Ohh Yes, I'm Single: And so is my Girlfriend

by Datta, Durjoy

  ‘Open this,’ she said and passed on the first one, and I opened the tore the gift wrap and pried open the box.

  ‘C’mon! C’mon! This is not fair? A Tissot? This looks so expensive! Fuck, it’s awesome. But now, my gift looks so cheap and inexpensive and sad. This is not fair! Why did you have to spoil my gift!’ I said.

  ‘I would take a plastic watch with an engraved inscription any day, rather than the one you are holding in your hands,’ she said. And she said it with so much love in her voice that I really felt bad about saying what I had.

  ‘So, I win?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Like always.’

  ‘What’s the other gift?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s something you have been asking me to do for a really long time. So, I finally decided I would give you that today. Please be kind.’

  ‘What? Sex? But we have already done that, haven’t we?’ I joked.

  ‘Nope. This,’ she said and handed over the next box, even more intricately wrapped than the first one.

  I opened the box and inside it was the completed manuscript of her book, printed paper spiral bound in black plastic, the book I had been asking her to complete for a long time, since she said she would only let me read it when she completed it. The book was the only thing she spent more time on than me, and I had started to envy the book and the sheets of paper she ran her slender fingers on; she had struggled with her book for quite some time now, but it now lay completed in my hands. I was happy for her.

  ‘Let’s read this tonight,’ I said, smiling. I couldn’t wait to read and see what my character was like! She was right. Maybe the inscription on the watch held more value than the watch itself, just like her completed manuscript did for me.

  ‘Don’t you think we have better things to do tonight?’ she said and whispered in my ear, her breath on mine, and her hand slipping inside my shirt, ‘Happy Anniversary.’

  ‘Happy Anniversary!’ I said, already turned on.

  ‘Hey, hey, hey,’ she said as she pushed me away. ‘I have something else, too. Wait.’

  ‘What? I don’t want anything else! You have already done enough! Just come here.’

  ‘Give me two minutes,’ she said, smiled wickedly, went inside the bedroom, and bolted it from the inside. I waited and tried to stabilize my breathing, which had shot through the roof now.

  ‘Okay. I am coming out now. Even if you don’t like it, just say that you do! I can take lies,’ she shouted.

  ‘I like everything about you,’ I shouted back.

  And then she came out. I suppressed a smile; I didn’t know whether to smile or feel seduced. Manika since long had had eyes on a satin night thing—a very skimpy spaghetti and matching pink hot pants or whatever they are called. Her fulsome cleavage peeked out of the spaghetti and her legs were barely covered. She was looking freakishly inviting but then, it was funny at certain levels too. She didn’t have to try to look hot. She was that anyway, but now that she tried, it was just not her.

  ‘Joy huh! You are not supposed to smile!’ she said.

  ‘I am not!’ I said. ‘It’s very hot. I mean, very hot.’

  It was. Like. Totally. Hot. She stood a few yards away from me, hands on her waist and ass protruding, like a teacup, only thinner and alive and gorgeous. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her cleavage and her legs. I mentally ran my hands over every part of her porcelain skin.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Like it?’ she asked.

  ‘I love it, baby,’ I said. ‘Even though I have always hated clothes on you, this is hot. I can make an exception today.’

  Her ensemble didn’t last on her too long, for soon it on the floor and she was on me. Though, I might have smiled when she first wore it, ever since that day, I pressured her to wear it every day that I was her place. We even got two more of them: one in red and another in white. It was the best anniversary gift ever, Satin Camisole and Hot Pants (that’s what they are called—she told me later).

  Heaven.

  ‘It’s freaking out of this world, Manika,’ I exclaimed.

  In my hand lay her first book—Life. Served Hot. It was ninety thousand words of pure delight and I had read it in one go, and then I had read it twice. It was better than the sex we had had the previous night, and that’s like the best review she will ever get for the manuscript.

  I don’t say this because she was my girlfriend but because it was pure magic. Immediately after putting the phone down, I browsed through my favourite scenes again; one amongst them being the sex scene that we had written jointly. It wasn’t all that bad. I patted myself.

  It had been a month since she had completed it, but she didn’t want me to read it until the day before. She wanted our anniversary to be special and special it was. Though I had to think of a reason for Mom as to where that expensive watch came from, it turned out to be rather easy to convince her—we had won the competition at IIT Delhi.

  Anyway, Manika had been really nervous and said that I shouldn’t read it in front of her so I had gone back home the next morning and had read it. But now that I read it, I saw no reason why she should have been nervous. It was fabulous! I couldn’t wait to meet her. She had told me the previous day that a small independent publisher had shown interest in the book and had asked her to come back to them whenever she finished it. She wanted me to read it before she contacted them again.

  ‘I think you should meet the publishers,’ I said, as I entered her place. ‘It’s awesome!’

  ‘But it’s nothing like what we are used to reading and you know that. I am so disappointed in myself. This book is trash! I don’t really feel like getting it published.’

  ‘Manika? I have read it twice! It’s awesome! And it’s not like every book has to be of the same type and cater to the same people. When literary authors write books, they know the kind of people who will read it, when commercial authors write, they know their audience too. It’s not about who’s better and who’s not, they are just different.’

  ‘What if they don’t like it? Even I don’t like it. And you will obviously like it, you’re my boyfriend.’

  ‘They would! And what’s the harm in meeting them?’

  She kept saying no, but I kept insisting. An hour later, we were outside the publisher’s office.

  ‘I am nervous,’ she said as we stood at the gate of Bramha Publishers and Distributors. I had never seen her so low on confidence.

  ‘Don’t worry. You know it’s awesome. They know it’s awesome and that’s why they have called you here. Plus, if I were a publisher, I would have just put you on my publishing list just because you are so freaking beautiful! That’s got to count too, right,’ I kissed her.

  ‘Stop it,’ she said, as we entered the premises and a very polite gentleman led us to the office of the owner of the publishing house.

  ‘Hi. I am Soumitra,’ he said, a man of nearly fifty-five with a disarming smile, and shook our hands. ‘You must be Manika … and you are?’

  ‘I am a friend of hers,’ I answered

  ‘Take a seat, please,’ he said. A few more pleasantries later, he came to the point. ‘Manika, it’s beyond doubt the best manuscript I have read in recent years. We were looking for a book that fits our mass market publishing list and your manuscript it perfect for it. I usually don’t read the manuscripts that are submitted, the editors do, but this time, they asked me go through it for they certainly see potential in this one.’

  I looked at her. Manika was smiling. She had taken an instant liking to this man.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, almost a little embarrassed at the unabashed praise.

  ‘You don’t have to thank me for it! I am sure I will be the one thanking you when this book hits the bestseller charts,’ he said and fished for something in the drawer. ‘Here. We have drawn up a contract for you and you can go through it. If you like it, we would be ecstatic to have you here at Bramha Publications.’

 
; He smiled and Manika looked at me. It almost seemed like she would have signed it right there and then. But she paused and there was an awkward silence.

  ‘Hey,’ Soumitra said and smiled again at us. ‘Take your time. We are in no hurry! Take this home, review it and then let us know.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Manika gushed. ‘We will certainly do that.’

  It was probably the first time that I had seen Manika being indecisive, because she was usually the one taking charge and kicking butt.

  ‘Anyway, let’s keep this aside and talk about your book,’ he said.

  ‘Sure, sir,’ she said, her confidence and authority creeping back in her voice now that it was her territory.

  ‘You have written it from a guy’s perspective and it is brilliant. But why did you do it? I mean, as a reader, I would feel strange if a female author tries to write a guy’s point of view. Because after all, you know the readers’ psyche, right? They think the story is autobiographical, as most first books are, and that the story is about the author. They forget that its fiction and they start to think that the character is the author itself,’ he said.

  He had a point. If you read any book, especially from debutant authors, the author is the character, and more often than not, it’s true. No two ways about it. At least, I have always felt that.

  ‘Yes, I agree with you, sir, but I had to write from a guy’s perspective because it is certainly most interesting to try and second guess how they think. Every girl thinks differently, but guys … they are like a herd, they think alike, they talk alike, they walk alike … you get the drift,’ she said, not making any sense.

  ‘I am sure your friend here doesn’t agree to you calling him a part of the herd,’ Soumitra mischievously smiled and looked at me. He had spotted my discomfort at her inconsiderate generalization.

  Thereafter, Soumitra and Manika talked about books, and her influences and how she came about writing, and after a little while, we left the office with jubilant handshakes and congratulatory messages exchanged all around. He said he would be sending her a few rudimentary cover page ideas by the evening.

  ‘So, what do you think? You are going to sign up with them?’

  ‘Umm.’

  ‘He seems like a nice man and he really likes your book,’ I said, as we moved out of their office.

  ‘He is. But I was thinking about something else,’ she said, as she unlocked the car.

  ‘What?’

  She held my hand and came near, ‘I think you should get credit for the book. Be a co-author.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What what? It’s simple. Put your name on the cover and everybody will think the main character is you. And his love interest is me. And it’s fair, too, because parts of it are inspired by us. Anyway, a lot of story ideas came from you.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘And had you not pushed me and believed in me, I would have never finished this. It’s only because of you that I was able to finish this,’ she argued.

  ‘No. Firstly, it’s not fair because I haven’t written it. Secondly, I don’t want to snatch away your thunder. It’s your book, and it’s only fair that your name goes up there, not mine,’ I said.

  ‘Joy, I don’t want anything that doesn’t have you in it. It’s meaningless. This,’ she pointed to the contract, ‘means nothing without you. I will not go ahead with this if this doesn’t include you.’

  What could I have said? I just hugged her and said we would talk about it, and she said that there was nothing to talk about. A zillion such arguments and a million such fights later, we signed the contract together for Life. Served Hot. The book cover would have both our names; we even split the royalty halfway! She said it was the good boyfriend premium. I didn’t fight. You don’t fight over and over again with a girl half as beautiful as her.

  As soon as we signed the contract, everything was put into fast forward mode. Soumitra put the best of his editorial and designing team behind us and we worked nights together to finalize the book; the cover was a beautiful white and red with coffee cups and flowers. In four months we had the first copy of the book in our hands; they had done this book as a crunch-time book.

  It was Manika’s first book, our first book, a copyright that would stay with us for the next hundred years. The book released across bookstores all around the country on the fourth of August; we knew nothing about how our lives were to change, a little bit every day, since that day in August.

  ‘This looks nice, doesn’t it?’ Manika said.

  ‘It does. Now you have something to say to your grandchildren,’ I said. ‘They gave you a pretty generous print run too.’

  ‘I don’t care how many people read this book. If someone comes up to me and takes all of this away,’ she waved the book ‘and gives me one extra day to spend with you like this, I would be the happiest person to give it all away.’

  ‘And I will go and find that someone, snatch the book and give it back to you! After all, who’s he to give you one extra day with me? I am not going anywhere.’

  ‘Not even when your mom lines up cute Bengali females in front of you with huge cash balances, big cars and big eyes?’

  ‘Nope. Not a chance in hell!’

  ‘I have heard Bengali women are great in bed!’ she said.

  ‘Are you trying to push me away? And no! Not even then.’

  ‘Not even if the girls have personal villas on the beaches of France?’

  ‘You are everything to me,’ I said.

  ‘As if I was letting you go anywhere,’ she said, smiled and hugged me tight. ‘I was just testing you.’

  She closed her eyes, smiled at me and slept with her head on my shoulder. Finest day of my life.

  ‘Oh. I loved that book!’ I exclaimed. ‘Well, not really. It was amateurish at best, but it had its moments!’

  ‘Aha! Which book?’ Joy smirked. ‘It’s a fictional book I am talking about. Why do you forget that I am just telling you a story and none of this really exists?’

  ‘Oh, yes. This is just a story. Manika is fictional. The book that the two of you wrote in the story is fictional,’ I laughed.

  I let him play his little game. I knew who Manika was. I knew that the book was not named Life. Served Hot—it had a long and corny title, but I played along. It was, after all, an interesting story, fictional or not.

  ‘True, none of this exists,’ Joy said.

  ‘So your life changed? How?’ I asked. ‘Facebook requests? People asking if you were the main guy in the book?’

  ‘Precisely. And a lot of female attention,’ he said. ‘Something that I wasn’t used to. AT. ALL.’

  I remember how his social networking profiles exploded with people. People younger than him started addressing him as Sir in wall posts and scraps and it was really funny, because to me he was still a dumb dickhead. I remember blocking his posts from my wall, since there were just so many of them!

  ‘Yes, I noticed,’ I said. ‘And that’s when you started ignoring all of us.’

  ‘Awww, I never ignored you!’

  ‘Oh, you did!’ I protested.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘And it was just that too many things were happening at the same time. The book came out and my college ended six months later, and I had to join my office and Manika and I had just completed two years. I was really caught up with stuff.’

  ‘No other notable thing happened in the period?’ I asked.

  ‘Other than the book—nope. We were still very much in love! And still very much together.’

  ‘Two years, then huh?’ I said. ‘So did you do anything special on your second anniversary?’

  ‘I gave her a ring this time. Without an inscription though. And she gave me a huge handmade card and a PlayStation.’

  ‘That’s cute.’

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘Okay, fine. Continue. Oh, didn’t Sidharth come back?’

  ‘Naah, after his engineering, he decided to stay back in Paris to compl
ete his Master’s from there. Although he was touring all over Europe, visiting strip clubs and God knows what. Anyway, where were we?’ he asked. ‘Oh the book, yes. The book was read by slightly more than the ten people we thought would read it. It was a shocker.’

  The Change

  ‘Hindustan Times. The Hindu. That’s The Telegraph. And India Today. All this month!’ Soumitra said, as he slipped the newspaper cuttings one by one in front of us.

  Life. Served Hot made it to a few bestseller lists that mattered, and it had been just a few months past its release. We wondered if it was our publisher’s PR stunt; there was no way so many people were reading our book.

  Slowly and steadily, people started adding us and following us on social networks; all of them had questions about our book and we gladly answered them. There were a few nasty reviews too, but I tried to keep Manika as far away as I could from them.

  The main characters in the book, Deboshree and Avik, were thought to be real people. And most of the mails were addressed to me as Avik, the male character in the book, and the mails to her as Deboshree, the female character of the book. It was crazy! Although I really liked the book (and Manika hated it), we didn’t guess so many people would read it, and enjoy it. We had expected the book to go out of print in a short span of time but it was working so damn well. It was beyond my expectations.

  As the book started being recognized, I started handling the conversations with our publisher, Soumitra; Manika was strangely detached from the book and the attention it got. She wasn’t ever bothered about the readers, or the reviews, or how much it sold.

  We were in love and that’s what we cared about, life hadn’t changed at all, she was still buried in her thick books and journals; she started working on her second book, and this time she pulled me in for a more central role, reading every chapter as she wrote it, tagging comments, editing and rewriting stuff. It was getting very exciting. A few days later, we got our first royalty cheques and we were ecstatic. My parents were first shocked and taken aback, and then proud, and then confused and they didn’t know what to say.