It’s only when he walks around inside that his mood changes. With nothing left in his pocket, he feels an ominous burden, an oppressive sense of waste and fear. The landscape is of judgment; he begins to suspect everyone knows. He’s a fraud. It’s not only clothes, but bearing. He’s never had this feeling before, never cared what anyone says of him. Now he clams up. He feels the shop assistants watching him, singling him out. They know he’s merely trying to pass for the other side. So he doesn’t dare go inside certain shops, even to browse. To open his mouth would be to give the game away. Finally he retreats to one of the bathrooms and sits sweating in one of the stalls. He looks down at his ridiculous clothes that feel so tight. What was he thinking? He looks like a clown. When he comes out of the stall he stares at his dumb clown’s face in the mirror and wants to erase it. He resolves to flee as fast as he can. He breathes the air of the street, sucks in the fumes with gratitude, takes the bus back home, not wanting to waste money on an auto, not wanting to waste time on a walk. Once home he tears this suit off, showers, and puts his uniform back on, the blue shirt and worn-in black trousers, so comforting, so in tune with his soul, and locks that expensive suit away. He goes back to the mall several weeks later wearing his service clothes. He is taken for what he is, the servant of a rich man shopping for his master. If anyone asks, not that they will, he can say with confidence that he’s on an errand for his boss, he can flash his money clip if need be. He can flash his shopping list. Davidoff Cool Water, Proraso, Acqua di Parma, Santa Maria Novella, Botot, Marvis. He can go through the shops slowly, pretending he’s buying for his master as he gathers the replicas of Sunny’s personal things.
* * *
—
One day, over a year in, when Sunny has gone away for three days, and Ajay has nothing much to do but wait around in his quarters and sweep the apartment occasionally and feed the carp or learn new recipes from the cookbooks on Sunny’s shelf, he’s called into Mr. Dutta’s office and told he’s been promoted to Sunny’s personal valet; it’s a role he all but inhabits anyway. Mr. Dutta tells him Sunny will one day soon be taking a great position within his father’s empire, and as such he needs additional support. Alongside his existing responsibilities he will accompany Sunny whenever he attends the various family offices, he will carry his briefcase in the passenger seat beside the driver, he will run errands for him throughout the day when errands are required, carry his luggage when he travels, be his shield against the world, be at his beck and call around the clock, tie his shoelaces if he so needs; if he has to blow his nose, you will offer your handkerchief or your sleeve.
His salary is increased to twenty-five thousand a month and he is given his own room instead of a bed within a dorm. His measurements are taken again, and a week later he’s given three new identical steel-gray gabardine safari suits with neat, minimal lines. “Mr. Sunny,” the tailor beams, “designed them himself.”
Security will be an issue. He is given training by the protection unit. He is taught by Eli, a young Israeli, ex-IDF officer. Eli comes from a family of Kerala Jews; he has golden skin and curly long hair, a tall rangy body. He went backpacking after his service, just like his fellow soldiers. He spent time in the Himalayas with his countrymen, getting stoned, riding Royal Enfields, until he found his way to Bombay. He tried his hand at modeling, but his temper was on a hair trigger, he was too volatile. He got into one too many fights, escaped arrest, made his way to Delhi. An old friend of his from Israel put him up, introduced him to Tinu. He was brought in for security, he rose up the ranks. Now he takes Ajay to the Wadia firing range out by the farmhouse in Mehrauli, in the plot of land with the woodland and orchards. He introduces Ajay to the one weapon he will keep by his side, the Glock 19. Over the next six weeks, in the spaces between his regular duties, Ajay becomes a master not only with the Glock but also with the Jericho 941 and the IWI Tavor TAR-21. He becomes acquainted with the AR-15, the AK-47, the Uzi, and the Heckler & Koch MP5. How to handle them, how to strip and clean and reassemble them, how to care for them, when to use them, when not to use them, how to make them part of his body. Ajay’s marksmanship is exemplary. When the six weeks of firearms training is over he is given his license and presented with his own 9mm semiautomatic Glock 19, along with a shoulder holster and two boxes of ammunition, to be kept safe in the locker in his room, carried whenever he accompanies Sunny outside the family home.
Eli begins to train Ajay in Krav Maga.