Half Girlfriend

by Chetan Bhagat

  ‘Ditzy?’

  ‘Silly and stupid. Anyway, I better leave too. My driver should be here.’

  We walked out of the cafeteria to the main gate. Her dark blue BMW waited outside.

  ‘So I’m your basketball friend?’ I said as we reached the car.

  ‘Well, that, and my lemonade-and-mince friend.’

  ‘How about tea friend?’

  ‘Sure.’ She stepped inside the car and sat down. She rolled down the window to say goodbye.

  ‘Or a movie friend?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Need to think about it.’

  ‘Think about what?’

  ‘Will the royal highness condemn me to death if I say no?’

  I laughed. ‘I might.’

  ‘See you later, Prince,’ she said. The car drove off.

  I didn’t know if I was a real prince or not, but I had found my princess.

  4

  Three months later

  ‘Did you just put your hand on mine?’ she whispered, but loud enough for people around us in the movie theatre to look our way.

  ‘Accidentally,’ I said.

  ‘Learning big English words, are we?’ she said.

  ‘I’m trying.’

  ‘Mr Madhav Jha, you have come to see a movie. Focus on that.’

  ‘I’m trying,’ I said again. I turned my attention back to Shah Rukh Khan. He had rejoined college and was singing ‘Main hoon na’ to anyone in need of reassurance.

  We had come to the Odeon Cinema in Connaught Place. Riya had finally agreed to see a movie with me. She had lost a basketball bet—she had challenged me to score a basket from half-court in one try.

  ‘Now that will be a super shot,’ she had said.

  ‘What do I get? A movie treat?’

  ‘You can’t do it.’

  I had given it a try and failed the first week. Half-court shots are tough. I couldn’t do it in the next two weeks either.

  ‘See, even destiny doesn’t want us to go out,’ she had said.

  In the fourth week, I put in all the focus I had and made my shot. The ball hit the ring, circled around it twice and fell into the basket.

  ‘Yes,’ I screamed.

  Even though she had lost the bet, she clapped.

  ‘So, do I get a date?’ I said.

  ‘It’s not a date. We just go for a movie. Like friends.’

  ‘Isn’t that what high-class people call a date?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s a date then?’

  ‘You want to see the movie with me or not?’ she had said, her hands on her hips.

  The hands-on-hips pose meant no further questions. In the three months I had known her, I knew she hated being pushed. I thought maybe that was how rich people were—somewhat private. We overdid the familiarity in our villages anyway.

  Now, as Shah Rukh Khan continued his song, I wondered what I meant to her. We met in college every day, and ended up having tea at least three times a week. I did most of the talking. I would tell her stories from the residences, or ‘rez’, as the students called them—the fancy word for hostels in Stephen’s. I was in Rudra-North, and told her tales of messy rooms, late-night carrom matches and the respect we needed to show seniors. She listened intently, even smiled sometimes. When I asked her about her home, she didn’t say much. Back in Dumraon it is unthinkable for friends to not share every detail about themselves. High-class people have this concept called space, which means you cannot ask them questions or give them opinions about certain aspects of their life.

  Am I special to her? I kept asking myself. Sometimes I saw her chatting with other guys and felt insanely jealous. My insistence on seeing a movie together was to find out what Riya Somani really thought of Madhav Jha. I had held her hand to figure out where I stood. Given her reaction, nowhere.

  In fact, she removed her arm from the armrest for the rest of the movie. She seemed upset, even though she never said a word. She kept watching the film.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I said. She sipped her drink in silence. We had walked from Odeon to Keventers, famous for its milkshakes sold in glass bottles.

  ‘Uh huh,’ she said, indicating a yes. I hated this response of hers.

  We had finished two-thirds of our milkshakes without talking to each other. She looked straight ahead, lost in thought. I felt she would cry if poked.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What?’ she said, surprised.

  ‘About placing my hand on yours,’ I said. I didn’t want my stupid move to backfire.

  ‘When?’

  ‘During the movie. You know, I. . .’

  ‘I don’t even remember that,’ she said, interrupting me.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, and felt a wave of relief run through me. ‘Then why do you look upset?’

  ‘Never mind,’ she said. Silent Riya’s typical response. She brushed aside strands of hair from her face.

  ‘Why don’t you ever tell me anything?’ I said, my voice a mixture of plea and protest.

  She finished her milkshake and placed the empty bottle on a table. ‘Ready to go?’ she said instead.

  ‘Riya, we never talk about you. Am I only good enough to play basketball with?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We meet, play, eat and talk. But you never share anything important with me.’

  ‘I don’t share much about my life with anyone, Madhav.’

  ‘Am I just anyone?’

  A waiter arrived to collect the empty bottles. She spoke only after he left. ‘You are a friend.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what? I have many friends. I don’t share stuff with them.’

  ‘Am I just like every other friend of yours? Is there nothing special about me?’

  She smiled. ‘Well, you do play basketball better than anyone else.’

  I stood up. I didn’t find her funny.

  ‘Hey, wait.’ Riya pulled me down again.

  I sat down with a stern expression.

  ‘Why do you want to know about my life?’ she said.

  ‘It matters to me. Unlike your other friends, I can tell if something is bothering you. And, if something is bothering you, it bothers me. I want to know things about you, okay? But getting you to talk is like a dentist pulling teeth.’

  She laughed and interrupted my rant.

  ‘I have a fucked-up family. What do you want to know?’ she said.

  I looked at her, puzzled and astonished at her choice of words. More than anything, I could not associate any family with a BMW to be fucked up.

  Her eyes met mine, perhaps for a final check to see if I deserved her trust. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said.

  Her plush car dropped us off at India Gate. The soft evening sun cast long shadows of the monument and of us on the red sandstone pavement. We walked the mile-long distance all the way up to Rashtrapati Bhavan. On these roads, far away from Bihar, India did not come across as a poor country. Pigeons flocked the sky and government babus from nearby offices scurried about, both trying to reach home before it got dark.

  We walked together. At least our shadows appeared to hold hands.

  ‘I don’t open up to people. At most I keep a journal, and even that is rare. You know I’m a quiet person,’ Riya said.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Thanks. The problem is my family. They’re obsessed with money. I’m not.’

  ‘That’s a good thing, right?’

  ‘I don’t know. Also, I don’t matter. My brothers do, because they will take over the business one day. I’m supposed to shut up, get married and leave. The high point of my life is to have kids and shop.’

  ‘And that’s not what you want to do?’

  ‘No!’ she almost shouted. ‘You know me better than that. Don’t you?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sucks being a girl in this country, I tell you. Sucks.’

  ‘You seem upset. Did something happen today?’

&nb
sp; ‘I told them I want to study music after college. They want me to marry into some rich Marwari family and live like a queen. I don’t want to live like a queen. That is not what I dream of.’

  ‘Trust me, kings and queens are overrated,’ I said.

  She remained silent.

  ‘What do you want, Riya? Do you have a dream?’

  ‘Well, dreams suck. You get attached to them and they don’t come true.’

  ‘Sometimes they do.’

  ‘Not in my case.’

  ‘What is your dream?’ I asked again.

  She looked at me. ‘You’ll laugh.’

  ‘Try me.’

  She smiled. ‘Okay, so, I have this dream. I want to play music and sing. . .in a bar in New York.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘What? You think it’s stupid, right?’

  ‘No. That’s quite specific. Singing in a bar in New York.’

  ‘Yes. That’s it. I don’t want to be a famous singer or a rock star. I don’t want to marry a billionaire. I just want to sing in peace, surrounded by passionate people. I want to own a house in Manhattan, my house, filled with books and music CDs. I want to play basketball on weekends. I don’t want to check out a dozen lehengas for my engagement.’

  ‘Sounds like you have it all figured out.’

  ‘Not really. Maybe it’s just an escapist fantasy. But I have had it since I was twelve. We had gone to New York. The city blew me away. I saw people who loved what they did. They weren’t rich, but happy. And there was this lady in a bar. . .she sang from her heart, unaware of everything around her.’

  The sun was setting, and the sky turned from orange to dark grey. We had now reached the point near Rashtrapati Bhavan where Delhi Police guards tell you to stop and turn around. She continued to tell me about her New York trip.

  ‘In fact, I took up basketball because I saw an NBA game live at Madison Square Garden in New York.’

  ‘You’ve seen an NBA game live?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. The atmosphere. . .it’s electric. You should see one sometime, Madhav.’

  I shrugged. ‘Anyway, I like your dream, Riya,’ I said. ‘It’s doable, not unreal.’

  ‘Unreal, like?’ she said.

  ‘Like becoming a top actress or the prime minister. You just want something simple.’

  She smiled. ‘Nothing is simple for a girl in a family like mine,’ she said.

  We walked in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘I feel better,’ she said after a while.

  ‘What?’

  She looked at me. The last of the daylight tinted her face orange, making her look ethereal. I wanted to give her a hug.

  ‘I feel better after talking to you. Thanks,’ she smiled.

  The sun vanished and the road became dark. Her skin glowed in the amber lights of Rajpath. I took a chance and held her hand.

  ‘Another accident?’ she said, but did not pull her hand away.

  We laughed together. She spoke again. ‘Even my uncles are the same. Everyone sides with my parents.’

  She continued to talk and I continued to listen, even though my entire attention was on how lovely her hand felt in mine.

  5

  After our movie date, we started to spend even more time together.

   During lunch break, we would sit on the college lawns and eat home-cooked food from her house. She brought an elaborate Marwari thali in a three-tiered tiffin box.

  ‘How’s the food in the rez?’ she said.

  ‘Not as good as the Somani Café,’ I said.

  We sat facing the red-brick college building. The winter sun warmed us as well as her cold tiffin box. I ate three of her four chapatis, and most of the paalak-daal along with it. She never touched the sweet churma. I ate it with a plastic spoon.

  ‘How’s your room?’ she said.

  ‘Like any other rez room. Basic. Books, basketballs and bed linen.’

  ‘Do you keep it clean?’

  I shook my head and grinned.

  ‘What? You don’t clean it regularly?’

  ‘Once a week.’

  ‘Awful.’

  ‘I don’t have six servants like you do, Miss Riya.’

  ‘I want to see your room.’

  ‘You can’t,’ I said. ‘Girls are not allowed.’

  ‘I know. Just kidding,’ she laughed.

  ‘How’s your family?’ I said.

  ‘Same. My brothers, male cousins and uncles are busy planning how to increase their wealth. The women are gushing over their last shopping trip or figuring out which marriage to attend next.’

  ‘Good, everything is normal then,’ I said.

  ‘I bought a guitar,’ she said.

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Yeah, I barely talk to anyone at home. Me and my guitar, we’re happy.’

  ‘You talk to me,’ I said.

  ‘Even though you eat all my lunch,’ she said and smacked the side of my head.

  ‘Do you like me?’ I said. She had heard this too many times.

  ‘Not again, Madhav, please.’

  She lay down on the grass. She wore a white-and-maroon salwar-kameez and a black cashmere cardigan, which she had removed and placed on the grass next to her.

  She scrunched her eyes to avoid the sun. I shifted and sat in front of her, so my shadow would cover her face.

  ‘Ah, that’s nice. Tall shady tree, thank you.’

  ‘People in college talk about us. How we are always together,’ I said.

  ‘So? Let them. As long as we know there is nothing between us.’

  I tilted my body sideways in protest. The sun was back on her face.

  ‘What?’ she said and covered her eyes with her hand. ‘Where did my tree go?’

  ‘The tree is not feeling appreciated.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why is there nothing between us?’ I said, my upper body still bent to the side.

  ‘Should there be? First, can you sit like you were sitting before, so people don’t think you are weird and my delicate skin can be protected from the sun?’

  I sat up straight once again.

  ‘Better,’ she said. ‘I need a pillow. Move forward please, tree.’

  She put her head in my lap.

  ‘Nice. Now, what do you want, pillow-tree?’

  I’d had many such arguments with her over the past month. She had become an expert at dodging the issue, always getting away with some nonsense, like now.

  ‘Give me your cardigan,’ I said.

  ‘Why? Are you cold? It’s a girl’s sweater, pillow-tree,’ she said and giggled.

  I placed the sweater over my head. It hid my face.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  I said nothing.

  ‘Are you sulking, my tall tree?’ she said.

  I didn’t respond. She pulled the sweater towards her so that both our faces came under it.

  ‘Yes? Sulky man, what’s the issue?’ she said, her face upside-down and huge, given that it was so close to mine.

  I did not respond. She blew on my face but I did not react.

  ‘Everyone here must be finding this so creepy,’ she said, ‘our faces under the sweater.’

  ‘Nobody cares,’ I said.

  ‘I thought you said everyone talks about us.’

  I let out a grunt of protest. She laughed. I took aim and bent. In a second I managed to place my lips on hers, despite her face being upside-down. Spiderman kisses like that. It isn’t easy. I wouldn’t advise it if you’re kissing someone for the first time.

  She sprang up. As she rose, her forehead hit my chin. I bit my tongue.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘not fair.’

  I held my mouth in pain. Her forehead had hurt me badly. Still, the pain paled in comparison to the joy I felt from landing my first kiss.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ she said.

  I made a face.

  ‘Listen, I’m sorry. But what was that?’ she said.

  ‘A kiss.’

&nbs
p; ‘I know. What for?’

  ‘I felt like it.’

  She stood up, collected her tiffin box and walked away. I ran behind her. She ignored me and walked faster.

  I held her arm. She stopped and glared at me until I let go. She started to walk away again.

  ‘I am sorry, okay?’ I said and blocked her way. ‘I thought you like me.’

  ‘Madhav, please understand, I’m not comfortable with all this.’

  ‘I really like you, Riya. You mean so much to me. You are the reason I’ve survived in this place.’

  ‘So appreciate what we have. Don’t spoil it.’

  ‘What do we have? What am I to you?’

  ‘If we kiss, we have something; if we don’t, then nothing?’ she said.

  I kept quiet.

  She looked at me for a few seconds. She shook her head in disappointment, turned and walked off. I saw her reach the main gate and get inside her blue car.

  Only then did I realize I still held her cardigan in my hand.

  I didn’t know if she would come to play basketball with me after the cardigan incident. To my surprise, she did, all svelte in a new Nike top and white shorts. We played without much conversation. Usually, we would stop to chat every five minutes. Today, she focused on the ball like a soldier does in combat with an enemy.

  ‘I am sorry, okay?’ I said. Playing with her wasn’t as much fun as before.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Let’s not talk about it again.’

  I put on a sorry face for the next twenty minutes. Finally, I held my ears and stood in the centre of the court.

  It did the trick. She smiled.

  ‘Sorry, I also overreacted,’ she said.

  ‘Friends?’ she said.

  Ban this word, I tell you. ‘Yes, friends,’ I said.

  She came forward to hug me. I gently pushed her away.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said.

  ‘I’m not comfortable with this. Please don’t spoil what we have,’ I said, mocking her high-strung tone. I stomped my feet and walked off the court. She followed me.

  Ignore girls and they can’t leave you alone. Strange. I didn’t look at her.

  She spoke from behind me.

  ‘Okay, I get it. I’m a girl. I’m allowed some drama sometimes.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, I said sorry, too.’

  ‘Whatever. By the way, your cardigan is still with me at the residence.’