Chapter 2 The Handshake
The next morning, the sun hit the Godavari River hard, turning the water into a blinding sheet of silver.
Arjun waited in the backseat of the SUV, the air conditioning blasting against his face. He had his headphones on, listening to an Eminem track on his iPod, trying to block out the chaotic noise of the street outside.
Dad, do I really have to come in? Arjun asked, pulling one earbud out. It's going to be boring. just a bunch of old people signing papers.
Vikram stood outside the car, adjusting his tie. He looked out of place on the dusty Rajahmundry street. He was wearing a three-piece suit in thirty-five-degree heat, while everyone else was in loose cotton shirts.
It's not just signing papers, Arjun. It's history. But fine. You can stay in the car. It will only take thirty minutes.
Anjali stepped out, smoothing her saree. She looked at Arjun through the window.
Don't go wandering off, Arjun. Stay with the driver.
I will, Mom.
Arjun watched them walk toward the building. It wasn't a government office; it was a private two-story building with a large board that read 'Virendar Charitable Trust'. Several white Scorpios were parked in front, blocking the traffic.
Arjun leaned back, but he kept his eyes on the entrance. He saw a man step out to greet his parents.
The man was short, stocky, and dressed in crisp white khadi linens that looked like they had been ironed five minutes ago. He had a thick mustache and gold rings on almost every finger. He smiled wide, his teeth flashing, and bent down to touch Vikram's feet in a show of exaggerated respect.
That must be him, Arjun thought. The MLA.
Virendar Rao.
Arjun didn't know anything about politics, but he knew about body language. In New York, he had seen his father deal with sharks—men who smiled with their mouths but calculated with their eyes.
Virendar Rao had the same look.
He watched as Rao hugged his father, then folded his hands respectfully towards his mother. They ushered them inside like royalty.
Arjun lost interest. He put his headphones back on and pulled out his Game Boy. He didn't care about the Trust or the politics. To him, his dad was just writing a check so they could get on with the vacation.
Inside the office, the atmosphere was thick with false humility.
Virendar Rao sat behind a massive teak desk, pushing a plate of cashew nuts toward Vikram.
Sir, this is a blessing for our district. A true blessing. With your five million dollars—twenty-two crores, Sir, twenty-two crores!—we will build a hospital that rivals Apollo in Hyderabad.
Vikram took a pen from his pocket. He placed the check on the table.
I want monthly reports, Mr. Rao. Every rupee accounted for. Construction starts next week. I've already hired the architect from Mumbai. He will coordinate with you.
Of course, Sir! Rao nodded vigorously, his eyes glued to the check. I will personally oversee every brick. You go, enjoy your tour of India. Show your son our great culture. When you return in a month, you will see the foundation laid.
Vikram signed the papers. He felt good. He felt like he was paying back a debt to the soil that raised him.
He didn't notice that Rao's eyes weren't on him, but on the signature. Rao wasn't thinking about bricks or doctors. He was thinking about the upcoming state elections and how much twenty-two crores could buy in votes and liquor.
Vikram stood up and shook Rao's hand.
We'll see you in a month, Mr. Rao.
Have a safe journey, Sir.
Vikram walked out, feeling lighter. He got back into the car, loosening his tie.
Done? Arjun asked, pausing his game.
Done, Vikram smiled, tapping the driver's shoulder. Let's go. To the airport.
Where are we going first? Arjun asked.
Kerala, Anjali said, turning around from the front seat with a bright smile. We are going to live on a boat.
The next thirty days were a blur of motion and color.
They flew down south to Kerala. They rented a houseboat in Alleppey, drifting through the backwaters. For three days, there was no internet, no phone signal, and no business calls.
Vikram tried to fish off the deck using a local line. He sat there for four hours, sunburnt and focused, while Arjun and Anjali took bets on whether he would catch anything.
I got one! Vikram shouted, reeling in the line frantically.
He pulled up an old plastic boot tangled in weeds.
Arjun laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair. Even Anjali couldn't stop giggling.
Very funny, Vikram grumbled, tossing the boot back, but he was laughing too. Arjun had never seen his father this relaxed. The lines on his forehead, etched by years of staring at stock tickers, seemed to smooth out.
From Kerala, they flew north to Jaipur. They rode elephants up to the Amber Fort. Arjun felt like a kid again, watching the massive walls tower over them. They ate Rajasthani food that was so rich in ghee that Arjun joked his arteries were clogging up instantly.
They moved on to Shimla. The temperature dropped. They bought wool hats from a roadside vendor. Arjun, seeing an opportunity, packed a snowball and launched it at the back of his dad's head.
Vikram spun around, wiping the snow from his neck, feigning anger. Oh, you want a war?
It turned into a full-blown snowball fight in the hotel courtyard. Vikram, the fifty-million-dollar man, was ducking behind a bench, throwing snow at his fourteen-year-old son while Anjali cheered for Arjun.
For a month, they weren't the rich NRI family. They were just a family.
Arjun forgot about New York. He forgot about his video games. He realized that he actually liked hanging out with his parents. His dad was funny, competitive, and smart. His mom was adventurous.
It was the best summer of his life.
June arrived. The tour was over.
They sat in the lounge at Delhi airport, waiting for their flight back to Hyderabad.
Vikram looked at his phone. He had a few missed calls from the architect in Mumbai, but no signal. He frowned slightly.
Everything okay? Anjali asked.
Yeah, Vikram said, putting the phone away. Just couldn't reach the architect. Probably signal issues. I'm sure Rao has everything under control.
He looked at Arjun.
Ready to go back to Rajahmundry? We have to check the construction site.
Arjun nodded, eating a bag of chips. Yeah. And then we go back to New York?
Vikram smiled. Then we go back. But we leave something behind that matters.
They boarded the flight.
They landed in Rajahmundry in the evening. The same driver picked them up. The town looked the same—dusty, busy, loud.
Vikram leaned forward.
Driver, take us to the site first. I want to see the foundation.
The driver hesitated. He looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes shifting nervously.
Sir... it's late. Maybe tomorrow morning?
Vikram frowned. It's only 7 PM. There are floodlights, right? Take us to the site.
The driver didn't say anything else. He just nodded and turned the steering wheel.
Arjun looked out the window. He felt a strange knot in his stomach. The vibe in the car had changed. The driver was too quiet.
They drove to the outskirts of the town. The streetlights ended, and the road became rougher.
Here we are, Sir, the driver whispered, stopping the car.
Vikram stepped out. Anjali followed. Arjun got out last, standing by the door.
He looked at the plot of land.
He expected to see excavators, piles of bricks, a foundation, maybe a security guard booth. He expected to see the beginning of a hospital.
There was nothing.
It was just an empty field of dirt and weeds. The only thing that had changed was a small wooden sign that had fallen over in the mud.
Vikram stood frozen. He took a step forward, his expensive shoes sinking into the soft earth.
Where is it? Vikram whispered.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Rao's number.
The number you are calling is currently switched off.
He dialed the architect.
The number you are calling is out of service.
Vikram turned around, his face pale. The relaxed, happy man from the snowball fight in Shimla was gone. The Wall Street shark was back, but this time, there was fear in his eyes.
It's gone, Vikram said, his voice shaking.
What's gone? Anjali asked, walking to him.
The money, Vikram looked at her, his phone slipping from his hand. It's all gone.
Arjun stood by the car, watching his parents in the headlights. The silence of the empty field was louder than the noise of New York.
The vacation was over.