Hareendran Kallinkeel
Dough for Bread, Dough for Business

Returning from his twenty-fifth job interview, exhausted by an hour-long bus journey, Sidharth slumps down into a sofa.

His father, an Indian Administrative Service officer, has forbidden him from using the car. “Such comforts,” according to him, “aren’t for young men with an engineering degree, who cannot find a job.”

As if it’s his fault. In a nation, where universities award degrees liberally without ensuring the quality of academic content, millions graduate every year. Those with some political clout, or bribes to pay, get into government jobs; others take up petty jobs in private companies that offer pittance, most remain unemployed.

An idealist, his father doesn’t accept or pay bribes; nor will he knock at any politician’s door. So, Sidharth knows he cannot hope to get a job in the foreseeable future.

Hungry, he goes to the kitchen, finds a loaf of bread. He tears off its wrapper, pulls out a slice. Its coarseness triggers an idea.   

#

“Dad, I’ve thought of a business.”

Father looks at him for a long moment. “What business?”

“Bread... people eat it daily; good quality will bring steady demand.”

There has rarely been an occasion father agreed with him.

“Okay, only on one condition.”

“Yes, dad...”

“You’ll have ten minutes,” Father says, with a pronounced sneer; absolute certainty that his son won’t be able to meet it. “Tell me in three words, the two most important things you’ll need to do for running a bread business?”

Sweat drenching his forehead, Sidharth listens to the pounding of his heart.

Father consults his watch. “Eight...”

Sidharth takes a long breath. “Raise the dough.”

“So,” his father says. The benevolence in his smile lights up his face for the first time in years. “Bread business it is.”