by Durjoy Datta
‘You don’t look sloshed. You must have an amazing capacity.’
‘I come from a family of alcoholics.’
He took it seriously and said, ‘That’s so cool. Usually girls are so drunk after just one drink. But you’re quite something. I like you.’
His words went like a bolt through my body. This time he sat a lot closer to me, his muscled shoulder rubbing against mine. God. I have to admit I did feel a little tingly. This was the farthest I had gone with any guy. A shoulder rub and a hand on my thigh. Namrata would have to know about this, I thought.
‘I always noticed you,’ he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
‘Then why didn’t you ever talk to me?’
‘I always thought you had a boyfriend. Do you always go on dates in pyjamas?’
‘If I can help it. They are super comfortable.’
‘So who was the last guy you dated?’
‘An older guy. Quite older,’ I said, imagining Danish.
‘Must be a bore,’ he snapped immediately.
‘Ummm . . . he didn’t ask me to drink.’
‘Bleh.’
I got to know during the course of the night that he was the only son of parents who ran the biggest floor tile manufacturing unit in all of north India. Also, he had an extensive knowledge of all the newest clubs in Delhi, the wine shops that are open till three in the morning, and he gushed about this one time a young Bollywood starlet was hitting on him.
‘So . . . that boring, old guy and you? Were you guys serious or was it just a fling?’
‘He was important to me,’ I said.
‘Did you do stuff? Like you know?’
‘Yes, it was fun,’ I said, still thinking about Danish.
Since that day, I had spent innumerable hours trying the perfect combo hits of Katarina on my desktop. Next time, Danish would have a tough time getting a decent punch in. I would go all Rounda Rousey on him before he could say K.O.
‘So you have had sex before? Ummm . . . with that guy?’ he asked, his eyebrows burrowing.
‘Ummm . . . do you need to know that?’ I asked, a little embarrassed.
‘Yes, I think I do,’ he said. ‘If we are dating I think we need to be honest with each other. You can always ask me whatever you feel like.’
Fair point.
‘No. I didn’t have sex with that guy. Now should we exchange our Facebook passwords as well?’
‘Let’s have some boundaries, okay? Checking Facebook is so last decade. I’m sure you and that old guy did it. Didn’t you?’ he chuckled.
‘Why don’t you try stand-up comedy? You’re funny.’
‘Hmm . . . I will think about it,’ he said and put his arm around me. I felt the hair stand on my arms, and my body suddenly felt warm.
‘You? Have you had sex before?’ I asked.
‘Of course I have.’
‘With?’
‘Been with a few girls here and there. A girl from Ramjas, someone from Springdales, another one from Delhi Public School. A couple of other girls I think.’
‘You liked them?’
‘Yes, a bit. But I like you more. You’re amazing,’ he said and kissed me on my cheek as I burnt with the warmth. He pulled me closer and nuzzled my neck. It felt fantastic. I giggled.
‘Do they have names?’
‘Their names aren’t important any more. I told you already I like you more. They are history. Now don’t be jealous.’ He winked at me.
I felt a little bad for those girls. I knew their secret but didn’t know their names. I didn’t prod him further.
‘Did you love them?’ I asked. Vibhor was too busy kissing my neck to answer my question. ‘Did you love them, Vibhor?’
‘Naah, they were whatever. I’m done with them.’
He said while nibbling at my ear (and the nibbles were making me lose my shit—who knew teeth and earlobes can give someone so much pleasure?). I swayed out of the path of his jaws and asked, ‘Do you want to do something else?’
‘What? It’s fun here.’
‘Can we play video games?’
‘What? Why? Who does that?’
He started necking me again. Now I was confused. He made me change out of my pyjamas and now he didn’t want to play video games with me. My training date wasn’t helping at all. It seemed like dating meant being nibbled on, and I would have to admit it felt wonderful.
I pushed a slobbering Vibhor away. ‘People are looking!’
‘You’re hot. Why shouldn’t they? Come here,’ he said and grabbed me playfully.
‘Let’s go somewhere else?’ I said and waved for the cheque.
Just before leaving, he ordered another drink and gulped it down in one go. He paid the cheque and we were back on the road again. His hand was on my thigh, rubbing it slightly, giving me little brain aneurysms. He looked rather handsome, and a part of me wanted to kiss him long and hard.
Soon, we left civilization behind and he parked the car in an empty parking lot of what seemed like a construction site.
‘Is this better?’ he asked.
‘For what?’ I asked.
‘You will see,’ he said and smiled.
He unbuckled his seat belt, bent over to my side, then slyly pushed the lever of my seat, which in turn pushed down the backrest in a flat position, and just like that he was on top of me. He pushed my hair away from my face and his lips hovered over mine. His breath smelled of alcohol but I wasn’t sure any more if I wanted to kiss him because I was more scared than turned on. He came close and before I could say anything he jerked back and stumbled out of the car. I got out from the other side and found him on all fours, vomiting pasta. I said a little prayer and thanked God none of it was over me. Fifteen minutes later, we were on our way back, staring at the road wordlessly. He smelled of bile and vomit.
‘Are you going to be okay?’
‘Yes,’ he said, burping. ‘I didn’t eat anything since the morning. So . . .’
He dropped me home and drove away, knackered.
Namrata had called me later that night once I was tucked into bed. ‘How did it go? Did something happen? You kissed him?’
‘I wanted to.’
‘And you didn’t? Chickened out?’
‘No. He was nice. And so gorgeous. But I snapped out of it. I got a little confused.’
‘So you’re not going to see him again?’
‘Of course, I will see him. He was nice to me most of the time. I still want to kiss him, I guess.’
‘Make up your mind, girl.’
‘I’m trying,’ I said. ‘Oh, I totally forgot. What about you and Norbu?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Is that the code for ask me again?’
‘Okay, fine, I will tell you. I didn’t give him a blowjob but something else happened and it was OUT. OF. THIS. WORLD.’
‘What happened?’
‘He went down on me.’
‘He did what? Wait . . . Shit. Did he?’
‘He totally did. It was like he was looking for a treasure down there. Well, to think of it, it was like a treasure hunt because he didn’t know where to look for it for the longest time. But it was the most amazing thing ever. Do you know what he was digging with?’
‘Please, no—’
‘With—’
‘Please, no—’
‘His tongue!’
‘Don’t give me details, Namrata.’
She laughed. ‘I came about thrice and I slept. He was so scared before he started. He asked me about a dozen times before he started.’
‘Stop laughing. Poor Norbu,’ I said and she laughed.
‘He was so tired, he couldn’t even talk. So much for the tongue being the strongest muscle in the body!’
‘So unfair!’
‘Oh c’mon. I will make it up to him the next time around. I’m practising it in my head already.’
‘Okay enough, I need to sleep now and I don’t want images of your lips arou
nd Norbu’s whatever. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight. And hey, drink a lot of water before you sleep or you will wake up like a shrunken raisin.’
‘Goodnight.’
I disconnected the call and I texted Vibhor.
AISHA: Reached home?
VIBHOR: Yes, just got in bed. I think I’m missing you.
AISHA: Ditto.
VIBHOR: Sorry for the puking thing.
AISHA: Hmmmm . . .
VIBHOR: I messed up our kiss.
AISHA: I would have still kissed you after you puked.
VIBHOR: Despite being potty-mouthed?
AISHA: Yes. If you would have asked I would have.
VIBHOR: Damn.
AISHA: But I wouldn’t have kissed before you puked.
VIBHOR: Why?
AISHA: You didn’t ask whether you could kiss me.
VIBHOR: I assumed . . .
AISHA: Hmm. ☹ ☹ You shouldn’t have. I was scared.
VIBHOR: I will ask the next time.
AISHA: Sweet.
VIBHOR: You’re hot.
AISHA: You’re nice.
VIBHOR: Do you sleep naked?
AISHA: Always.
VIBHOR: Damn.
AISHA: Do you?
VIBHOR: Yes. Always.
AISHA: Damn.
I imagined Vibhor naked and looking for treasures between my thighs, got off in like a few seconds and slept like a baby.
28
Danish Roy
The day was finally here.
Tonight was the big party. Aisha’s eighteenth birthday, and I was looking forward to not being a paedophile any more. After she turned eighteen, the only little technicality between me telling her how kind and awesome she was, was the student–teacher thing. So now, it was only illegal. That and Vibhor, the tree.
She seemed happy the days following her and Vibhor’s first date. She didn’t give me any details of her date or their ensuing relationship, which the entire school was talking about and I didn’t ask. I had seen the guy come to school in four different cars, heard he had plenty of experience with girls, so I knew for a fact he knew how to show a girl a good time. Such was my life, being insecure of boys half a decade younger. But I had an important role to play in their relationship. Early that morning, Aisha had called to ask me to come with her to select a dress. I had no idea what made her think I was an expert on birthday dresses.
‘So? What are we aiming for?’ I asked as she dragged me to Forever 21.
‘If this were the last time I was stepping out in public, what should I be in? That’s the theme. It’s a strictly no-pyjama party,’ she said and she walked swiftly through the racks, rejecting reasonably beautiful clothes. ‘What about this?’ She picked a sparkling silver dress and put it front of herself.
I wanted to tell her she would look beautiful in anything she wore because it wasn’t the clothes or the make-up or her hair which made her attractive, it was her heart, it was who she was, smart and fun. Of late, she had been telling me of all these books she had been reading, and my heart had jumped because the books she liked the most were my favourites too. Maybe that’s what love should be about; two people who love the same books. But what struck me was her understanding of the characters, their problems, their stories—it all affected her in a way that she wanted to change herself, apply it in real life. That’s what a good book should do. Make you reflect and make a positive change, and she followed this like a religion. Far better than I have ever done.
‘You will look beautiful,’ I said.
She disappeared into the fitting room with that dress.
‘I don’t know what to say. Vibhor would fall in love with you today if he hasn’t already,’ I said when she emerged, twirling in that little dress. She smiled that smile of hers which I had so come to love.
‘What do you think? Not Vibhor, you!’
‘Does it matter?’ I asked, not wanting things to get awkward.
‘It does.’
‘Why?’
‘What you think of me matters to me. You made parts of me. Take some responsibility for what you created and tell me what you think?’
I was tired of being always put in a spot by a seventeen-, going on eighteen, year-old girl.
‘Ummm . . . you look like sunshine to me, well, technically you are more like moonlight because you are wearing silver but I don’t think anyone’s going to notice the dress or your body, and if they do, it’s their fault because it’s what’s deep inside that body and that face is what people should see, something I have seen and come to like so much in you. You’re like a slate, Aisha. You learn every day and write stuff on yourself, trying to be better, and wipe it clean and learn some more. Yes, I love your eyes—they are black and deep and almond-shaped but I see the kindness in those eyes I have never seen before, and yes, I love your lips but not because they are the most perfect grape-toned lips ever but because of the words you choose, the things you say and the ones you don’t. And that face, that beautiful face, it radiates happiness and love and generosity. So I don’t really know how the dress looks on you, but I do know that you’re beautiful.’
I said and waited for her to realize, rather embarrassingly for herself and for me, that I was in love with this eighteen-year-old girl. She just stared at me and I could feel a sexual harassment suit hang above me like a naked sword.
Finally she spoke, ‘You’re awfully good at your job. Do you say that to every loser student of yours?’
It was an escape route and I took it. I nodded and smiled. I wasn’t sure whether to feel happy or sad at her complete misreading of the situation so I played along. ‘It’s in all the training books.’
‘Come, let’s get you something!’ she said and grabbed me by my hand. We paid at the cashier’s and she kept wearing the dress while we looked for what I was supposed to wear.
‘I have something to wear,’ I said.
‘My birthday, my rules.’
‘What do you want me to wear on your birthday party?’
‘You always ask the right questions. Your girlfriend must be the happiest in the entire world.’
Yeah, right. My girlfriend is probably staring at her phone in some part of her world, unmindful of my existence.
*
Thanks to my pathetic driving, I reached back home late, already dreading going to a kids’ party. Just as I stepped out of the car, I felt a fist land square on my face, my jaw shattered, and I doubled up on the ground in pain. My head rang and I think I almost passed out.
‘Fuck you!’ a voice shouted in my ear. My blurred vision cleared and I saw a face I recognized from somewhere. I wanted to dole out my wallet, my watch, the car keys and surrender but the guy said, ‘Stay away from Aisha, do you hear me?’
And that’s when it struck me. He was Sarthak, the estranged brother, the thrower of parties.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Sir, I know you have been going out with my sister.’
‘That’s a hell of way to introduce yourself to your Sir?’ I said and staggered to my feet. My jaw alternated between being numb and on fire.
‘Sir, stay away from her or I will inform the school authorities. Vibhor and Aisha are good for each other. He will take care of her. So just stay off her.’ His hands were up again, and he resembled an impoverished Sylvester Stallone from the early Rocky movies. I was in no doubt that he could hit me again and this time I would flatline.
I put my hands up in surrender and spoke, ‘Hey? Sarthak, that’s what your name is, right?’ He nodded. ‘There’s nothing between us. If anything, I’m helping out in her relationship with Vibhor.’ I added after a pause. ‘As a student counsellor.’
‘But you were out—’
‘She asked me to. He’s her first boyfriend. No experience.’
‘Oh.’
He lowered his hands, the rage on his face changed to guilt and he helped me to the pavement, checked my nose, offered me his handkerchief and apolo
gized profusely. ‘I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing. I won’t be around for long so I thought I would . . .’
‘Won’t be around?’
He thought before speaking. ‘Is there something as a student–counsellor confidentiality like lawyers?’
‘Yes, of course there is,’ I lied, remembering what Aisha had mentioned once.
‘And counsellors follow it?’
‘The rules are very strict about that kind of thing. I could lose my job,’ I said, still struggling for my breath. I needed to get myself checked for a concussion.
‘I’m leaving Delhi for further studies.’
I wanted to say ‘So what?’, but I remembered they shared a dying mother. ‘Oh. Where are you going?’
‘Poland.’
‘What! Poland? How—’
‘It’s a scholarship. Don’t tell her.’
‘I won’t. But why aren’t you telling her?’
‘They won’t let me leave. I mean they will but I wouldn’t be able to leave them.’
‘So you’re eloping for further studies? That’s a first.’
‘Yes, sir.’ His phone beeped. ‘Sir, I should go. Some last minute arrangements. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I . . . I just acted out.’
‘You need to tell her, Sarthak. And you need to talk to your sister,’ I said.
He nodded though it didn’t seem like he would follow through on it. We shook hands, he apologized a few more times, and I waved down an auto for him. He left.
My nose still bled.
29
Aisha Paul
Right then, my brain was like Stephen Hawking’s, doing a million little calculations, trying to figure out the innumerable reasons why Danish said what he did. The words he had said made me float outside my body, look at him say those words to a girl in a sparkly, silver dress and go, Such a lucky girl. I knew it wasn’t student counsellor advice from a training book. Could he possibly like me? God. But why would he? He’s like . . . well, I never thought about him that way, and then I did.
It was like the Neville Longbottom centrefold that broke the Internet. One moment, he’s the cute dork you take for granted, the next he’s stripping in your dreams and gyrating to a dirty song, eliciting emotions you didn’t know you could have. Megha and the rest of the college were right—he was cute in an older boy sort of a way. Like if Brad Pitt constantly winked and chewed on gum.
