Authors: Chetan Bhagat
You bagged a Gates Foundation grant. Incredible,’ Jyoti said. We
ate chapatis and chana masala for dinner at Shailesh’s house on my
first night in New York.
‘My school did. They liked the good work the team had done,’ I
said.
‘It’s him,’ Shailesh said. ‘He cracked it. Bill Gates himself saw the
school and proposed the grant.’
Jyoti said, ‘Can this internship lead to a full-time job in New
York?’
‘I don’t want a job,’ I said.
‘You’re doing it for the experience?’ Shailesh said.
'It’s for... Well, there is another reason.’ I said and turned silent. I
looked at Jyoti.
Shailesh understood my hesitation.
‘You want to tell me later?' he said.
‘Buddy secrets, is it?’Jyoti smiled. I smiled back. Jyoti stood up to
go to the kitchen.
‘Whatever you tell me, I will end up telling her,’ Shailesh said and
looked at her. She blew him a kiss.
‘All right then. Sit,Jyoti,’ I said.
Jyoti sat down again, very attentive.
‘I am here to look for someone,’ I said.
‘Look for?' Jyoti said. ‘You don’t have his contact?’
‘Her. No, I don’t. I’m not even sure she’s here.’
‘Ah, her. It’s about a girl. Isn’t it always?’Jyoti said.
‘Who?’ Shailesh said.
‘Riya,’ I said.
'Riya? Who? Riya Somani?’ Shailesh said.
‘Well, yes,’ I said.
Shailesh let out a whistle.
‘What the fuck,’ Shailesh said. ‘Really? You’re in New York
looking for Riya Somani?’
He started to laugh.
‘Who is Riya Somani? Clearly she has created some excitement
here,' Jyoti said.
‘His...well, how do I say it? Well, kind of your ex-girlfriend, right?’
‘Half-girlfriend, Ex-half-girlfriend,’ I said.
‘That was ages ago,’ Shailesh said, sounding confused.‘Didn’t she
get married to her cousin in London or something? She dropped out,
right?’
‘It wasn’t her cousin. It was Rohan, a family friend and rakhi
brother. Not a cousin,’
I hate it when college rumours get blown out of proportion.
‘Sorry, I don’t remember the details. She messed with you, man,
and flew away to London with her husband,’ Shailesh said.
I smiled.
‘There’s more to that story. A lot more. Want to hear it?' I said.
Jyoti and Shailesh nodded.They listened with rapt attention.
I told them everything. I ended my story at 10 in the night.
Jyoti turned to Shailesh.
‘I had no idea Indian men could be so romantic,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’ Shailesh said, looking wounded.
‘You don’t walk me to my office from the subway stop,'Jyoti said.
'And here are people coming halfway across the world to find lost
love.'
‘C’mon Jyoti. Everything is not an excuse to nag,’ Shailesh said
and turned to me. ‘But, boss, you are mind-blowing. Still chasing that
chick after, what, seven years?’
‘That’s so romantic,'Jyoti said dreamily.
'It's also stupid,’ Shailesh said.
'Shailesh!’Jyoti said.
'I'm just being protective of my friend.'
‘He’s right,' I said, interrupting Shailesh.’I am being stupid. But I
can't help it, She means everything to me.’
‘Everything? You thought she was dead. You survived, right?’
Shailesh said.
‘Survived, yes, Lived, no.’
Jyoti sighed. Shailesh gave up. He got us a bottle of red wine and
three glasses. ‘You guys have to wake up early,' I said as I took a sip.
‘Feel free to go to bed.'
‘No worries,' Shailesh said. ‘What is your plan?’
‘I will step out now.’
‘Now?’Jyoti said, gulping down her wine.
‘I will start with live music venues on the Upper East Side.'
‘This late?’Jyoti said.
‘Nothing starts before ten anyway,’ I said.
I finished my glass and stood up.
‘It’s New York City. Every block has bars with live music.' Shailesh
said.
‘I’ll have to visit every block, I guess,' I said.
‘You are mad.' Shailesh said.
‘Depends on how you look at it,' I said.
‘Meaning?’
‘You wake up at 6 and put on a suit.You reach office at 7.30 in the
morning and work thirteen hours a day. Some may find that pretty
mad.'
‘I get rewarded for it, bro. In dollars.'
‘Riya is my ultimate reward,' I said. Shailesh had no answer.
‘You need a warmer jacket, wait/ Jyoti said. She rummaged in a
cupboard and came back with a leather jacket with a down filling.
‘Thanks,' I said. I walked out of the apartment and shut the door
behind me. Inside, I could hear Shailesh say, ‘You think he needs a
psychiatrist?’
*
Google Maps doesn’t judge lunatic lovers. It simply gave me
results when I looked for live music bars near me. The first suggestion
was Brandy’s Piano Bar on 84th Street, between Second and Third
Avenue, a mere five-minute walk away.
I reached Brandy’s, a tiny bar one would miss if one wasn’t
looking for it. A two-drink minimum policy applied to all customers. I
didn’t want to have drinks. I just wanted to meet the management and
find out the list of singers.
‘Sir, you need to order two drinks,' the waitress told me, chewing
gum. I realized I would need a better way to do this. For now, I found
the cheapest drink on the menu.
‘Two Budweiser beers, please.’
A makeshift stage had a piano on it. I had entered during a break.
Ten minutes later, a singer called Matt came and took his seat.
‘Hi guys, lovely to see you all again, let’s start with Aerosmith,’
Matt said.
The crowd broke into cheers. I guessed Aerosmith was a popular
hand. Matt sang in a slow, clear voice. My English practice meant I
could catch a few words;
'I could stay awake just to hear you
breathing.
Watch you smile while you are sleeping.’
Customers swung their heads from side to side. Matt sang and
played the piano at the same time.
‘Don’t wanna close my eyes, I don’t
wanna fall asleep. 'Cause I’d miss you, baby. And I don’t wanna miss
a thing’
I didn’t want to fall asleep either. I wanted to stay up all night and
look for Riya in as many bars as I could. I opened my Google Maps
app again.The streets of Manhattan seemed manageable on the phone
screen. In reality, this was a megacity of millions.
She may not even be in New York
, a soft voice in my head told me.
It was the only sensible voice I had left. As always, I ignored it. I
focused on the music. I felt the pain of the singer who couldn’t bear to
sleep as ii would mean missing moments with his lover.
I went up to the cashier and asked for the manager. When he
arrived, I posed my standard list of questions.
‘I’ve come from India looking for a lost friend. All I know is she it
probably a singer at a bar in NewYork. Can you tell me who your
singers are?’
‘Too many, my friend. The schedule is on the noticeboard. You
know her name?’ the manager said.
‘Her real name is Riya.’
‘No such name, I’m pretty sure.’
‘She may have changed it for the stage,’ I said.
‘That’s a tough search then, my friend.’
‘She’s tall, slim and pretty. Long hair, well, at least when I saw her
last.’
‘This is a city of tall, slim and pretty people.’
‘Indian, She’s an Indian singer in a New York bar.’
‘She sings Bollywood? I would check the Indian restaurants.’
‘Unlikely. She liked Western music. Do you remember seeing any
Indian singer at your bar?'
The manager thought for a few seconds. He shook his head.
‘Sorry, mate. The schedule is there. See if something rings a bell.’
I walked to the noticeboard. I saw the timetable for various gigs all
month,The singers’ descriptions did not suggest anyone like Riya.
The waitress gave me the bill for two beers. She added a 20 per
cent tip to it.
‘20 per cent?’
‘It’s New York,’ she said, glaring. I later learnt that tipping wasn't
optional in New York.
I left Brandy’s and visited a couple of other bars in the
neighbourhood. There was Marty O’Brien's on 87th street in Second
Avenue. It had more rock bands than singers. Uptown Restaurant and
Lounge on 88th Street had its schedule placed outside. I could only
find two female singers. Both were American, the doorman told me.
The posh Carlyle Hotel, all the way down on 76th Street, had a bar
called Bemelman’s. Drinks cost fifteen dollars each, excluding the tip. I sat on a small couch in the corner of the bar and stayed away from the
waiter to avoid placing an order.
The singer, a beautiful, six-foot-tall blonde American woman, sang
a love song: '
I have loved you for a thousand years, I will love you for
a thousand more.'
A waiter came up to me to take my order. I told him I had to leave
for some urgent work. I stood up.
'By the way, do you have other female singers here?’ I said.
‘A couple of them.They alternate.’
‘Anybody who looks Indian?'
'I couldn’t tell, sir,’ the waiter said. Americans don't like to take a
shot at answering questions they don’t know—unlike Indians, who
pretty much know everything about everything.
‘Tall, really pretty girl who looks Indian?'
‘No, sir. Only two black singers, and two Caucasian ones.’
Even at midnight, on a weekday, the place was packed, Everyone
around me seemed incredibly happy.They clinked glasses and laughed
at jokes. They probably didn't know of Bihar’s existence. Neither
would they know how it felt to love someone for a thousand years, as
the singer crooned.
I did.
39
The Gates Foundation’s head office in the United States is in
Seattle. It is where Microsoft is based and where Bill Gates lives. Apart from that, they have an East Coast office in Washington. In New York,
they often work with their partners on various projects. Since I had
insisted on New York, Michael had given me a place on a Foundation
project with the United Nations. The UN world headquarters is located
in mid-town New York. On my first day to work, I walked to the 86th
Street station on Lexington Avenue. I took train number four and got
down at Grand Central Station on 42nd Street, walking half a mile to
the massive United Nations Plaza complex. After a three-layered
security process, I reached the office of the UNFPA, or the United
Nations Population Fund.
‘Mr Jha, welcome. Come in.’ A forty-year-old black man twice my
width met me in the reception area.
I entered an office filled with books and reports.
‘Olara Lokeris from Uganda. Worked with the Population Fund for
ten years. I will be your mentor.’
The Gates Foundation had granted 57 million US dollars to the
UNFPA to educate youth on preventing HIV/AIDS in African
countries. I had to make a report on the project’s progress. Of course,
I had no experience either in Africa, or in making a report.
‘I run a school in Bihar, India. I’m sorry, but this Africa ahd HIV
research is all new to me.’
Olara smiled. His white teeth glistened in his large face.
‘Don’t worry. Making reports is much easier than running an actual
school,’ he said.
Olara spent the rest of the afternoon explaining the various
databases maintained in the project to me.
‘Ghana, Uganda, Tanzania and Botswana are the four main
countries of focus,’ he said.
He briefed me on other logistical and administrative issues related
to my internship. He also told me that work hours would be from 9 to
5, with a lunch break in between.
‘First time in New York?’ Olara said.
‘Yes.’
‘Good, I will take you out for a drink after work.’ : ‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Any preferences?’
‘Any place with live music,’ I said.
*
One month later
‘Dude, no. Please. I can’t take this,’ Shailesh said. He pushed the
envelope back towards me.
I had placed a thousand dollars inside.
‘It’s been a month, Shailesh. I feel obligated,’ I said.
‘Would I pay you rent if I came to Dumraon?’ he said.
‘No, but you are paying rent here. So let me contribute.’
‘Don’t be stupid. You are hardly here. You come home at 3 every
night.You leave at 8. We barely feel your presence.’
Shailesh was right. We had not met the entire week, even though
we lived in the same house.
‘How’s work?’ he said. ‘What exactly is your project?’
‘Tracking the progress of AIDS awareness initiatives in Botswana.’
‘Sounds noble.’
‘I don’t know about noble. All I know is I only have two months
left and there’s still no sign of Riya.’
Shailesh tilted his box of cereal. The box label said ‘Cinnamon
Toast Crunch’. Little sugar-coated squares fell into his milk.
‘You are chasing an illusion,’ he said.
‘Maybe.’
‘How many bars have you visited in the last month?’
I flipped through my notebook where I kept track of all my visits.
‘Hundred-plus. Close to two hundred,’ I said.
Apart from actual visits, I had also called up five hundred other
music venues. Nobody had heard of a singer called Riya.
Shailesh gasped. He covered his mouth with his hand to prevent
food from spilling out. He waited a few seconds to chew the contents