half-girlfriend-chetan-bhagat

answers for us.’
‘I am from here. You know that, Sarpanch ji.’
‘I know, Rajkumar ji. But what do these poor farmer’s kids do
with the A-B--C and 1 -2-3 you teach them?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A farmer sends his small child to school. Sounds great. But what
does the school give him?’
‘Education. What is he without education?’
‘What will he do if, say, you make him an eighth-class-pass from
Dumraon? Will he get a better job? More money? Nothing. It’s a
useless qualification. Here, he at least helps at home.’
‘What is his future?’ I said, confused about how to convince
someone about something as basic as schooling.
‘He has no future. Like his father, he will also work in the fields
and try to survive. Schools are for rich people.’
I hung my head.
‘Don’t make the poor dream of having a future, Rajkumar ji.The
schools you have don’t help us get ahead in life. So we don’t send our
kids there. It’s as simple as that. We are not village idiots who don’t
know better.’
I nodded. On the one hand I had to increase enrolments and, on
the other hand, I couldn’t fault his logic.
‘Anything I can do to help you?’ I asked as I stood up to leave. His
own little grandkid lurked behind him, watching me with curiosity.
‘Help us get water. Kids in the village walk two kilometres for it
every day. If that ends, we will send them to school.’
Every politician’s office always has people waiting outside. On a
per-capita basis, netas meet more people than anyone in any other
profession on earth. MLA Ojha’s home-cum-office was packed.
Groups of villagers sat outside on the veranda, each with a set of
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