Next day I was again in front of Mr. Bajaj’s office. This time too, the security guard did not let me enter. For the next many days, I would sit outside his office from morning to evening, and return home, dejected. One day, the security guard took a pity on me. He went inside and informed Mr. Bajaj that I had been daily coming and waiting to meet him. Mr. Bajaj called me inside.

I was very scared because this was going to be, perhaps, my last meeting with him. If he had said ‘no’, then it would become impossible for me to fulfill Rihana’s dream. 

“May I come in, Sir?” I asked from outside the door.

“Yes, come in. Sit.”

From all the offices that I had been to, Mr. Bajaj’s office was perhaps the grandest. The whole interior of his office was white. There was a huge table, a rocking chair, a comfortable white color sofa, and white curtains. But what I liked the best in the office was a framed picture of Munshi Premchand on a wall. I went and sat on the chair in front of Mr. Bajaj. My heartbeats were racing. We had not even started our interaction, and my palms were already sweaty due to fear.

Even the contestants on the hot seat in front of Mr. Amitabh Bachchan in the TV show KBC (Kaun Banega Crorepati) might not be feeling so much fear, that I was feeling sitting on the chair in front of Mr. Bajaj. On the hot seat in KBC, a contestant has four options for any question asked. Plus there are several life-lines for your help. I had nothing – no option, no life-line. I had to answer every question of Mr. Bajaj, using best of my mental abilities, which seemed to have frozen out of fear.

To tell you the truth, I wasn’t afraid of his questions. I was afraid of his negative response. A ‘no’ from him would have dashed all my hopes. I tried to project confidence. The KBC from Mr. Bajaj started.

“What name did you tell the other day?”

I thought he was a big man, and would be having hundreds of visitors like me, each day. Plus we had met for just a couple of minutes. So, it was not a big deal that he didn’t remember my name.

“Sir, Aarav.”

“So Aarav, you have written a Novel, right?” He asked,

“Yes, Sir. It has a very good story-line.” In my eagerness, I blurted.

“Answer only what I ask. How good is your story, I will see later.”

In my heart I was thinking about what Tiwari ji had told me about Mr. Bajaj. He was a really shrewd person. I hadn’t said anything for which he had to react like this. I decided to be careful to avoid any stupidity on my part. I would answer very specifically to what was asked.

“Sorry Sir.” I said with an innocent face.

“I am sure you know the rules of my company.” He said.

“Yes Sir, I know.”

“Then what makes you think I will change my company’s rules for you?”

I was silent, because I had not thought of any answer to this question. Why would such a big publisher change his company’s rules for an unknown writer like me?

“Tell me, why do you think so?” He repeated his question.

He had twice asked me same question, for which I had no answer. My hands were all wet with sweat. I had tightly clasped my hands. I knew he would keep repeating his question till I answered, so, without thinking, I said,

“Sir, I just need one chance to prove myself. Just one chance.” I again felt as if I was begging in front of him, though he was not going to relent.

“That is my question, Aarav. Why should I break my company’s rule and give you a chance? Ok, leave it. I have one last question for you. If you can answer that, I will agree to whatever you say.”

I felt as if I was actually playing KBC, and I was going to be asked one last question for one crore rupees. I again readied myself to answer.

“Aarav, give me just one reason why people would read your Novel?”

This was a question on which I knew I was going to get clean bowled, because I really had no reason why people would buy and read my Novel.

I had lost KBC. I mean I had no answer to his question. I was neither a famous writer, a politician, a player, or a film actor, who people would know.

Still, I tried to find one reason.

Mr. Bajaj took out a white Marlboro cigarette, which matched his office interiors. He lighted his cigarette.

“Till I finish my cigarette, you have time to answer my question.” He took a long drag.

His statement reminded me of the film Sholay, where Gabbar Singh tells Basanti – Till your feet keep moving, your friend’s breathing will continue.

Instead of thinking of an answer, my mind got focused on the burning cigarette, which was fast reducing. And with that my time to answer was also reducing. I wished Mr. Bajaj was fond of smoking Cigar, instead of cigarette, so that I would get a longer life-line. 

Now only one puff remained and I still didn’t have any proper answer. But, instead of remaining silent, I repeated my previous answer.

“Sir, people will read my Novel because the story is very good. This is all I can say.”

I don’t think he understood my answer. Crushing the cigarette stub in the ash-tray, he said,

“Aarav, unless someone buys your Novel, how would he know that you have a powerful story? This can’t be an answer. There are thousands of Novels in a book store. Everyday new Novels are published, but only those sell, which are written by a well-known writer. The day you have a name, I will publish your Novel. As of now, I cannot help you. Sorry.”

For a few moments I silently kept sitting in the chair. My last hope had also crashed. Picking up the sheets of my Novel, I asked,

“Should I leave?”

Without saying anything, he gestured me with his eyes to leave.

I got up from the chair and turned around to leave, when Mr. Bajaj made his last statement,

“My offer is always open for you, Aarav. The day your name reaches me before you come, I will definitely publish your Novel.”

“Thanks Sir… I hope one day I will become that person.” I said, leaving the office.

The world was falling around me. Neither Rihana was with me, nor was I able to fulfill my dream. Pooja used to call me sometimes asking about the Novel, but I always had the same answer. She had given my phone number to her friend Rajiv, whose father knew a well known publisher. Next day Rajiv called me and asked me to meet Ramanand Sharma, his father’s friend, who had a publishing company – Sharma Publications. He asked me to meet him, hoping, he would be able to help me.

I had lost all hopes after Mr. Bajaj had said ‘no’, still, I planned to meet Mr. Sharma the next day. Maybe he could help.