The Hope Factory A Novel - By Lavanya Sankaran Page 0,62

to the bar and the hired bartender, Anand was finally free to leave his post. He made his way automatically over to where Amir and Amrita stood with a group of others, Kavika among them.

“Ah, there you are! Released from your bonded labor duties, I see …” Amir hailed him with a grin. “Cheer up, bastard…. I’m guessing from your tragic expression that full credit for this party goes to Vidya?”

“Yeah…. Oh, absolutely,” said Anand, gratefully seizing the opportunity to clarify the matter in front of Kavika. “You know me, yaar. I’m not into these large parties … prefer quiet evenings …”

He heard Kabir say: “You’re such a bore, yaar. Thank God for your beautiful wife … throws the best parties around.”

“Thanks also, I think, to our good and benevolent Harry Chinappa. I detect his subtle hand behind the arrangements …” said Amir, raising his glass. “A toast to him.”

In the distance, Harry Chinappa worked his way around the room as only he could, with a calm tenacity and a bluff smile that apparently hid the darker shades of his personality from the people he encountered. He had the habit of placing one hand lightly on the arm of the person he was talking to, or enclosing their hands in both of his, of staring intently into their eyes as they spoke; by the time the conversation was over, they found themselves committed to a lifelong friendship with Harry Chinappa without quite being aware of how it came about.

Anand had forgotten to ask who his father-in-law’s very important guests were going to be. At the height of the party, Vinayak, standing next to him said, “Oh my god,” and the rest of the party went silent. And there was Harry Chinappa threading his way through the guests, Harry Chinappa not alone but gilded in his hour of triumph by the man who was following in his footsteps, stopping every now and then to smile at people, to shake hands, to modestly and lightly wear the tingling cloak of celebrity that swept over the room, Vijayan.

He was not alone; accompanying him was a film actor who had a huge following in the state but even so could not detract attention from the politician he was trailing. Even Amir and Amrita, Anand saw, appeared starstruck.

Harry Chinappa looked around. Their eyes met; Anand’s first instinct was to pretend that he hadn’t seen him, but he could not avoid his fate indefinitely. He duly made his way over and was introduced to Vijayan. A few words, closely monitored by his father-in-law, and the audience was over. Harry Chinappa placed one hand on Vijayan’s shoulder and turned away, dismissing Anand, swallowed instantly by the thronging crowd.

The politician and his actor friend were, under his father-in-law’s stewardship, soon seated at a card table, where Vinayak, with unerring calculation, also quickly planted himself.

Amir began to talk politics—and if Diwali wishes came true, Anand would have guided the four of them—Amir, Amrita, Kavika, and himself—into his study, where they could sit at their ease in the peace and enjoy the luxury of their conversation. And perhaps, after a few minutes, Amir and Amrita would excuse themselves and wander back to the party, leaving him alone with Kavika. He glanced at the woman standing next to him; surely this magical creature would infinitely prefer that to the noise of this rank and fevered crowd? She was nodding now as she listened to Amir, but whatever she was about to say was rudely interrupted.

“Good point, very good point … now, Amir, bhai-jaan, can you quit being so fucking serious for one evening?” Kabir had reappeared with a tray with tequila in shot glasses, salt, and lime, Vidya laughing by his side.

Amir shook his head austerely. “No, no. Shots, ugh. What are you guys, college kids?” he asked, as he sniffed reverently at his glass of single malt whiskey. Anand refused the tequila; Kavika, Vidya, and Amrita downed the shots with Kabir.

The party seemed to shift into a higher gear. The music switched from soothing sarod to muscular, drum-thumping Bollywood, and Kabir immediately swung Kavika out to dance.

Anand noticed two things: Kavika was a graceful dancer, with all the right moves. And Kabir, in his well-tailored black sherwani, looked like a movie star.

Anand himself, as a concession to the occasion, was wearing a cotton kurta, rejecting the silk one that Vidya had laid out for him. He had looked at himself in the mirror before the party; he’d appeared normal. He