me orange juice.
‘You should have just walked in,’ he said.
‘I didn’t want the villagers to think you give me preferential