How had Hari not told this to anyone? How had the media not picked up on it? “Didn’t you give up your partnership in your social media marketing firm to work on Yash’s campaign?”

Hari looked around to make sure no one could overhear. “That’s what I had planned to do. I heard Yash speaking last year and I knew I had to work for him. I had to do everything I could to make his plans for California a reality. You know, my grandfather was a freedom fighter in India and he used to tell me the stories of marching with Gandhiji and being hit on the head with batons by the British troops.” He stopped and thought for a moment. “I’m not sure if my grandfather told me that or if I watched that in that Gandhi movie with that British guy playing Gandhi,” Hari added. “I was really young when my grandfather used to tell me his stories. But I do remember how hearing him talk about freedom and justice and the rights of people made me feel. And Yash made me feel like that too.

“When I came to America to go to grad school, I thought it would be the land of freedom and equality. And in many ways it was. But in so many ways it was not. Everyone was just running after things and fighting each other over politics and religion, and no one cared about the fact that old people had to work in Walmart and that the Tenderloin was covered in homeless tents.”

Vansh opened a bottle of water and took a sip. Why was drunk rambling always so damned insightful and true? “You’re absolutely right,” he said.

“I should never drink,” Hari said suddenly. “I had promised my mother that I would never drink after I told my cousin that she looked like a cross between a horse and a rat at her wedding. Drinking makes me tell the truth. Someone handed me a glass and I thought it was orange juice. Who puts alcohol in orange juice? Why would anyone do something that devious?”

Vansh gave his shoulder another pat. “Never mind all that. Where are you living right now?”

Hari stood, a little more steady now. “I think the invitation said six to ten and it’s already past eleven, so I have to leave. The Samarths never outstay their welcome.”

“Sit down, Hari. You can’t go back to the tent.” Now that Vansh knew, he couldn’t not do something. How was he not going to tell Yash this?

“But that’s my home.”

“No, it’s the pavement. Can you not afford a hotel room with your paycheck?”

“I had to pay off my debts. I’m still paying off my debts. And I can’t let my spot go. If I remove my tent, someone else will take it.”