Three Mistakes Of My Life(Chetan Bhagat)

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 had to finish an office presentation. My boss,

Michel's boss was due from New York. Hoping to impress him Michel asked me

to make a presentation of the group, with fifty charts. For three consecutive

nights last week I had worked until 1:00 a.m., but had gotten only halfway.

'This is a suggestion. Don't take it the wrong way. But do consider taking a

bath,' my wife said.

I looked at her.

'Just an option,' she said.

I think she is overcautious sometimes. I don't bite back.

'Yes, yes. I will,' I said and stared at the computer again.

Thoughts darted through my head. Should I call some hospitals myself?

What if Prof Basant dozed off again? What if he could not collect the

students? What if G. Patel was dead? And why am I becoming so involved

here?

I took a reluctant shower. I opened the office presentation, but found myself

unable to type a single word.

I refused breakfast, though regretted it moments later – as hunger and anxiety

did not go well together.

My phone rang at 1.33 p.m.

`Hello,' Prof Basant's voice was unmistakable. 'We have a match at Civil Hospital.

His name is Govind Patel, twenty-five years of age. A second-year student of mine

found him.'

'And?'

'And he is alive. But won't talk. Even to his family. Must be in shock.'

'What are the doctors saying?' I said.

'Nothing. It is a government hospital. What do you expect? Anyway, they will

flush his stomach and send him home. I won't worry too much now. Will ask a student

to check again in the evening.'

'But what is his story? What happened?'