Half Girlfriend

by Chetan Bhagat

‘My mother makes even better litti-chokha,’ I said.

  ‘You make this at home?’ Riya said.

  ‘All the time. You should come sometime,’ I said.

  She kept quiet. I sensed her hesitation. We stepped out of the Maurya Complex.

  ‘You don’t have to come. I will bring some home-made litti-chokha for you,’ I said.

  ‘No, I would love to visit Dumraon. I want to meet your mother, too. I’ve heard so much about her.’

  We found an auto outside Maurya Complex. ‘Chanakya Hotel for madam first. After that, Boring Road,’ I told the driver.

  ‘What did you say? Boring?’ Riya giggled.

  ‘What? Yes, my classes are on Boring Road.’

  ‘The name says it all.’

  I laughed.

  ‘They aren’t bad. Just tough to learn English in such a short time.’

  ‘The challenge is, you have to focus on three things at the same time: English, public speaking and, the most important, the actual content of the speech,’ she said.

  I looked at her. She had nailed the problem on its head.

  The auto moved through the bustling traffic. I have no idea why everyone in Patna loves honking so much.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘Madhav,’ Riya said.

  ‘Yeah?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Say it, Riya.’

  ‘Would you like me to help you with English?’

  I didn’t reply at once.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s okay. I won’t ask twice.’

  The auto reached Chanakya Hotel. As she stepped off, she held my hand for a second.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply my English is superior to yours or anything like that.’

  ‘When can we start?’ I said.

  25

  ‘Here’s the plan,’ she said. She slid an A4 sheet towards me.

  We were in Takshila Restaurant at the Chanakya Hotel for dinner. We were meeting a week later, after I had spent Monday to Friday in Dumraon. The waiter arrived to take our order. She ordered plain yellow daal and phulkas.

  ‘I miss home food,’ she said.

  I missed you, I wanted to say but didn’t. The five days in Dumraon had felt like five life sentences.

  ‘Sure, I like yellow daal,’ I said.

  I picked up the A4 sheet. It read:

  Action Plan: Operation Gates

  Objective: Ten-minute speech in fluent English to a live American audience.

  10 minutes = approximately 600 words.

  Focus Areas:

  Delivery: confidence, style, accent, flow, pauses, eye contact.

  Content: rational points, emotional moments, call for aid.

  I looked up at Riya. ‘You typed all this?’

  ‘No, little elves did at midnight,’ she said. ‘Go on, read the whole sheet.’

  I turned to the sheet again.

  Top Ten Tools:

  YouTube videos of famous speeches.

  Watching English movies with subtitles.

  English-only days—no Hindi conversation allowed.

  Working on speech content in Hindi first.

  Recording an English voice diary on the phone through the day.

  Thinking in English.

  Watching television news debates in English.

  Calling call centres and choosing the English option.

  Reading out English advertisements on street hoardings.

  Reading simple English novels.

  I whistled.

  ‘It’s a different approach,’ she said. She walked me through the ten steps and spoke non-stop for a few minutes, explaining each step.

  ‘And last, reading simple English novels, like, the one by that writer, what’s his name, Chetan Bhagat,’ she said, ending her monologue.

  I watched her face, pretty as always. Do not fall for her again, I screamed in my head.

  ‘So, let us start. Talk to me in English.’

  I switched to English. The English I knew at that time, that is.

  ‘I am. . .very. . .thankful. . .for your making the list. . .for learning the English,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you for making this list of steps to learn English,’ Riya said. She spoke in a calm voice, without sarcasm or judgement.

  ‘Yes, same thing only.’

  ‘So instead of “same thing only”, say “I meant the same”,’ Riya said. ‘I will correct you sometimes. It is not that I don’t understand you. I just want to make sure you say it right.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘Now that one word was correct.’

  I laughed.

  She made me talk to the waiter in English. I did fine, since the waiter’s English was worse than mine. She didn’t correct me when the waiter was around anyway.

  ‘And sweet. . .later,’ I said as he left us.

  ‘We will order the sweet dish later,’ Riya said, ‘or, dessert instead of sweet dish.’

  ‘Desert? Like Rajasthan desert?’ I said.

  ‘D.E.S.S.E.R. T. Different word, same sound.’

  ‘I hate that about English. Hindi doesn’t have that problem.’

  ‘Hindi is incredible. We speak it like we write it. There’s no need to learn pronunciation separately,’ Riya said.

  ‘So why doesn’t everyone speak Hindi?’ I said.

  ‘Because we are not. . .’ Riya said and paused. ‘Oh my God, you asked that question correctly.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said, “So why doesn’t everyone speak Hindi?” in perfect English. When you say something without being self-conscious, you say it correctly.’

  I tried to look modest.

  ‘We will get there, Madhav,’ she said. She patted the back of my hand on the table.

  I wondered if we would ever get there as a couple.

  Don’t fall in love with her again, a voice within me warned.

  You never fell out of love with her, another voice countered with an evil laugh.

  ‘Dolphins? In Patna?’ Riya said.

  ‘Yes, there are river dolphins in the Ganga. If you’re lucky, you might spot them,’ I said.

  I had brought Riya to the Ganga ghat near Patna College off Ashok Rajpath on a Sunday evening. For twenty rupees a head, boatmen took you to the sandy beach on the opposite bank. She held my hand to keep her balance as we tiptoed on the wooden plank towards the boat.

  She slipped a little and clasped my hand tighter. I wished the shaky wooden plank would never end.

  We sat in the boat. The diesel engine purred into action, making conversation impossible. The sun had started to set. It turned the sky, the river and Riya’s face the colour of fire.

  On the other side, we stepped on to the sand and walked to the tea stalls. We sat inside one of the many gazebo-styled bamboo huts meant for tea-stall customers.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Riya breathed.

  ‘All we have for peace in this city,’ I said.

  We sat in silence and watched the ripples of water, my hand inches from hers. I wondered if she would be okay if I held it. She had held mine on the plank, after all. But I guess it was okay on the plank, because she needed to hold it. Now, it would mean something else. At least that is how girls think. Still, I decided to try my luck. I inched my hand playfully towards hers. She sensed it, and moved her hand away.

  How do girls do this? Do they have antennae, like insects do? Or are they thinking of the same thing themselves? How else are they able to react so well so fast?

  ‘You’ve started working on the speech?’ Riya said, shaking me from my thoughts.

  ‘Sort of,’ I said.

  I took out sheets of paper from my pocket. I had scribbled notes in Hindi on the key points I needed to address. I handed them to her.

  ‘The school needs toilets, chairs, blackboards. . .’ she read out. She turned to me. ‘Madhav, you need to do more. This is just a list of things you want.’

  ‘I’m still working on it.’

&nb
sp; ‘He is Bill Gates. People ask him for things wherever he goes. The idea is to not ask for anything and yet earn a grant.’

  ‘Not ask?’

  ‘Yes. Never ask. It comes across as needy.’

  I looked at her. Did she leave me because of the same reason? ‘I do that sometimes. I come across as needy,’ I said in a small voice.

  She understood my context. She didn’t admit it, of course. She simply paused before she spoke again. ‘These goras are different. You have to come across as happy and confident. Not desperate.’

  ‘Read the rest. I talk about other things, how the school was created and more.’

  She patted my shoulder.

  ‘You are doing fine. Don’t worry. We will do this together. I’ve lived in London and met many Americans there. I know how these goras think.’

  ‘How was London?’ I said, barely able to make out her features in the dying light.

  In classic Riya style, she stayed silent.

  ‘It’s okay. I won’t ask again. Should we go back?’

  She nodded. We reached the pier. The plank to the boat felt even more precarious in the darkness. She held my arm again. I don’t know if I imagined it, but it felt tighter than earlier. She seemed a little more vulnerable. She came across as a little more, if I dare say the word she hated, needy.

  We sat as far away as possible from the other passengers and the noisy diesel engine.

  ‘London was nice in parts,’ she said.

  I wanted to ask which parts were nice and which parts weren’t, but I didn’t. The more you ask, the more she clams up, I thought. I looked at her. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. I could read her every expression, even in the darkness.

  ‘Would you like to hold my hand?’ I said.

  ‘Why?’ she said.

  ‘The boat is moving,’ I said. Lame answer. But how else does one answer such a stupid question?

  ‘So?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said and looked ahead. The whirr of the engine filled the awkward silence. Halfway through our journey, temple bells began to ring in the distance. I felt something near my hand. She placed her fingers on top of mine. I guess men have an antenna about these things, too.

  I didn’t turn towards her. I knew her. If I made eye contact now, she would withdraw.

  ‘I am happier here than in London,’ she said. I hadn’t asked her to compare the two places.

  ‘When are you coming home?’ I said, still looking ahead but choosing my words with care, afraid she would withdraw.

  ‘Soon. Let me move into mine first,’ she said.

  ‘I’m staying back tomorrow, to help you move in.’

  ‘You don’t have to. I hardly have any luggage.’

  ‘Exactly. You need to buy things. The shopkeepers will rip you off. I’ll come with you, okay?’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. I guess that meant yes.

  We reached the ghats. I clasped her hand and held it until we got off the plank on to firm ground. The old me would have asked her if holding hands meant something. But the old me had screwed up big time in the past. So I decided to ‘play it cool’.

  We took an auto back from the ghats. I talked about the furniture market near Nala Road, places to buy mattresses and the cheapest vegetable markets. Of course, these stupid topics meant nothing compared to the monumental development of her sliding two fingers on top of mine.

  We reached her hotel. She stepped off the auto.

  ‘Eleven tomorrow?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, thank you so much. And I loved the river-ride today.’

  ‘Which part?’ I asked and kicked myself mentally. Did I come across as fishing? Did it set off the ‘desperate’ alarm?

  ‘Everything,’ she said.

  Miss Diplomatic Somani is not that easy a nut to crack, after all.

  26

  ‘I am officially, completely, exhausted,’ Riya said. She wore a pink kurti and dark blue tights. Her face had turned pink to match her kurti.

  She plonked herself on the four mattresses we had dragged into her apartment.

  ‘Remove the plastic covers at least,’ I said.

  She ignored me. She lay down on the mattresses and did side leg twists like we used to do on court.

  ‘Cut the drama,’ I said.

  ‘Do we have to do everything today?’ she said.

  We had made four trips to the market, one each to buy groceries, electrical appliances, utensils and mattresses.

  ‘Why do you need four mattresses?’ I had asked her in the shop.

  ‘Two for the bedrooms, and two will become a diwan in the living room. I don’t have a sofa.’

  ‘Let’s get a sofa,’ I had said. She refused. She wanted a ‘casual-chic’ look. I guess it means not rich-looking but still classy.

  ‘Get up,’ I said and pulled her up by her hand.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Thanks for everything today.’

  ‘Mention not,’ I said.

  ‘Please don’t mention it,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry, correcting you.’

  I laughed.

  ‘I thought we only learnt English on weekends?’ I said.

  ‘No, sir. We practise it all the time,’ she said.

  I looked at my watch. ‘It’s nine. I better leave.’

  ‘What about dinner?’

  ‘I’ll get something from outside,’ I said in slow but correct English.

  ‘Why? We have stocked up. We have a hot plate. Would you like some Maggi?’ she said.

  It took us a while to unpack and set up everything. She inaugurated her hot plate and utensils. An hour later, we ate Maggi noodles in new stainless steel bowls from which the stickers wouldn’t come off.

  I slurped the noodles from my spoon. At one point, she removed a noodle from my chin. I wanted to spill noodles all over my face.

  We finished dinner and cleaned up the kitchen.

  At ten, I decided to leave.

  ‘You will get an auto?’ she said.

  ‘I can walk to the bus stand,’ I said. ‘There is a bus to Dumraon at eleven.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll come with you next week. Let me settle in.’

  ‘You’ll be okay alone?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, her voice heavy, or perhaps just tired.

  ‘Sure?’ I said.

  ‘I look forward to being alone, Madhav,’ she said.

  ‘You sure your mother will be okay with me staying over?’

  ‘Of course. It’s a long way to go back the same day,’ I said.

  We were riding in her company’s Innova, which made the journey a lot faster than the bus I usually took. The roads of Bihar are, well, for the adventurous, to say the least.

  ‘Ouch,’ Riya said as her head bumped against the car roof.

  ‘That bump is a sign we are close,’ I said.

  I showed Riya the guestroom.

  ‘These rooms are massive. You really are a prince.’

  ‘Everything is falling apart,’ I said.

  I took her to my room. She noticed the basketball posters on my wall. I sat on my bed, she took the chair opposite me. It reminded me of us in Rudra, years ago.

  ‘You still play?’ she said.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Me neither,’ she said.

  ‘Want to? This evening?’

  ‘Work first. You have to watch The Godfather on my laptop.’

  ‘I did,’ I said.

  ‘You saw the first part. Now see part two with subtitles.’

  I made a face, which didn’t impress her much. She wore a fitted white T-shirt and black tights. Although fully covered, the snug outfit highlighted her curves. I couldn’t believe Riya was in my room in Dumraon.

  I wanted to kiss her. I thought about how mind-blowing that would be after so many years.

  ‘What are you thinking? Like, now?’ She snapped her fingers.

  Her question made me freeze.

  ‘Huh? Nothing. Lunch. Should we have
lunch?’

  ‘Did you think of that in English or Hindi?’

  I tried to remember. Well, I had not thought about lunch at all. I had thought about kissing her. And you don’t think that in any particular language.

  ‘See, Madhav, the so-called fluent English speakers, they think in English. Not all the time, but a fair amount. Like, when you make a decision in your head, do you make it in English or Hindi?’

  ‘Hindi, of course,’ I said.

  ‘That’s the issue here. If you want to speak English well, it has to start in the head.’

  She knocked the side of my head. The contact made me feel a bit drunk. I guess guys are born with this defect. Once they like a girl, even an accidental touch can be intoxicating.

  ‘I’m trying,’ I said.

  ‘Good. You have Internet here?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I wanted to show you some speeches,’ she said.

  ‘There is a cyber café nearby.’

  ‘Let’s go, I will get to see Dumraon.’

  There isn’t much to see in Dumraon. Yet, she found everything exotic.

  ‘Such cute roads,’ she said, as we walked along the narrow chicken-neck path outside my house.

  ‘You should see them in the monsoon. Not so cute then,’ I said.

  We came to the Shakti Cyber Café. A bunch of local guys sat before dusty computers. They pretended to look at news websites, even though they were probably downloading porn from other open tabs.

  ‘Steve Jobs’s “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish”,’ she said as she opened YouTube.

  Hungry for you, foolish for you, I thought.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ she said as the video took time to load.

  ‘I thought of something in English.’

  ‘Excellent. What?’

  I quickly shook my head and watched the video.

  ‘You want subtitles?’ Riya said. It was magical how she could sense what I wanted even before I thought of it.

  I nodded. She had already picked a video with subtitles.

  Steve Jobs had founded Apple Computers. He had competed with Bill Gates of Microsoft, the man who I had to give a speech to. It was a perfect situation in which to use a word I had learnt in English classes—ironic.

  Steve, a thin, balding white guy in graduation robes, stood on a podium at Stanford University. I listened to the speech and read the subtitles.