Riya had not reacted much to her father’s death. She had come
back from Delhi and hugged me as if she would never let go. She
mumbled something about forgiveness. I didn’t pry. She would only
tell me what she wanted to tel l me and when she decided to.
‘Yeah. My brothers are taking care of the business and my mother
sounded normal the last time I spoke to her.’ Then she was all brisk
and business-like, clapping her hands to bring me back to the present.
‘And now we have Madhav Jha, trom Dumraoti Royal School.’
I stood in the centre of her living room.
‘Respected Mr Gates, Ms Myers, other members of the Gates
foundation delegation, MLA Ojha, eminent people from Dumraon,
students and staff of the Dumraon Royal School...’
‘You know what?’ Riya interrupted me.
‘What?’
‘Your greeting, it’s too long. Let’s cut it.’
‘Riya, you’re changing the script at this stage?’
‘Minor change.’
We fine-tuned the words in my notes. I began again. She didn’t
interrupt me. I spoke for ten minutes.
‘And that, my friends, is all I have to say.Thank you,’ I said.
Riya clapped.
‘How many mistakes?’ I said.
‘Five.’
‘Five?’
‘Yeah, but minor ones. They don’t really change the meaning of the
sentences.’
‘You are just saying it to make me less tense, right?’
Riya smiled. ‘Let’s eat dinner. No point over-rehearsing. We are all
set. Relax,’ she said.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I made some daal, but chapatis will take time. Should I just
make some rice? Daal-chawal?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll help you.’