Thara Bhai Joginder 2

PENGUIN METRO READS

YOU WERE MY CRUSH …

DURJOY DATTA was born and brought up in New Delhi. He completed a

degree in engineering and business management before embarking on a

writing career. His first book, Of Course I Love You …, was published when

he was twenty-one years old and was an instant bestseller. His successive

novels—Now That You're Rich …, She Broke Up, I Didn't!, Oh Yes, I Am

Single!, If It's Not Forever …, Someone Like You—have also found

prominence on various bestseller lists, making him one of the highest

selling authors in India. Durjoy lives in New Delhi, loves dogs and is an

active CrossFitter.

For more updates, you can follow him on Facebook

(www.facebook.com/durjoydatta1) or Twitter (@durjoydatta).

ORVANA GHAI was born in New Delhi. She is a postgraduate in

marketing from University of Westminster, London. She has worked with

international fashion labels, event management companies and NGOs in the

past. She loves to dance and holds diplomas in various dance forms. This is

her first book.

To know more about her follow her on Facebook.ALSO BY DURJOY DATTA

Hold My Hand

She Broke Up, I Didn't!

I Just Kissed Someone Else!

Till the Last Breath …

Of Course I Love You

Till I Find Someone Better

(With Maanvi Ahuja)

Oh Yes, I'm Single!

And So Is My Girlfriend!

(With Neeti Rustagi)

Now That You're Rich

Let's Fall in Love!

(With Maanvi Ahuja)

Someone Like You

(With Nikita Singh)

If It's Not Forever

It's Not Love

(With Nikita Singh)To the coolest brother anyone could ever have.

Benoy, this is for you!C H A P T ER O N E

Ever seen the guy who drives like a maniac in a ridiculously big car? The

guy with the powerful dad? The big house? Well, I am that guy.

Benoy Roy.

I am not flashy, but I have a big car and a big house, and there is no

hiding that. But yes, I do not look rich. I stand five feet and ten inches tall

and look like someone you would miss on a busy road. Wheatish

complexion, slim, with short, neat hair—that is what my matrimonial ad

would read like. Often, I have heard people say, He does not look that rich.

I do not blame them; I was never impressed by what I saw in the mirror

either.

Well, it was another morning for me. I was in no hurry again. Life was

awesome. I did not have to worry about the early morning lecture, shouting

professors or pending assignments.

My head did not hurt even though I was sure I had got sloshed the night

before, since I was on the couch and not on my bed where I should have

been! I was still in the clothes I had worn the previous night to the club.

I must have passed out, I thought.

These nights of excessive drinking, blackouts and bad hangovers were

becoming a routine. This is the last time I am drinking, I said to myself. I

was lying. I tried to remember why I had not gone up to my bedroom and

slept, but I really could not. I tried to recall the girl I had danced with the

previous night, but I could not remember that clearly either. I remembered

the name though. Palak. I smiled. She was pretty, and Deb had introduced

me to her.

As I heated the coffee and poured it into a cup, my phone rang. It was

Eshaan and he asked me the same question that he did every day. Was Igoing to college that day? No, I was not! I didn't have a hangover but I did

not want to spoil that day sitting on those broken benches, beneath the

creaky fans. Moreover, three back-to-back lectures were not my thing! Just

as I switched on the television, the door was flung wide open. It was the

maid. I looked at her, and she smiled. She had the newspaper in her hand;

she kept it on the table. Though the house was pretty big, I lived alone and

so never had much work for her to do.

'Benoy? What is in the sink?' she asked, disgusted.

'What?' I asked as I entered the kitchen.

'Come and see for yourself.' She had covered her face with her pallu.

I walked up to the sink and a pungent smell hit my nose. I looked at it

and it almost made me puke. It was filthy and it smelled worse than a dead

rat.

'Damn it.'

'Babu, you drank too much last night?' she said in a muffled tone from

behind the pallu.

'I guess so.'

I asked her to go and shop for vegetables; I told her I would take care of

it by the time she came back. She grabbed the shopping bag and left the

house as soon as possible. I stood there for a while, disgusted at what I had

done. This was new. I used to black out, but I never used to puke. The

drainpipe was blocked and I thought, Why don't they just make bigger

drainpipes?

Because people are meant to puke in toilets, dumbass, a voice in my head

said.

I did not waste any more time. I wrapped a handkerchief around my face

and got to work with a plunger and that day's newspaper in my hand.

Fifteen stinking minutes later, the sink sparkled and I stank.

I am never drinking again! Definitely! I said to myself as I entered the

shower.

I loved the shower area. It was the second-best place after the gym I had

set up a couple of months back. It cost me … well, I do not know howmuch, for my father paid for it. All I know is that I loved it. Meanwhile, the

maid was back and she had started to cook.

'Aunty! A little less oil,' I shouted out as I came down the stairs.

'Babu, where will you get the strength? And stop drinking so much,

babu. It's not good for you,' she shouted back.

Just as I flopped on the couch, the doorbell rang.

'Who's it?' I shouted from where I was sitting. The door was being

banged now. Harder.

'FINE!'

'Deb?' I exclaimed. Debashish was my cousin, five years older than me.

He had turned twenty-five just the day before, and it was his party last

night. LAST. DRINKING. NIGHT. EVER.

'Fuck you, Benoy,' he said, and he looked pissed. 'Where have you

been? I have been calling you for the last twenty minutes. Anyway, where is

Palak?'

'Palak?'

'Benoy? I don't have time for this. Her mom has been calling me since

the morning; she's freaking out. Where is she?'

'I don't know what you're talking about, Deb!'

'What? You left with her last night. Don't you fucking remember?'

He started looking everywhere and I followed him around; he was clearly

freaking out and was out of his goddamn mind.

'No! I do not,' I insisted.

'Did you guys come home? You said you would drop her at her friend's

place?'

Deb's phone was ringing constantly.

'I don't remember, Deb. All I remember is that we were there in the club

and you guys were there too, and then I woke up on this couch. That's it!'

'You were on the couch? Then where the hell is she?' he demanded and

sprinted up the stairs. I still had no clue as to what was happening.

'PALAK?' he shouted and entered the bedroom.

As I followed him into my bedroom, and tried to remember the sequence

of events from the previous night, I saw him bent over an unconscious girlwho lay on the side of my bed. Palak! We both helped her sit up on the bed.

She was still falling all over us and she stank of beer.

'Huh?' Palak looked up, still not in her senses.

'PALAK. Wake up!' Deb said. 'Your mom called me up. She wants to

know where you are. Where is your phone?' Deb kept repeating these

sentences.

'Benoy? Don't just stand there. Get her some water!'

'Fine,' I said and sprinted downstairs.

As I came back upstairs, I saw Palak mumble something. I was in a state

of mild shock! I really had not expected this, even from myself. I had no

memory of getting a girl home. It was not really the first time though, but

usually I remember.

'Where is my phone? What did Mom say? Is she angry? Does he know?

Did he call?' she asked a million questions. I tried to avoid her gaze as I

looked for a room freshener. She stank.

She was freaking out, and she held her head. I stood there wondering

whether it was in regret or if it was the hangover. I wanted to ask her, but I

thought it would be better to let Deb handle it. He had been in a relationship

for over five years now. He had more experience in handling crying females

than me.

'Relax, Palak, don't cry. I told your mom that you were with Avantika.

And that you're fine. You really don't remember where your phone is?' he

asked her.

She shook her head and tears streamed down her cheeks in full flow.

Thank God for Deb!

'Okay, just go wash your face and then I will drop you home,' Deb said

to her and she left.

'Benoy? Are you CRAZY?' Deb almost shouted.

'What, Dada? She is your friend not mine. I can't help it if she is crazy.'

'She is not supposed to be here. You got her here. You are the one who is

crazy, not her. And what would I say to Avantika? You have screwed me,

man!'

'Why are you so afraid of Avantika?' I asked.'I am not. I just like not to screw up things with her,' Deb said.

'Whatever, I am sorry,' I said. 'Do you want me to drop her home?'

'No, I will do it. Anyway, how is your hangover? Better?' he asked,

concerned. I nodded; he was my brother after all. He even looked like me.

He was just a shade shorter than me, but he never agreed on that. We

weren't the best-looking people in the world, but we had something in

common—a dimple, a facial deformity, and it was probably the only good

thing about us. Lately, we had been working out together to get ourselves a

perfect set of abs, but till then, we were sexually very unappealing.

'Can we go?' Palak gulped, as she stood at the bedroom door, still crying

softly.

'Sure.'

She was yet to exchange a single word with me or establish eye contact

with me. Deb helped her down the stairs. Bai looked at her, surprised.

'Bye, Palak,' I said as those two were leaving through the door.

She did not say anything, just looked at me and gave me a half-hearted

smile.

'I am fine,' Palak told Deb as she got inside Deb's car.

'I am going to talk to you later about this, Benoy. All this nonsense has to

stop,' Deb said as he opened his car door. 'And this is the last time I am

going to help you with your crushes.'

We shook hands and he said, 'And one more thing, Benoy. Go to the

kitchen or somewhere. She just said she puked in your house last night. And

she is sorry about it.'

Fuck! Fuck her! Fuck her! Crush? Bullshit.

Well, at least I could drink again. Later, I found her cell phone in the

kitchen. I had no intention of returning it. She had puked in my house.C H A P T ER TW O

The morning did not start well. I had cleaned up someone else's puke and

the smell was still somewhere in my head. I had images of her puking in my

sink going through my mind all morning and she was no longer cute to me!

Filthy.

All this while, my phone kept ringing. It was Eshaan and he kept calling

incessantly. I had a ground rule—never answer Eshaan's call until he calls

you for the sixth time. If he called less than five times then it had to be

something frivolous.

It had been one year in Hindu College, Delhi University, and there had

not been a single day that he had not called me to let me know about the

scheduled lectures, the extra classes, the extra notes that I might need, et

cetera. My default state was to ignore his calls. I picked up the sixth call.

'Why don't you pick up my calls?' Eshaan said angrily.

'I was a little stuck,' I said. 'What happened?'

'Okay. Next time, please pick it up the first time,' he said. Yeah, right!

Eshaan told me that a tax-planning professor was less than impressed

about being offered money (by Dad) to mark my internal exam paper (I had

decided to leave the answer booklet blank) a little leniently. The professor

wanted to talk to me in person now.

'Your father cannot buy everything!' Eshaan had said once.

He was not quite right. My father was a wealthy man. I was born with a

silver spoon in my mouth, or diamond. You get the drift. My bank accounts

were always loaded; credit-card bills were never a problem. The car I

drove, the house I lived in, it was all his but still mine.

Last year, when I had screwed up my board exams and it looked like it

would be hard to get into a Delhi University college, I had called up myfather. Next day, I was a Delhi squash champion, and I got admission in

BCom (Honours) through the sports quota. Not bad at all, was it? I did not

hate studying, but when you have everything, education is never the top

priority.

My father was kind to me but not without reason. My parents were

divorced and we were never on talking terms. He was a stranger to me, and

I was brought up fatherless since I was eight. I did not miss him. Until a

year ago, till the time Mom was alive, he had some point of contact in the

family. However, when she lost her battle to cancer last year, he had no one

left. The car, the house, the gym—all these were his attempts to buy me. I

was greedy enough to let him buy things, but not as much to sell myself.

I drove all the way to college to meet the honest, upright, asshole

professor of mine. Why couldn't he just accept the money and shut up? I

always assumed that professors are poorly paid. Why would he turn down

extra money?

'Have you thought about what you will say?' Eshaan asked as soon I got

down from my car.

'No. He wants to meet me, right? He wants to talk, not me,' I said as I

walked towards the professor's offices.

'Benoy. Listen.'

Eshaan was always full of motherly advice. Nevertheless, I could not

ignore Eshaan either. If there was anything I knew about BCom, it was

through him. Well, not just BCom: he had my back for everything.

'Yes, Eshaan?'

'Just go in and tell him that you weren't well and you had to go home.

Tell him you passed all the other exams … and that your dad was just

concerned about your future, that's why he—'

'Eshaan? Why don't you go and talk to him?' I joked.

'I did.'

Despite the frequency, his over-involvement in my life never ceased to

amaze me.

'I just asked him what the issue was and he said he would only talk to

you,' he said. 'I am sorry.'Eshaan was asking for my forgiveness because he could not unscrew

what I had screwed up. He was such a darling! Had I been a girl, I would

have kissed him and hugged him. Well, maybe not.

'No, man. It's fine. I will handle it,' I said.

'If there is any problem, just call me. I will be in Kamla Nagar. Okay?'

'Sonil?' I asked him.

'Yes,' he said, as I saw him blush a little.

Relationships, I tell you, they totally fuck up even the sanest of men. He

had started dating a girl from Daulat Ram College. It had been a year and

he was nuts about her. Eshaan was charming, smiled more than necessary,

cared more than necessary, was unnecessarily fair and was immensely

likeable. He was cute, like a little brother, like a panda. It often went against

him. He was often too cute for any girl.

I wished Sonil would see that, too. I hated her. She thought I was a vain,

ill-behaved, rich brat, and an asshole. She had asked Eshaan to stay away

from me, but Eshaan wasn't that stupid.

I walked through the corridors, smiling at every face that I came across. I

recognized a few faces and a few of them recognized me. Last year, I had

joined college with much fanfare. I drove big cars to college, argued with

seniors and professors alike. Very soon, I was infamous in the college for

my behaviour and unabashed abuse of the power I wielded. After a few

days, people got busy and they promptly forgot about my existence.

Mom's condition had worsened and her chemotherapy sessions had

started. I had to be with her. She had left her job and her condition

deteriorated with every passing day. Doctors had not given her much time. I

wanted to spend every waking second with her. She had started losing

herself to cancer and it became infuriatingly tough for me. I had always

seen her as a strong woman, who brought me up as a single mother—

managed work and a worthless son. It was torturous to see her like that—

frail, weak, losing weight and hair every day, vomiting and crying. Even

behind those smiles she faked, I could see what she was going through.

'Benoy?' she had said.

'Yes, Maa.''Take care when I'm not there.' She had smiled at me.

'Don't say that,' I had said to her, with tears in my eyes. I had never

imagined my life without her. 'You will be fine.'

I was lying to myself. Every single day, I saw her going through the pain.

Little by little, I saw her die. I heard her in agony every day and wished I

could take it away. When I used to sit on the cold, hard bench of the

hospital and hear her cry, I wished that she would go peacefully rather than

go through the excruciating pain every day.

I would look at the life-support equipment that kept her alive and think,

It's just making it harder for her. It was my mom on the bed. She deserved

better. She had done nothing to deserve this pain.

Finally, the day came when she left me behind. It was a very hard time

for me. When my mom passed away, I stopped going to college. I had

prepared myself for the loss, but nothing prepares you for death, nothing

prepares you for absence. With her death, a small part of me died too. I did

not cry for days. I lived in denial. I thought I would wake up some day and

find her caressing my hair.

It had become impossible to live any longer in that house. The silence

used to drive me crazy. Even months after her death, I used to go

downstairs after a good night's sleep and look for her in the kitchen. I used

to leave water bottles everywhere, thinking that she would be there to put

them back in the fridge. I used to shout at nights, asking her for dinner only

to realize that she was no longer there.

I used to remember all those times when my mother wanted to talk to me

after a long day at her office and I used to be too busy on the phone with my

friends. I used to regret every such moment. The uncelebrated Mother's

Days. The birthdays I was not there with her. I used to feel embarrassed

when Mom used to hug me in public. However, in that empty house, and in

my empty life, I could have done anything to have her rest my head on her

shoulder and put me to sleep. I loved my mom and I missed her every day.

She left a huge void in my life. She was everything to me, my only family.

I underwent therapy and Deb's mom started to take care of me. Over this

period, I had started to drink and smoke heavily. I did everything to fill upthe emptiness in my life. Nothing worked. After the person I had loved the

most died in my own arms, everything else stopped to matter. It took me a

few months to get back to normal.

I crossed a line of staff offices with different names on them. Finally, I

saw the name in bold letters—Dr S.K. Ashra (Tax Planning). I knocked on

the door and the voice from the other side asked me to come in.

'Good morning, sir,' I said.

'Sit down, Benoy,' he said politely.

I was pleasantly surprised as I had expected him to blast me. That is what

he had called me for, right? Eshaan had told me he had a reputation of being

nasty with students. He was forty-five but looked older. With his short

stature, small paunch and unintelligent looks, I would have guessed him to

be a government clerk and not a professor. It was hard to believe that he had

turned down a bribe. He looked like someone who would have mattresses

stuffed with money from bribes.

'Thank you, sir.'

'Umm, I noticed that you did not give your tax exam,' he asked while

sipping at his tea from the chipped teacup.

'Yes, sir.'

'Why?' he asked.

'Sir, I wasn't well,' I said, half-heartedly. I did not want to lie. I just

wanted him to accept the money and get lost.

'So? You left the paper empty?' he asked.

'Yes, sir,' I said.

'You know that you can fail this subject unless you really do well in the

finals,' he said, and leaned on the table.

'Yes, sir,' I said, uninterestedly. I added as an afterthought, 'Sir, what can

be done?'

The conversation started to sound like I was avoiding a speeding ticket

from a constable. I felt like the girl who lifts her skirt in the porn movies to

get an 'A' from the old, sex-starved professor. If it was anything like that, it

was going perfectly for me. Now, I just hoped he wanted money, and not

That would have been weird.'Umm,' he said, 'your father called yesterday.'

'I know,' I said. 'I am sorry about that.'

'No, no, no!' he said, his voice suddenly turned super polite. 'Your father

is a big man! That he called me was an honour in itself.'

'Ohhh, is it?' I said. I wondered if he was being sarcastic.

I knew the look in his eyes. It was greed. It seemed he did not want the

money. He wanted something more. After ten minutes, during which I

totally lost any respect for the professor, I walked out of the room. I

checked my phone and it had thirteen missed calls from Eshaan. He was

tenser about the entire situation than I was. Eshaan always thought of me as

a lost soul, and maybe after what happened in the first year, I was. Since I

did not have any real friends in college, he always took it upon himself to

see to it that I was not bored or feeling out of place there.

'Benoy?' he asked when I called him. 'How did it go?'

'It went well,' I said. 'I did what you asked me to. I cried a little, begged

him to score me, and then he said he would give me the average marks for

the exam.'

'See. I told you!' he said, genuine happiness dripping from his voice.

'Not everything can be bought!' he said again.

'Yes. You told me,' I said.

I did not tell him what really happened. After I cut the call, I did what I

hated doing the most—calling up Dad. These calls were important and I

could not run away from them. These paid for my life.

'Hello?' I called him up.

'Benoy? How are you?' my father said from the other side.

'Remember the tax-planning professor?' I asked.

'Yes, yes, the exam that you missed.'

'He lost your number.'

'Oh!'

'He wants more. He has kids studying abroad,' I said.

I was right. Bedroom mattresses stuffed with money. Eshaan was wrong.

My father could buy everything.C H A P T ER T H RE E

'Aunty! Not any more,' I said, as Deb's mom put another spoonful of rice

on my plate. Aunty had lived her life for only two purposes.

The first was to get Deb fat. She had been trying to do that since forever.

She had almost succeeded when Deb touched eighty-five kilograms when

he was in college, but he had lost all that weight now. His mom is still

fighting the depression she suffered during Deb's weight loss.

The second was to get him married to a Bengali girl in true Bengali style.

After being the bride's mom twice, she desperately wanted to be the

groom's mom once. However, Deb had crushed her dreams when he told

his parents he would be marrying Avantika, a Punjabi girl. And since Deb

wouldn't be accepted at Avantika's place, there would be no wedding. Her

mom had reacted as if someone had died. She is still in shock.

'Why don't you give Deb some?' I protested. 'His plate is almost empty.'

'I don't know what he is doing,' his mom said irritably. 'He keeps saying

no carbs, no oil, and spends hours in the gym. I really don't get what you

youngsters try to do.'

'We try to live longer and stay fit, that's it, Maa,' he said.

'Fit? My foot! Anyway, Benoy, which coaching classes are you joining?'

'Coaching classes? For what?' I said. I really did not like where the

conversation was heading.

'I mean if you decide to do management, you would have to enrol for

some coaching classes right now, wouldn't you, beta?'

I don't know why she was so concerned about it. I thought it was because

she wanted me to feel that I was cared for, and loved.

'It's too early. I haven't decided,' I said and stuffed my face with food so

that I would not have to talk.'Deb? Didn't you enrol in the two-year course too?' she asked and Deb

nodded.

'He was dating Avantika then! He hardly studied for it. And he took three

attempts to crack it,' I protested.

'Whatever,' Deb said.

'Let him do what he wants to,' said Deb's dad, who was quietly reading

his newspaper up until then. I often wondered if his brother, my dad, would

be like him, too.

'I made that mistake with Deb and look what he has done. He's marrying

a Punjabi girl! Not even a wedding. Chhee,' she said, angry and dejected at

the same time.

'Calm down,' Uncle said.

'I don't have a problem with Avantika but at least there should be a

wedding,' she said, and it looked like she was choking on her tears.

'Calm down. They are not yet getting married,' Uncle said.

I could see that Deb did not like the conversation. Avantika and Deb were

not seeing each other any more. However, they were still very much in love.

Avantika and Deb had had a strange relationship over the years. They were

the ideal couple for very many years until the time they entered college at

MDI, Gurgaon, and things started to go downhill. Deb, drunk and out of his

senses, cheated on Avantika, and Avantika had walked out.

After the break-up, Deb had spent months in Mumbai, without a job,

trying to convince her to come back. Avantika did not budge. She had still

not changed her mind despite all of Deb's efforts. Deb had never discussed

his problems with Avantika with us. His eyes were stuck to the television,

and it was apparent that he did not want to talk about her.

'Can we talk about something other than her?' Deb said.

'Anything other than my academic plans. Wedding plans will do! And

don't worry, Aunty; I will get married to a Bengali girl. The kind of girl you

will like,' I said.

'Sure he will,' Deb said sarcastically.

'I will,' I said and looked at Aunty.She smiled her widest and I was happy that I had said that. It is strange

how moms just care about two things in their kids' lives—food and

marriage. If you do these two things correctly, it will be Mother's Day for

them every day.

Soon, after that, his parents left.

'Benoy? Never bring up Avantika in front of Mom. You know how she

reacts,' he said angrily.

'I am sorry,' I said. 'Anyway, did you ask Palak?'

After that incident, I had asked Deb to ask Palak if we had made out that

day. Or kissed! I was just a little curious. I wanted to know if something had

happened and whether I should call her and apologize. She was pretty after

all and I had been single for too long.

'Nothing happened between the two of you. I had been a fool to ask you

to drop her! Avantika had advised against it. I should have listened to her.'

'She didn't want Palak to go with me? Why?'

'Avantika likes you. But Palak has a boyfriend, and we didn't want

something to go wrong. Avantika thinks you sleep around!'

'Firstly, I don't sleep around and, secondly, I didn't know she had a guy,'

I said in my defence.

Sleep around? I had not dated anyone in more than a year now. I was too

involved with Mom, and the last girl I had dated was in school and we

broke up when she shifted to Australia for her graduation. I had had crushes

on girls, but things had not worked out. I had been too preoccupied.

I remembered, when I was fifteen, Deb used to tell me stories about all

his flings and relationships. All this was before Avantika came around and

straightened everything out. Avantika was an incredibly beautiful female. I

still have the text Deb had first sent me when I asked him about Avantika

after their first meeting.

She is so hard to describe, Benoy. Those limpid, wet, black eyes

screamed for love. There is nothing better than a melancholic beautiful

face. The moonlight that reflected off her perfectly sculpted face

seemed the only light illuminating the place. Somebody was standingwith a blower nearby to get her streaked hair to cover her face so that

she could look sexier managing it. She had the big eyes of a month-old

child, big and screaming for attention. A perfectly crafted nose,

flawless bright-pink lips and a milky-white complexion that would put

Photoshop to shame. Oh hell, she is way out of my league. She is a

goddamn goddess. I just could not look beyond her face. I think I am in

love.

He has been in love ever since. I envied him. Deep down, I wanted

something like what he shared with Avantika.

Deb was the one who had exposed me to relationships, make-outs and

flings, and he was often surprised at my non-existent love life. He often

thought that I was lying. Since he had slept around back in his day, he

thought I had done that, too. Deb often said that if he had my kind of

money, cars and everything else, he would be dating Deepika Padukone.

But then again, I was not that rich. I did not own an airline. Or have a

British accent.C H A P T ER F O U R

'What happened?' I asked Eshaan. I had picked him up from his house that

day. He had called me more than twelve times that morning so it had to be

important. He was tense and his face was red.

'I am sorry,' he said. 'There is a problem.'

'Now what did I do?'

'Nothing, it is all my fault,' he said. 'Can you drive a little faster?'

'Fine, but at least tell me what did you do?'

'You know we have a subject—macroeconomics and foreign exchange?'

'Yes, yes, I do,' I said. 'The old, skinny professor … what about it?'

'That old, skinny professor left the college and a younger one replaced

him. He was a director at some management college before this, so he is

extraordinarily strict. He divided us into groups and assigned us project

work.'

'So? I am in your group, right?' I said.

'Yes, you were, but not any more. Diya, the group leader, sent the list to

sir without adding your name. We have the presentations today, and all the

other groups are full.'

'I don't have a group?'

'Yes.'

'And how important is this presentation?' I asked him, still not taking

interest.

'He said he would fail or pass students according to their performance in

this presentation.'

'Can he do that?' I asked.

'Yes.''Fuck,' I said. 'So can't I just stand with your group and tell him there

was a miscommunication. Anyway, one of the groups had to have one extra

member, right?'

'I talked to Diya and she refused. You know how she is,' he said.

'No! I do not know how she is,' I said, frustrated. 'I don't even know who

she is!'

'Don't worry, we will talk to her. If not, we will talk to sir.'

Eshaan was back in his element. It was my problem and he was still

using the word 'we' as if it was his problem as well. We reached college

and headed directly for our class. It had been really long since I had last

gone there.

'Who is Diya?' I asked Eshaan as I scanned all the faces.

'There,' he pointed to a girl who was excitedly explaining something to a

group of students.

I walked up to her, with Eshaan right by my side, and said, 'Diya?'

'Yes?' she said. 'You are?'

Diya, as I later learned, had topped the class last year. However, she was

not happy about it because she had not made it to the university toppers'

list. She was sixth on it. It was a terrible tragedy. Ever since she had joined

college, she had had a one-point agenda. She had to get into the London

School of Economics (LSE) with a full scholarship. She was the geek queen

and she looked like it—dull clothes, big spectacles and her curly hair all

over the place, the perfect picture of a full-scholarship student.

'Hi! I am Benoy,' I said. 'I was supposed to be in your group.'

All the students around her looked at me strangely. Man! These guys did

not even know I was a part of their class. I could have asked Dad to get me

through this class as well, but I wanted to avoid calling him again at any

darned cost.

'Your name was not on the list. We are already seven people,' she said.

People in her group nodded obediently.

'But, Diya?' Eshaan said.

'Yes, Eshaan?' Diya countered sternly.For the first time I saw Eshaan a little off his game. Usually, given

Eshaan's fair, cute, kid-like face, no one really argued with him but Diya

did. Diya's voice boomed at him and it was arrogant and confident, as if it

came from amplifiers in her throat. She stared directly at the two of us, like

a witch, and we were scared as shit. I have never felt at home with

intelligent and confident women; they have never found me funny or smart.

Why would anyone love them? They only make you feel stupid and

inadequate all the time.

'I had mailed his name to you and you said you would put his name in,'

he argued.

'And I replied that I would look into it. I checked and we were seven

students in the group already. I mailed the work division to all the members.

You should have checked that then,' she almost said it as if it was Eshaan's

fault.

In the back of my mind, I was already feeling terrible because it seemed I

would have to ask my dad to buy this professor too. I was proving to be a

very expensive kid.

'Okay, there seems to be some misunderstanding,' I said. 'I will just

stand with the group when you give your presentation. We will tell him that

we forgot to put my name in. What about that?'

'What? Benoy, right?' she said, clearly not looking pleased at my idea.

'Look, I am the group leader and I was responsible for sending the names to

sir,' she had now started tapping her finger vigorously on her laptop, 'and I

will not accept that I did something wrong.'

Diya had really started to piss me off. Little Miss Perfect.

'Fine then. Let Eshaan be the leader then. He will accept the mistake,' I

said.

'Yes, I will do it,' Eshaan said.

She looked angry now, her nostrils were flaring and her eyes were

bloodshot. I guessed she had burst a nerve or two inside. I wanted to step

back a little. Just in case.

'Why?' She said, 'I did all the work and what if sir asks questions? I will

not put the whole group at risk just for you.'I was almost shocked at how nerdy and headstrong this girl was. I did not

know what to say.

'C'mon, Diya,' Eshaan said.

'What? I just won't allow it. Now, if you are done, we have to revise,'

she said and looked away from us.

'You know what?' I said and she looked at me. 'You can take the project

and shove it up your tight ass for all I care.'

I cannot say I was not scared as I said that. It looked like she would

throw her laptop at my face. Thankfully, she did not. I did not want my face

to get any uglier. I walked away. As I strode outside the class, I could hear

Diya shout at Eshaan and tell him what a horrible guy I was. I did not care.

Well, the others in the group just asked, 'Who is he? Never seen him in

class!'C H A P T ER F I V E

A little later, we all sat in the class, and she was still right there. Her nostrils

still looked like caves and the big eyes behind those spectacles looked at me

as if they were trying to blow me up. She had a striking resemblance to the

lizard on the ceiling that watched me just as she did.

'So, what do we have lined up for today?' the professor asked. He was

younger and he definitely looked sharper than the other professors who

taught us.

'Project presentations,' one of the students said. I have never understood

these students. Why do they have to go ahead and remind teachers that they

had to screw us?

'I am glad you remember them,' he said. 'I went through all of them.

How do you guys think you did in your projects?' he asked very harmlessly.

The answers ranged from okay to good to could-have-been-better. I

looked at Diya with a cold stare although her eyes were stuck on the

professor. Freaking nerd girl.

'Good? Excellent?' he said, smiling. 'PATHETIC! Just pathetic!' he

shouted suddenly.

I had always considered that my ears were impervious to any nonsense

from teachers and professors, but this professor was loud. Windows

shattered, guys pissed in their pants and people broke out of their

daydreams.

'Do you call those unformatted pieces of shit presentations? I cannot

believe this is the state of affairs at one the most prestigious graduate

colleges in India. No wonder you guys never make it to management

colleges and those students from engineering colleges do.

DISGRACEFUL!'He started to hurt where it hurt the most. No commerce student wanted to

be compared to an engineering student and be told that he or she was less

intelligent or brainy.

'But, sir,' Diya interrupted, 'we—'

'Diya, right?' he said. 'You think you did any better? All you did was

copy-paste from websites. Only numbers! Where was the analysis? I asked

for a study. What did you think your numbers meant? Who all were in the

group with you? Stand up,' he shouted.

Everyone in the group stood up, and I stood up too. I wanted to add salt

to Diya's wounds. I wanted to make it worse for her. I wanted to stomp on

her. Bloody lizard. The professor looked at all of us. He counted. The veins

in his eyes had turned red and thick in anger.

'Eight of you?' he said. 'Wasn't I clear enough that one group wouldn't

have more than seven people, Diya? You were the group leader, right?

Terrible.'

'Sir,' her voice was now not even half as confident as it was before, 'he is

not a part of our group.' She pointed towards me like a little school-going

child.

'You are not?' He turned to me. 'I have never seen you in class before.

Do you even come to college?'

'I had some problems at home,' I said.

'Anyway, what is she saying? Are you a part of this group or not?'

'Sir,' I explained, 'I was a part of their group but she kicked me out

without informing me and I did not know when this presentation was. So, I

didn't take part in the presentation too.'

'And you say it's her fault?'

'No, sir, it was mine, too. But I was meant to be a part of this group,' I

said, as politely as I could.

'NO, he was NOT!' she shouted, and though the class was shocked at her

loud outburst, it almost brought a smile to my face. I could almost see tears

in her eyes. Yes! I pumped my fist. Take that, bitch. Lizard. Bitchy Lizard.

'Shut up, you two. Look at the two of you. What do you think this is?

First grade? Everyone in the class will repeat their projects. You will choosenew topics and I will send you the guidelines this time. And you two, yes,

you will form a new group and only you two will work on the project.'

'But, sir? I cannot work with him,' she protested. 'He doesn't even come

to college. He is irresponsible and brash.'

She stood there, helpless. Her desperation was extreme. Life is so fair.

She was now stuck with a lazy, incompetent guy! Oh, that's me. Shit.

'That's not my problem,' he said. 'Although, Benoy, please don't think

that your dad can make a call and you will pass this subject. That will not

happen. Do you get it?'

Fuck him. Life is so unfair. Later, he added he could ask either of us to

present and we would be marked as a group. Therefore, if I were to screw

up, Diya would get a zero, too. It was a foolproof plan to screw us up. He

said he would ensure the external examiners did not score our final papers.

For the rest of the period, he kept harping on about how disciplined and

intelligent students are in IIT Delhi, the college from where he graduated.

He said he was appalled at the quality of students outside colleges like the

IITs, DCEs and NITs. He was pissing off everybody in the class. Up your

ass, I wanted to say.

I should have been worried but I was happy that the arrogant girl got

screwed with me as well; her shoulders had drooped and her face had lost

its colour. As soon as the class ended, Diya started to look for me. I hid

behind a big group of students and left the class with them.

Fuck her, but yes, I was scared too.C H A P T ER S I X

I would not say I hated him but I did not love him either.

I was just indifferent.

It was one of those unpleasant days. I strode inside Dad's office. Every

month, I had to sign a few papers, agree to a few deals and some other

nonsense. Since last year, every business that was in Mom's name was

transferred to mine and my signatures were required for every major

decision in the company. I waited for fifteen minutes in the conference

room for him to turn up with three of his lawyers like he always did.

Finally, he came and, as usual, he was sharply dressed in a grey suit that fit

him snugly and a thin, black tie that looked smart on him. There were no

signs of a middle-age paunch. He hardly looked like a father of a twenty

year-old.

He was almost as tall as I was. Black hair peppered with white, a hint of

stubble, dark brown eyes and exactly my complexion. I could bet my

money he looked better than I did. Secretly, I had always felt good when

relatives said that I looked exactly like my dad.

Like every big business person in Delhi, he had never been to college. He

took three attempts to clear school. He started as a minor steel trader in

Sadar Bazaar, but slowly and steadily, he rose to become one of the biggest

manufacturers of heavy machinery in India. He did it for the big industries,

the government and the army—the people that mattered. My mom, a double

doctorate in contemporary literature, told me that she was dejected because

the man she was getting married to did not even understand the language

she spent so many years studying.

Things had changed now, though. As his business grew, he had to deal

with high-profile clients and so he had mastered the language. He had spenta major chunk of the last three years in his London office. He had come

back with a hint of a British accent. He was now an older Indian version of

Gerard Butler or George Clooney. Seeing him today, it is very hard to

believe that he almost did not make it through school.

I always thought the real reason why these meetings were so painful was

because I felt drawn to his charm. And whenever that happened I felt guilty

about it since he had made my mom go through a lot. But when he stood in

front of me, with an apologetic look on his face, and used compelling

words, I had a tendency to forgive him from the inside. In those moments, I

felt like I had betrayed Mom.

'Sign these.' One of the lawyers showed me where all to sign. I did not

need to read those papers. He could not have possibly bought my

forgiveness through them. I finished signing those papers, and the lawyers

left.

'Benoy,' he said.

'Yes,' I tried to be unresponsive and cold. I tried not to look at him.

'How is college?' he asked. 'Have you started going?'

'Yes, as if you don't know,' I said sarcastically.

I knew he always kept tabs on me, tracked me wherever I went and knew

whatever I did. I always thought he had someone following me at all times.

Once, when my car broke down in the middle of nowhere, an employee of

his was 'coincidentally' in the area to help me out.

'Are you interested? Do you like the subjects?' he asked and tried to be

all fatherly. I wanted to tell him that it was too late to ask.

'I don't know. Some of them maybe,' I said, still trying to be at my

rudest.

'If there is anything you need, you can always call me. And I was

wondering if you would like to do your internship at my office in your

summer vacations? You would get to learn a lot here,' he said.

'I don't want to,' I said.

Fuck! He even knew that I had been looking for an internship. It was

something that we had to do after our first year. Usually, nobody took it

seriously and everyone sourced fake certificates. But, I had spent monthssitting at home or at hospitals and I thought the internship would be a

welcome change. I had to be around people again! Life had sucked for quite

some time. Things had changed a lot from my schooldays.

My school life was awesome! But now … every friend had got busy,

moved out and settled in their college life. I was the one left out. It had been

more than a year since I had any social life. Anyway, I had given a few

interviews and had met with no success. At some levels, I always thought

my dad was sabotaging my interviews with various companies.

'It's your choice at the end of the day,' he said, '… but you can think

about it.'

'Fine,' I said and I got up.

His office was definitely much bigger than the offices where I had given

my interviews. The only concern was whether I would be okay working

with him. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that I

should work with him. After all, he was my father.

Yet, my insides were tearing apart. On the one hand was my tendency to

pick up the broken pieces of my life, have a sense of family, and on the

other, it was hard for me to forget what my mom had gone through while

bringing me up alone and my missing dad's part in all that.

I am too young to have to take these decisions, I thought.C H A P T ER S E V E N

Law. Probably the most boring subject ever made. I have heard lawyers earn

a lot. They deserve it, man! The torture they go through is unimaginable

and no amount of money can justify it. Anyway, a really old professor was

teaching us something and Eshaan probably regretted that he had called me

to college that day. He called ten times that morning.

I was not letting him study. I did not understand why he was so diligently

taking down notes. There were just lines after lines of text that one had to

mug up and reproduce in the examination. As commerce students, we were

good at that!

'How is Sonil?' I asked him, just to tease him.

'She is good. She really wanted to meet you that day,' he whispered,

even though the professor had no real intention of stopping anyone from

talking.

'Really? Why?' I asked him. 'I know she hates me.'

'She doesn't hate you,' he said, 'but she doesn't approve of what you do.'

Sonil, too, like everyone else thought I was a flirt and I put my hands (or

something else!) on any girl that I could find. Initially, I used to get agitated

but I had got used to it. Now I really did not care that much.

'Let's meet her today then?' I said.

'I have to go somewhere. A family friend's kid wants to know which

stream he should pick. I got to go to their place …'

'How come you always find things to do?' I said.

Like really. Eshaan always took special interest in other people's matters

and all this kept him pretty busy throughout the day. When I first saw him

in college, he was just another guy to me. Five feet eight, with a kid face,

which instantaneously turned red in the sun. However, his energy and theforever-busy look on his face were some things you could not possibly

miss. He kept hopping from one place to another.

I did not like him at first but he took a liking to me. I was like a charity

project for him. A misfit in the college classroom. I could imagine what a

kick he must have got out of helping me!

'Before the next class, just go and meet Diya once. She was looking for

you,' he said.

'Me?' I asked. 'Why?'

'You haven't started the project, have you? You ran from the class that

day, too! She was pretty pissed at you,' he said.

'Bitch.'

I looked at her and she was sitting where she always sat. The first seat.

She furiously jotted down everything that the professor had to say. She

looked at the professor with unwavering concentration. I admired her

patience and dedication. The class ended and the old man crawled out of the

class. He said something about an assignment but nobody gave a shit and

everybody moved out. Diya still sat there and underlined her notes. Nerd.

As Eshaan left, he asked me to go and talk to her. I did not want to. I was

sure she would bombard me with questions, abuses and responsibilities. I

wanted none of these!

I slowly trudged towards the first seat. I wished the ground beneath

would open up and I could walk into hell rather than into a conversation

with her. I went up to her desk, smiled at her and hoped she would not give

me much work.

'Sit,' she said politely. Even then, I feared her reptile tongue might

appear and suck me in.

'Is there any topic you want to work on? Or do you want to go ahead

with the topic that sir gave us?'

Maybe, she was not a pain in the ass after all.

'No, let's do what he has asked us to do. We are anyway a little screwed,'

I said.

'Good then,' she said and bent over on the other side. She was searching

for something in her huge bag and finally took out a book. Free TradeAgreements by some goofy-named author. Though the name was not what I

was concerned about. I was concerned about its thickness! It was almost as

thick as my forearm. No way! I shat my pants.

'So … err … What do we do with this?'

'Umm … nothing much,' she said sarcastically. 'We just need to read

this, then critically analyse this book and give our own suggestions. That's

it.'

Now she did not sound as sweet. Arrogance and sarcasm came rushing

back into her voice. I heard the sentence again in my head. Read the book,

analyse it and give suggestions. The stupid, fucking professor wanted us to

read the entire book. And trust me, it's not that I cannot read, but this was

not a novel; it was a thousand-page book on economics and we had to go

through the entire book.

'But this isn't even in the course?' I protested, as I flipped through the

book.

1256 pages. Small font. I would rather be eaten up by Diya. Make her a

reptile, please.

'Isn't it, Benoy? Then I will just go and tell sir that you think it is out of

the syllabus and you don't want to do it,' she said coldly, adjusted her huge

spectacles and looked away.

Every time she looked at me, her face distorted in hatred and repulsion.

The feeling was mutual.

'I never said that,' I said.

'Then?' her voice was now meaner and colder, like a pissed off

schoolteacher on a low salary.

'I will read it,' I said and tried to sound as harsh as possible.

'Fine, read the book by day after and then we can discuss it. Note down

anything that you think is important. Okay?'

'Okay? What okay?' I said. 'Just two days? At least give me a week?

Please?'

I panicked. Anyone would. 1256 pages? Two days!

'We don't have a week, Benoy; he wants us to submit an initial

framework in three days. And he might want to meet us tomorrow,' shesaid, collected her things and was about to leave.

'Is he crazy?'

'I don't know, but he certainly thinks we are dumb and if you mess this

up, I am going to the principal,' she said and looked at me with those

unrelenting eyes.

'Fine,' I retorted and looked her back in the eye. Well, I would be lying if

I said I was not a little scared to look at her like that.

'I will see,' she said, 'you undeserving brat.'

I think she wanted to say that in her mind, but it came out. She left

without saying another word, leaving behind an air of hatred and just plain

disgust.

Undeserving brat.

I did not have a comeback for that. I was taken aback at the unnecessarily

vicious comment. She was being a bitch! Now, I just had to finish the book

and do it before her.

I called up Eshaan and he said he would have loved to help me out but he

was caught up. He apologized more times than I could count. I

disconnected the line, stared at the book that lay on my table and cursed the

professor. Argh. My mind had started weighing options—call up Dad and

ask him to write a big cheque? Or read the 1256-page book? The first

option seemed more lucrative.

I was staring blankly at the book for what seemed like ten years when my

phone rang. Strange. Palak calling.

'Hello?' I said, not sure what to expect.

'Benoy?' she said. 'What's up?'

'Umm … nothing much. How are you?'

'I am fine,' she said.

She did not sound half as cheerful as she was that day. I did not have a

crush on this low-sounding girl on the other side of the phone. I had it on

the girl who had been drunk and happy and danced as if she were nuts.

'Is there something wrong?' I asked.

'No,' she said. 'It's just that … my boyfriend … he told his mom about

me.''Umm. Okay,' I wondered what that had to do with me.

'So, I was thinking if I should tell him about us.'

'About us?' I asked. 'What's there to tell him about us?'

'That we spent the night together, Benoy.'

As soon as she said that, I started wondering if we had actually made out.

It seemed so now.

'But I passed out as soon as I reached home,' I said. 'Didn't I?'

'But what if you hadn't?'

'If I hadn't? Even then, how would things have changed?'

'Something might have happened,' she said. 'That's why you didn't drop

me at my friend's place, right?'

'Umm …'

It was a hard question to answer; I had not dated or got anybody home in

a long time. I could not predict whether I would have done or tried doing

something with her. I mean, it was not that I had not fantasized about doing

that, but … well …

'I don't know,' I said. 'I don't remember anything about us that night.

What did I say? What did I do?'

'You remember nothing?'

'Nope.'

'Benoy, on our way back you were being very sweet to me. You held my

hand and said you had had a great time and you didn't want to drop me at

my friend's place. So, you asked me to come over. And stupid and drunk as

I was, I did so! Stupid me.'

'Okay.'

'I came to your place!' Palak said, 'I have to tell him, right?'

'No, you don't. Look, Palak. Nothing happened. And that's what

matters.'

'Umm … Benoy?' she said. 'You sure?'

'Most certainly,' I said.

'You don't like me?' she said.

What!

'I do like you, but,' I said, 'we don't know each other.''You must think I am so stupid, right?'

'No, Palak, you are cute. And I had a huge crush on you!'

'Had?' she asked naughtily.

'Umm … still do!'

'I like you, too,' she said. 'And who knows, if I didn't have a serious guy,

I might just have done something that night. Whatever. But, thank you!'

I could see her smile from the other side. I am sure I had a crush. I liked

her better when she was hard to get.

Random make-outs with committed girls only lead to troubled hearts and

unwanted tears. It's what people always expect of me, making me even sure

it's something from which I should stay away.

There's no glory in a fling.C H A P T ER E I G H T

I did not study the entire night.

My ex-girlfriend from school and I talked on Skype through the night.

She told me about her new boyfriend, and I felt bad for myself. She had

gone to Australia for her graduation. We had broken up a few weeks after

she landed there. The initial days of separation were cool. For the first few

weeks, we let our hormones decide what we did on the video chats. Skype

was the best thing to happen to long-distance relationships.

However, slowly the lust, the stripteases, the role plays died down; things

changed and we knew it would not work out.

I got up late the next day and opened my book. And Facebook. Time flew

by! Two hours and I had managed to go through just ten pages. I was not

making any progress. Frustrated, I drove down to college to study there. I

picked out a corner table in the library to hide from the embarrassment of

being in the library.

I called Eshaan but he was busy helping that witch, his girlfriend, fill out

examination forms. I put my head down and started to study and within

moments, I was staring at the ceiling, looking at a lizard, which looked back

at me with its gooey eyes, reminding me of her.

I attacked the book with newfound vigour. This time, an hour passed by

and I covered a substantial portion. I only understood parts of it, but I kept

going. Just then, someone tapped on my shoulder. For a second, I thought

the lizard had fallen off the ceiling on to me. But it was worse.

'How far have you reached?' I knew that arrogant tone. It was Diya.

'Huh? Oh. Hundredth page.'

'How do you think you're going to complete the entire book? He might

call us today! How can you be so careless, Benoy?''And will he ask us questions, too?' I asked nervously, the little nerd in

me surfacing. In school, I used to beg and run after teachers for that extra

half mark.

'Yes, Benoy, we have to go and meet him,' she said, as she put down her

books on the adjacent chair.

As if on cue, the professor appeared out of nowhere and tapped on both

our shoulders and asked us to follow him. We looked at each other and were

somewhat scared. We followed him into his room.

'So,' he said and whirled around in his chair. We kept quiet. He was not a

very pleasing man. He exuded hatred and always sounded angry.

'Have you read the chapter on US foreign policy yet?' he asked. It was

the second chapter of the book. I had just finished reading it. However, the

professor looked at Diya. He wanted her to answer it. Darn! He should have

asked me.

'Umm … err … yes, sir,' she said.

'So tell me, what was different about NAFTA? Something that was not

done by the US earlier?' he asked and leaned forward. I knew the answer. I

looked at Diya and she was sweating like a pig. I wondered why because

she had already read it. She was way past the second chapter.

'Umm … sir … it was the … first … time …' she mumbled something.

'What? I cannot hear you, Diya. Be a little loud. You were pretty loud

when you shouted at him. NOW?'

She gave it another attempt, but she just kept stammering and mumbling

nonsense.

'Don't waste my time,' he said.

'Sir—'

'Have you even read it, Diya?'

It looked like she would burst into tears. She kept quiet and stared at her

feet. She had seemed pretty belligerent and confident that day, but in that

room, she couldn't answer that simple question.

'Sir,' I said. She was close to tears. I was a little shocked. I started to feel

sorry for her.

'Yes, Benoy.''Sir, we had divided the chapters. I was supposed to do it and explain it

to her,' I said.

'Is it? Then you tell me the answer to the question.'

I launched into a monologue and answered it perfectly, much to the

surprise of both Diya and the professor.

'Fine,' he said, 'but in the final presentation, I can ask both of you

anything. Do I make myself clear, Diya?'

'Yes, sir,' she purred.

'You can go now,' he said and pointed towards the door. We left.

It had been two hours since we left the professor's room. Diya had been

sitting just two seats away from me but we had not exchanged a single

word. I was bored; Diya was still revising the second chapter, underlining

with the ferocity of a rabid dog.

'Diya?'

'Yes?' she said.

'You forgot the answer?'

'I have been studying all night. I was exhausted. I don't know what

happened inside. I just went blank. It was written right here! In my notes,'

she said and held her head in her palms.

'Do you think I can share your notes?'

'I think so. That's why I made them,' she said.

'You made them for me?'

'I didn't want you to mess it up but I messed up.' She felt ashamed.

'The main presentation is what matters.'

She was a little less cold now. It did not look like she would make my

brain explode and splatter on the back wall, with her stares. She handed

over the notes and sat down next to me. Just as I was scanning through the

notes, she said, 'And don't mix up the notes. I have marked the pages too, if

you need to go back to the book.'

I nodded like an obedient child and started flipping through the notes. I

have to admit, I was insanely impressed. Not only were the notes super

precise, they were also comprehensive. Incredible handwriting. Theindentations and the colouring and the diagrams, it was awesome. I closed

the book and started reading through the notes.

I took breaks to see where I had reached in the book and the progress was

phenomenal. I needed a break but Diya's concentration reminded me of

ancient sadhus' and I didn't want to be the dancing apsara who usually

jinxes it.

Tired, I finally asked her, 'Coffee?'

'Why? It's just been two hours?'

'Exactly. It's been two hours.'

'You go. I will finish up this chapter first.'

'I will wait then,' I said and sat down, thinking it would be rude to go.

'It will take an hour,' she said and looked at me. I am sure she saw my

face droop because she added, 'Okay, let's go now.'

I hadn't noticed earlier, but now I couldn't miss her pyjamas and the

faded, loose T-shirt. It was taking the I-come-to-college-to-study-and-not

to-walk-on-a-ramp attitude too far.

'Thank you,' she said, 'for helping me out.'

'Oh. It was nothing,' I said, 'and thank you for the notes.'

'I was helping myself out, not you. I didn't want you to put me in any

further trouble,' she said. I thought we were past the being arrogant stage,

but it seemed like we were not.

'Why are you being so rude?' I asked.

'Rude? Me? Look who's saying that! The spoilt brat with a silver spoon,'

she exclaimed.

'Here I am trying to make things better and you are—'

'Make things better? I worked on that project for two weeks. And

because of you, it all went waste! I don't want you to make things better.

Thank you for helping me inside but that's it,' she said.

'Huh? But—'

'We don't have to be friends. We will never be. I do not like you as a

person. In fact, I hate you.'

'What did I do?' I defended myself. The silence in the library was much

better than this girl treating me like a doormat.'Let's not have this conversation,' she said.

We made our way to the library and we were back to hating each other;

she got back to her books and I got back to her notes. We did not talk to or

look at each other. We were back to being sworn enemies. The clock struck

five and I saw her pack her stuff inside her trademark big school bag.

'Umm. Can I take these?' I pointed to the notes.

'Sure. You can shove them up your tight ass for all I care,' she said and

left the library, without looking back.

Crap. She remembered what I had said to her the first day that we had

met.

You can shove the project up your ass for all I care.

I regretted my words.C H A P T ER N I N E

The next day, I reached the library before time. I had thought about various

ways in which I could apologize but I realized I was thinking too much. I

picked the same seat that I had picked the day before. It was strange

because I loathed her a day back and suddenly I was waiting for her in the

library so that I could apologize and we could study together. Diya. Library.

Study. Sorry. All these words were odd.

I was halfway through her notes when she came.

'Hey,' I said and smiled at her.

'Hey.'

She did not react. She unloaded her bag, took out about three books, a

notebook, another set of notes and kept them on the table, two seats next to

'Umm, Diya. Listen, I am sorry about that comment. I really didn't mean

it.'

'Okay,' she said and stared into her book.

'Like, I am really sorry.'

Together. They

looked happy. And this was not when I was eight or something. This was

when I was fourteen, fifteen, and even sixteen. Even a year before Mom

died. Together, the two of them … they even went on a trip together.'

'So?'

'What? So? It means she was still meeting him while I thought she was

angry with him! What does all this even freaking mean? My mom kept

talking about how bad a father he was, that he cheated on her, and these

pictures?' I said.

Silence.'The only reason why I was angry with my dad was because my mom

was angry with him! But this …'

It felt like someone had pulled a nasty joke on me. I did not know what to

make of all that. Wasn't I supposed to be angry and pissed off at him? I was

supposed to stay away from him.

I was furious because I had missed out on having a family, a proper

functioning family with both my parents together. This was just unfair. The

picture of them by the river, in an upscale restaurant holding hands, the

picture of them in a cable car. It really did not look like she was mad at him.

They seemed happy! Mom looked happy in those pictures.

'Why don't you talk to your aunt?' Diya suggested.

'You think she would know anything about this?' I asked her.

'If anyone would—'

'I should leave then,' I said and picked up the car keys. I gathered all the

pictures and other stuff and put them back in the envelope. 'Come with me,

Diya. I can even show you then what I wanted to.'

'What? Wasn't this what you wanted to show me?'

'No! I will be outside your place in ten minutes,' I said and disconnected

the call. She was waiting when I got there.

'What?' she said. 'You got to be kidding me!' she shrieked in pure

excitement. 'I am sure your dad can buy Russia too!'

'Why the fixation with Russia?' I asked and she just laughed.

We sat in the car and left for Deb's mom's place. Diya loved the car.

'Benoy, are you sure I should come? It's your family matter,' she said.

'I want you around,' I said.

As I drove, my questions, my anxiety and my anger tapered down. I

thought if Mom could forgive him, so could I. After all, I was not half as

nice a person as Mom was. By the time I reached my aunt's place, I was

sure that no matter what explanation I would get, I would forgive my father.

It was time.

'Beta?' she said, as she opened the door and I handed over the envelope. I

touched her feet.'Go through it,' I said and introduced Diya.

They both smiled at each other and she asked us to sit. She slowly went

through all of it, alternating between looking at me and what was in her

hands. She didn't look shocked. She just looked sorry that I had got to

know.

'Who gave you this?' she asked, her hand on mine.

'That doesn't matter. What's all this?' I said. 'And I know you know.'

'I don't know what to say, Benoy.'

'You don't know what to say? I grew up without him being around

because my mom asked me to stay away from him. Then what was all this?

Trips? Dinners? Just tell me anything. Anything would do! Seriously. Tell

me anything and I would believe you,' I said desperately, angry that I was

the last to know.

'See, Benoy. I wouldn't lie to you.'

'Then tell me.'

'See, beta. It is not how you think it was. Your mother had a tough time

dealing with your dad. He was nice when they got married, but then he got

involved with his work, his business, and he just forgot he had a wife and

kid at home. It was really hard for your mother. She used to cry for days on

end. I saw her go through that. And with you, he just became worse. He

wanted to turn you into him. He was strict and would even go about beating

you, even when you were just a little kid. And that's why she left him. Not

because he cheated, not because he didn't give her time, but because he was

a very bad father to you and she couldn't take it.'

'I don't remember any of it.'

'You don't remember because your mother brought you up like that,' she

said.

'But why this?'

'You know your father always kept tabs on you and your mother. He still

does. After your mother discovered that she had cancer, she didn't tell

anybody, not even you. But your father, he knew. And he begged, he almost

literally signed off all of his businesses to his partners just to be with your

mother. Eventually, she forgave him, but she still wanted to punish him forbeing a bad father. What you have in your hands is their last times together.

As husband and wife.'

'Okay.'

'It's not like how you think, Benoy. She always thought about you first.

She just didn't want you to turn out like him, that's why she kept you

away,' she said.

She clutched my hands, expecting me to break down into tears, and

hugged me. I ruffled that package in my hands. I was not crying. I was

smiling. I was glad that Mom had Dad around during her last days; she

looked happy in those pictures, content. I had more to remember her by, and

I was glad that she had a nicer time during her fading days. I knew she

would not want anything bad for me.

I left her place in another twenty minutes, with the envelope in my hand

and a strange sense of happiness even though I had just found out that my

mother had lied to me about her relationship with my dad and kept me away

from it, and I just got assured that I had a terrible childhood.

'That was sweet,' Diya said.

'What was sweet?'

'You cried.'

'Me? No! I didn't. I'm like Schwarzenegger in my head, buff and strong.

I never cry—crying is for girls.'

'You had tears in your eyes.'

'Well, that and crying are two very different things. And the tears part

won't ever be mentioned. It never happened,' I said, not looking at Diya.

'I thought it was very sweet to see you cry! At least it showed you have a

heart,' she said.

'Emotional crap. I'm Schwarzenegger and the Hulk. I only get angry, not

sad and weepy.'

'Whatever. I am glad you brought me along. I would have missed out on

that. And your aunt is so sweet. Despite you being sad, she just couldn't

stop offering me something to eat!'

I wasn't sad and weepy; I was just glad and amused. I mean there must

have been times that Mom would have lied to me and secretly gone out on adate with her ex-husband, my father! That is cute, isn't it?

'Though, Benoy, I really don't get something,' Diya said. 'How can you

be this stupid?'

'What stupid?'

'Do you really think that your car breaking down, your father offering

you the car you have always liked in his parking lot and the envelope in the

glove compartment of the car … do you really think all this is a

coincidence? I do not think your dad is that stupid, Benoy! He planned it.'

Fuck. He planned it. Obviously.C H A P T ER S I X T E E N

It had been more than a week since I had found the envelope and the secret

romance of my mom and dad during the fading years of her life. I had

called my father's assistant and got everything delivered back to his office,

after I made copies of everything.

'Did you call your dad?' Diya asked.

'No, I didn't. I just don't know what to say to him.'

'But you said you would?'

'I couldn't make up my mind.'

'Well, if it's too much of a bother, do it after the exams get over. Have

you finished that chapter you had started with?' she asked.

'Umm … err … almost,' I said.

'Really?' she asked.

'Nope. It's so hard to concentrate!'

'Whatever. You don't need to study. This time, you can just buy every

professor. And prove Sonil true, you good-for-nothing brat!'

It was just a trick to get me to study and it worked every time. There was

the other reason why I wanted to score well—the more pertinent one. I

wanted to impress Diya and eventually ask her about her sister.

Shaina had stopped sketching, but her poems were getting longer, some

even longer than a few hundred lines. Her words were as beautiful as she

was, only more tragic.

Her last poem was about a little girl found in the rubble of a war zone,

who walks about the city's ruins, looking for her parents and finding

nothing but platitudes. I have never been big on emotions, since, as

established, I was a curious mix of Schwarzenegger and the Hulk, but the

poem had me bawling and crying like a little kid.I was the little girl.

It was our last exam that day. The exams went well. Like incredibly well.

There was an outside chance that I might even score higher than her. But

then, even if I did, the entire credit would go to Diya for she made me work

as hard as I had. Diya desperately wanted a university rank that year as

otherwise her LSE dream would end then and there.

The best part about Diya was that she was like a girlfriend, but a non

fussy and a non-sexual one, which meant no possessiveness, no jealousy

and no obligations. But she was always there when I needed her. These

exam preparations just made me love her even more. She was so cute and

caring, almost like a mini-mom, and that's why I always thought that Diya

and Eshaan were perfect. They anyway treated me like their lost kid, so they

should have started dating too!

'Hey, how did it go?' I asked Eshaan.

'Not so good,' he said.

His relationship troubles were haunting him. I partly blamed myself for it

because I had put the first seed of doubt in his head about Sonil. But I never

felt guilty about it. He had to get rid of that bitch. Like. Really.

'Any plans today?' I asked him.

'I got to meet her,' he said.

'Again? Didn't you just break up yesterday?'

'I did, but she just says something and we get back. She just doesn't let

me break up. You were right, she is very dominating,' he said and I really

felt sorry for him.

'Why don't you just stop taking her calls?'

'She calls on the landline, talks to my mom; things are not going well,

Benoy.'

'Then tell her that you have started dating someone else? I am sure she

will dump you then,' I suggested.

'She will ask for her number. What will I do then?' he asked.

'You are really scared of her, aren't you?' I asked. 'Tell her that you have

started dating Diya! And I will ask Diya to say the same, what say?''Do you think Diya will do it?' he asked as his phone started ringing.

I told him that I would handle it and then bid him best of luck. I waited

for Diya to finish her exam. She never left the exam hall until the last

minute.

She left the examination hall smiling. Though her smile vanished in a

matter of seconds when I told her that she might have to talk to Sonil and

pose as Eshaan's girlfriend.

'It's just one call!' I said.

'You are so irritating!' she said. 'I don't want to talk to her. She's

probably the last person I would ever talk to.'

We were still arguing about whether I should have done that, and how big

a pain in the ass I was, when her phone rang and we knew it was Sonil. I

snatched the phone, picked it up and handed it over to her as she kept trying

to give it back to me.

Sonil came out all guns blazing, calling Diya a whore and home breaker

and what not; Diya gave it back in equal measure, pulling out the choicest

of Hindi expletives, insults that even I would think twice about. A girl

swearing in Hindi is a dream; it's like a perfect picture of Women's

Liberation.

'Not a word about this. Ever,' she said as she disconnected the call.

'You were good,' I whispered in her ear. I could see her smile, even

though she tried hard to hide it. 'I have to say you were dirtier than the kids

in the slums near my house. I need to treat you for this.'

'Benoy, I really have to go out with my sister today. I had promised her

that I would. Tomorrow, maybe?'

'So what? Or do you have a problem if I come along? Anyway, I haven't

met your sister. Oh, let me treat you guys.'

'My sister is sort of boring. I love her and all, but she's into sketching

and writing really boring stuff. And moreover, I don't want guys like you

hovering near her.'

'I am sure she's not boring,' I countered. I wanted to prove it by narrating

the best parts of a few of her poems I had memorized.'Fine,' she conceded. 'And don't blame me if she starts to talk about

Byron and Keats.'

'I won't. And I love poetry!' I said. I only love her poetry; the only other

poet I truly appreciate is Jane Taylor, the woman who wrote the twenty-line

poem, but we know only four of the lines: 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star'.

We drove to her sister's college. Miranda House. Shaina was in her first

year there. Diya and I did not exchange a single word. I was busy

constructing sentences that I would say. Obviously, I could not have said, I

have been stalking your profile and your blogs obsessively, and I think you

are like a beautiful flower, like a heartbeat—sensitive and beautiful. I was

nervous.

Will her eyes be as big as they were? Will her words rhyme? Will her hair

be as perfect as it looked in the pictures? We reached her college and Diya

got down from the car.

'I will just go pick her up,' Diya said and left.

I nodded and waited. As I sat in the car, I doused myself with perfume

and checked my hair, and then I saw her, walking like she didn't know how

unarguably pretty she was.

Crap.

This isn't the movies, I remember telling myself, but why had the people

walking next to the car frozen in place and why did time slow down. I could

only see her walking towards me as if I had blinders on. She was in a bright

yellow T-shirt with a SpongeBob graphic on it, and bright green skirt-pants

below, looking brighter than the sun.

I could see her smile from far. It was shy yet pretty, confident yet tragic.

She resembled the girls in her sketches, beautiful and complex; the world

seemed like it would end every time she blinked, hiding her big, brown

eyes.

She reminded me of her poems, magical and complex, each feature of

hers hiding a different story; her prettiness was epic and rich, just like the

words she wrote and the sketches she drew.

She was not that tall, maybe five feet four, but those eyes, man, those

eyes.My heart thumped as she got inside the car, my breaths were heavy and

deliberate, and I trembled. There was certain happiness in her prettiness,

like she would smile and everything in the world would be okay.

'Hi,' she said. 'Shaina.' And she held out her hand for me to shake. I

shook it.

'Benoy.'

'I know who you are,' she said and smiled wider. 'Nice car, by the way.'

'Thank you.' I blushed.

'He's just a spoilt brat,' Diya interrupted and punched me in the arm.

'Let's go?'

'Sure. Where are we going?' I asked.

'I don't know. I am okay with anything! Where do you want to go,

Shaina?' Diya asked.

'Umm … I know you will kill me for this, but can we go to Pragati

Maidan? The French film festival just started and they are playing Queen

Margot today. I really want to see the movie!' she said, jumping in the

backseat.

'French movie?' Diya said, disgusted. 'We won't even get a word of it!

And your movies are so boring, Shaina. Can't we do something interesting

for a change? Say like watching a Hindi movie that I would understand?'

'I am okay with it,' I said. 'I have never seen a French movie. I have

heard they have, like, naked scenes and stuff?'

'Oh! Lots of them. Let's please go,' Shaina pleaded. 'I will translate

whatever you don't get.'

'Whatever,' Diya said.

'You can understand French?' I asked, shocked and impressed.

'And Spanish,' Diya added. 'She is such a pretentious show off.'

'I don't say that when you talk about fiscal policies, do I?' Shaina

quipped.

Shaina pushed me to drive faster because she did not want to miss the

first scene of the movie, while Diya sulked, hoping we would.

They bought the tickets and I parked the car. Diya made sure she sat

between the two of us during the movie. The movie was about a womanstuck in an arranged marriage during a period of religious war, and she

hoped to flee with a new lover. Periodically, Shaina would make us

understand the nuances of the story, and while Diya would shrug, I found

myself staring at her, listening to her as she described in great detail the

anguish and the pain of the woman in the movie.

I felt inadequate.

Finally, during the interval, while Shaina and I waited in line to buy

popcorn because Diya said she would rather eat than watch the movie, Diya

visited the washroom.

'So? Miranda House?'

'Benoy, that's a bad conversation starter,' she said.

'Let's see if you do better,' I said.

'I am equally bad at first sentences. But I really thought you would be

arrogant and haughty. And yes, a lot uglier.'

'Uglier? Which means right now I am just ugly, not UGLIER?'

'No, no! I mean, you are cute. I thought you would be ugly,' she

corrected.

'That's just damage control. But why did you think I would be even

uglier?'

'Diya always said so! Don't tell her I told you this. She's a little

possessive about me, so for her every guy is ugly and irresponsible. She's

very protective.'

'I can see that,' I said and wondered what proportion of her face were

just her immense, beautiful eyes.

Diya came back and asked us why we were smiling. We said nothing.

That little stolen moment between Shaina and me made my day. The

movie ends with the beheading of the lover, and the woman, Queen Margot,

lived on, carrying with her the embalmed head of her lover wherever she

went.

We did not get to talk any more that day because they had to rush home

as soon as the movie was over, but there were times that Shaina and I had

longer-than-usual eye contact and we smiled at each other.C H A P T ER S E V E N TE E N

It had been exactly three days and I had not been able to push the thought of

her out of my mind. I kept daydreaming about her, constructed fake dates

with her, where I would just sit there and she would recite her poems, and

tell me about her favourite movies.

My calls to Diya had tripled over the last three days because I wanted to

hear Shaina's voice in the background somewhere. It just kept ringing in my

head since that day and no matter what I did, it stayed there. It didn't take

long for Diya to put two and two together.

'Benoy, one word about her and we will never talk again,' she said.

It was the millionth time that day that I had picked her name up in a

conversation.

'I don't want you near her again. Do you get me, Benoy?' she said.

'But why? It's not as if I am hitting on her.'

'No, but you were staring at her! I don't want a guy like you hovering

near her,' she said.

'Did she notice? That I was staring?'

'I didn't ask her,' she said.

'Did she say anything about me?'

'I didn't ask her that either,' she said. 'She is too simple for all your

games, Benoy. And you know my parents. Please stay away from her.'

'Okay, fine. We will not talk about her.'

'Better,' she said.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not change Diya's perception.

'And you are not adding her on Facebook!'

'What's wrong with that?''Just like that. I don't want you to go about liking every picture of hers,

like you have done in mine.'

'You noticed?' I asked.

'Obviously, Benoy. I am not blind.'

'Oh, okay. But—'

'Nothing doing. No adding her on Facebook,' she said this sternly, and

we did not discuss it further.

Like a petulant child who does exactly what he's asked not to, I sent

Shaina a friend request. The more Shaina was treated like a guarded

princess, the more I was drawn to her.

My eyes grew weary and tired waiting for the friend request to get

accepted, but I couldn't make myself give up on the hope.

And then, a message came.

Shaina Gupta: Are you sure? ☺ Didn't Diya ask you not to add me?