The Three Mistakes Of My Life | Page 3

had to finish an office presentation. My boss,
Michel's boss was due from New York. Hoping to impress him Michel asked me
to make a presentation of the group, with fifty charts. For three consecutive
nights last week I had worked until 1:00 a.m., but had gotten only halfway.
'This is a suggestion. Don't take it the wrong way. But do consider taking a
bath,' my wife said.
I looked at her.
'Just an option,' she said.
I think she is overcautious sometimes. I don't bite back.
'Yes, yes. I will,' I said and stared at the computer again.
Thoughts darted through my head. Should I call some hospitals myself?
What if Prof Basant dozed off again? What if he could not collect the
students? What if G. Patel was dead? And why am I becoming so involved
here?
I took a reluctant shower. I opened the office presentation, but found myself
unable to type a single word.
I refused breakfast, though regretted it moments later � as hunger and anxiety
did not go well together.
My phone rang at 1.33 p.m.
`Hello,' Prof Basant's voice was unmistakable. 'We have a match at Civil Hospital.
His name is Govind Patel, twenty-five years of age. A second-year student of mine
found him.'
`And?'
 `And he is alive. But won't talk. Even to his family. Must be in shock.'
`What are the doctors saying?' I said.
'Nothing. It is a government hospital. What do you expect? Anyway, they will
flush his stomach and send him home. I won't worry too much now. Will ask a student
to check again in the evening.'
'But what is his story? What happened?'
All that I don't know. Listen, don't get too involved. India is a big country.
These things happen all the time. The more you probe, the more the chances of the
police harassing you.'
Next, I called the Civil Hospital. However, the operator did not know about the
case and there was no facility to transfer the line to the ward either.
Anusha, too, was relieved that the boy was safe. She then announced the plan for
the day � the dining chair hunt. It would begin at Ikea on Alexandra Road.
We reached Ikea at around three o'clock and browsed through the space-saving
dining sets. One dining table could fold four times over and become a coffee table �
pretty neat.
'I want to know what happened to the twenty-five-year-old businessman,' I
muttered.
'You will find out eventually. Let him recover. Must be one of those crazy reasons of
youth � rejection in love, low marks or drugs.' I stayed silent.
'C'mon, he just emailed you. Your ID is on your book cover. You really don't need
to get involved. Should we take six or eight?' She moved towards an oak-wood set.
I protested that we rarely had so many guests at home. Six chairs would be
enough.
'The marginal capacity utilisation of the two chairs would be less than ten
per cent,' I said.
'You men are least helpful,' she tossed back and then selected six chairs.
My mind strayed back to the businessman.
Yes, everyone was right. I shouldn't get involved. But yet, of all the people
in the world, this boy had sent me his last words. I couldn't help but get involved.
We ate lunch in the food court next to Ikea.
'I have to go,' I told my wife as I played with my lemon rice. 'Where? To
the office. Ok, you are a free man now. I did my shopping,' my wife said.
'No. I want to go to Ahmedabad. I want to meet Govind Patel.' I did not
meet her eye. Maybe I was sounding crazy.
`Are you nuts?'
I think it is only in my generation that Indian women started slamming
their husbands.
'My mind keeps going back,' I said.
'What about your presentation? Michel will kill you.'
 'I know. He won't get promoted unless he impresses his boss.'