Rishabh replied with an air of indifference saying, ‘Fourteen students that we had recruited, our so called “employees”, have left YourQuote in the past fifteen days. I was trying to prevent them from leaving and couldn’t concentrate on Mishra.’
‘And in that process, even Shikha left the team?’
‘Yes. It has been very difficult for me to manage everything single-handedly. You don’t know how many hours I had to spend to make things right.’
‘Did things go right?’ I questioned bluntly.
Rishabh was annoyed by this time and got up to leave saying, ‘I am going to meet Anjali. She has been offered an internship at the University of Toronto and has to get her passport made.’
‘If she has to get passport made, why are you going?’ I intentionally chose a hurtful remark. But he had already left by then. Rishabh had placed her above the venture again.
As days passed by, the cracks in our big team started to show. The employees we had recently inducted turned out to be a laidback, confused, and idle lot who had no zeal or attachment to our venture. They did not share the passion for the idea and were in it only to spike up their resumes. The day they would get another similar opportunity, they would drop out. Moreover, we recruited so many people that the exclusivity of being a part of YourQuote had been diluted.
Apart from some T-shirt orders that had been well-executed by Rishabh, no big orders came our way. All the while, we were still waiting for Mishra to come up with the website. We had not been able to establish a connection with Mishra till the 18th when he returned back to the hostel. Both Rishabh and I went to his room. After a formal ‘Belated Happy Birthday’ wish, I shot him the difficult question: ‘When will the website be ready? We are already running three days late from what you’d promised us.’ My intonation was a little rude and Rishabh nudged me to choose my words carefully. He took over from me and first inquired about his Shimla trip, cracked a few jokes, and thereafter, very tactfully, brought the topic of work to the fore.
Mishra explained that the work had turned out to be more complicated than what he had presumed earlier and it would take him at least ten days to get it to operate. Owing to our technical illiteracy, we had to agree to extend the deadline and made him promise that this time, there would be no delay.
All our hopes were now concentrated on Mishra who would deliver us the website and make the almost one-year-old idea into a blooming internet venture. But as luck would have it, the plan went haywire yet again. Mishra wasn’t reachable for the later part of March and this sent both of us into a state of frenzy. When three days passed by without any contact or mails from him, I approached his girlfriend on Facebook and asked her about him. The news was disastrous—he had contracted typhoid and would be bed-ridden for at least one month.
The entire plan was screwed. Having nothing left to do other than posting ‘Quote of the Day’ on the fan page and fetching some petty T-shirt orders from third-grade colleges, we chose to take a backseat and finish off our last semester first and then go full-throttle with our venture once Mishra recovered.
As days passed, there was little that we could do to keep ourselves motivated.
It was during this time that we had applied for a leading business magazine’s Young Entrepreneur’s Award and were shortlisted in the Top 10. Apparently, they hadn’t checked our non-functional website and shortlisted us just on the basis of the idea and revenue figures. Though we couldn’t make it to the top 3, we received tremendous media coverage. Just four days after the award, a Mumbai-based newspaper approached us and carried a feature article on us in their reputed daily. The feature carried a big photo of Rishabh and me along with a yellow-bulb representing ‘idea’ in the background. It was a candid interview where we talked about student entrepreneurship and its challenges.
The coverage had a tremendous effect on our lives. It made my parents proud of me and earned us respect in front of our batchmates and juniors, especially those who had left us midway. More than anything, Rishabh’s parents let him forgo his crappy job for the sake of YourQuote.
In less than 24 hours since the publishing of the article, our fan count went up by 500. But we weren’t happy. We just cursed Mishra inwardly for not having the website up, otherwise we could have converted all of them into registered users. To motivate Mishra, who had still not recuperated from typhoid completely, we told him that the next time we got a feature offer, he would be a part of it. But before that, he had to launch the website as soon as possible.
During this entire time, one thing remained amiss. My relationship with Priya was going through a rough phase. She had lately been very frustrated with how her life had turned out after graduation. She had got a job at the very same company where Rishabh had been offered employment. It was a knowledge processing outsourcing company named EWZ, which paid her very little.
Rather than acknowledge that she hadn’t worked hard in the past three years, she complained about the futility of MBA entrance exams since she hadn’t been able to ace them. She complained her course in Economics Honours was useless since the placement committee hadn’t assured her a placement at good companies when in fact it was her lacklustre resume which had failed to impress the selectors. Earlier, I would pacify and motivate her. But later, owing to a shortage of time, I started getting miffed with her rants. I would tell her that it was partly her fault as well, and this would lead to a catastrophic outcome. She would explode at me and I would verbally hit back. Things continued like this for some time.
In the first week of May, 2011, it was announced that all fourth-year students had to vacate their rooms by the tenth of May. I was done with with all my courses and waited for the results of the final semester, which would inform whether I graduated or not.
Rishabh had extended his B.Tech project intentionally so that he could continue living in his inexpensive hostel room for the summer, and at the same time, help Anjali out with shopping before she left for Canada on May 20. My house hunting began and I convinced Mishra to live with me, while Rishabh would join me. Initially, Mishra didn’t agree, but when I tempted him with the fact that I would find a furnished home with an AC and allowed him to bring his girlfriend to our den, he couldn’t resist.
May in Delhi is nothing short of a furnace. But I had to find a house in Delhi in this very weather. Plus the home had to be within our budget, 2-BHK at least, fully furnished with an AC, near IIT, and with an independent entry, free from interfering landlords.
Faced with the pressure from my hostel warden to vacate the room, I raided the nearby areas. Qutub Institutional Area, Green Park, Safdarjung Enclave, Gautam Nagar, and even Malviya Nagar. Ultimately, I found a house in the interiors of Malviya Nagar that was fully-furnished, inexpensive, and suited us fine.
The locality was one of the worst in Delhi, and other than the fact that it housed an irritable old man, who always pried about our affairs, there was nothing else to bother us. I shifted all my stuff single handedly by three autos, including 680 T-shirts. Once done with the dumping, I heaved a sigh of relief. I had a house and it was to remain mine for the next one day, until Mishra shifted.
Since I was alone at home for the night, I called Priya and asked her to come, which she willingly accepted. We hoped it would help in bringing us closer.
Filled with wild anticipation, I went to buy contraceptives for the first time in my life. I located a shop far away from my place and asked the person behind the counter to give me a packet of Durex condoms. He gave me an orange flavoured one which I wanted to change since I knew Priya didn’t like oranges much, but it was too awkward for me to confront the shopkeeper who was looking at me with disdain the minute I entered the shop.
I came back home and hid the packet of condoms in my suitcase. Priya arrived at 8.30 pm and as soon as she removed her scarf and threw it on my bed, we pounced on each other like wild animals. Just when we were in the middle of our passionate encounter, without even moving to second base, my cellphone rang.
It was my mother. I went into the next room to talk and by the time I returned, Priya had lost interest. I tried to cajole her into making out, but she got annoyed and left for home. The orange packet remained unopened.
The Rotten Mango
Have you ever observed the life cycle of a mango? It starts as a small flower, turns into a sour and green kachha aam with time, and the first tinge of sweetness arrives as it changes its colour to a bright and beautiful yellow, making it the king of all fruits. However, if you leave that mango hanging there on the tree for some time, it falls down, and sometimes when it doesn’t fall, it rots, tumbles, and dies the very same death as any bitter wild fruit. Time is a wicked entity. Whereas at one time, it helps the mango to inch towards its glory, at other times, it takes away its glory with every passing moment.
My relationship with Priya had crossed that moment of glory. It was on its way to getting rotten. We both knew it but none of us acknowledged it. The frequency of fights had become so great that every second day we used to have a break up and every third day, a patch up. The reason behind the entire upheaval was nothing but wicked time. Or rather, the lack of it.
Priya had been an obsessive lover. All throughout her college life, she had nothing but a love affair with me to boast of. She gave her heart and soul to me. While it should have been a matter of pride for me to have such a devoted girlfriend, it somehow always irritated me to see her not use her time for other productive things as well. I used to rebuke her for being idle and clingy, to which she would get offended, leading to disastrous fights between us.
And ever since the start-up came into being, I could never give her the time that she deserved. Initially, she didn’t complain, playing the understanding and caring girlfriend. I used to call her at the time of going to bed. Even if she was sleeping, she would wake up and talk to me. But as time moved on, I took her understanding for granted and unknowingly allowed our relationship to go sour.
It was a hot windy night in May when she called me at 11 pm. I was at our Malviya Nagar flat with Mishra, and Rishabh was still at IIT. Night being the most productive time for any start-up guy, I was engrossed with Mishra in designing the landing page of our website, which we had planned to launch at the stroke of midnight. Lost in work, I took a while to pick up her call.
‘Hello,’ I said, my eyes glued to the laptop screen.
‘Amol, I am feeling very lonely,’ Priya said. Her tone demanded sympathy.
‘Priya, I’ll call you in five minutes, I’m stuck with something,’ I said instructing Mishra to change the font to Trebuchet.
‘But…’ Priya said, while I unknowingly disconnected.
Five minutes went by. Ten minutes. The only significant change that happened was that font was changed to Trebuchet. I had got lost in the work, having completely forgotten to call Priya. Half an hour later, as the deadline to launch the landing page neared, my cellphone buzzed.
I angrily uttered to Mishra, ‘Damn all the girlfriends in the world. They don’t have any work.’
I picked up the call, realized that I had not kept my word of calling her back, and said in a guilt-free voice, ‘I’m really sorry, honey. I forgot,’ and smiled at Mishra, who looked at me slyly.
‘I’m used to all this. Are you still busy?’ she inquired, expecting to hear the word no.
Now what kind of question was that? Of course I was busy. Had I not been busy, I would have at least remembered my promise of calling her back after five minutes. I thought I had to make it up to her. Leaving Mishra alone for five minutes, I went into the other room along with my laptop.
‘Tell me, what’s disturbing my child?’ I became tender, my voice exhibited motherly warmth.
‘Nothing. I am feeling so lonely. I am missing you. It’s been almost two weeks since we met. I want a hug. Now, now, now.’
A hug can’t be given via a phone. But girlfriends make you bend the rules of science for them. Perhaps, that’s why Newton was a misogynist. I decided to betray my loyalty to science and tried to give her a hug through the phone.
‘Did you get a hug? I just sent one.’
‘Yes, thanks. I love you,’ she said. I heaved a sigh of relief. I looked at the time—just twenty minutes were left before midnight. I had to fix the design of the menu bar. In haste, I opened the design in the laptop in front of me and began doodling.
‘Amol, I said something,’ she muttered, irritably. I got too involved in my work to pay heed to what she was saying, despite the phone being stuck to my ears.
‘Amol,’ she yelled loudly. I heard her loud and clear this time.
‘Yes, sorry,’ I said insincerely. Time was running out and I couldn’t afford missing the deadline, since we had already made an announcement on all our pages about the basic website launch. It was after a wait of four months that this moment had arrived and I couldn’t let anything come in its way.
‘I hate you, Amol. You have used me for over a year. Whenever you need me, you call me; and whenever I need you, you are never there. I have asked you for one thing several times, Amol—to give me your complete, undivided attention whenever you talk to me.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, having not listened carefully to anything that she had said.
‘You aren’t listening, are you?’ she thundered.
I knew that I was trapped. I had two options. Either to face her for the next three hours non-stop, pacify, sympathize, apologize, and make things right. Or else, cut the phone and launch the new design, and once done with the work, call her and face the tsunami. Like any other newbie entrepreneur, I chose the latter.
‘Yes, I didn’t listen. I don’t have time for all this…’ I said and realized that she had cut the call midway.
With the call disconnected, I forgot about her, much like any workaholic boyfriend. I immersed myself into designing along with Mishra and managed to launch the new design exactly at midnight, an achievement that required celebration. Mishra brought two bottles of Tuborg from the fridge, and though I hated drinking, I gulped one in to help me take my mind off Priya and what I was to face in sometime. The acrid taste of Tuborg acted like a medicine and induced serenity in my mind.
An hour later, I tried Priya’s number. She hadn’t slept, as she picked up the call in one ring.
‘Hello, I love you,’ I said. It was the most insincere ‘I love you’ that I had ever said until then.
‘Amol, we are done. For life,’ she said; her voice was cold.
‘Yet another break up? I know what you want. Do you want yet another “night” to fix things?’
‘Amol, I’m serious.’
‘I’m sorry. I had to launch an important element of the website at midnight, that’s why I was busy.’
‘Then you could have told me that. Why did you have to call me?’ she yelled.
‘I didn’t call you. You called me, both times.’
‘That’s because you said that you would call me. Bloody liar!’ she said in a sharp tone.
‘You’re a liar. At one point you say that you love me, and a moment later, you say that you hate me. Go to hell,’ I retorted, exhausted. I just wanted her to drop the call and leave me alone, for as long as she could.
‘You go to hell, asshole. You are the biggest mistake of my life. I never want to see your face again, you bloody bastard,’ she said. It was the first time she had cussed at me.
‘How dare you abuse my parents? How dare you? I never want to see your face, you whore!’ I said and continued, ‘You think that you are indispensable. Go to hell! There are a million girls running after me and all of them have something to do in their lives other than feeling lonely in the middle of the night.’
‘Ha! Go and try to woo one of those millions. Even that slut Shikha, for all I care. Only when you will try your luck elsewhere, will you realize my worth.’
‘You think very highly of yourself. Why don’t you ask Mishra what he thinks of you? His revelations will make you realize your worth,’ I said, intentionally trying to wou
nd her self respect. No wonder, it hurt her like a sting and she started crying.
Nothing distresses a girl more than being bitched about by her own boyfriend in front of his friends. I had fabricated a hurtful lie, as I had never discussed Priya with anyone. But she believed my lie. I didn’t realize what I’d said was so vile and would have devastated her so much that she would stop speaking to me, altogether. I didn’t know what to say next.
‘It’s over. I am never going to speak to you again,’ she said, sobbing, and disconnected the call. I was numb. Though I had crossed the limits of disrespect, it didn’t make a difference to me. I was unapologetic, indifferent, and cold.
She didn’t call me for the next two days. I tried calling her instead, but she rejected it fourteen times, after which she SMSed me saying: ‘I am at home. Don’t call me. We are done.’
I realized that the mango had rotted and was about to tumble from the tree. Whether it had died or not, had to be known.
Three days later, both Mishra and Rishabh left for their respective homes for a week. I suddenly had a lot of free time at hand. There were no more discussions at home and no meetings scheduled with mentors. The website development was to be managed by Mishra from home and marketing by Rishabh from his place. I had my share of social media and design to manage, which didn’t require much time as posting on social media was barely a two-hour job, while design work was minimal as the functionalities and features had not yet been coded by Mishra.
Anjali was off to Canada for an internship, which actually motivated Rishabh to go and see his parents in Lucknow. After all, he was now an engineer.
Two days without Rishabh, Mishra or Priya by my side, I decided to break the monotony by exploring my contact list to find somebody worthy of spending time with. I went through the contact list twice and during both instances, my eyes got stuck to just one name: Shikha. I decided to try my luck with her and messaged her asking if she wanted to watch a movie with me.
Because Shit Happened Page 12
