by Durjoy Datta
‘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.
Chapter Eight
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 c
hild 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. The indentations 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.
Chapter Nine
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 me.
‘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.’
‘Hmm.’
‘So? I mean, do we still talk to each other like we want to kill each other?’
‘We still don’t have to be friends. Can we get back to the book? A lot is still left,’ she said and buried herself in the book.
We got back to our books. I was not comfortable sitting with a person who was pissed off with me, but there was nothing that could be done. I was distracted thinking about it, so I logged into Facebook, searched, found her profile and added her.
A little later, I dropped in a message.
Nice profile picture.
Her phone beeped. Oh shit. She read it and kept the phone on the table. No reaction. I forced myself to concentrate on economic and fiscal policies, most of which made little sense. A little later, my phone beeped. It was a Facebook message.
Diya Gupta: Thank You. And I don’t hate you.
I smiled, bent over and asked her, ‘Coffee?’
‘But I just got here. I think we need to study a little,’ she answered, but I pleaded and she agreed.
We started talking again, and I kept my fingers crossed that I wouldn’t wake up Cruella de Vil again. When she was not shouting or being arrogant, she really had a sweet voice.
‘It was sweet of you,’ she said.
‘As in?’
‘What you did for me yesterday. And the apology … It was sweet.’
‘You didn’t leave me a choice. I had nightmares of you stabbing me in my sleep.’
‘I can’t say I haven’t thought about that,’ she said. ‘I am glad I didn’t do it, though. But you always came across like an asshole. The big cars, that unabashed swagger, not a care in the world, sick attitude and that image of yours. You paid for admission and you buy out professors. It’s not fair!’
‘Hey,’ I said, ‘I paid for just two subjects in the first year. The rest of them were my honest attempts to learn on my own.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, Eshaan taught me everything. What did you think? I paid for everything? Do I look that dumb?’ I asked. We took our seats in the library.
‘Well, I will not lie, but you kind of do look stupid in your stupid red shoes and your tight T-shirts.’
‘Whatever!’
‘But why didn’t you just attend classes?’ she asked.
‘My mother was undergoing treatment for cancer last year so I had to miss a few,’ I whispered, as the librarian motioned to us to stop talking.
‘Oh, I am sorry. Is she better now?’ she asked apologetically.
‘She is dead,’ I said flatly. I have never got used to saying that; it’s still as painful.
‘I had no idea,’ she said suddenly, as she looked at me. I knew the look in her eyes. It said, Oh, his mom died.
‘It’s okay,’ I smiled at her.
‘I am sorry. I thought you lied when you said you had family problems.’
‘C’mon, there was no way you could have known.’
I smiled and asked her to concentrate on the job at hand. I assured her that I was fine, and yet, she kept looking at me from time to time with pitying eyes. It was four in the afternoon when we took the second break. She was still on the thousandth page because much of her time went into helping me out rather than reading the book herself. I had slowed her down.
‘I am sorry. You could have completed the book by now if I were not this dumb,’ I said.
‘C’mon. We are a team. And we are only as strong as our weakest link! And I didn’t say you’re stupid. I just said you look stupid,’ she said.
‘Whatever,’ I said and sipped at my coffee.
We took frequent breaks and we gossiped about professors, our classmates, people we had crushes on (all her crushes were on senior toppers), and she was surprised to hear that I was single.
‘Didn’t you once date someone from the fashion parade team? During the very early days?’ she asked.
‘Naah, not really,’ I said. ‘Just rumours. I had just talked to her once. Did it become news?’
‘Kind of.’
‘You are kidding me! And then you say I look stupid. All evidence points to the contrary. I think I am gorgeous in my red shoes,’ I said.
‘You’re so gay, Benoy.’
‘You’re just jealous,
’ I said.
‘Yeah, right,’ she said.
We went back to the drudgery of our books, and we laboured on till it was six and time for Diya to go back home.
‘You can’t go now! We have so much left to do,’ I protested.
‘Benoy, it will be seven thirty by the time I reach home. I am not allowed outside beyond that,’ she said. ‘You will be able to do the rest on your own, right?’
‘On my own? There are two hundred more pages and you didn’t even make notes for it!’
‘Benoy, you can! Stop freaking out,’ she said sweetly.
‘Like I can climb Everest and design the next supercomputer.’
‘Shut up,’ she said.
‘Please? You can come to my place and study!’ I begged.
‘Thank you for the invitation, but it’s not possible. My parents will, like, literally kill me. Like they would actually chop me up and feed me to the dogs.’
‘I wouldn’t want that,’ I said, and added, ‘for the dogs’ sake. I don’t think you’ll taste all that good.’
‘Fine, then. I will just go and you can finish the rest WITHOUT MY HELP,’ she said, faking anger.
‘I was kidding, man. I’m sure anyone would love eating you. Okay, let’s do one thing. Let me drop you home, and on the way, you can orally explain to me the chapters a little bit and then I will read it on my own.’
‘But I am going home with my sister,’ she said.
‘So?’
‘Okay, I will just call and tell her that she should leave on her own.’
We picked up our bags and headed towards my car, and she called me a lucky bastard after seeing the car I drove.
‘You’re so spoilt,’ she said.
‘I know,’ I replied.
We hardly studied on the way back. She was too busy poking fun at how rich and spoilt I was, and how poor she was, and kept saying that I should adopt her and the rest of the college.
‘Here,’ she said, as we stopped outside the decrepit government flats that seemed like they would fall apart any moment; the buildings were stained from the water that seeped through their walls, the paint was wearing off and the walls were scaly; they were a wreck.
‘This is where you live?’ I asked.
‘Yes, right there,’ she pointed to a balcony with clothes hanging on a clothesline, with a smile on her face.
