Mr Krishnan was a senior officer of the government. Everything about him testified to this fact. He was neat and tidy. He was meticulous and organised. He was careful with his words and his money. He was deliberate and restrained, almost slow in his reactions. It did not matter whether the issue was the next major change in the country's environment policy or simply about the best flight to take to Geneva. His mind, trained through thirty-three years of a demanding bureaucratic career, would go through the automatic process of weighing the pros against the cons, and the decision, mature and well-considered, would present itself.
As their plane touched down at the small, neat and picturesque Cointrin airport at Geneva, the two younger officers travelling with Mr Krishnan silently admired his decision to take this particular flight. It had brought them in just after lunch. That left the entire summer afternoon and evening free, with the meeting only scheduled to begin the next day. They would be able to look around the city, go for a walk around the famous lake and perhaps even finish off the obligatory shopping for chocolates and cheese. Mr Krishnan's experienced paperwork had even ensured that they would have much of the Saturday after the meeting in Geneva, ostensibly for 'further consultations'. These would surely not last the whole day and would leave them some more time to take in the sights. It was clear to them that being with a man like Mr Krishnan was a good thing, and that they had done well to endear themselves to him.
At the baggage belt, Mr Krishnan asked them in his gentle measured tones if they had been comfortable at the back of the plane, but his one eye was peeled for his suitcase. Mr Krishnan was always inwardly tense about his baggage. But he thought it a weakness to show this, and preferred to keep up a calm front.
'It always comes, you must have faith in that,' he told the younger officers. 'In ninety-nine point nine cases it will turn up. When you travel a lot you have to develop a faith in the system; otherwise you become like Ganguly. He is so paranoid that he is worried about his baggage even when he is touring by car. He stops the car at least once every hundred kilometres and checks that his suitcase is in the boot.'