Rajkumar's Resilient Revolution

"Mr. Rajkumar, we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for a special mission."

The official's voice was flat and toneless, like he didn't believe in the words that came out of his own mouth. It reminded me of the school announcements I hated so much when I was a child. "Rajkumar Shrivastav, please bring your textbooks to my room during lunch break..." You never knew if it was a good announcement or a bad one, but either way there was nothing you could do about it.

I sat upright on the wooden chair as if I was being tested for posture, as if this wasn't just another conversation with some government official. The walls of his office were covered in maps and charts of India's economy and power grids - symbols of authority and control. But the official himself had no such airs; he looked like any other middle-aged man with a slight paunch, balding head and moustache that would look more appropriate on an American truck driver than a bureaucrat in the government of India. I wondered how long he'd been here before his personality had eroded - how long before he started believing what he said?

"Please accept my congratulations," I said. "Who will be my partner?"

"Who will be your what?" the official asked suspiciously. His pen stopped moving across the papers on his desk. I cursed myself for not making sure I understood him properly before speaking up. What was wrong with me today?

"My partner," I explained patiently. "I am used to working in pairs when doing field work."

"Oh yes," he replied, as if remembering something unimportant from a long time ago. "We have several men who can assist you: Niranjan Singh, Sartaj Singh, Balram Singh... All good men with many years of experience in deshbhakti."

Deshbhakti? What did that mean? My cell phone buzzed loudly in my pocket; it was probably my friend Padma calling to make sure I got home safely last night after dinner at her house. She had met me at the train station yesterday morning and taken me to this office for my interview, but then left for somewhere else without saying goodbye or leaving any contact details. It annoyed me slightly, but she was always like this so I tried not to take it personally; she probably thought she'd done me a favour by "helping" me get this job without wasting her time waiting around for me afterwards. Fucking Padma! Just thinking about her made me lose control again: "But who is going to be my partner?"

"Rajkumar Shrivastav?" The official's eyebrows shot up into his forehead while his mouth hung open like a fish gasping for air on land. He took off his spectacles and closed them tightly between finger and thumb like someone shaking water off their hands after washing dishes.

"You're just an errand boy!" he exclaimed angrily when he could finally speak again. "You don't need an assistant! You just need to deliver goods! And we don't even know if you'll be able to deliver them safely!" He put his glasses back on and glared at me suspiciously through narrow slits, as if expecting more questions from me soon.

"What kind of goods?" I asked finally, deciding not to provoke him further despite knowing full well that my tone sounded more like an accusation than a question.

Not that it mattered at this point - if there was one thing I'd learnt from Padma over the years it was that it's impossible to backtrack once you've made a mistake in front of someone important. The only thing you can do is ride out the storm until things calm down and try not to make any new mistakes until then; hoping that people forget about old ones too quickly is just asking for trouble (especially in India). So when the official's face started turning redder than usual (which seemed quite possible) I decided not to push my luck any further right now and waited patiently for him to tell me what he wanted me to do instead ("Deliver goods"? What did they think I did all day anyway? Wasn't that why they gave us rice rations?) while silently cursing Mr [sic] Padma under my breath for getting me into this mess in the first place.