THE AWARD
(Prize Winner in the BBC International Short Story Competition 2000)


Ajit Jinder threw off his jacket, whipped off his tie and slipped into a traditional kurta-pajama. He looked at himself in the mirror.
'I think this is better,' he said. 'After all I'll be making a case in favour of all things Indian. What do you say?'
'Yes, it's better,' said Mrs Jinder, carefully positioning the bindi on her forehead and barely glancing at him.
'Are you sure you cannot take Sneha with you?' Mr Jinder asked as the child toddled into the room, her fingers wet with chocolate.
'How can I?' said Mrs Jinder. 'I wouldn't mind if I were going to the club to listen to a lecture. But today I'm the speaker. She'd keep getting in the way. You've just to carry her in your car and she can sit with the driver whilst you have your talk with the Secretary.
Mr Jinder damned the Secretary and the Export Promotion Board. Until the day before it had been more or less settled, or so Mr Jinder thought, that he would win the 'Exporter of the Year' award. But late last evening he had got the news that Jagdish Bilwal had nearly made it. He had spent the rest of the day collecting proof that the Bilwal sales charts had been fudged. Bilwal Industries imported a large amount of locks, clips and buckles for their shoes and suitcases from South Korea and if that was taken into account…
'I'm surprised the Secretary can't see the import component of this Bilwal business. Perhaps he doesn't want to see. I wonder for how much the Bilwal fellow bought him?'
'You won't need dinner I hope,' said Mrs Jinder. 'The new Pizza Hut is a good place and Sneha likes their stuff.'
'And choco-chips ice-cream,' said Sneha coming up to Mr Jinder, her arms outstretched.
'Don't touch me!' Mr Jinder jumped. 'Go, wash your hands! And what is Bilwal's business? Killing cows and buffaloes! That unholy fellow! Can't the Board see how straight and clean our garment business is?'
'Don't forget to take the key,' said Mrs Jinder and some moments later he heard her drive off.
Ajit Jinder called Balu and made sure his car was in order. They had to go to the Chamber of Commerce to collect some more damning evidence and then almost to the other end of the city across the Harris Bridge to Kotwal Enclave and the Export Promotion Board. As they drove Mr Jinder began collecting his words. He got all his arguments ready; he went through the balance sheets again and again. He underlined a few more figures in red. He wondered if he should bribe Banatji, the Secretary. Should he promise him a car? A Hyundai would put him back by about four hundred thousand. But it was worth it! Or no? Was he going too far?
'When can we have the pizza?'
'Shut up!' said Mr Jinder. 'If you eat too much you'll get so fat you won't be able to get out of the car.'
The four-year-old sat back and sulked.
Mr Jinder hurried into the Chamber of Commerce and went through the files. Little beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. He went to the toilet, combed his hair and wiped his face.
Sneha kept up her litany. Exasperated, he damned her and her mother and made the driver pull in at 'Pizza Hut'. He ran in, came out with a carton that he pushed into Sneha's hands and said: 'Now eat as much as you want and shut up!'
At the Malwadi Circle there was a traffic jam. The car honked and crawled along. Ajit Jinder swore at everybody and kept looking at his watch. He had to get there before six. He fussed and abused Balu who apologized and shouted out of the window at nobody in particular. There was chaos on the Harris Bridge. A fair had been got going on the open maidan in front of Kotwal Enclave. A giant wheel was whirling its occupants and their squeals could be heard over the roar of the traffic.
'What's this jamboree?'
'The annual Mahashivratri mela,' said Balu. 'Of Lord Shiva,' he added.
'Sponsored by whom? That unholy Bilwal?'
His teeth clenched, Mr Jinder stared at the scene. He wanted to get out and walk but Balu promised to get him there in time.
'Do you want a piece?' Sneha caught hold of his shoulder.
'Get your sticky hand off my kurta!' he screamed.
He rubbed it vigorously and asked Balu if any stains could be seen on his sky-blue shirt. The driver turned his head for a moment, stared at the three little greasy finger marks and then shook his head.
'Nothing at all,' he said.

The receptionist said Mr Banatji could not see him without an appointment. Jinder explained how important and urgent the matter was. He was about to win the 'Exporter of the Year' award. He laughed and joked and said he had had no time to get a box of sweets but perhaps Mr Dalim could buy one himself? And so saying he dropped a couple of hundred rupee notes on the table to 'share his happiness' as he put it. Mr Dalim disappeared for a while and was back to inform Jinder that he would have to wait for about an hour.
He sank into a sofa and went through the arguments again. Exporter of the Year award for a killer of cows? Mr Banatji was a Hindu. How did he feel about it? India had got so much foreign exchange because of Bilwal. How much did South Korea get? He took out a little pile of papers and rearranged them.
'May we go to the fair?' Sneha asked.
She had accompanied him to the lobby and Balu was standing at the door.
'Yes, yes. Good idea,' he said. 'Go.'
He called Balu and gave him fifty rupees.
'Spend wisely. I don't have any more,' he cautioned. 'Got to buy a Hyundai,' he muttered under his breath.

There was a long queue of devotees for darshan of Lord Shiva. The temple stood in the middle of a little glade. There was a line of shacks selling coconuts and flowers, offerings to the God of the Universe. Every few feet there were stalls selling 'thandai', bhang (cannabis) in cold flavoured milk. Balu hesitated, went past, stopped at the next stall and had a glass. He bought an ice-cream for Sneha and put her in a merry-go-round. He went up with her in the giant wheel and she shrieked and shrieked and held on to him. She wanted another ride but he hurried her to the toyshops. She bought a flute and a cardboard sword and then saw a Ferris Wheel but the money was over.
She stood and stared at it. It was battery powered and actually worked. It had a little lever and moving it right or left increased or decreased the speed. Little lights blinked on the metal frame. She watched fascinated and begged Balu to buy one for her. He was shocked when the attendant told him the price - Rs 320! He bargained but couldn't knock down the price below 280 rupees and he had less than a hundred of his own money with him.
'I like it very very much,' said Sneha. 'Please! I won't ask for anything more. You can take all these things back if you want.' And she held out the flute and the sword.
Balu went back to the lobby and told Mr Jinder who had begun to look tired and sick that the car had over-heated and he had found the fan-belt broken.
'God!' wailed Mr Jinder. 'How much?'
'About three hundred.'
'So much?'
'Labour and all.'
'Don't forget to get a receipt,' said Mr Jinder as he handed out the money.
Balu went to a garage behind the Enclave, slapped two tenners on the counter and said: 'Fan-belt with fitting. Three hundred. Cash memo.'
The man behind the counter stared at him for a moment, slipped the money into a drawer and wrote out a receipt.
'Think of a number,' Balu told Sneha. 'If you are lucky you can win the Ferris wheel.'
'Two!' cried the girl. 'Two!'
'Let's see now,' said Balu. 'Come!'
She held on to his hand and stumbled through the jostling crowd. They reached the shop and he bought the wheel.
'Do you need a receipt?'
'I've already got one,' said Balu and then surprised the shopkeeper even more shouting: 'Yes! Two! Two!'
'You won!' he said, giving Sneha the box. 'Tell your father how you guessed the lucky number and won.'
Sneha clutched the box, her eyes wide with pleasure, her mouth a round O. They went behind the temple in a little clearing and sitting beneath a Banyan tree she saw her Ferris wheel work. The engine whirred and the lights twinkled.
'You like it?' Balu asked.
Sneha jumped up. She held Balu's head between her little hands and planted a big wet kiss on his right cheek.
She played for a long time totally engrossed in her toy.
'You'll finish the battery,' Balu said. 'Keep some to show daddy.'
'We'll buy new batteries,' she said. 'You'll buy, no?'
Balu smiled and nodded and once again Sneha kissed him.
They went round the stalls again and Sneha ate bhelpuri and roasted groundnuts. From his own money he bought some more knick-knacks for her as they went along. Then suddenly she stretched out her arms, wanting to be carried and Balu saw that she was indeed very sleepy. He carried her to the car and made her comfortable on the rear seat.

Banatji took a long time to make himself available. Jinder put the case before him and he listened without a word. Looking at Banatji's mask like face he didn't know whether to offer the bribe and thought the better of it. He was to think of it later as four hundred thousand saved. He could always try again the next year. He pushed across all the data he had collected with so much trouble but Banatji merely flipped through the pile.
'Yes, yes,' he said. 'Everybody thinks he should get the award. Why doesn't the Board have five, ten, twenty awards? Under different categories. Like Filmfare awards. Make everybody happy.'
He appeared vexed and irritated and suddenly Jinder lost all energy and felt damp and exhausted. He didn't say half the things he wanted to say.
'Please try whatever you can,' he said stupidly, and left the room.
When he came to his car he found Sneha sleeping and tried to tuck up her legs and squeeze into a corner.
'Sir,' said Balu, 'you'll wake her up and she is very tired. Would you mind sitting in the front?'
But for the little cannabis in his system that somewhat numbed their relationship for him, Balu would not have dared to tell his boss where to sit and Mr Jinder would not have agreed if he were not feeling so utterly dejected.
Jinder flopped into the front seat and the car sped homeward.
'You got your work done sir?' Balu asked.
'He said he'll put it to the Board.' Jinder shrugged his shoulders. 'Let's see.'
He sat staring into the night, his brows knitted. He wiped his face with his handkerchief every now and then.
'You know Balu,' said Mr Jinder, 'in a way you are very lucky. You don't have to think about awards and all that.'
Mr Jinder made a short sharp sound like a bark.
'Have you ever in your life got an award, Balu?'
Balu shook his head. Then a smile broke upon his lips. He lifted one hand off the steering wheel and gently rubbed his cheek.

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