Vikram’s eyebrows drew closer — “But you brought that file to Chitkul, to recruit candidates from other parties instead of running membership drives.”
“I brought it assuming HDP already had booth presence. Tell me, Vikram, what has the booth-level organisation here been like?” Atharva capped his pen.
“Slower than a sarkari office.”
“And what does the high command say?”
“They believe what is fed to them.”
“Do they come to booths?”
“They come with prior intimation. You can put two and two together.”
Atharva sat back, feeling the dried sweat from his workout cool down on the back of his neck. The man in front of him had been put through the wringer today. In the name of talking and networking, he had dragged Vikram through workout that was pro-advanced max. The man had not protested, even when it was evident that he hadn’t done more than stroll on the treadmill before today.
“What is your qualification, Vikram?”
“B.A. L.L.B.”
“Have you practised law?”
“For a few years.”
“And how long have you been in this field?”
“Ever since I was in school.”
“In politics?”
“My neighbour was Satyadev Tanwar.”
“The founder of Himachal Jan Sangathan?”
Vikram nodded.
“Your family is into politics?”
He shook his head. His body language was honest, curt and unemotional. A man like that, if he were what he projected, was gold in this field.
“Satyadev Tanwar recruited you?” Atharva fed into the conversation. Vikram shook his head again.
“He was always a busy man, but he would take me along with him if I was troubling my parents or my mother was beating me up. I saw a lot of party work, rallies, tours with him. I stuck posters, went from home to home asking for votes, sat on cycle rickshaws that drove through all of Himachal. We got to eat and drink such good food wherever we went, it was party for me. Then when I was in college, he passed away. He had nobody to carry his legacy, and his ideals were diluted in HJS.”
“You didn’t join HJS?”
“Not officially, but I kept working for them, volunteering whenever I could get time off from my job.”
“Why KDP then?”
Vikram’s solemn face burst into a smile. The first proper smile Atharva had seen on his face. And Atharva realised what he had said. He burst into a chuckle.
“I am still phasing out of my old KDP life,” Atharva rubbed his hands slowly. The road outside was soft and wintery, the sun hidden by clouds. The hail was freezing, but he hadn’t pulled on a jacket. Atharva glanced at Vikram. Neither had he, even though his lean body looked ready to fall with the next gust of wind. Atharva lengthened his agony, testing his limits.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
“And when did you join HDP?”
