by Durjoy Datta
‘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 up the 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 me. 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.
Chapter Three
‘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 standing with 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.
Chapter Four
‘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.
‘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.
