A few weeks passed.
Sudharma and Ganavi had settled into a routine that nobody had planned.
Sometimes they had tea together.
If one of them reached the cafeteria first, the other usually found the same table.
People on the floor had started making up stories.
Nobody asked directly.
Nobody received an answer.
One night a boy from another team looked at Sudharma and asked,
“Forum multiplex closed ah?”
Sudharma looked up from his monitor.
“Why?”
“You people have been eating in the cafeteria these days.”
Ganavi did not even look away from her coffee.
“You should mind your own process,” she said.
The boy laughed and left.
“That was rude,” Sudharma said.
“No.”
She took another sip.
“It was efficient.”
The old outing plan returned because somebody found the original mail.
The subject line still said:
Thanksgiving Trip – Confirm ASAP
Half the people who had replied had either resigned or forgotten that they had ever shown interest.
Vinayak walked over to Sudharma’s desk with a printout.
“We need to decide.”
“How many?”
“Forty-eight.”
“Impossible.”
“I know.”
By the next evening the number had become thirty-four.
Reasons like: cousin was getting married, some bank work, parents had refused.
One fellow had already taken leave for another trip and was trying to convince everyone that Coorg was better anyway.
Vinayak crossed out names with a blue pen.
“Thirty.”
The next day it became twenty-six.
Then twenty-two.
Nobody seemed surprised.
Office outing plans usually died before they were born.
The Thanksgiving weekend was chosen because the client side would be quieter.
Three days.
Agumbe.
Koodlu Falls.
Jogi Gundi.
Malpe Beach.
A few temples because somebody’s mother had insisted that if they were going to Udupi, they should at least visit one.
Lunch at Sudharma’s house before returning to Bangalore.
Vinayak looked at the paper.
“Accommodation free.”
“How?”
“My house.”
“You have a resort?”
“I have an old house.”
He folded the paper.
“My grandfather built it. Now it is just my mother and me.”
Nobody made a big issue out of it.
The decision saved money.
That was enough.
Transport was a different matter.
Vinayak booked a fifty-two-seater bus with SRS Travels.
Three days later he called to cancel it.
The number had reduced.
A Swaraj Mazda was booked.
More people dropped out.
That was cancelled too.
One evening Sudharma found Vinayak arguing on the office phone.
“No, sir, we are not increasing.”
Pause.
“No, sir, we are reducing.”
Longer pause.
“No, sir, I don’t know how many people will finally come.”
People sitting nearby had stopped working and were listening.
Vinayak kept the phone down.
“What happened?”, Sudharma asked
“The SRS office wants us to stop calling.” said Vinayak
“Why?”
“They asked whether we are planning a trip or conducting elections.”
The problem remained.
Tempo Traveller.
Mini bus.
Two Qualis.
Every suggestion sounded perfect until somebody pointed out a new problem.
By the end of the shift, Sudharma had stopped thinking about it.
That evening he reached the flat later than usual.
Viraj was in front of the television.
Utsav had already started with his beer.
“You look like the manager rejected your appraisal,” Viraj said.
“The SRS fellow rejected our trip.”
“What happened?”
“We reduced the bus twice.”
“To what?”
“Swaraj Mazda.”
“And now?”
“We don’t know.”
Utsav laughed.
“You people actually believed fifty-two office fellows would turn up?”
“We believed them.”
“That was your first mistake.”
Sudharma sat down.
“The fellow told us not to call again.”
Viraj looked at Utsav.
“He finally understood office people.”
There was a short silence.
Utsav took another sip of beer.
“Call Pacchu.”
Sudharma looked up.
“Why?”
“He has the Sumo.”
Viraj nodded.
“He will know somebody with a Tempo Traveller.”
Surharma- “He will ask for beer.”
Viraj – “We have beer.”
Utsav – “He will make you sit in front.”
Viraj – “He never lets anybody else sit there.”
Sudharma looked at both of them.
“You fellows had a solution all this time?”
Viraj shrugged.
“You never asked.”
The telephone sat on top of the television.
Sudharma dialled the number.
Pacchu listened quietly
“So the great organisers have failed?”
“Looks like it.”
“How many?”
“Twenty.”
“That means twenty-two.”
“Why?”
“Office people always bring two extras.”
Sudharma laughed.
“What do we do?”
“I’ll bring the Sumo.”
“And the others?”
“I know one Tempo Traveller fellow.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes.”
“There is one condition.”
“What?”
“You sit in front with me.”
“Done.”
“The Sumo will carry the alcohol.”
“I know.”
“Only people who can tolerate us should come in that vehicle.”
“They already know.”
The problem was solved in less than five minutes.
Viraj switched the television channel.
Some politician was arguing about the latest government decision.
Utsav opened another bottle.
“The state is finished,” he declared.
Nobody disagreed.
By the next afternoon the new plan had spread across the office floor.
One Sumo.
One Tempo Traveller.
Vinayak’s house.
Three days.
Twenty people.
Maybe twenty-two.
The booking sheet went around one last time.
People signed beside their names.
Nobody asked for changes.
Vinayak folded the paper and put it inside his bag.
The arguments stopped.
The calculations stopped.
The cancellations stopped.
After three weeks of planning, replanning and almost abandoning it altogether…
they finally had a trip.
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