Tilottama Chaudhuri, the Dean, was intensely proud of the gardens on campus. A battery of gardeners might have done the actual job of planting and weeding and scrabbling about in the mud, and the landscapers she had flown in to Jamshedpur from Bangalore “to consult” might have imagined the perfect squares of red and yellow and white and pink, but the flowers — much like all else in school — were ultimately answerable to Tilo.

Upon her arrival from the US, Tilo had decided that the campus needed “a talking point”. After reading somewhere that Michelle Obama commissioned a kitchen garden when she first moved into the White House (despite the fact that Tilo considered herself the Barack in their marriage), she’d snappily decided upon flowers by the auditorium and herbs behind the tennis courts. Each time there were visiting dignitaries on campus, a sapling was planted, photos were clicked and, later, the said dignitary was sent pictures of the said sapling, underpinning their long relationship with the business school in extravagantly ecological terms. Even Vik had had to admit there was a touch of genius about this strategy. (Once, a particularly voluble CEO’s sapling died. It was discreetly replaced by the gardeners and photos continued to be sent twice a year.)

On the day the “festival of ideas” was due to open, Tilo stood skittishly by the narcissi, a little after 10, waiting for Ronny Banerjee, her keynote speaker. He had arrived safely late last evening — she was grateful to Goopy for having kept her posted — and ought to have made an appearance by now. She had deputed a student to trail Ronny, but Ronny had sent the student off this morning, with assurances that he would find his way on his own.

Fortunately, Lata and the rest of the party were here already. Having duly admired the gardens — Josh had led a campus tour, dutifully reciting the peculiarities and provenances of each flower and vegetable — they were now milling about, drinking cappuccinos, chatting with the students, the other guests, as well as the creme de la creme of Jamshedpur who were attending the keynote session since it was open to the public. Also, thanks to Netflix recommendations, Ronny’s films were popular.

“There you are!” Tilo cried out in relief when one of the campus cars rolled in and Ronny was spotted behind the tinted window.

“I was actually walking down from the guest house, it’s such a lovely day, but I found myself whisked into this SUV,” he laughed, after the driver rushed out and opened his door. “It’s nice to see you, Tilodi, charming campus, and the air... there is something sweet about the air in Jharkhand.”

Tilo sniffed. “I was panicking. Your assistant didn’t send me the final title of your presentation. We usually publish it in the day’s newspaper. Anyway, it appears that we have a full house. Vik’s film society has been screening your films and documentaries to create a buzz. Come, let’s hurry up.”

Caught up in the gale force of her movements, Ronny quickly fell into step beside Tilo.

“I have your introduction ready, Ronny. But please tell me what the title is.”

“Ah that,” said Ronny reflectively, “Let’s call it ‘The Fine Art of Failure for Beginners’.”

Aghast, Tilo stopped in her tracks. She should never have listened to Vik’s suggestion and invited Ronny. National award, Golden Lion be damned! This was clearly going to be a disaster.

***

Lata Ghosh sat in the audience, in the front row, in a pearly cashmere cape that now seemed all wrong. She should have worn a sari. Lata was flanked by Pixie (she’d insisted on attending the keynote address even though it meant she’d have to miss school) and Aaduri, who was, as usual, dispensing messages to Tiana furiously. The students had handed Lata a bag that morning, with a notebook, a lanyard and details of the programme. Pixie had commandeered the bag while Lata vaguely fingered the programme on her lap. The Keynote was to be followed by a mid-morning tea break.

The hall was full. People had spilled out to the aisles and many stood at the back, in little happy clusters. There was a sense of expectation, the students chattered in an overcaffeinated fashion, and every now and then a single voice rose over the general din to make an exceptionally banal statement. Lata looked about herself nervously. So many people had come to hear him speak? Her Ronny?

(Well, that was technically very far from the truth, Lata knew. Even if she couldn’t bring herself to say Pragya’s Ronny, he certainly wasn’t hers.) There was something gratifying about the crowds, of course. But Lata found her throat closing up in terror. “I hope he’s actually prepared a speech,” she squeaked tensely. Aaduri looked up from her phone and said, “It’s very unlikely.”

The lights dimmed.

A soft hush now descended as Tilo strode onto the stage in her ivory muslin jamdani sari with tigers woven at the border. She welcomed everyone in her clipped diction, even though Lata thought she detected a cold undertone to it all.

Pixie poked her. “Was Ronny uncle your boyfriend?” Lata widened her eyes slightly, but nodded.

“Now I shall invite Shomiron Banerjee to the podium,” Tilo was saying.

“He’s handsome,” Pixie said, “May I have your phone? I want to take pictures.”

“Ronny tells me his talk is titled ‘The Fine Art of Failure for Beginners’. I cannot wait to be enlightened,” Tilo finished her piece frostily.

Lata handed her phone to Pixie.

Ronny walked into the cone of light that fell somewhat theatrically upon the now-darkened stage, clutching a sheaf of papers. The papers, however, remained idle upon the podium for the rest of the hour, because Ronny decided to speak unaided. He opened with a joke, commented on the irony of his subject to India’s most “successful” students, decanted sentimental mentions of campus life and, finally, towards the end of his unconventional introduction, directed a warm stream of gratitude towards Tilo and her dedicated team who, by inviting a filmmaker to speak, had put the arts firmly at the centre of the conversation.

By now, the audience was eating out of his palm.

Lata relaxed into her seat. The voice and the words were familiar and unfamiliar at once, mesmerising in their effect. Anecdote upon anecdote unfolded as Ronny tracked the story of his artistic journey, with honesty and humour and an emphasis on the failures that were invariably overwritten by the victories. Parallelly, in Lata’s head, the story of her life in those years unspooled.

Eventually, Ronny came to the crux of his argument. “If you want to become a filmmaker — why only a filmmaker, any kind of artist, a writer, a painter, a musician — then don’t do it to be rich or successful. You are MBA students, you know far better than me how to harness wealth, how to be successful, how to strategise and maximise. I have no advice that I can give you. I can simply tell you the unvarnished truth. Attempt a life in art only if you are ready to fail again and again. And I don’t mean simply in the sense of modalities, that you may not find a publisher or a producer or a patron at once, but of course there’s that too. I mean the deeper failures that drive growth. Every time I begin a new project, I am all at sea again. How to tell the story best? How to write characters who you will like — not just love, but like? I flounder and grasp at straws until, bit by bit, a shape begins to appear. And then, even before I can feel happy for five seconds, that shape vanishes again.”

The audience laughed appreciatively.

Ronny went on to speak about the script of Shomoy, which had seemed quite perfect to him a year ago and which he was now overhauling almost in entirety.

Lata exhaled gently.

Pixie leaned her head into Lata’s softly cashmered arm.

Ronny’s words had cast a spell upon them both.

“Ultimately,” he said in the end, “contrarian though it sounds, the truth is that to pursue a life in art, you must learn to fall a little in love with the idea of failure. As long as you are unafraid to fail, you will feel the creative energy swirling through your body. Embrace it. It’s harrowing, excruciating, The worst. It’s also the most glorious feeling on earth. After love, of course. But then, like art, love too is audacious. One fails at it only to return to its door, humbled and made new. Thank you.”

There must have been applause. But Lata did not hear it.

(To be continued)

Recap: Aaduri and Hem come to an ‘arrangement’ that makes the Professor’s shadow recede from her life. Meanwhile, Ronny invites Goopy and Duma to join him on the trip to Jamshedpur and the thought of meeting Lata gets Pixie all excited.