'Oh, don't you trust us, Mr Thomas? Well, I don't blame you. After all, we are talking about a billion rupees here. So I will prove it to you. Here, look in this book. I am sure you can read numbers.' He pulls out a diary which has page upon page of questions and answers, like a quiz book. He jabs at a question. It is the same question that he has asked me. And it has the same answer: 137 km.
'Are you satisfied now that I am not going to pull a fast one over you?'
I nod my head.
'OK. You'd better return to your seat, and I will join you in a second.'
* * *
The signature tune comes on and the studio sign says 'Applause'. Prem Kumar addresses the audience. 'Ladies and gentlemen, we are at a historic crossroads in our show. We have with us a contestant who has reached the magic figure of one million rupees. Now he has to decide whether he goes on to compete for the top prize or retires from the game. The moment of truth has arrived, Mr Thomas. What is your decision? Will you play to win or will you run? Do remember, though, that if you play, you risk losing all that you have won till now. So what do you say?' He smiles at me reassuringly.
'I will play,' I say softly.
'Excuse me?' says Prem Kumar. 'Could you say that a bit louder, please?'
'I will play,' I say loudly and confidently.
There are gasps from the audience. Someone says, 'Oh, my God!' Another says, 'What an idiot!'
'Is this your final, irrevocable decision?' says Prem Kumar. He smiles at me again.
'Yes,' I say.
'Then we have made history, ladies and gentlemen,' Prem Kumar exults. 'We have with us a contestant who is prepared to risk it all. We had one other contestant before who risked it all – and lost. We will see today whether Mr Thomas can create history by becoming the winner of the biggest prize in history. OK, so we are ready for the final three questions in Play or Pay.
Please give him a big round of applause.'
There is a crescendo of drums. 'Play or Pay' flashes on the screen. The audience stand up in their seats and clap enthusiastically.
After the music dies down, Prem Kumar turns to me.
'OK, Mr Thomas, you have won one million rupees and you are in the sudden-death round which we call Play or Pay. You will either win a billion or you will lose everything you have earned till now. So question number ten for ten million, yes, ten million rupees is coming up. Here it is.
Neelima Kumari, the Tragedy Queen, won the National Award—?"
'But this is not the ques—'
'Please, Mr Thomas, don't interrupt me in the middle of the question. Let me complete,' he says sternly. 'So as I was saying, the question is, Neelima Kumari, the Tragedy Queen, won the National Award in which year? Was it a) 1984, b) 1988, c) 1986 or d) 1985?'
I glare at Prem Kumar. He smirks. I understand him now. What he told me in the break was a trick to lure me into this round. But he has not reckoned with my luck. It is still holding.
'I know the answer. It is d) 1985.'
'What?' Prem Kumar is thunderstruck. He is so surprised that he even forgets to ask me whether I am a hundred per cent sure. He presses his button mechanically and the correct answer flashes. It is D.
Prem Kumar looks as though he has seen a ghost. 'Mr . . . Mr Thomas . . . has . . . just won t-ten million rupees,' he stammers, completely flustered.
The audience goes wild. Everyone stands up and cheers. Some people start dancing in the aisles.
Prem Kumar wipes the sweat from his forehead and takes a big swig of lemonade. What should have been a tragedy has become a farce.
X GKRZ OPKNU (OR A LOVE STORY)
Food. That is all I can see, hear, think and smell on the crowded and noisy railway station where I have been standing in my cotton shirt and Levi jeans for the past two hours. If you don't eat for a while, the hunger just shrivels up and dies. But if you don't eat for a long time - and I have not had a meal since yesterday afternoon - your brain does funny things. All around me I can only see people eating and drinking. And my nose follows the trail of food like a dog sniffing out a bone. The aroma of freshly made jalebis, puris and kachoris makes me dizzy. Even something as basic as a boiled egg, which I have never liked, makes me salivate. But when I finger my pocket I discover only a one-rupee coin, and after last night's loss of my fifty thousand rupees, it doesn't seem lucky any longer. So I lick my parched lips and wonder how to kill my hunger.
I am about to trade in my Kasio digital watch for a plate of chhole bhature when my eyes fall on a hoarding next to the railway canteen. It says simply, 'M – Just one kilometre away.' I know instantly where I can get food. For free.
I leave Agra railway station and set about searching for the big red M sign. I take one or two wrong turns, ask a couple of shopkeepers, and find it eventually in the heart of a posh market.
