by Durjoy Datta
‘WHEN! WHEN! WHEN!’ cried Dhruv, his mouth open, the words barely audible.
Mom took his face in her palms and wiped away his tears. She tried to walk away but Dhruv latched on.
‘We will come and get you,’ said a man’s voice and Dhruv felt an unknown touch ruffle his hair. ‘There’s nothing to worry about now.’ Dhruv lifted his head to see the principal of his school staring down at him, smiling. So it was true.
His mother was leaving him and Dad for the principal.
‘SIR!’ gasped Dhruv.
His mother clutched the principal’s hand. Dhruv felt the insides of his stomach turn to mush and rise up his food pipe.
‘Mumma! NO!’
‘Dhruv, you have to understand. I’m not happy in this house,’ said Mom and bent down to talk to him. Not happy? What did she mean? She wasn’t happy with Dhruv? What had he done? What?
She tried holding him in her arms but Dhruv fought free. ‘Everything is going to be alright, Dhruv.’
‘You’re lying. YOU ARE LYING! NOTHING IS GOING TO BE ALRIGHT.’
‘Trust me, Dhruv.’
‘YOU’RE LYING. LYING. LYING. LYING.’
‘Listen to your mother, Dhruv,’ the principal said sternly.
‘SHUT UP! SHUT UP! You took my mom away,’ bawled Dhruv and kicked the principal on his shin and ran towards the stairs of his house and then into the arms of his father who had already poured himself a drink.
‘I’m never going back to her. I’m never going back to her,’ cried Dhruv.
‘You don’t have to.’
I Love u Rachu
5
‘We will be together now,’ said his father to Dhruv after he won Dhruv’s custody.
Soon after, his father had to break into his fixed and recurring deposits to cope with the expenses of his alcohol problem. He wasn’t doing a good job of bringing Dhruv up, either. Dhruv missed Mom like he missed a limb. In her absence he felt a constant nagging pain. She would come to see him every week, and then every alternate week, and then once a month.
‘Why are you being so difficult?’ Mom would ask on the monthly visits.
‘Because you’re not my mother any more.’ Dhruv would pretend to watch Duck Tales and Swat Cats. Mom would switch off the television and he would snatch the remote from her. ‘The remote is not yours any more!’
During these monthly visits, Dhruv’s father would go missing and Mom would spend most of the time cleaning the house of empty soda and whisky bottles. And when Dad returned, it would end with a verbal duel between his parents about who had been the worse parent.
‘Both of you!’ Dhruv would shout from behind a locked door.
Mom would leave behind a toy, a hand-held video game, a CD player which Dad would smash and throw out with the trash. Dhruv did not mind. Sometimes Dhruv and his father would break those toys together.
The divorce proceedings and the custody battle were tedious and robbed Dhruv’s father of most of his savings, and a good part of his mind. Dhruv had to leave school.
‘If you don’t send him to school, I’m going to take you to court,’ Dhruv’s mother threatened his father.
So Dhruv was put back in the school, no fee charged.
The first day was horrendous. Dhruv put up with the sniggering without breaking down. He walked the corridors like nothing had happened. His mother, now freshly married, looked more beautiful than before, even younger. She was made the vice principal of the school.
Dhruv would never leave his class. During lunch breaks, he would go to the end of the class and sit down on the floor, hidden from his mother’s prying eyes. Sometimes his mother would keep lunch wrapped in an aluminium foil on his desk.
‘What are you doing down there?’ asked a girl one day while Dhruv fiddled with a fountain pen, shirt stained with little blue spots of Chelpark ink. Dhruv looked up to see the girl from his colony, the dalmatian, the one with the spotted skin, looking at him. ‘Do you want to share my lunch?’
Dhruv shook his head.
‘You won’t get it if you touch me or share my food. Didn’t you get the flyer that was never distributed?’
‘I didn’t say no because of that,’ lied Dhruv.
Dhruv was hungry. His father would not wake up in time to help him get ready for school, or prepare lunch, or even drop him to the bus stop. He would, though, kiss him on his forehead every day at least once as they rushed to get dressed. ‘I love you, and we are happy together,’ his father would assert like a universal truth. But Dhruv wanted a lunch box and a clean uniform, too.
‘Why do you sit here every day?’
‘My mother is a teacher in the school and she comes looking for me with a lunch box. I sit here and wait for her to leave.’
‘Where’s the lunch box then?’
‘I don’t take it. She waits and she takes it back.’
The girl starts to laugh.
‘What?’
‘It reminds me of a ghost-woman from a Bollywood movie who wears a white saree and roams about with a candle in her hand.’
Dhruv frowned. ‘She’s not a ghost.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I said that,’ the girl said. Dhruv went back to taking the pen apart. ‘I heard your story. I don’t see why anyone should talk about it. If you were in the US, you would be in the majority. Divorce rates are 54.8 per cent there.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I have a computer at home. AMD 1.2 GB Thunderbird Athlon computer with 320 MB SDRAM, SoundBlaster Live Value, CD drive and a 12 GB hard disk. It’s actually my brother’s but I can use it after he’s done. He only watches porn.’
‘Porn?’
‘It’s just biology in action. Nothing something you would be interested in till you’re thirteen.’
Dhruv’s eyes widened. ‘Can I see your computer? Do you have Wolfestien on it?’
‘No,’ Aranya lied. Dhruv’s shoulders drooped.
‘My parents are very strict,’ she said. ‘And no friends are allowed at my place. We have to serve them Coca-Cola if they come and Mom says it’s expensive. Sometimes, my mother adds water to those glasses. No one can tell the difference.’ Aranya continued, ‘But you should tell people about the 54.8 per cent. They should talk about something else.’
I Love u Rachu
6
Aranya and Dhruv would spend the lunch break together, sitting in the class, sharing lunches. Dhruv had played FLAMES using her name and his, and despite the result, he had decided she would be his wife. He would protect her from the world. They would always share their lunches. He had vowed he would never let her shirt stain with ink spots. And the day he grows up to be a senior, he would hunt every last student in the school who had hurt Aranya and punch them in the nose.
To twelve-year-old Dhruv, she was the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world and he would love her fiercely till the end of time.
By now Dhruv had learned to make his lunch—four slices of bread generously spread with pineapple jam. They would sit on the last bench the entire day and write little messages for each other on the desk. The class called them the weird couple. They ignored them. Dhruv finally realized what his mother meant when she told him, ‘Everything would be alright.’
During the lunch break, they would wait for the students to leave and draw each other on the blackboard. Dhruv would draw her with big hands and big eyes, and she would draw him with big ears. Together, they would draw little hearts at the edges. They would also draw a little house they would live in when they grew up. It would have a lot of big windows and two computers.
‘What’s that?’ asked Aranya pointing to a patch on Dhruv’s shirt.
‘Dad vomited again this morning. It smelled really bad so I mopped it up. I couldn’t get this out,’ said Dhruv, rubbing his hand over the stain. ‘Also, I found this is the mail today morning.’
Aranya took the envelope in his hand and tore it along the fold. Aranya and Dhruv read it toget
her. It was a letter warning Dhruv’s father of his extended absence in office.
‘He might lose his job,’ said Aranya.
‘People who work in the government don’t lose their jobs,’ said Dhruv from previous knowledge. ‘What does your father do?’
‘He is in construction. When people buy a new flat and they have to break a wall or two, redo the plumbing and the wiring, they call my father. He lost the thumb of his left hand. He can’t hold things in his left hand any more. I think that’s why he’s constantly angry.’
Dhruv laughed at this and then apologized, not sure if it was a joke. ‘At least he doesn’t smell bad like my father does.’
‘At least your dad loves you. Papa loves only my brother,’ muttered Aranya.
‘At least you’re together.’ Aranya smiled weakly. ‘What did the new doctor say?’ he asked Aranya.
She shook her head. ‘Same thing. It’s incurable, non-contagious. It picks its victim at random. Quite unfair too if you ask me. You can touch me though, you’re totally safe.’
Dhruv touched her skin. He didn’t die or feel woozy like the kids in their class had prophesied. ‘Will you always be like this?’
Aranya nodded. ‘That’s why my parents hate me for it. Mom says I wouldn’t make a pretty bride and I will live with them for the rest of my life.’
‘You can come live with me then. In our little house.’
‘Why would I live with you?’ asked Aranya and smiled.
‘I will make you breakfast every day for the rest of your life,’ answered Dhruv, his face flushed red like those little cartoons on greeting cards. ‘But you have to promise not to leave.’
‘I promise.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Twelve-year-old Dhruv held her hand. Their hands sweated, but neither of them wanted to let go. From then on, he would hold her hand whenever he got the chance to. ‘I love you,’ they would say and blush furiously and hold each other’s hands tighter. It was them against the world, they had decided, forever and for always. Dhruv would always be Aranya’s first love.
Not because he was a boy and she loved him but because he was the first one who chose to love her.
Usually people would go to great lengths to avoid her touch. Dhruv, too, had been scared but he knew what the word non-contagious meant. However, as it turned out, he was soon to use it against her. The girl he had fallen in love with, the girl who loved him back, the girl who had promised him a forever, the girl who was supposed to make everything alright simply because she was happy being with him.
The girl who’d now lied . . .
I Love u Rachu
7
There was pin-drop silence in the room. On one side of the shiny mahogany table sat the school committee and the teacher who had caught the two of them in the storeroom, and on the other side sat Dhruv and Aranya with their parents.
‘Do you have any explanation for what happened today?’ asked the principal.
Dhruv stared at his Converse shoes, their laces frayed, the little aluminium rings that had held them ripped away from their place. He pressed his toes down, hoping to crack the earth and descend into Middle Earth, maybe. Outside the room he could hear people talk about the alleged kiss between Dhruv and Aranya.
‘How could he do it?’ ‘She’s so ugly.’ ‘Won’t he fall sick, too?’ ‘Will his skin become like hers?’ ‘Why would he do it?’ ‘Who in his right mind would do so?’ ‘Why?’ ‘Why?’ ‘Why?’
Aranya had been slapped twice by her parents. Her mother was crying and begging in front of the principal, blaming Dhruv. ‘My daughter is a scholarship student. She couldn’t have done it. She couldn’t have done it. IT’S HIM!’
The others in the room looked at Dhruv for it seemed like a valid argument. Dhruv trained his eyes on Aranya who had started to cry. He grabbed the paperweight on the principal’s table. He didn’t know what to do with it exactly but hurling it in the direction of whoever made Aranya cry would be a start.
‘Tell them, tell them that the boy did everything! WHY ARE YOU QUIET! TELL THEM EVERYTHING!’ shouted Aranya’s mother.
The head of the committee spoke. ‘This incident is the first for our school and we will take their silence as an admission of guilt. We will have to expel both the kids from our school. We have a zero-tolerance policy. I hope you understand.’
Just as he finished his sentence, a thunderous slap landed square on Aranya’s face. Her father who had been grumbling in silence got up, grabbed Aranya by her hair and shook her violently. Dhruv cradled the paperweight in his hands, imagining it lodged inside her father’s skull.
‘Calm down, Sir. Calm down,’ the head said. ‘We are very sorry for this.’
‘Please Sir, please reconsider,’ said the mother. ‘She’s a scholarship student. If you expel her, none of the other schools will take her. Please understand. We can’t afford her education if you turn us away.’
‘I’m sorry, Ma’am. My hands are tied.’
‘LOOK! What you did? LOOK!’ bellowed the father and slapped Aranya again. Her ruffled hair stuck to her wet face. ‘Is there anything you can do that doesn’t bring shame and humiliation to us? ANYTHING? ANYTHING!’
Aranya wiped her tears and muttered something no one could hear.
‘What did you say?’ asked the father. ‘What?’ Her father leaned near her mouth and slapped her again. Dhruv gripped the paperweight tighter. ‘SAY IT LOUDER.’
‘The boy did it,’ mumbled Aranya.
‘What?’ asked the head of the committee.
Aranya wiped the tears off her face, looked straight at the head and spoke fluently, her voice strong, her story precise and straight. ‘Dhruv took me to that room. He had promised to help me with the course material. I had been struggling since I missed the earlier classes. But once there, he asked me to kiss him. I refused. But then he told me that his mother knows the principal well and if I didn’t kiss him, he would make sure I would fail the examinations. I had no choice but to kiss him and that’s what you saw. It wasn’t my fault.’
The calm on her face reminded Dhruv of his mother’s radiant face when she had left with the principal. He thought of what his father had once said, ‘Women. They lie.’
I Love u Rachu
8
Dhruv felt a little dizzy at first and then felt the rage rise inside him. He wanted to say that she was lying but words escaped him. And before he could open his mouth, Aranya’s father charged at him and boxed his face and he saw the floor rush towards him. He blacked out for a few seconds, his hand unclenched and the paperweight rolled out of his hands. He woke up to see the peon pulling Aranya’s father away from him.
‘Bhenchod! Bhenchod!’ shouted Aranya’s father. ‘What did you expect out of a boy whose mother sleeps around? Your school is vile! The teachers, the principal, everyone! I will sue the entire school!’
Dhruv’s mother’s ears burned. Her face looked like she had been slapped.
‘There’s no need to talk like that. We are trying to handle it here,’ the head remarked.
Dhruv was made to sit on a chair as the committee members tried to restrain Aranya’s father. Dhruv’s father sat slumped in his chair, ashamed.
‘Is that the truth?’ the head asked Aranya.
Aranya nodded.
‘Do you have something to say, Dhruv?’ asked the head. Dhruv looked at Aranya but Aranya was staring at the wall ahead of her. He repeated. ‘Do you have anything to say, Dhruv?’
Dhruv’s father held his hand and asked if he had anything to say. His mother tried holding the other but he broke free. His mother asked, ‘Did you really say that, Dhruv?
Outside, more students had gathered having listened to the commotion inside. Dhruv got up from his seat and walked towards the door. He started to count until ten in his head. If she looked at him, he would forgive her, or otherwise he would take her down with him . . . one . . . two . . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . ni
ne and a half . . . nine three by fourth . . . ten.
‘Is that the entire story?’ asked Dhruv looking towards Aranya.
Aranya didn’t answer.
‘Whatever she said is true.’ He opened the door and found fifty students staring back at him. ‘I took her to the room. Not because I wanted to kiss her but because I had a bet with all these students standing here. They said Aranya’s disease is just on the exposed skin whereas I said,’ Dhruv chuckled and laughed, as Aranya stared back at him, ‘it’s on her entire body. So in the room, I made her take off all her clothes and damn, it’s on her entire body. She’s the ugliest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Heaven forbid anyone has to see what I saw today! She belongs to a zoo, not here!’
The committee gasped.
‘DHRUV!’ shouted Dhruv’s mother. Aranya looked on; Dhruv could see the life drain out of her eyes.
‘And why did I kiss her?’ Dhruv threw his hands in the air and twirled, making a big show of it. ‘I had told them that her disease was non-contagious! And no one believed me. So I decided I would show them by kissing her and remaining the way I am—normal. So, I’m sorry. It’s all entirely my fault. The girl is not to be blamed,’ said Dhruv, trying his hardest to not cry.
‘Dhruv, you need to stay quiet,’ said Dhruv’s mother, rushing up to him.
Dhruv whispered back, ‘How is she different from you? All of you are the same, ugly or beautiful. All of you lie. Dad was right.’
‘HE’S LYING!’ cried Aranya, but Dhruv shrugged.
‘Then what’s the story, Aranya?’ said Dhruv.
‘. . .’
‘Welcome to the world, beautiful,’ said Dhruv, pointing to the sea of kids who looked at Aranya, who felt naked and betrayed, ugly and abandoned, stuck in the school for the next six years. Dhruv walked past everyone. He found the paperweight rolling about, picked it up, and walked out of the school, crying.