Half Girlfriend

by Chetan Bhagat

  ‘Oh, please get it to college tomorrow. It’s my favourite.’

  ‘You want to come pick it up? You wanted to see my room, right?’ I said.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Really? But how?’

  ‘There’s a system. It involves me making the guards happy while you rush inside.’

  ‘You’ll sneak me in?’ she said, her eyes opening wide.

  ‘You won’t be the first girl to come to the residences.’

  We walked towards the brick-lined path to Rudra-North. She stopped a few steps before I reached Rudra.

  ‘What if we get caught?’ she said.

  ‘I’ll be expelled, but they’ll spare you. You’re a girl and your father will have enough contacts.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Let’s do it,’ I said.

  I went up to the guard. I followed the code: told him to check out a problem in the bathroom, and slipped him fifty rupees. He had done it for others before so he quickly understood. He saw Riya in the distance.

  ‘Is she from outside or a student?’ the guard said.

  ‘What do you care?’ I said.

  ‘Just in case there’s any trouble later.’

  ‘Will there be trouble?’

  ‘No. Make sure she leaves in thirty minutes. No guarantee with the new guard.’

  6

  She entered my room and I slammed the door shut behind us.

  My room was furnished with the bare necessities—a bed, a desk, an easy chair and a study chair. The walls were lined with certificates and pictures.

  ‘So many certificates,’ she said as she scanned them. They began right from the inter-school tournaments I had won in class VIII to the one I had for participation in the national games. (My team from Bihar had come eighth.)

  ‘And are these photos of your friends?’

  ‘Those are friends from my old basketball team,’ I said, standing behind her. I stood close enough for her hair to touch me. We had never been alone together before.

  ‘How about family pictures?’ she said.

  I opened my study-table drawer. I took out a photograph of the Dumraon Royal School’s annual day. My mother stood on a stage along with students in red sweaters.

  ‘Your mom?’ she said, holding the picture.

  ‘She’s the principal.’

  ‘You have more pictures?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said and rifled through the drawers. I found another black-and-white photo, but hid it.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Show, no.’

  ‘It’s a childhood picture.’

  ‘Oh, then I definitely want to see it.’

  She charged towards me.

  ‘No,’ I protested and tried to shut the drawer. She laughed, and tackled me like she did on the basketball court, treating the picture like the ball.

  On the court our occasional touches meant little. In the room, her jostling me felt electric. I wanted to grab her tight, but didn’t. I didn’t want a scene like last time.

  I let her have the picture and stepped aside. She looked at it and began to laugh.

  ‘How old are you in this?’

  ‘Four.’

  The picture was of my parents and me standing outside the haveli. My mother wore a saree with a ghoongat covering half her face. I wore a vest and little else.

  Riya sat down on the bed. She examined the photograph like a detective solving a murder mystery. I sat next to her.

  ‘Is that your haveli?’ she said.

  I nodded.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘That’s fifteen years ago. Now it’s falling apart.’

  She looked closer. A cow was visible in the background. Two kids sat under a tree with an old man.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Random people, perhaps some visitors. I told you, people come to us with their problems. For them, we are still the rulers.’

  ‘I’d love to go see it.’

  I laughed.

  ‘What?’ she said, puzzled.

  ‘You? In Bihar?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  I shook my head and laughed again.

  ‘What’s so funny, prince?’ she said and tickled me.

  ‘Stop it, I’m ticklish,’ I said and laughed uncontrollably.

  ‘You think I can’t leave my sheltered life, huh?’ she said, poking my stomach with her fingers. I grabbed and held her. She realized it only after a few seconds.

  ‘Hey,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re holding me.’

  ‘Good observation.’

  I looked straight into her eyes. She did not look away. Even though I had zero experience with girls, I could tell this was a good sign.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  I leaned forward to kiss her. At the last moment she moved her face away and I ended up kissing her cheek.

  ‘Madhav Jha,’ she said. ‘Behave yourself.’

  She said it in a firm voice, though without the anger she had shown that day on the lawn.

  ‘I am behaving like myself. This is what I want to do.’

  ‘All you boys are the same,’ she said and slapped my wrist.

  ‘You’ve experienced all boys?’ I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘Shut up. Okay listen, before I forget, I have to invite you to a party.’

  ‘Don’t change the topic.’

  ‘Don’t stick to one either,’ she said and extracted herself from my grip. She shifted into the study chair.

  ‘Come here. Near me,’ I said.

  ‘No, sir, I don’t trust you.’

  ‘Really? Your best friend?’

  ‘Who is not behaving like a friend,’ she said, emphasizing the last word.

  I lay back on the bed in a sulk, dangling my legs. I picked up a basketball from the bookshelf and spun it on my little finger.

  ‘I said I want to invite you to a party. Are you paying attention?’ she said.

  ‘Why do you want attention from someone you don’t trust?’

  ‘Next Saturday, my house. At 100, Aurangzeb Road,’ she said, palms resting on her lap.

  I sat up on the bed.

  ‘Your house?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, the party is at my place.’

  ‘You’re making me meet the parents?’

  ‘Yeah, why? There are going to be loads of people there. It’s a party.’

  ‘Oh, what is the occasion?’ I said, back to spinning the ball on my pinkie.

  ‘My birthday party.’

  ‘Your birthday is next month. 1 November. See? I remember.’

  ‘Dad wants me to celebrate it next week. We have family friends in town.’

  I nodded and continued to look at the ball. With one swoop of her arm she took the ball away from me.

  ‘Hey,’ I protested.

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  She threw the ball at me. It missed my face and hit my neck.

  ‘You’re making it sound like a punishment. It’s a party invitation,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll come on one condition.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come sit next to me.’

  I patted the bed. She rolled her eyes, stood up and came to sit down next to me.

  ‘Why don’t you let me hold you?’ I said and took her in my arms again.

  ‘Well, you are now.’

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘Madhav. . .’ Her policewoman voice was back.

  ‘What is so wrong with it?’

  ‘I have issues with this stuff. I do.’

  ‘Issues? You know what? Forget it.’

  ‘See, you don’t want to listen. Anyway, I am not ready for it.’

  ‘Ready for what?’

  She shook her head. I brought my face close to hers. She looked at me.

  ‘There you go again. What is it? A compulsion, huh?’ she said. I kept quiet. Her light brown eyes conti
nued to stare me down.

  ‘No woman has ever meant more to me than you.’

  She laughed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That could mean two things. I am really special, or there’s not been much choice.’

  I couldn’t answer. I bent forward and gave her a light peck on her lips. She didn’t protest, but didn’t join in either. Her lips felt soft and warm. I gave her another peck.

  She placed her hand on my chest and pushed me back.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘I better leave,’ she said and stood up.

  ‘Riya, we kissed,’ I said, excited.

  She looked at me, her brown eyes a deeper brown than usual.

  ‘You really don’t get girls, do you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Broadcasting it, like a kid who’s found a candy jar.’

  ‘Sort of. Even better than candy though.’

  ‘Nice to know you find me better than a lollipop.’

  I laughed.

  ‘Are we dating?’ I said.

  She grabbed my collar.

  ‘Madhav Jha. Learn about girls, or figure it out. But don’t ruin it. Understand?’ she said.

  I didn’t understand at all.

  ‘I do,’ I said.

  ‘Bye. Now see me out.’

  We tiptoed out of my room and walked to the Rudra exit. We saluted a thank-you to the guard and left.

  I had always considered my selection to the Bihar state team as the happiest day of my life. After kissing Riya, the selection day became the second happiest.

  7

  ‘A girl in the hostel?’ Ashu slapped my back. ‘What a stud.’

  My hostel mates had come to my room. Fat Ashu sat on my bed, making it creak like crazy. His back slap still hurt.

  Ashu, Raman and Shailesh had become my core gang in Rudra. Riya couldn’t be with me all the time, and when she couldn’t, I hung out with these guys.

  ‘How did you find out?’ I said.

  ‘I can still smell the perfume,’ Raman said and sniffed like a cartoon character. Everyone laughed.

  All four of us came from Bihar or Jharkhand, and none of us were the ‘classy’ types you find in Stephen’s. For instance, nobody in Stephen’s would say they watched Bhojpuri movies. We loved them. We liked Hindi music, from Mohammed Rafi in the sixties to Pritam in the here and now. We didn’t understand English music beyond one song by Michael Jackson—‘Beat it’. Of course, we never admitted all this to the rest of our classmates. We nodded our heads every time someone mentioned a great English movie or brought a rock CD to class. ‘Yeah, yeah, cool,’ we said.

  ‘Nonsense. Riya and I came straight from the basketball court. No perfume,’ I said.

  ‘Even a girl’s sweat smells like perfume,’ Shailesh said. I threw the basketball at his head. His rectangular-framed glasses flew to the floor. He screamed and held his head in pain.

  ‘You’re trying to kill me or what?’ he said. I placed Shailesh’s spectacles back on his nose.

  ‘Stop talking like that about Riya,’ I said.

  ‘Oh my, protective and all,’ Shailesh said.

  Among the four of us, Shailesh’s English was the best. Of course, he preferred Hindi like the rest of us but he could pass off as a ‘real’ Stephanian when he spoke in English.

  ‘So, are you guys in a relationship? Things seem to be escalating,’ Shailesh said.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  Ashu laughed.

  ‘He’s fucking with you,’ Raman said. He had just learnt the F-word. He liked using it. A lot.

  ‘Did anything happen?’ Ashu said.

  I shrugged.

  ‘What?’ Ashu said. ‘Dude, did you just do it with the BMW 5-series Riya Somani?’

  ‘Nothing much happened,’ I said. ‘And stop it, all of you.’

  ‘Is she your girlfriend?’ Shailesh said. ‘Half the college talks about you guys.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t know?’ Ashu said.

  ‘She’s not sure.’

  ‘And you?’

  I kept quiet.

  ‘You love her?’ Ashu said.

  I smiled at Ashu. He had asked me the most stupid question.

  Did I love her? Did the earth go around the sun? Did night follow day?

  ‘Gone, you are so gone. I can see it on your face,’ Ashu said. He patted the bed, inviting the others to join him.

  My single bed groaned as three boys lay down on it. They stared at the ceiling. As self-styled relationship experts, they offered advice.

  ‘Be careful,’ Raman said, ‘of this kind of girl.’

  ‘What the. . .’ I said, irritated. ‘What kind of girl? And remove your shoes from my bed.’

  I sat on the study table and snatched up the basketball again.

  ‘Rich ones. They need toys for time pass. Don’t be a toy,’ Raman said.

  ‘Toy? I’m her best friend. Besides, she’s different. Not money-minded,’ I said.

  ‘You know who her father is?’ Shailesh said, adjusting his glasses.

  ‘Some big-shot Marwari businessman?’ I said.

  ‘Somani Infrastructure. Your lady’s dad and his brother have a five-hundred-crore business,’ Shailesh said.

  Ashu and Raman whistled.

  ‘Five hundred crore!’ Raman said. ‘Why is she here? Why does she need to study at all?’

  I threw a cushion at Raman.

  ‘Shown what a backward Jharkhandi you are? You remind me of villagers back home. People could study for other reasons, no?’

  ‘What reasons?’ Ashu said, craning his neck towards me.

  ‘She’s figuring herself out. Her dreams, passions, desires. . .’

  ‘Does she know your desires? Her best friend who wants to do her on his creaky hostel bed.’

  Ashu started to move side to side to make the bed creak more.

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘Shut up, bastards,’ I said.

  I needed real advice to make sense of what was happening in my life.

  ‘She’s invited me home for her birthday party.’

  The three sat up straight.

  ‘Can we come along?’ Ashu said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re useless,’ Raman said.

  ‘The point is, should I go?’ I said.

  ‘What?’ Raman said. ‘Of course you should. Where does she stay?’

  ‘Aurangzeb Road. Where is it?’

  ‘One of the richest areas. In Lutyens’ Delhi.’

  ‘See? That’s why I am not sure if I should go.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She’ll have her clan there. Everyone is going to see me.’

  ‘And you’re afraid of that?’ Ashu laughed. ‘I would be, if I were you.’

  ‘Shut up, fatso,’ Shailesh said. ‘Listen, you have to go. If you want to get close to this girl, you have to meet these people one day anyway.’

  ‘They will judge me. I can’t dress or talk like them.’

  ‘What nonsense. Just wear a nice white shirt. Borrow mine,’ Shailesh said.

  I kept quiet.

  ‘Better get it over and done with,’ Raman said after a pause.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said.

  ‘Boss, her rich and classy Marwari family is never going to approve of a villager. You, me and the rest of us here know that,’ Raman said.

  ‘The boy is a state-level basketball player and studies at St. Stephen’s College. Isn’t that something?’ Shailesh said.

  Raman smirked.

  ‘Still a Bihari farm boy, no?’ he said.

  I trembled. The image of rich judgemental parents in a giant bungalow flashed across my mind.

  ‘You’re killing his confidence,’ Ashu said. ‘Damn, he loves her, okay?’

  ‘So?’ Raman said.

  ‘She came to his room, no?’ Ashu said. ‘Madhav, boss, she came to your room right? Knowing you’re a Bihari?’

  ‘She wants to visit Biha
r,’ I said.

  ‘There you go,’ Ashu said.

  Raman rolled his eyes.

  ‘Go to the party. At least you’ll get free food,’ Ashu said and ‘patted’ my back again. Fatso hits so hard, it hurts for days.

  8

  I took two buses to get to Aurangzeb Road. I couldn’t find any regular houses there, only massive mansions. Each building looked like an institution, not someone’s private home.

  ‘100, Aurangzeb Road.’ I saw the sign etched in gold on a black granite plaque. Concealed yellow lights lit up a nameplate, which merely stated ‘Somani’. I had borrowed Shailesh’s blazer and shirt. I adjusted my clothes.

  Evenings in October had started to turn chilly. I approached the guard.

  ‘What’s your name?’ the guard said in a Bihari accent. He held an intercom phone in his right hand.

  ‘Madhav, Madhav Jha. I am Riya’s friend.’

  The guard eyed me up and down. He spoke into the intercom. ‘Riya madam’s friend. Shall I send him in?’

  The guard paused. He looked at me.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Wait. They will respond and approve.’

  ‘Isn’t there a party?’

  ‘Yes, in the back garden. The maid has gone to check.’

  In college I underwent no layers of security to meet Riya. I felt awkward standing and waiting so I made conversation with the guard.

  ‘Are you from Bihar?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, from Munger. You?’

  ‘Dumraon.’

  ‘And you are Riya madam’s friend?’ he said. I heard the condescension in his voice. A low-class can smell another low-class.

  ‘Same college,’ I said. The guard gave me an approving nod. He could now understand how Riya could be friends with me.

  The intercom rang.

  ‘Go,’ the guard said to me, as if he had received clearance from air traffic control.

  I stepped inside. A maid gestured for me to follow her. Five expensive cars—an Audi SUV, two Mercedes Benz, one Bentley and Riya’s BMW—were parked in the compound.

  I entered the house, and found myself in a large living room with a shiny white marble floor. Glittering chandeliers hung from the fifteen-foot high ceiling. Three sofa sets, upholstered in expensive silk, were arranged in a U-shaped configuration. A teak and glass coffee table occupied the middle of the room. This is what a real palace would look like if royals actually had any money. I thought of my haveli, with its peeling walls and cracked floors. Forget chandeliers, we felt lucky if we had less than five-hour power cuts.