The Three Mistakes Of My Life | Page 2

I had promised to go furniture shopping with her � a promise that was made
ten weekends ago.
She took my coffee mug away and jiggled the back of my chair. `We need
dining chairs. Hey, you look worried?' she said.
I pointed to the monitor.
`Businessman?' she said as she finished reading the mail. She looked pretty
shaken up too.
And it is from Ahmedabad,' I said, 'that is all we know.' `You sure this is
real?' she said, a quiver in her voice. `This is not spam,' I said. `It is addressed to
me.'
My wife pulled a stool to sit down. I guess we really did need write extra
chairs.
`Think,' she said. `We've got to let someone know. His parents maybe.'
`How? I don't know where the hell it came from,' I said. And who do we
know in Ahmedabad?'
`We met in Ahmedabad, remember?' Anusha said. A pointless statement, I
thought. Yes, we'd been classmates at IIM-A years ago. `So?'
`Call the institute. Prof Basant or someone,' she sniffed and left the room.
'Oh no, the daal is burning.'
There are advantages in having a wife smarter than you. I could never be a
detective.
I searched the institute numbers on the Internet and called. An operator
connected me to Prof Basant's residence. I checked the time, 10.00 a.m. in Singapore,
7.30 a.m. in India. It is a bad idea to mess with a prof early in the morning.
`Hello?' a sleepy voice answered. Had to be the prof.
`Prof Basant, Hi. This is Chetan Bhagat calling. Your old student, remember?'
`Who?' he said with a clear lack of curiosity in his voice. Bad start.
I told him about the course he took for us, and how w e had voted him the
friendliest professor in the campus. Flattery didn't help much either.
'Oh that Chetan Bhagat,' he said, like he knew a million of them. You are a
writer now, no?'
'Yes sir,' I said, 'that one.'
'So why are you writing books?'
'Tough question, sir,' I stalled.
'Ok, a simple one. Why are you calling me so early on a Saturday?'
I told him why and forwarded the email to him.
'No name, eh?' he said as he read the mail.
'He could be in a hospital somewhere in Ahmedabad. He would have just
checked in. Maybe he is dead. Or maybe he is at home and this was a hoax,' I said.
I was blabbering. I wanted help � for the boy and me. The prof had asked a
good question. Why the hell did I write books � to get into this?
'We can check hospitals,' Prof said. 'I can ask a few students. But a name
surely helps. Hey wait, this boy has a Gmail account, maybe he is on Orkut as
well.'
'Or-what?' Life is tough when you are always talking to people smarter than
you.
'You are so out of touch, Chetan. Orkut is a networking site. Gmail users
sign up there. If he is a member and we are lucky, we can check his profile.'
I heard him clicking keys and sat before my own PC. I had just reached the
Orkut site when Prof Basant exclaimed, 'Aha, Ahmedabad Businessman. There is a
brief profile here. The name only says G. Patel. Interests are cricket, business,
mathematics and friends. Doesn't seem like he uses Orkut much though.'
'What are you talking about Prof Basant? I woke up to a suicide note,
written exclusively to me. Now you are telling me about his hobbies. Can you
help me or...'
A pause, then, 'I will get some students. We will search for a new young
patient called G. Patel, suspected of sleeping pill overdose. We will call you if we
find anything, ok?
'Yes, sir,' I said, breathing properly after a long time.
'And how is Anusha? You guys bunked my classes for dates and flow forget
me.'
'She is fine, sir.'
'Good, I always felt she was smarter than you. Anyway, let's find your boy,'
the prof said and hung up.
Besides furniture shopping, I