The Hope Factory A Novel - By Lavanya Sankaran Page 0,123
with her cooking vessels; there was no point in carrying them with her to her new job, and she had no one to leave them with. To the raddi-man they would go, sold as they had once been purchased. She put the last item into the box and stood up to stretch her legs.
I will return shortly, she said, and she picked up Narayan’s bag. She hesitated; she hadn’t packed his cricket bat and scuffed ball, for where would he have the opportunity to use them? But now she pushed the ball into the bag. She would keep the bat safe for him. She hefted the bag onto her shoulder and made her way out of the courtyard, down the crowded gully, and onto the main road. There, a little way up, was the canteen. She squeezed past the vegetable carts and came to a halt. She could see him. He was wearing a brown shirt and shorts, the uniform slightly ragged and stained and left behind by the boy who had worked there before him. He moved between the little tables that had people clustered around them, eating as they stood. In one hand Narayan carried a plastic basin, into which he piled the dirty plates and tumblers left behind by customers. He wiped each table down hastily with a dirty, wet rag before moving to the next one. He was concentrated upon his task and did not look up.
He would attend school in the mornings and work for his keep in the evenings. He would make much less at this job than he would selling magazines at the street corner, but he would have a place to sleep and, hopefully, hot food in his belly at night.
Be good to him, she whispered, to the cook behind the counter, to the canteen owner at the cash counter, to the gods. He is a good boy. Be good to him. As his mother would.
THE WATCHMAN AT ANAND-SAAR’S house nodded at her, but she did not stop to chat, walking past the familiar gates to the ones just beyond. These were smaller, as was the house that stood beyond them. A small house, neatly confined, not so difficult to clean, she judged. The peeling paint and slightly unkempt garden spoke of parsimony, or a lack of attention. She rang the bell.
thirty-three
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS LIFE, Anand prepared to ambush someone at an event. As soon as the speeches were done, he pushed through the crowd, smiling with the same implacable tenacity he had witnessed in Harry Chinappa at important social moments. “How are you?” he said, extending his hand to Vijayan.
His first level of worry—that Vijayan would have no idea who he was and brush past him impatiently—proved baseless. Vijayan, with a politician’s mastery of names and faces, remembered him well and spoke warmly about the Diwali party.
Anand said quickly: “Sir, I was wondering if I could have a photograph with you?” He’d been ready to add: “For my wife, she could not be here and she would be so excited,” but he did not reckon with a politician’s appetite for being photographed with supporters. What felt awkward to him was natural and easy for Vijayan; Anand merely had to signal Amir, who was waiting nearby with a camera (“For Vidya,” Anand had told him. “You know what she’s like”), and they were photographed together: Vijayan posing with practiced ease and Anand with a grim, smiling determination.
The camera safely in his pocket, Anand took the next step. He said: “I am so pleased, sir, at your comments supporting industry.” Especially when so many other politicians in India cater to the populist, rural vote, with its focus on agriculture. We really need people in government who recognize that industries provide jobs and growth and an economic future for the country. People just like you, sir.
“That is at the heart of my campaign,” said Vijayan warmly. “To create magnificent opportunities for industry without, of course, in any way compromising rural development. In fact, as I said in my speech, my dream is to seed industry across India’s rural landscape and to do so in ways that are socially responsible, environmentally responsible, and economically viable.” He leaned in, enfolding a moment of intimacy about them. “Mr. Anand, successful businessmen like you are vital to my vision for India’s future.”
“Thank you,” Anand said. “I hope that your campaign is going well?”
Vijayan smiled. “I am blessed,” he said, “with tireless supporters.”