The Hope Factory A Novel - By Lavanya Sankaran Page 0,33

must have been a puppy herself the last time you came …”

Anand didn’t remember. Though the children loved traveling there with their maternal grandparents, his own visits to his in-laws’ property in Coorg were few and far between.

“A dog should be good fun,” he said, “we can—” Valmika interrupted him with “Oh, look! There’s Kavika-aunty.”

She waved and ran over. Kavika was walking across the grass toward them, holding on to the leash of an aging cocker spaniel. Like them, she was in T-shirt and sweatpants. She was not alone with her dog; she was accompanied by her little four-year-old daughter. Anand watched her laughing and talking with Valmika, who was kneeling and fussing over the dog. The child hung back a little, perhaps rendered shy by this beaming teenage energy.

He walked over slowly. His heart rate had still not recovered from his running; he could do little more than nod and smile when she looked in his direction. The child peeped at him from behind her mother’s leg, and he found himself instantly relaxing. The responsive twinkle in his eye drew her out; soon she was exchanging confidences, showing him the bruise she had acquired the day before in her grandmother’s garden. Her skin was two shades lighter than her mother’s, just like her hair and eyes; these were the only hints of her putative foreign paternity; in the rest of her, her direct glance, the spark of her intelligence, her laughter, it seemed he could detect the graces of her mother.

“Come, Valmika,” he said eventually. “We should complete our run.” His daughter pulled away reluctantly; he turned away more slowly still, watching them walk away at the dawdling pace of young child and aging dog.

He and Valmika completed their circle around the park, jogging back to their car past the red High Court buildings, the stretched residence of a short British past and vainglorious Vidhana Soudha, full of aggrandized aspirations.

“We should do this every week, Appa,” his daughter said, her face aglow with heat and endorphins. “Isn’t Kavika-aunty cool?” she said. He smiled but did not answer.

HIS CALF MUSCLES WERE already tightening and painful by the time he reached his office, but he forgot them when he looked at his emails. There, number five from the top on a long list of incoming messages, was the mail they had been waiting for. He read and read again: Cauvery Auto had made the short list; the Japanese parent car company would very much like to take things further in a series of future meetings.

He immediately forwarded the email to Ananthamurthy and Mrs. Padmavati; they arrived in his office minutes later, their happiness written across their faces.

“It is because of our prayers,” Ananthamurthy said, “and also the level of preparation we put into the meeting.”

“Can it be that they are looking nowhere else?” Mrs. Padmavati asked. “That they have already decided upon us?”

“No, no,” said Anand, decidedly. “There is a short list. We cannot count our blessings, yet.”

“They are like chickens, is it not?” said Ananthamurthy, and after a short, baffled pause, Anand agreed with him. Blessings were indeed like chickens.

“Did you read the second half of the email?” he asked them, for this is what had caught his attention. They were asked to provide clarifications of a detailed nature: in case they were selected, would Cauvery Auto be ready with the resources necessary to handle the expansion?

“Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Padmavati. “We need to make a list…. From a financial point of view, we need to speak to the bankers to extend the loan facility.”

“We need more land, sir. From a production standpoint,” said Ananthamurthy. “We cannot proceed otherwise. Even if bank funding comes through.”

“Right,” said Anand.

IN THE EARLY YEARS of his working life, meetings with bankers were frequently combustible affairs, where need and dignity were in opposition; Anand had to convince skeptical bankers of both his desperation and his worthiness at one go, a humiliating process with variable outcomes. But he had been meticulous about his loan repayments, and he hoped that such scruples had earned him a measure of goodwill.

He decided to take Mrs. Padmavati with him to the meetings, to reinforce his organizational capability in front of the bankers; it would also be a good proving ground for her. Both of them spent the rest of the day preparing for the meeting, calculating their future requirements: for purchase of the land, for equipment, for new buildings, for new employees. Mrs. Padmavati was conscientious and conservative in her