by Durjoy Datta
I had taken that silver dress and walked out with him maintaining a circle of sanity around me. I didn’t look at him or even breath the same air as him. He was my counsellor and I should not have been thinking about him; there are rules against that kind of thing, I believe.
‘I will see you tonight then?’ I had asked as he waved down a rickshaw for me.
‘Sure. Is something wrong? You seem a little unhappy,’ he said.
There he was again with his supersensitive antennae working overtime.
‘No, not really. See you tonight, Danish?’
‘Sure.’
‘Sir.’
‘What?’
‘No, I called you Danish. I missed adding sir. So, sir.’
He had chuckled.
‘Bye, Aisha.’
As the auto drove away, I waited uselessly for him to suffix ‘the woman of my dreams’ after taking my name.
*
My phone rang. ‘Hey!’ I said brightly, pushing Danish out of my head, which was easier said than done. Every time I looked at that dress, his words knocked the breath out of me.
‘Are you ready yet?’ asked Vibhor.
‘I was just getting into the shower.’
‘Take me with you,’ he said.
I giggled awkwardly for he didn’t know there was no shower in my washroom. There was a tap and there was a bucket and that’s how you rolled in the Paul household.
‘I’m serious! Send me a picture!’ he said.
Wow. Why?
‘I’m looking really bad right now. There’s oil in my hair.’
‘Oh! C’mon! You always look great.’
‘I don’t want to right now. Let me get ready and then I will send you one? I got this really nice silver dress.’
‘Okay, fine, let’s cut a deal. Send me one without your face in it? That you can do, right?’
‘I seriously can’t right now,’ I said. I didn’t want to send it. I don’t know why I didn’t say that. I should have just said I don’t want to rather than I can’t. This is, I realized, where all the problems start.
‘Fine. Send whenever you like. Bye.’
He cut the call. I sat and stared at the phone. Maybe it wasn’t passive aggression and he meant it genuinely. Without my face? I started considering it. But how good would that picture be without my eyes, lips, face? Clearly, Vibhor wasn’t interested in the same things as Danish.
It took me fifteen attempts to click the picture. The mirror in my house was stained, and no matter what angle I used, the room behind me looked like a disaster. I edited the photo as best as I could and sent it to him. I switched off the phone in embarrassment. The more my phone stayed off, the more I thought he would be laughing at the picture.
Twenty minutes and a hurried bath later, I switched it on to a surprise. There were twenty-three messages from an excited Vibhor, all asking for more pictures (HOTTTTT! SEXY!!! FUCK!! FUCKING SEXY!!!! Etc.), and sixteen missed call alerts.
I’m all dressed up, I texted him. He sent a single smiley and my phone remained barren.
I dressed up, put on my make-up, clicked a picture and sent it to Namrata who told me she was reconsidering her sexuality seeing me in the dress that supposedly fitted me like dream. I told her how Danish had helped me pick it.
‘He’s a man,’ she said. ‘He knows things.’
She told me Norbu and she might try out a few things after the party and were staying the night with me and the rest of the guest list. I talked to her mother and pleaded to let her come over and help me understand calculus.
‘You’re the best, I am blowing a thousand kisses at you,’ she said.
‘So are you going to return his favour?’
‘What favour? Oh? That! Actually, I want to go all the way today. I feel like it.’
‘Are you ready?’ I asked, nervous as if it was me. But with best friends I guess sex does become a group activity in a totally non-perverse way.
‘Yes, I am. I’m going to lose my virginity today to Norbu! He will be the guy to get it. At least, the date is going to be easy to remember, right?’
She said she had to go and that she will see me tonight and cut the call.
I kind of hated how Namrata used that word—lose; I had been guilty of using it as well. What’s there to be lose? Sex should be an experience, and experiences are gained. And why lose? There’s nothing to be lost here. Nonsense! I decided to not use ‘lose’ from then on.
That’s when my brother walked in, just in time to not see me click myself in a provocative pose. He smiled. He smiled?
‘Happy Birthday, again,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
What I really wanted to do was cry, and lunge at him, and spend the rest of the evening hugging him and talking to him and catching up on all the years we had lost. Instead, I walked out of the room to show my dress to my mother.
‘How do I look?’
‘Isn’t it too short?’ said my mother. I frowned and she hugged me. ‘I was joking, baba. You look great, so beautiful.’ Her voice quivered. ‘Happy birthday, Aisha.’ She was about to cry now. ‘You’re so beautiful.’
Mothers. No matter how broken or fucked up, we are beautiful enough to make them cry.
‘Come with me, Maa,’ I said and kissed her on the forehead.
‘Shut up, Aisha. It’s a young people’s party. What would I do? You and your brother have fun. He has been planning it for so many days now. Please go. And call me from whichever friend’s house you will put up at, okay? And make sure you take Namrata along, okay?’
‘I don’t want to go,’ I said and didn’t leave my mother who tried prying herself out of my death-claw hug. ‘I want to be with you.’
‘Be with your brother. He’s acting strange these days. Don’t you think?’
‘When does he not?’ Maa frowned at me. ‘Okay, I will.’
‘And call me every half an hour.’
‘Okay, Maa.’
My brother walked in wearing a white shirt, blue jeans, nicely shined shoes, and he had even bothered to shave. He must be attractive to girls his age. I wondered if it’s a family curse. Not being able to find someone to date. I made a mental note to try and set him up tonight with someone.
This note was amongst the other notes I made in my head: Have my first kiss. Yes, today was the day I was going to lose(?) my kissing-virginity, if that’s a thing. That didn’t sound right, so I decided to use the word share. I was going to be the kind of woman who shares things like kissing and virginity. We should all share our virginities with guys, not lose it to them. Losing means it’s coveted, like it’s valuable, and can be wrested away for some kind of good. Share felt more right—like we are being benevolent with our virginities and allowing ourselves to experience some of our awesomeness.
I already felt better about my birthday.
30
Danish Roy
I walked into the party, head bowed, hoping no one would notice, walked straight to the bar and ordered a large vodka and Red Bull. The students looked at me, pushed their drinks away from them, and quietened for a bit before they realized I was harmless and went about their ways. Aisha wasn’t there yet. I was hoping to make it a swift in and out, like a wedding, stand in the line, hand over the gift, shake hands and move out. I kept refreshing my Twitter and Instagram timeline and looked busy for the students who never looked at me once as I ordered more drinks.
A little later, everyone shouted and cheered as Aisha walked in, looking like she always did, in the dress we had picked out earlier. Vibhor walked next to her, his arms around her waist, and I heard the girls go, ‘Aw, they look so good together.’ They did look like they had just walked out of a glamour glossy. They ushered her towards the three-tiered pink cake with little baked versions of Louis Vuitton and Gucci bags.
‘I didn’t know she was into bags,’ I heard a boy say behind me. Next to the boy was a girl I recognized from before. I was still squinting while looking at her when she looked straight
at me and smiled. She spoke, ‘Namrata!’
‘Oh right, of course I remember you. And yes, she is not interested in bags,’ I said. ‘What did you get her?’ I pointed to the gift she carried in her hand, nicely wrapped in a newspaper and a red ribbon.
‘It’s a book,’ the boy said who now I recognized as Norbu. ‘It’s our favourite book.’ He looked at Namrata who blushed. ‘Book Thief by Marcus Zusack. We are sure she will like it.’
Before I could laud their choice and tell them how much she would love the book, she started cutting the cake and people sang the birthday song. For people who weren’t even friends with her, they were awfully happy on her birthday. I walked back to the bar while about a hundred people made her take a bite off their pieces of cake. Vibhor stood right by her, smiling for pictures, cracking jokes everyone laughed at, and being the charmer he was always known to be.
‘What happened?’ I asked Norbu who walked up to the bar with the demeanour of an alcoholic and ordered two Red Bulls. He looked shattered.
‘He gifted her pumps from Todds, a clutch from Chanel, and shades from Gucci. On that table lies his gifts worth over 1 lakh rupees, and next to it lies our book. Three fifty rupees.’
Namrata stared at her glass of Red Bull as if trying to drown out years of sorrow and pain.
‘If it means anything, it’s not his money, it’s his father’s.’
‘Still,’ said Namrata. ‘What did you get her?’
‘I forgot to get her anything. I didn’t think people still gave each other presents.’
‘What fun would that birthday be?’ Norbu said, throwing back the Red Bull down his throat. I didn’t tell them I had bought the exact same book as they had and it was lying in the dustbin behind the bar counter. I knew I should have got her the Kindle. I could have slyly downloaded Lolita on it, the love story of an old pervert and a young girl.
That’s when I heard the sound of clacking heels rushing towards me, and I turned to see Aisha with her arms outstretched. I got up and hugged her, and wished her, ‘Happy Birthday!’
‘Did you watch me cut the cake?’
‘I was here the whole time,’ I said.
Vibhor joined us. I shook Vibhor’s hand and he smiled widely at me. ‘Great party, nicely done,’ I said.
‘Anything for her,’ he replied and almost scooped her off the floor with one arm and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Though she’s not drinking tonight. I have tried but she’s too stuck up!’
‘Let her not if she doesn’t want to,’ I said.
‘It’s her birthday!’ he protested playfully, and before I knew it, there were twenty kids near the bar shouting ‘Drink’ ‘Drink’ ‘Drink’ ‘Drink’ at us.
‘Fine, fine!’ she said. ‘If Danish gives me the permission, I will.’
People looked at me like I was the party pooper, the old boring teacher. I stuck my ground for what seemed like a million years.
‘Fine,’ I conceded. ‘One drink of my choosing.’ I chose a Daiquiri. Light. Almost non-alcoholic, with a huge piece of lemon dipped in it.
‘Bottoms up! Bottoms up!’ shouted the kids and she did so and scrunched up her face. And they cheered and got back to their dancing. I don’t understand this evangelistic zeal of people who trick or force people into tasting alcohol or chicken or whatever they have chosen not to eat or drink.
‘Come, dance!’ said Aisha and started to drag Namrata, Norbu and me towards the dance floor.
‘I need to smoke,’ I lied. ‘I will just be back. No. No. Of course I will come back and dance. How can I not?’
And I left the dance floor so that I would not embarrass myself any further. I could have left for home but I wanted to stay, to look at her over and over again, to talk to her, and it was strange because she would come to school the next day anyway. Outside, I found Sarthak sitting on the pavement, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers, scrolling through his phone.
‘Nice party,’ I said, and sat next to him.
He apologized to me again.
‘We have put that behind us. Although I do think my nose is permanently damaged.’
He passed the lighter to me and we smoked in silence.
‘Vibhor is a nice guy,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘She’s lucky,’ he said. ‘And so is he. I’m so happy they hit it off. He will take care of her.’
‘You seem to have a lot of trust in him. Old friend?’
‘No. But he’s the only one who knows,’ said Sarthak.
‘Knows what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You can tell me, you know that. The student–teacher confidentiality thing. I don’t want to lose my job, remember?’ I said.
He stayed shut. Troubled, but shut. ‘Okay, let’s make a deal. I will tell you something about myself and then you can tell me something about you.’
He shrugged, smiled pitifully, and put out his cigarette. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked.
‘Doing what?’
‘Fixing us.’
‘That’s my job,’ I said, reflexively.
‘Fine, tell me yours, sir.’
‘Fine,’ I said and rummaged my mind for an embarrassing aspect to share. ‘I’m quite a bit of a failure. My brother is a start-up genius and I’m pond scum. My parents are sort of ashamed of me. I’m the black sheep, the prodigal son, the wastrel of the family who will still inherit their property and live off it.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Your turn.’
He laughed.
‘So? So what? That’s not something to hide,’ he snapped angrily as if I had cheated him.
He tried lighting his second but his fingers trembled and he dropped it. He stomped it and shouted, ‘Fuck!’ His face was flushed and he took deep breaths to calm himself down. I gave him my cigarette and he pulled a long drag.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to tell me. Take care, okay?’
I got up to go inside.
‘I’m gay.’
I turned.
He looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I’m gay.’
‘Not to stereotype, but from now on you’re going to pick my clothes,’ I said and turned again towards the door of the club.
‘That’s all you have to say?’
‘What’s there to say? You’re gay, and that can only be a good thing. There are only 940 girls for every 1000 men. More men should be gay. India would be a lot safer for women,’ I said and went inside.
I walked to the dance floor, to see Aisha kiss Vibhor, amidst a group full of cheering youngsters, shouting ‘Kiss’ ‘Kiss’ ‘Kiss’. They separated from the kiss and she saw me standing at the doorway. She smiled and raised her cocktail glass at me. She motioned for me to join her at the dance floor. I pointed at my watch and mouthed, ‘I have to leave.’ She frowned and then smiled and I left the party, leaving a drunk, happy Aisha behind.
*
Research shows that people were in general happier in the 1930s and the 40s than they are now and for good reason. There was no Instagram or Facebook or Twitter to keep you updated on how other people’s lives are so much better than yours. Last night, Instagram and Facebook wrecked my life and left me suicidal. I had left the party to ensure I didn’t have to see Aisha and Vibhor rub their perfectness in my face, but I hadn’t accounted for Instagram and my penchant for hurting myself. I was still there at the party. I wasn’t missing anything because I kept getting constant updates, and I refused to log out and sleep.
They had left the club and gone to Vibhor’s house. There was a picture in the car, and one outside the house. They were playing Truth or Dare. There was a blurred picture of the spinning bottle. And here, she was wrapping herself around Vibhor like a little puppy. The updates stopped at 3 a.m. and I slept at 7 a.m. after I was done imagining what would have happened afterwards.
‘Crazy night, haan?’ Ankit asked me at the breakfast table. I intended to take my cornflakes back to bed and watch TV and cleanse myself of the images of Aish
a with another boy.
‘Feeling better? Did you drink a lot?’ Maa asked and kept a tall glass of lemonade in front of me. She ran her hands through my hair and kissed me.
‘No, Maa. Just one beer.’
‘We have been hearing good things about you from the principal.’
‘Yes, it’s cool there,’ I said.
‘But you’re not going to go from tomorrow,’ Ankit said, brightly. ‘You’re coming with me.’
‘What? Where?’
‘We are expanding. We have started hiring people for the HR department now and you’re going to be a part of it,’ he said and punched my arm.
‘But—’
‘What but? You’re coming and that’s final.’
‘And you’re telling me like this?’
‘What? You want an appointment letter or something?’ he asked and laughed. ‘No questions, man. You’re coming with me. You can choose a fancy designation as well.’
‘I will think about it.’
‘Maa? Look at him.’
Maa said, ‘Just go naa, baba. It will be good for you.’
My mother looked happy with this new opportunity so I nodded. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. It wasn’t going to be easy to be in the school with Aisha and Vibhor around.
‘I will call the principal. They will have a month’s notice period.’
Ankit hugged me and my mother smiled. Maybe I wasn’t going to be a failure after all.
31
Aisha Paul
I woke up hurting. My head hurt, my body hurt, my legs hurt and I felt dehydrated and sick.
I got up from the bed, pulled up my pants which were bunched up near my ankles, wore my T-shirt, which lay crumpled near the bedpost, stumbled and fell on the floor. My head spun and I felt like I was dying. My stomach retched and I vomited all over the carpet. Carpet? My room didn’t have a carpet. I vomited again and staggered and propped myself up against the bedpost. I dragged myself to the washroom, washed my face, and then vomited a little more in the pot. For the next hour, I sat next to the pot, dozing off and vomiting. I called out but no one came.
