‘Name, Nirmaan, name!’ Raisa was glaring at him.
‘You won’t laugh or beat me, promise?’
‘Name!’
Nirmaan took a deep breath, closed his eyes and said aloud, ‘Okay, it’s Afsana.’
For few seconds, nothing happened. Then Nirmaan opened his eyes slowly. He saw Raisa had covered her face with her palms. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, faint or die. These two silly people in her life, who liked each other, were in troughs of deep depression and making her miserable in the bargain, because both thought the other loved someone else. It was time for her to have some fun now.
‘I didn’t expect this from you, Nirmaan. She is my soul-sister, how could you—’
‘Yeah, but she is not my sister. And I just like her . . . ’
‘A few years ago you told me to stay away from her and now you are saying you like her? All right, tell me this, do you like her or love her?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is that she has been on my mind all the time for the last few weeks. That’s love, isn’t it?’
‘Hmm. How do I know? I’m yet to know that myself, but do you even know how she is going to react to this?’
‘Oh no. She doesn’t need to know. Please, Raisa, I shared this with you hoping you’ll keep mum about it. Let it be our secret.’
‘I’m sorry, Nirmaan. I’ll have to tell her about this. And that too, right away,’ Raisa got out of the bed and sauntered to the phone in the corner of the room.
‘Raisa, wait!’ he was on the verge of getting out of bed himself when Raisa called out to his mother.
‘Aunty, Nirmaan is getting out of the bed.’
‘Stay in the bed, son. Take rest,’ his mother commanded from the kitchen.
Raisa dialled Afsana’s number, avoiding Nirmaan’s helpless pleas.
Within the next hour, Afsana rang the doorbell of Nirmaan’s flat. His mother answered the door. As she inquired about Raisa, the latter came out of Nirmaan’s room to receive her.
‘Aunty, this is Affu.’
‘Affu?’ Nirmaan’s mother repeated with a frown.
‘I’m Afsana Agarwal.’
‘She is like my sister and is in the same school as Nirmaan.’
‘That’s nice,’ his mother replied. ‘Take her inside.’ She shut the door and disappeared into the kitchen as the girls marched into Nirmaan’s room.
As they entered, Nirmaan who was waiting with bated breath for Afsana’s arrival, shut his eyes and feigned weakness and sleep.
‘Get up, Mister Oscar-winner for best actor,’ Raisa nudged him hard. Nirmaan opened his eyes and smiled goofily.
‘Look who is here,’ Raisa said and made herself comfortable again in his bed.
‘Come on!’ she gestured to Afsana to hop into the bed. Nirmaan made some space for her.
‘What’s going on?’ Afsana asked. After being urgently summoned to Nirmaan’s place, she was nervous, anxious, happy, bemused and scared.
The moment Afsana settled in the bed, Raisa stood up with a mysterious smile that confounded both Nirmaan and Afsana.
‘Lend me your ears,’ Raisa made a bow.
‘Why are you being so dramatic?’ Afsana asked, her patience running low.
‘As you know, Affu, my best buddy likes someone.’
‘She knows?’ Nirmaan was startled.
‘Sshh!’ Raisa said, ‘Be quiet. This is my show.’ Turning to Afsana, she continued, ‘Nirmaan likes someone. It’s true. He actually doesn’t know if it’s only liking or love. He’s stupid anyway.’ She turned to Nirmaan, ‘As you now know, Affu loves someone as well.’
Afsana hung her head in deep embarrassment.
‘The girl that Nirmaan “likes” and the boy that Affu “loves” are both present in this room,’ so saying, Raisa burst out laughing, clutching her tummy.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Afsana elbowed her while Nirmaan said plaintively, ‘Stop kidding about my emotions.’
‘You two idiots! Affu, Nirmaan likes you,’ she told Afsana and to Nirmaan she said, ‘Affu loves you, duffer!’
Both looked at each other as the room filled with Raisa’s loud laughter.
‘You two are such jokers!’ she said. Between bouts of mirth, she relayed to both the comedy-of-errors that had wreaked such havoc in their young lives. Listening to Raisa, the two felt all the more awkward. Eventually, Nirmaan managed to smile sheepishly at Afsana, every hair on his body rising, while Afsana, with goosebumps all over her arms, stole furtive glances at him.
Raisa took their hands and clasped them together.
‘I really like you, Afsana,’ Nirmaan blurted out clumsily.
Raisa thwacked his head, ‘You love her!’
‘Sorry, I love you,’ he corrected himself.
Afsana could have laughed out loud herself, but controlled herself and said, ‘Same here.’
‘Now hug her, dumbo, and kiss her,’ Raisa commanded.
‘What?’ Nirmaan looked appalled. Afsana was also taken aback.
‘Shut up, Rice!’ she said.
‘That’s what they do in English movies,’ Raisa argued.
‘But we’re Indians,’ Nirmaan countered.
‘So is this when the couple time-travel to Switzerland and sing a song? Are you two going to do that, seriously?’ Raisa scoffed.
There was a short silence before the three of them collapsed in a heap on the bed, roaring with laughter.
VOICE NOTE 27
In the days that followed, Afsana as well as Nirmaan understood what it meant to have someone else as the centre of their universe.
One day after school, she gave him a piece of paper.
‘This is for you,’ she said. Nirmaan started reading.
Socho ke tum aur main,
Ek kitaab mein qaid,
Do kirdaar hote.
Chand panne humari duniya hoti.
Panno ke mudhne se dikhne wale daag, humare gile-shikve.
Unn panno ke number, humare rishtey ki umra.
Dus pe milte,
Tees mein bichadhte,
Sau mein fir milte.
Chote, bade, mushkil, aasan tarah ke shabd,
Humari zindagi ke unginat armaan.
Shabdon ke beech ka khalipan,
Ek dusre se kaha gaya jhooth.
Shabdon se boone panktiyon ke beech ka sunapan,
Bina bataye samjhne wali sachai.
Jahan alpviram,
Humare nadaani bhari man-mutao ke din.
Jahan ardhviram,
Humari shaq se panpe galatfehmi ki shaam.
Jahan purnviram,
Humare befuzool ke jhagdon ki raat.
Jahan prashnachin,
Humara ek dusre se lambe dino tak roothna.
Jahan ek naya adhyay,
Humari nayi shuruaat.
Agar koi kitaab khula chodhta,
Hum milne ke liye tadapte.
Agar firse padhne lagta,
Hum roke der tak gale milte.
Agar kabhi koi shuru se padhta,
Hum bhi shuruaat se apne anth ko jee lete.
Agar koi adhe mein kahaani chodh deta,
Hum usse apna kismet samjhke, apne mein simat jaate.
Agar koi kitaab ko barson tak na chchuta,
Hum saath budhe hote,
Aagr koi kabhi kabhi kitaab kholta,
Hum jawaani ki aag mein bhasm ho aate.
Socho ki tum aur main,
Ek kitaab mein qaid,
Do kirdaar hote.
‘Do you write poems?’ he asked, genuinely surprised.
‘Why? Can’t brats write poems?’
‘This is really good, Affu.’
‘Thanks. And I don’t write poems. I just scribble down my thoughts, that’s all.’
His eyes went to the signatory, Tushara.
‘Who’s Tushara?’ he asked.
‘Tushara is my pen name. It means ice. Something that is all solid but, at times, it melts.’
‘Has this Tushara m
elted for anyone yet?’ he asked, without taking his eyes off her.
‘Only for one, yeah,’ she blushed a bit and hugged him.
It wasn’t just mushy romance that lit up their lives. Nirmaan loved how she calmed him down whenever his father’s views about his future frustrated him. He didn’t want to pursue engineering. He wanted to start his own business. He wanted to create something out of nothing. Samuel Walton was his role model. He wanted to be an entrepreneur but couldn’t tell his father about his ambitions and aspirations.
‘Okay, I did tell Baba once that I wanted to start a business. Make something of my own,’ Nirmaan said.
‘What did he say?’ Afsana asked, curious.
‘He said that there’s no respect for people in business, only money. For him respect is everything. He told me he didn’t want me to even think about it again and to focus on getting into IIT.’
Afsana took her time before replying, ‘Why don’t you do your engineering, then do an MBA and then start whatever you want to? That way your father will also be pacified and you don’t have to compromise on your dreams.’
Nirmaan nodded and said, ‘That’s exactly what I have planned to do.’
‘I’m anyway sticking with you whether you’re an engineer, an MBA or an entrepreneur.’ He took her hand and kissed it. Nirmaan was pleasantly surprised at how soon she’d become the point where he felt emotionally rejuvenated. Both were slowly becoming each other’s spiritual highway where they could drive ahead of their fears and rise beyond where they already were.
Afsana joined Nirmaan’s tuition. With every passing day, they could sense a process shaping up within them. It was both exhilarating and scary; exhilarating because it made them long for the other in unexpected and unprecedented ways; scary because in an attempt to live the togetherness to its hilt, they knew they were gradually growing vulnerable to life’s sadism. Especially Afsana. She was yet to tell Nirmaan about Tarun. The man to whom her parents were hell-bent on getting her married. She had discussed it with Raisa once, but she had asked her to not tell Nirmaan about it.
‘Do you remember your plan, Affu? The one you told me last year, where you would graduate from a college outside Kolkata and not return? Now just add Nirmaan to that plan. Both of you can study elsewhere and get married when y’all get a job. You don’t have to return to your parents if they can’t accept their daughter’s choice,’ Raisa said.
Afsana, in agreement with Raisa, chose to keep mum.
During the Durga Puja festival that year, Raisa took it upon herself to give Afsana a makeover. She had picked up all the Bengali nitty-gritty from Nirmaan’s mother and helped Afsana wear the traditional red-bordered saree, draped in the archaic Bengali style, with a big red bindi. Although the white and red bangles were essentially the mark of a married Bengali woman, Raisa borrowed them from Mrs Bose and bulldozed Afsana into slipping them on. In the end, Raisa transformed a Marwari girl into a Bengali lady. The inherent sweetness in Afsana’s face was subtly highlighted with the transformation. They hopped into her car after Raisa called Nirmaan from Afsana’s place and asked him to be ready for a surprise.
It was Maha Ashtami. As Afsana’s car entered the RBI quarters, they noticed Nirmaan in a white kurta-pyjama, talking to some other boys. He eyed the car that drew up in front of the yard. Raisa disembarked first before helping Afsana step out of the car. Nirmaan was stunned and then went numb. Afsana in the red-bordered saree, with the red bindi and bangles was the most vibrant image of a woman he had ever seen. She had the aura of a deity. As Afsana stood a few metres away from him, blushing somewhat, he fell in love with her all over again. Before he could approach her, Nirmaan’s mother came up from behind him, recognizing Afsana. She held Afsana’s chin and exclaimed in surprise at the transformation.
‘O ma, ki mishti lagche! [so sweet she’s looking!]’ she exclaimed.
‘I dressed her up, Aunty,’ Raisa chipped in, beaming.
As Nirmaan joined them, his mother turned to him and said, ‘Remember, Nirmaan, I need a daughter-in-law this pretty.’
Raisa started giggling and Afsana had to elbow her hard. Nirmaan stood by, both shy and awkward. Together they made their way to the huge Durga idol that was inside a large colourful pandal in the centre of the playing ground, surrounded by the tall apartment buildings. Nirmaan introduced Afsana to his father for the first time. She touched his feet reverently. He blessed her and was surprised when he heard her surname.
‘You look like a Bangali meye!’ he remarked.
The next moment the pushpanjali was announced by the purohit. The people in the pandal gathered in front of the Durga idol. Nirmaan, Afsana and Raisa stood together in the first row. As the purohit proffered a large tray laden with flowers and leaves and petals, everyone scooped up as much as they could. Nirmaan took a handful and gave some to Afsana and Raisa. They clasped the flora in their joined palms, as a mark of obeisance to the goddess.
‘I’ve never done this before,’ Afsana whispered to Nirmaan.
‘It will become a habit now,’ he said. She grinned, getting his drift.
As the purohit started chanting a mantra over the amplifier, the group chanted along except Nirmaan, who was intoning his own personal prayer in his heart, eyeing Afsana from the corner of his eyes.
VOICE NOTE 28
Although Nirmaan had been to the Calcutta Book Fair that year with his parents, he made sure he visited it again on a Saturday with Afsana.
The famous Maidan where the Calcutta Book Fair was held, was teeming with local people as well as foreign tourists. Raisa met her friends by the ticket counter. Nirmaan bought three tickets while Afsana bought three vanilla cones from the ice-cream hawker at the entrance. They entered the fair together. Afsana soon noticed that Raisa seemed rather preoccupied.
‘What’s up with you?’ Afsana asked.
‘He slashed his wrists for me,’ Raisa replied.
‘Who?’
‘Mihir.’
‘Who’s Mihir? You never told me about him, Rice? What happened to Kapil by the way?’ Afsana turned to face Raisa, holding her by the shoulders.
‘Kapil and I were never in a relationship. He liked me but I didn’t. Now he is history. But when would I tell you about Mihir? Do you guys even have time for me these days? You two are a couple and I’m the kebab mein haddi!’ Jerking out of Afsana’s grasp, Raisa walked on ahead in a dudgeon.
Afsana and Nirmaan exchanged guilty glances and caught up with her.
‘Hey, are you angry with your soul-sister?’ Afsana made a puppy face. Raisa couldn’t help but hug her.
‘And your best friend,’ Nirmaan tried the puppy face as well and failed miserably. Raisa broke her hug and pinched him hard. Nirmaan shrieked.
‘I’m not angry with you guys,’ Raisa threw over her shoulder as she stepped into one of the bookstalls.
‘Then what’s the matter?’ Afsana and Nirmaan followed her in.
‘Mihir is the older brother of one of my classmates. He saw me at her birthday party and has been pursuing me ever since. Yesterday he proposed to me after school and threatened to kill himself if I didn’t accept his proposal. Today his sister told me he’s in hospital after slashing his wrists.’
Afsana frowned. Raisa seemed engrossed in browsing through some books on a shelf but Afsana knew for certain that she wasn’t interested in any of them. She grabbed her arm and said, ‘Come with me.’ She dragged Raisa out of the stall, commanding Nirmaan, who would have followed them, to stay where he was, so that the girls could share some private sister-time.
They went behind one of the book stalls and sat down on the grassy lawn beside a group of college students who were making the most of the informal atmosphere of the fair, singing songs as one of them strummed a guitar.
‘Now tell me, do you like Mihir?’ Afsana came straight to the point.
‘I don’t know,’ Raisa said, looking away.
‘Rice, even when Kapil expressed his interest in you, you weren’t
sure whether you liked him or not. And now it’s the same. Is there someone else on your mind because of which you aren’t giving anyone else a chance?’
Raisa made eye contact with Afsana for an instant, and then looked away to stare into the crowd with a faraway look. Raisa was afraid that Afsana would read the truth in her eyes.
‘I think I like him,’ she said hesitantly.
‘Then what’s the problem? Say yes and see how it goes.’
‘I’m scared. What if it doesn’t work out? What if he misunderstands me or . . . beats me? What if he rapes—’
Afsana grasped her hand and pressed it.
‘Not every man is like your father, Rice,’ Afsana said.
‘I know but—’
‘At some point you’ll have to just trust life. Look at me. Do you imagine that the fact that I haven’t told Nirmaan yet about Tarun doesn’t bother me? But I trust life. I’m sure that things will fall into place because my intentions are pure. So, say yes to Mihir if you like him because we can only hope, Rice, and although we imagine that we are, we can’t really be in control of our destiny. Some decisions are already made; we only think we made it all happen ourselves.’
Nirmaan approached them.
‘Are you guys done with your sister-talk? I can’t stand around in the stall alone like a fool.’
Afsana and Raisa stood up.
‘Yes,’ Raisa told Nirmaan and turning to Afsana, she repeated, ‘Yes.’
Afsana acknowledged it with a faint smile and a pat on her back. Minutes later, Afsana and Nirmaan stood at a distance looking on indulgently as Raisa fooled around with a person dressed as a clown.
‘There is something Rice is hiding from me,’ Afsana told Nirmaan in an undertone.
‘I don’t get you.’
Afsana sighed and said, ‘Nothing.’
‘What did she say about Mihir? Is he a good boy?’ Nirmaan asked.
Afsana gave him a speaking glance.
‘Don’t misunderstand me, but I don’t think she can judge boys properly.’
‘She’ll say yes to Mihir.’
‘That’s nice. I hope it all goes well for her sake.’
Raisa joined them. The loudspeakers in the fairground buzzed with an announcement asking people to disperse and make their way to the gates as it was time to close for the day. As the three strolled towards the exit with paper-packets of jhaal moori in their hands, Raisa grabbed Afsana’s arm and pointed at something behind a large tree. Afsana followed her finger and noticed a couple kissing passionately.
Half Torn Hearts Page 10
