Nidhi Marwah: No, not that.
Risha Kohli: Then?
Nidhi Marwah: I can’t tell you what he just said.
Tanvi Bedi: What?
Nidhi Marwah: No, I seriously can’t tell you.
Risha Kohli: What???
Nidhi Marwah: Lol.
Tanvi Bedi: What’s so funny?
Nidhi Marwah: No, as in he literally just said the word ‘lol’.
Risha Kohli: Okay, I think this qualifies as an SOS. I’m calling you.
Nidhi glanced at her ringing phone and composed her features in the perfect imitation of partly embarrassed and partly apologetic. ‘Sorry, I need to get this.’
‘Sure, sure, no problem,’ Kuku said, finally picking up his soup spoon.
‘Hello?’ Nidhi said into the phone.
On the other side, Risha sang, ‘Ku-ku-ku-ku . . .’
‘No, I’m not at home,’ Nidhi ad-libbed, biting back a laugh.
Kuku frowned at his soup.
‘Choli ke peeche kya hai . . .’ Risha crooned.
‘Oh, God! Is everything okay?’ Nidhi gasped into the phone.
Kuku gave a disgusted shake of his head and gestured to the waiter. ‘No! They served me cold soup.’
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Nidhi mouthed, ‘I’m on the phone.’
‘Oh,’ Kuku said, before turning to the waiter and snapping, ‘This kind of service is unacceptable! How dare you charge eight hundred rupees for soup and then serve it cold?’
‘He sounds like such a nice guy,’ Risha said sarcastically. ‘You need to leave right now.’
‘Right now?’ Nidhi asked, raising her voice a notch.
Kuku was now berating the waiter and Nidhi was concerned that her ruse was getting upstaged by all his yelling.
‘Try standing up and looking around frantically,’ Risha suggested.
Nidhi stood up and looked around frantically. ‘That’s terrible, Risha!’ she exclaimed into the phone.
‘Is something wrong, Niddy?’ Kuku asked.
Finally.
‘Yes, really wrong,’ Nidhi said, feigning a worried look.
‘About time he caught on,’ Risha said dryly.
‘What happened?’ Kuku asked, placing his hand on hers.
‘My friend is feeling unwell, so I have to go see her,’ Nidhi explained.
‘Oh, that’s horrible,’ he said, pronouncing ‘horrible’ as ‘hah-rible’. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No!’ she exclaimed.
‘Why not?’ he asked, sliding a finger up Nidhi’s arm in a gesture that made her inexplicably uncomfortable.
‘Ummm, she lives in a women’s hostel,’ Nidhi improvised hastily, withdrawing her hand. ‘And guys are not allowed inside.’
‘Nice!’ Risha chuckled on the other side of the phone. Since the fierce security guard at Risha’s building seldom allowed guys up to her apartment, Nidhi’s fib was quite close to the truth.
Kuku frowned before glancing at her chest. ‘Can I give you a ride?’
‘No, Rao Uncle . . . I mean, the driver is waiting outside. He’ll take me,’ Nidhi assured him, then spoke urgently into the phone. ‘Hang in there, Risha. I’ll be there as soon as possible!’
The moment Nidhi reached Risha’s house, the girls collapsed into giggles. Nidhi filled Risha in on the details of her disastrous date, and after a few minutes, the conversation invariably shifted to Vikram.
‘Honestly, I don’t think he’s the villain the media makes him out to be,’ Risha said.
Nidhi raised an eyebrow. ‘You have seen the video of him punching Shaan Kapoor, right?’
‘Maybe he had a valid reason. Shaan Kapoor does seem like a bit of a sleazeball,’ Risha pointed out.
‘Clearly you haven’t seen the eighty zillion pictures of Vikram’s innumerable . . . groupies!’ Nidhi spat out.
Risha gave her a surprised look. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? He’s a young, good-looking guy—of course, he has female fans.’
For a moment, Nidhi considered telling Risha everything. That Vikram was her first friend, her first kiss, her first love. But the truth was that the morning’s events had changed everything.
After witnessing first-hand the adulation and hysteria that surrounded Vikram, Nidhi finally saw him for the celebrity he was. The guy sitting next to her in the car the previous day had been the superstar from the cola commercials and ‘man of the match’ speeches, not the boy she had grown up with. And Nidhi was even more convinced that Vikram’s interest in her, if at all he was interested in her, would only last till the time she reciprocated it. Once the chase was over, he would drop her and move on to the next girl. Leaving Nidhi to nurse her broken heart—again. This time, perhaps, irreparably.
So instead of confessing her innermost thoughts about Vikram, Nidhi said, ‘I’m just saying, don’t fall for his “nice guy” image. These celebrities are total pros at dealing with the media. He knew that a lot of the people at my party were journalists, so, of course, he was nice and charming!’
Risha watched her friend carefully. ‘Since when are you such a cynic, Nidhi?’
Since Vikram Walia broke my heart twelve years ago.
But Nidhi wasn’t ready to go down that path yet, so she went for a joke instead. ‘Hey! It’s “Niddy”.’
February 2002
Nidhi bit her nails nervously as she waited for her father to finish his telephone conversation.
He had summoned her into his study after dinner, and Nidhi had the uneasy premonition that she was in trouble.
Two days ago, her father had seen her kissing Vikram on the Walias’ porch and now Nidhi was tormenting herself over how her father’s fury would manifest itself. He had never raised a hand to her but, at the very least, Nidhi was expecting verbal abuse for what she had done.
What had she done? She had just kissed a boy. Girls her age were doing a lot more than just kissing, Nidhi thought, trying to calm herself down.
Her father hung up the phone and the knot in Nidhi’s stomach tightened. She jerked erect in her chair.
‘How was your day?’ Balraj asked her in a pleasant tone.
‘It was . . . f-fine,’ she stuttered.
‘Relax, Nidhi. I haven’t called you here to scold you,’ he said calmly.
‘You haven’t?’ she asked, surprised.
‘I just want to discuss something with you.’
Nidhi gulped.
‘What’s going on between you and Vikram?’
Her face went bright red with embarrassment.
‘It’s okay. You can tell me, I’m your father,’ he said with a smile so friendly that Nidhi was taken aback. ‘We can be friends, can’t we?’ he asked, watching her shocked expression.
She gave a shy smile and nodded.
‘So, tell me. How do you feel about Vikram?’
‘I . . . I like him.’
Her father gave her another unusually gentle smile. ‘You can be completely honest with me, Nidhi.’
‘I love him, Papa,’ Nidhi said, her eyes ablaze with feeling. ‘He’s my best friend. My only friend, really. But I also love him. I’ve loved him since he moved in next door, and I think I’ll always love him.’
She looked down at her hands, feeling a little silly at her sentimental proclamation.
‘I see,’ Balraj said quietly.
‘I’m sorry. I know you don’t like him,’ Nidhi said awkwardly.
Balraj gave a small smile. ‘I don’t dislike him, Nidhi. I just don’t like his temper.’
‘But he doesn’t lose his temper as much any more,’ Nidhi said, half truthfully.
‘Perhaps because you are a good influence on him,’ Balraj offered, sounding unconvinced.
Nidhi nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, he hasn’t gotten into many fights recently.’
‘And is he proceeding with his decision to move to Mumbai?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, he should. He’s got a full scholarship to the best cricket academy in th
e country. He’s really talented and I think he can play for India someday,’ she said, chewing on her lip.
Balraj nodded. ‘You’re a smart girl, Nidhi—mature for your age. I agree that moving to Mumbai is best for him. I must congratulate him on his achievement when he’s back from Dehradun. When does he return?’
‘On Friday,’ Nidhi said, suddenly feeling demure and liberated all at once.
‘Great. Now run along, I have to see an important project to completion,’ her father said.
Nidhi left his study, impatiently counting the minutes till Vikram’s return.
March 2014
Vikram’s patience was wearing thin.
He hadn’t seen or heard from Nidhi since the previous evening. Her atypical silence had unnerved him, and he wanted to explain the events that had occurred outside the school. He wanted to help her understand that fame wasn’t a thing to be taken seriously. On the contrary, it was a side effect, an occupational hazard that didn’t change who he was on the inside. Just why he had this urgent need to make explanations to Nidhi is not something Vikram stopped to analyse.
He had tried peeking through her window, but it was closed. When the clock finally struck eleven, he had stood at his window and waited for her to climb over the gate, but she had never appeared.
He had texted her that morning, but she hadn’t responded. He had tried calling her, but her phone had been switched off. For a moment, he considered calling her boss to complain about her inaccessibility, but not only did that seem desperate, it was also bound to piss her off.
Which, he thought with a smile, might make it worth it. Colour would rise up her smooth cheeks and her beautiful green eyes would flash like a forest fire as she issued him a stern reprimand.
Vikram returned from his training session with his coach and after a light lunch, went to the gym to work out. When he got back home, he turned on the cricket match between India and Sri Lanka—one that Vikram would’ve been playing if he hadn’t been suspended. To avoid smashing his fist into the screen, he switched off the television and went to the gym. Again.
Around six in the evening, when he finally returned, he walked straight into the Marwahs’ house.
Bhimsen leapt from his stool and greeted him excitedly. ‘Vikram Baba!’
‘Kya haal hai, Bhimsen?’
‘Match dekhi?’
‘Haan,’ Vikram lied.
‘What a victory!’
Vikram’s phone was flooded with congratulatory messages from sponsors and media persons about India annihilating Sri Lanka. And while he was thrilled for his teammates, he was too bummed about not playing to respond to any of the texts.
‘Where’s Nidhi?’ Vikram asked Bhimsen, just as Mangal Singh came scurrying out of the house.
‘I thought I heard your voice, Vikram Baba. Match dekha?’ Mangal asked, his face red with elation.
‘Yes, yes. Such a great match. What a fantastic win. Best match I’ve ever seen!’ Vikram said with faux enthusiasm. ‘Where’s Nidhi?’
‘She is staying at a friend’s house since yesterday,’ Mangal said.
Alarm swept over Vikram and he snapped in agitation, ‘Which friend?’
‘Risha Didi,’ Mangal responded, his pudgy face losing some of its colour.
Relief flooded through Vikram, and he smiled at his old friends, trying to make up for his caustic tone a few moments ago. ‘Oh. When will she be back?’
‘Tomorrow evening,’ Mangal said stiffly.
Anxious to compensate for his earlier abruptness, and also because he wanted to catch up on the years of Nidhi he had missed out on, Vikram turned to two-thirds of the Trio and made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. ‘Would you like to have a drink with me?’
Both men’s chests puffed up with pride, and they nodded eagerly.
A few hours later, the three men lay sprawled in Vikram’s unkempt garden in different physical positions and levels of inebriation. They discussed Bhimsen’s perilous journey crossing the Nepal–India border on foot (‘Very-very danger!’)—a story Vikram had heard several times before. They spoke about the birth of Mangal Singh’s fifth child, born ten months after his most recent visit to his missus (‘Late paida hua!’)—a story Vikram had never heard before. They exchanged views on the upcoming general election, food inflation, item songs and, of course, cricket. The only topic they had not touched upon was the one Vikram had orchestrated the entire drinking session for.
Nidhi.
‘What were things like after I left Delhi?’ Vikram asked, watching the stars in the night sky swim before his eyes.
‘Very-very boring,’ Bhimsen said. ‘Nidhi Baby stopped playing all games with us. Even basketball.’
‘Yes,’ Mangal Singh slurred. ‘That is why the hoop is rusted and broken.’
‘And what else?’ Vikram probed.
‘And the boundary wall became bigger,’ Bhimsen said, gesturing to the eight-foot-high wall that separated the Walias’ driveway from the Marwahs’. Back then, the wall was half its current height, and Vikram remembered jumping over it all the time as a teenager.
‘And Rao got his appendix removed,’ Mangal added.
‘And you got your cataract removed,’ Bhimsen reminded him.
‘And also my wisdom teeths,’ Mangal said, opening his mouth wide to show the craters that had replaced his wisdom teeth.
Great. Nearly two bottles of Black Label and they were discussing Mangal’s dental history.
‘What else?’ Vikram prodded.
‘Balraj Saab’s health seriously deteriorated. He underwent two major—’
Vikram cut him off with a more straightforward question. ‘What was Nidhi like after I left?’
‘Sad,’ Bhimsen said. ‘Very-very sad. She did not smile for months.’
Mangal Singh nodded. ‘She cried in her room every night. She closed the door, but we could hear the sobs. Every morning when the bai did jhaadu-pocha, the dustbin was full of used tissue papers.’
Vikram felt his heart wrench at the visual. And strangely, the strongest emotion he felt at that moment was guilt. He tried to remind himself that he was the wronged party, that Nidhi had stomped on his heart.
But all Vikram could see was a fourteen-year-old Nidhi crying herself to sleep every night after he had left.
He tried to clear the whisky-induced haze and settle the events of that night once and for all.
Vikram came home from Dehradun on a Friday. He was exhausted, from five days of non-stop cricket, but also from the seven-hour-long bus journey. And yet he dumped his kitbag and luggage in the garden and ran straight to Nidhi’s house.
For five days, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her: her tear-stricken face, her trusting eyes, her soft fingers against his face. And, of course, that kiss. Vikram hadn’t been able to get that kiss out of his head.
Five days apart from Nidhi had convinced Vikram that he was making the right decision. He would stay in Delhi and join a local cricket academy. He would stay back so he could be with Nidhi.
As soon as he entered her house, Bhimsen informed him that Nidhi’s father wanted to see Vikram in his study. Surprised by the unprecedented invitation, Vikram haphazardly straightened his clothes and wiped his face with his jersey before knocking on the door to Balraj’s study.
‘Good evening, Uncle,’ Vikram said, when Balraj asked him to enter.
‘Hello, Vikram. Good to see you!’ Balraj said, a wide smile on his face.
Vikram tried to hide his shock. At best, Balraj had been curt with Vikram, but if he was finally initiating friendship, Vikram wasn’t a fool to turn it down.
‘How was your trip?’ Balraj asked, gesturing for him to take a seat.
Vikram sat down and responded politely, ‘It was very good, Uncle. I learnt a lot.’
‘When are you going to Mumbai?’
‘I . . . I’m not sure if I’m going. I’m thinking of staying here.’
Balraj gave him a tight smile. ‘I see.’
; The silence lingered in the room and Vikram shook his leg fervently, unable to contain his impatience to see Nidhi. He started to stand but Balraj’s voice cracked through the silence like a whip. ‘Sit.’
Vikram sat back down and looked at him expectantly.
‘I want to speak to you about something.’
‘About what?’ Vikram ventured.
‘I don’t want you to be upset with Nidhi. You know girls Nidhi’s age often say things they don’t mean,’ Balraj said.
‘What are you talking about?’ Vikram asked, feeling anxious.
‘You know, the thing Nidhi said about you—she probably didn’t mean it,’ Balraj said casually.
‘What did she say?’ Vikram pressed, trying to ignore the strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.
‘That she hates you,’ Balraj said with quiet conviction.
Rebellion flashed in Vikram’s eyes. ‘I don’t believe you. Nidhi would never say that.’
Balraj shrugged. ‘Not to your face.’
‘Not even behind my back,’ Vikram said fiercely. ‘She’s my best friend.’
‘Nidhi is only friends with you,’ Balraj persevered patiently, ‘because she feels sorry for you.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘She means well. But she also believes that you’ve been a very disruptive presence in her life. And if she didn’t pity you so much, she would have told you bluntly how she really feels.’
‘That’s not true,’ Vikram said, standing up and walking backwards to the door.
Balraj looked him square in the eye. ‘It is. You need to know this. It would be wrong of me not to tell you. In fact, she told me that the only reason she kissed you was because she felt sorry for you.’
Vikram broke out in a cold sweat. ‘Why would she feel sorry for me?’
Pity filled Balraj’s eyes. ‘Because you’re an orphan.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Vikram said defiantly, clenching his fists. ‘I’m going to ask her right now!’
‘Go ahead,’ Balraj suggested, and even before he finished the sentence, Vikram was running out the door, taking the stairs up to Nidhi’s room, two at a time.
He burst in through her door, anger emanating from his body.
Man of Her Match Page 9
