Chapter 58 – A Conversation for the Future (September 1984)
The thick, golden sunlight of a September afternoon bathed the fields and rooftops of Lucknow in warmth. The sound of rickshaws and bicycles tinkled in the distance, while a rally nearby echoed slogans through the air. In the Singh household, however, there was a different energy—tense, anticipatory, and full of resolve.
At the dinner table, the family sat together once again. The gentle aroma of turmeric and coriander clung to the air, as steel plates clinked and a breeze moved the cotton curtain near the window. Bharat sat beside Dadaji, chewing slowly, but his eyes distant. Something weighed on his young mind.
"Pitaji," Bharat said softly, "why don't we try to meet Rajiv Gandhi before the elections?"
Ajay looked up, surprised but not dismissive. "Why Rajiv?"
"He is the future. He's not perfect, but he's sincere. He's not deeply political, not yet corrupted. If someone can understand what we're trying to do... maybe it's him. And if we earn his trust now—maybe it'll help us protect the future."
Dadaji nodded. "You're talking like a statesman, beta."
But Bharat's thoughts went deeper. I know something no one else in this room does. In just over a month... Indira Gandhi will be assassinated. Rajiv will take charge. He will face chaos—riots, pressure from bureaucrats, political enemies. He won't know how to navigate all of it. But he wants to build India. He wants to see it rise. If we can guide him... maybe we can prevent some of the storms ahead.
Ajay wiped his hands on a napkin. "I'll speak with my contacts. I think someone from our trade delegation has met him. Perhaps we can schedule a private meeting."
Two days later, the appointment was confirmed. The venue was a modest bungalow in Allahabad, where Rajiv Gandhi was scheduled to address a small gathering of professionals and thinkers.
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The Meeting
The air was humid, but not unpleasant. Ajay arrived in a crisp cream kurta, his documents tucked neatly in a leather folder. Bharat stayed behind, but his words echoed in Ajay's ears.
Rajiv Gandhi entered the private meeting room—modest, clean, lined with a few plastic chairs and a steel desk with an enamel lamp. He wore a simple white kurta-pajama and smiled, boyish and relaxed.
"Mr. Singh, a pleasure," Rajiv said, extending his hand.
Ajay stood up quickly, clasping it firmly. "Thank you for taking the time, Mr. Gandhi."
They sat.
Ajay cleared his throat. "I represent a growing industrial family enterprise. In the last three years, we've developed affordable, innovative devices—medical equipment, agricultural machines, film and music tools, and most recently, security systems and road infrastructure equipment."
Rajiv leaned forward. "That's impressive. How are you managing to cover such a wide range?"
"We're self-funded so far. Our teams include scientists, army veterans, farmers, even frustrated professionals who were denied space in older systems. We've focused on India's need—rural and urban, small and large scale."
Rajiv's brows knit slightly. "And the challenges?"
Ajay gave a short sigh. "Logistics. Material delays. Clearance issues. Sometimes our trucks are stopped by local goons or 'officials' asking for bribes. And recently, we've faced more coordinated interference. People see our rise as a threat. Especially because we don't feed the old corrupt circles."
Rajiv leaned back, nodding. "I understand. I've seen it, too. The system fights anything new."
Ajay paused. "We're not looking for handouts. Just fair policy. We plan to remain politically neutral, but we would like to support any party that helps India move forward."
Rajiv smiled faintly. "I appreciate that honesty."
Ajay hesitated, then continued, "We'd also like to make quarterly donations to the Congress party. Quietly. No expectations. Just… for the sake of smoother operation, and to show we're not enemies."
Rajiv nodded. "That's your choice. I don't make those calls, but I can put you in touch with someone trustworthy. As for your problems—I will speak to my mother. If your company can help modernize India, it deserves protection, not punishment."
A pause stretched between them.
Ajay said, "You're different, Mr. Gandhi."
Rajiv looked slightly amused. "Because I was a pilot?"
"Because you still believe in clean systems. Let's hope you don't lose that."
Rajiv's smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful seriousness.
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Back Home in Lucknow
The sun had already dipped behind the neem trees when Ajay returned. The family sat on the front veranda, children playing nearby, the air filled with the earthy scent of monsoon soil.
Bharat ran to him. "Pitaji?"
Ajay smiled. "He's open-minded. Thoughtful. We'll see."
In the quiet of his room, Bharat sat near the window and stared out at the half-moon. He's not ready, he thought. But maybe, with help… with vision, Rajiv could become a turning point for India. He's not like the others. He wants change. He just doesn't yet know how to lead.
Bharat made a silent vow to himself: I will guide him from the shadows. I won't interfere with history... but I can help shape its edges.
Downstairs, Vandana served chai as Dadi shared a small prayer aloud for the family's protection. And Dadaji, lighting a small brass lamp at the altar, looked up at the picture of Mahatma Gandhi on the wall and whispered:
"Change doesn't come easy, beta. But it comes, if we walk the path with faith."
And the Singh family, quietly and steadily, prepared to walk that path.
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