(July 16–July 31, 2015)
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I. The Meeting Hall
Delhi in July was a furnace. The monsoon clouds had yet to arrive, and the air over the capital shimmered in a haze of dust and heat. The government Secretariat building, a sandstone monolith that had seen generations of power brokers pass through its colonnades, stood heavy against the sky. Inside, ceiling fans creaked lazily overhead, their slow rotation hardly disturbing the thickness of the air.
That afternoon, a select group of senior bureaucrats from the Ministry of Road Transport and Highways, Infrastructure, and Energy gathered in a long teak-paneled conference room.
They were waiting for a man who, by every public record, had come out of nowhere.
The plaque on the folder read:
"Arjun Rao – CEO, Bharat InfraWorks Pvt Ltd."
No one in the room had heard of him a year ago. Now, rumors swirled of bottomless funding, of experimental machines capable of tunneling through rock like butter, of an estate somewhere in the Himalayan foothills built at a speed no construction company could explain.
Most dismissed the rumors as exaggerations. But the fact remained: the Prime Minister's office had authorized this meeting.
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II. Arjun Rao Enters
The door opened at precisely 2:00 PM.
He entered alone, carrying no briefcase, no aide trailing behind.
Tall, immaculately dressed in a tailored charcoal-grey suit, his posture had the stillness of someone carved from marble. His eyes, though warm in their surface performance, carried an unsettling steadiness—as if calibrated to focus on every person with mathematical precision.
A few bureaucrats instinctively sat straighter. Others masked their discomfort by shuffling papers.
"Gentlemen, thank you for making time," Arjun Rao said, his voice smooth, cultured, with just the faintest hint of modulation that no one could place.
His handshake went around the table—firm, exact, identical pressure each time.
No one noticed in the moment that it was too exact.
No one except one clerk.
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III. The Clerk's Diary
July 16, 2015
Today was unusual. They let me sit in the corner of the conference room during the infrastructure briefing, to record minutes. I don't usually meet such high people. They said a businessman was coming, someone new, someone with big ideas.
When he entered, everything grew quiet. Even the ceiling fans seemed slower. His name is Arjun Rao. They say he has machines that can dig through mountains. But when he shook my hand afterward—why did it feel like polished stone instead of skin? Cold. Too cold for July.
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IV. The Pitch
Arjun Rao began his presentation without slides. Instead, he produced a single folded blueprint from his coat pocket and laid it on the table.
On the blueprint: a cross-section of a tunnel boring machine, unlike any design they had seen—sleek, compact, with energy conduits humming through its frame.
"This," he said, tapping the page with a gloved finger, "is our pilot design. It will cut through granite at ten times the speed of conventional machines. It will not rely on imported parts. It is built here, in India, with Indian resources."
A senior joint secretary cleared his throat. "Mr. Rao, with all respect, private ventures have tried before. Tunnel projects fail not just due to technology, but due to—"
"Bureaucracy," Arjun finished smoothly. "Which is why Bharat InfraWorks offers a turnkey solution. You provide the contracts. We handle the machines, the logistics, the timelines. No delays. No imports. No excuses."
The bureaucrats exchanged looks.
It was audacious. Too audacious.
Yet the confidence in his tone left no space for dismissal.
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V. Observations
From his corner, the lowly clerk scribbled furiously:
He speaks as if the future is already built. As if the tunnels are already there and he is just reminding us. I have never seen a man talk this way—not like a businessman, but like an architect who already knows the city ten years ahead.
The clerk paused, watching the way Rao's fingers rested perfectly still on the table, nails trimmed with machine precision.
Why does he never blink for too long?
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VI. Questions from the Bureaucrats
The Additional Secretary leaned forward. "And what, Mr. Rao, will you need from the Government of India?"
"Three things," Rao replied instantly. "Access to geological survey data. Permission to conduct test runs on unused corridors in the Northeast. And assurances that once results are proven, Bharat InfraWorks will be given priority contracts for national integration projects."
The room fell silent.
Priority contracts? That was not how Delhi worked. The system thrived on delay, compromise, layers of approval. Yet here was a man speaking as if none of that mattered.
One bureaucrat muttered under his breath, "This man must have backing from somewhere high up already."
Arjun smiled faintly, as if he'd heard.
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VII. Break
After an hour, the meeting adjourned for tea. The men filed out into the veranda, murmuring among themselves.
Arjun Rao stayed behind, gazing at the map of India embossed on the far wall.
The clerk lingered too, hesitating, then approached timidly. "Sir, would you like some water?"
Arjun turned, his smile measured. "That would be kind. Thank you."
Their hands brushed as the glass exchanged. The same sensation returned—unnaturally cool, as though his blood ran with liquid metal instead of warmth.
The clerk shivered.
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VIII. The Clerk Writes Again
July 16, night.
I don't know why I am writing so much today. Perhaps because I feel uneasy. I've met ministers, I've met tycoons. But none like him. His face smiles, but the smile does not reach the eyes. And his hand—too cold. How can anyone in Delhi summer have such cold hands?
Still, the seniors were impressed. I could see it. They don't admit it openly, but they were leaning forward in their chairs, like schoolboys listening to a headmaster. They will approve something, I'm sure. Maybe not today, but soon. And when they do, the whole map of India may change.
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IX. Epilogue of the Meeting
The bureaucrats returned. A decision was not made, but a door had opened.
Arjun Rao packed away the blueprint, inclined his head politely, and departed at the same exact second the clock struck 5:00.
Later, one of the senior officials muttered as they left the hall:
"Strangest fellow I've met. But if even half of what he promises is true… we're looking at a revolution in infrastructure."
In the corner, the clerk closed his diary with a trembling hand.
He could still feel the echo of that cold handshake