by Durjoy Datta
AISHA: Save me.
DANISH: What happened?
AISHA: Brother + Brother-in-law + mother + language barrier = disaster.
DANISH: Lol.
AISHA: Come.
DANISH: I’m not the best conversationalist.
AISHA: You’re the best.
DANISH: Give me 15.
AISHA: You have 10.
Danish was there in ten minutes. He was still in his loose, worn-out pyjamas; his hair was ruffled and he looked rather cute. Like he was sleeping with his eyes open.
‘So Erskin, what do you do?’ he asked as he sat at the table.
My mother, too, heaved a sigh of relief. She was afraid Erskin may take the lack of conversation as an insult.
‘I’m studying literature. I want to be a filmmaker,’ said Erskin. ‘But my parents don’t agree with my choices. They want me to join the family business.’
‘Countries change, stories don’t.’
‘Huh?’
‘Nothing, nothing. So what do your parents do exactly?’
Danish thanked my mother for ladling his plate with rice, lentils and paneer.
‘They do paint jobs for aviation companies. That’s how we got the free tickets to India.’
And he put his hand on Sarthak’s. My mother looked away. I gasped, and so did my brother. Danish, apparently, found this hilarious and chuckled.
‘I will get more raita,’ said my mother and disappeared into the kitchen.
I followed her into the kitchen, and found her silently sobbing into her dupatta.
‘Aww, what happened, Maa?’ I said and put my arms around her. ‘It’s okay, Maa. It’s okay, Maa. He loves him.’
‘I know, I know, it’s just that I always thought I will get a little plump girl for him to get married to,’ she said, still crying softly, ‘but he’s getting married to a giant.’
She started to laugh behind the tears.
‘He’s happy and that’s all that matters.’
My mother broke away from the embrace and slapped my back playfully.
‘Don’t teach me, Aisha.’
She wiped her tears and mindlessly rolled another chappati.
‘I know that’s what matters. But it will take some time.’
‘I know, Maa,’ I said. ‘He’s so lucky he has you. Look how cute you look while you cry.’
I pinched her cheeks. She flinched and tried to hide she was smiling.
‘He’s nice,’ said a voice from behind. It was Danish flashing a thumbs up at us. ‘He’s nice, he’s rich, and he loves Sarthak. What else do you need, Aunty? You’re lucky.’
‘Don’t make fun of me, Danish,’ said Maa.
‘I’m not,’ he said and sat on the counter. Mom asked him to get down from there and he obediently jumped off. ‘Sarthak’s so happy.’
‘I know,’ said Maa. ‘He’s like when he was ten again.’ She started to cry again. ‘He was so beautiful.’
‘He still is, Maa,’ I said.
My mother nodded. Sarthak called for more chappatis and my mother gave Danish a little casserole. He tucked it in his arm, poured a little raita for himself in a little bowl and went to the living room.
‘I will go outside and not talk again,’ I said.
‘Aisha?’ she called out.
I stopped and turned.
‘Please eventually get married to a boy?’
I laughed. ‘Of course, Maa.’
‘Danish?’
‘What?’
She walked close, made that puppy face she always would whenever she had to convince me to do something I didn’t want to do, and she rubbed my arm and said, ‘He’s a nice boy. He likes you.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘He’s in our living room talking to your brother’s boyfriend so that he doesn’t feel left out. My guess is he does,’ said Maa, with a naughty glint in her eye you would associate with Gossip Girl characters.
‘I need to leave.’
A little later, my mother came with extra raita and poured it in each of our bowls. And after she was done filling both of Erskin’s bowls to the brim, she touched his chin with her fingers and then kissed his forehead. Erskin might not have known what was going on, but he understood the language of love. He nodded at my mother. My mother asked me to click a picture of her with Sarthak and Erskin. She stood between Erskin and Sarthak, who were both sitting and yet were taller than my mother. Click.
‘How’s the picture?’ my mother asked.
‘Great,’ I said.
Both Sarthak and my mother were crying in the picture.
‘Now you,’ said my sly mother, pointing to me and Danish.
She took the camera from me and waited. Both of us sort of just leaned into each other and smiled awkwardly at the camera. She egged Sarthak and Erskin to join us in the picture, too, and so we had to stand and shuffle close.
I’m sure my mother acted to work the camera as she asked us to look more natural in the picture. Yeah, right. Danish leaned in a little closer, and I thought, why not? I shifted closer to him and my hand touched his. My breath quickened, but in a good way, as I had wanted it to. My heart thumped and I could feel every nerve ending. I shifted closer and I could see him lean away shyly. Erskin pushed me a little, and my hand was in full contact with Danish’s now and it was heady feeling. Emboldened, I let my hand travel on his back and rest a little over his waist. Little bolts of electricity ran through my spine as I anticipated the same from him, but he just kind of kept his hand hovering behind my back and over my waist, as if too scared to touch me. My mother clicked. We sat down. The picture was passed around. It was a good picture. Erskin was smiling the widest, Sarthak looked like he was blushing and angry at the same time and Danish was literally sweating and looked scared.
I looked at him, and Danish pretended to stare in his food. I leaned towards him and asked, ‘Is the paneer good? I made it.’
He nodded, blushing wildly. And in that moment, I felt something mechanically click in my body—it was as if someone had screwed open a flap in my back, taped a few wires together, removed the short-circuit caused by Vibhor and set me right. I might have been damaged but I was still under warranty. I knew I might not go back to what I was before but I felt ready to be normal again.
51
Danish Roy
Erskin, Sarthak, Aisha and I spent all of the next week taking Erskin around Delhi. To be frank, we were taking ourselves around town. Even after being in Delhi forever, I had never done the touristy things around here.
It was fun. Often because Erskin literally never went without smoking pot for more than a few hours a day and we indulged in a lot of passive smoking, and sometimes active as well.
Erskin got hit on a lot by older women wherever we went. And was pursued even more when we told people he was gay. We almost intentionally got into a fight in Sector 56, Gurgaon but the warring party backed out after Erskin made a dramatic, calculated entry. He was rather sweet, too. Like any responsible Indian, we taught him Hindi swear words. As clichéd as it is, it worked like a charm as he greeted random people on the road with the choicest of expletives. Erskin was staying at the Taj, near Dhaula Kuan, and every day the three of us would reach the hotel right when the breakfast buffet started and only leave when it wound to a close. Aisha smiled a lot and that alone rocked my world.
Later that week, I was sitting with Ankit for four hours testing out the Android app Ankit had made for the website; everything will be on the phone, everything, he had said.
Ankit was right. After aching for a bigger screen, and a responsive keyboard for the first two hours, I was hooked to the phone screen and the laptop lay ignored on the side. The app was much better.
I was typing my responses when my phone beeped.
AISHA: Are you free?
DANISH: Testing out the app. It’s crazy
AISHA: I’m with my brother and ER. They are drunk.
DANISH: Okay.
AISHA: They are kissing.
DANISH: Oh.
AISHA: Awkward. Bored.
DANISH: Where?
AISHA: Their hotel.
DANISH: Oh.
AISHA: Hmmm.
DANISH: Oh. Wait. You want me to come?
AISHA: Why would I tell you otherwise?
DANISH: Oh.
AISHA: You’re really intelligent sometimes.
DANISH: Tell me about it.
AISHA: Save me.
DANISH: Twenty minutes.
A little later my phone beeped again.
AISHA: Where?
DANISH: Car didn’t start. So took a cab. Twenty minutes more I guess. What’s happening?
AISHA: They told me they are going to the washroom. It’s been ten minutes.
DANISH: LOL.
AISHA: Disturbing visuals.
DANISH: There in a flash.
AISHA: My brother is giggling.
DANISH: Haha.
AISHA: Erskin is moaning. In Irish. Quick.
I found Aisha in the ground floor Italian restaurant with the table littered with dishes barely touched.
‘I might have ordered a little more than necessary as revenge,’ she said like a puppy who shat the carpet.
‘Who’s paying?’
‘Erskin.’
‘I’m so hungry right now,’ I said and pulled the plates closer to me.
We ate in silence, making sure we tried everything. We tried playing mind games with our stomachs, telling them they still had space.
And then out of nowhere, she shot me a question, ‘Why don’t you have a girlfriend? You can do much better than hang out with your student, his brother and gay Thor.’
‘I’m boring, I think,’ I said, because that’s my charm. I blurt out the truth like bile.
‘You’re not boring,’ she said, almost offended.
‘Of course I am. Look at my brother. He’s smart, funny, and can dance like he’s getting paid for it. He’s awesome.’
‘So you’re not your brother,’ she said. ‘You’re still interesting.’
I sniggered.
‘Of course, you are. Otherwise which teacher would hang out like you hang out with us?’
Now that she put it that way. Though a huge chunk of the reason was that I got to spend time with Aisha, but I couldn’t tell her that. At least she respected me, thought of me when bored, I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to do anything stupid, so I just friend-zoned myself. It was better that way.
We paid the bill by signing Erskin’s room number. We both burped and pretended like we didn’t. We walked out of the hotel lobby. Aisha walked around the fountain of the hotel, dipping her feet in the water and splashing some outside. I walked a few steps behind her. There weren’t a lot of people around and I didn’t want to walk very close to her. I had noticed her flinch when Ankit or I leaned over to talk to her. The fear inside her is still bubbling, I guessed.
‘Hold me,’ she said and stretched out her hand as she walked, balancing herself on the ledge of the fountain. I held her hand and she walked around twice, smiling, looking far into the distance like she was in deep thought, like an artiste, a singer, a writer, someone I would never keep engaged for long.
‘What do you think of me, Danish?’
‘As in? And why are you asking?’
‘Just like that? Tell me?’
I stammered. ‘I think you’re . . . great. You’re really nice.’
‘Can you imagine yourself with me? Like us? Dating?’
‘Umm . . . that would be—’
‘Don’t say that again. I know you’re my teacher and whatever. But if it were not the case? Would us be a possibility?’
‘Why not?’ I said as calmly as I could.
‘So you like me?’
‘In a way, yes.’
‘Do you like Namrata like you like me?’
‘No!’ I shot out.
‘Okay.’
Shit. I should not have said that. She jumped off the ledge and led me back inside the hotel. My clammy, sweaty hand was still in hers, and I was molten wax.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Anywhere,’ she said, entered the elevator and pressed the button to Erskin’s floor.
She still hadn’t let go of my hand, her fingers were now intertwined with mine, sweaty.
‘Here.’
I nodded.
We walked through the corridors and she smiled at a man from housekeeping minding his business. We stood outside a room a couple had just left from, and she rolled her eyes and said, ‘Shit! Shit!’ loud enough for the housekeeping guy to turn towards us. She walked towards him, made a sorry face and spoke, ‘Our room is still not cleaned. Can you do it right now? And can you give us the key of any other room till the time you’re at it?’
The man frowned, mumbled something about rules and guidelines but Aisha threw a cluster bomb of Please, Please, Please, Please, on him and moments later we were swiping a key to a room not yet occupied. My body thrummed.
She placed the key card into the little slot by the door, an LED lit up and then the entire room. She went and sat on the bed. Her knee shook nervously. The bed creaked a little. I stood a few feet away, near the mini bar, making sure I wasn’t encroaching on her personal space. I would merge into the wall if I moved any further from her.
She looked at me, and mumbled, ‘Kiss me.’
It looked like she would cry any moment.
‘What?’
‘Kiss me. You said we were a possibility,’ she said, her voice now quivering. Yes, she was definitely going to cry now.
‘I can’t.’
‘Danish, please kiss me.’
‘Aisha—’
‘For God’s sake, please kiss me.’
‘Aisha?’
‘Please,’ she said, and the tears came, and yet her eyes were bolted on me. I walked to her side, and sat on the bed. She clutched my arm and cried into my shoulder. I didn’t say anything for a while.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
I told her it’s okay.
‘I really thought I could do it. You know, kiss someone again? I really thought I could do it today.’
‘You will. Eventually.’
She told me she thought she could be someone else for a little while. ‘I wanted to move on,’ she said and burst out again. I held her till she quietened.
‘I’m okay. You can leave me now. You’re sweating.’
She forced a smile on her face. She stared into her little, pretty fingers.
‘The housekeeping guy totally believed me though,’ she said, her voice childlike, her kajal all smudged and she looked like a little girl who had been denied a toy.
I nodded and passed her a tissue.
‘I want to use the washroom.’
I wanted to remind her that we could be caught but she was gone by then. I sat thinking, what if she had said the same thing without crying, or without a motive of trying to put what happened behind her and move on? But why did she choose me? Well, there was no point flattering myself because she didn’t really have an option.
I waited for her.
52
Aisha Paul
I washed my face and looked at myself in the mirror. I was pissed. I was so close.
The past one week had been wonderful. While Erskin and Sarthak couldn’t keep their hands off each other, the only distraction was Danish. It was hard at first to shake off his confession on the website, to be around him normally, but slowly I began to realize how hard it must be for him to like me so much and yet not tell me. That’s when the little glass wall I had constructed around myself started to crack a little.
We began to go on little walks and he would talk to me about his old house in C.R. Park, how once he was punched by Jeffrey Archer’s bodyguards because he got too close, about the first girl he had a crush on (she was married now and was pregnant with twins). He was really himself. He wasn’t scared of being stupid or boring or sound repetitive while he was all o
f these at some point or the other. He told me a story about how he accidentally scored a goal and was the class hero for three weeks, which I can narrate better than him. I really liked him. I could throw my arm around him and walk with him and feel nice. I could lower my guard and snort out water through my nose without thinking what he would think of me. I took some really big liberties, knowing he was in love with me.
Today, I thought I would take the next step. I thought I could put it all behind me and try to be with someone who likes me as I am, who doesn’t play little games, someone who’s as sweet as Danish is. I thought I would allow myself a little wiggle space and stretch out my hands and not be alone. I deserved someone. And I wanted someone. After all the shit I’d gone through, it’s the least one could want.
I really wanted to kiss him. Like, really. But I messed it up. And now, I was washing my face off snot with stolen face wash. I could do better. I breathed in. I will kiss him, I told myself and patted my face dry.
I smoothed out my clothes. You can do this, I told myself, you want to be kissed by him, he’s a nice guy, and you kind of like him, and you like kissing and you like being kissed.
I came out, took a deep breath and hoped this yoga type shit had cleansed me off my memories. He was still on the bed, sitting the way I had left him, stiff. He was always like that with me, always measured, always scared. In the picture we clicked, his hands hovered hilariously around my waist, careful not to touch me inappropriately. Today, it had to change. I would allow him. And yet, my sexy time started with the words, I’m sorry.
‘Sorry? No,’ he said. ‘Stop being sorry all the time. You apologize for things you don’t need to.’
He needs to stop being so encouraging all the time.
‘Can you come here?’ I asked.
I sucked at being seductive. I weighed telling him I knew about his mail so I wouldn’t have to do this and just kiss him. He walked up to me, stopped two feet away and asked me what happened. Without warning, I held his head in my hands, a bit like Mountain from Game of Thrones did before he crushed Oberyn’s skull, and I lunged at his lips and kissed him full. It was more like my teeth hitting his lips at Mach 1. He reeled away from me, holding his bleeding lips.
