DisillusionRahul had never seen Pramod like this before. One couldn’t call him agitated, not by any means, for he was simply too big and solid to shake, or be literally agitated. But this was certainly as close to appearing shaken as Rahul could have imagined him. It wasn’t just that he was wearing an un-ironed khadi kurta, for khadi kurtas would by their very nature appear wilted by this time of the day. Nor was it the fact that he took some time to locate his cigarettes and tobacco, patting each of his capacious pockets in turn before realizing that, in a fit of absent-mindedness, he had put them in the jhola that was slung over his right shoulder. Or maybe it was all of these things.
Rahul asked, “Want a cup of chai? We could sit in the canteen. There won’t be many people there at this
