The World's Best Boyfriend

by Durjoy Datta

  Aranya and her father left Prof. Mitra’s cabin. Aranya’s upper lip was bleeding.

  ‘Call your mother and tell her what you did,’ her father said. He dialled the number and gave the phone to Aranya. ‘TELL HER EVERYTHING, bhenchod!’ She held the phone and broke down. Her father snatched the phone from her and narrated to her mother the details of what the professors had said about Aranya, embellishing it with more imagined details.

  Aranya sat with her head hung low, her lips bleeding.

  ‘Take me to the boy,’ her father told Aranya.

  ‘Dad, I’m sorry. Nothing will ever happen again.’

  ‘TAKE ME TO THE BOY.’

  I Love u Rachu

  43

  Aranya and her father waited in the canteen for Dhruv to turn up. The onslaught of slaps had ended for the time being but Aranya waited for it to resume. Her father had a striking memory when it came to her misdemeanours and it wouldn’t take him long to recognize Dhruv as the boy from school.

  By now, news had spread throughout the campus about Aranya’s sweet and docile father.

  The canteen had started filling up and they were all talking in whispers about Aranya and her father. She was eleven years old all over again, surrounded by kids who laughed at private jokes about her, and jibed her needlessly. It was as if she had walked into a time machine. Another four years in the labyrinth of soul-sucking sadness, of judging students, of her maligned self. Her life was in a fucking loop.

  What did she expect? It was her fault entirely.

  She had come to this college to study, maximize her scores, get her projects done on time, get a high-paying job and spend the rest of her life being a lonely overachiever. Why did she make the mistake of thinking that someone else would take care of her problems? Why did she have any hopes with Raghuvir? What was she thinking? That a professor in shining armour and floppy hair would waltz into her life, they would solve complex equations together, be the greatest friends anyone had ever seen, maybe even fall in love, and everything would be hunky-dory for the rest of her life. All those fucking Disney films! Why didn’t she notice that only pretty damsels deserved to be rescued? What would have happened to Cinderella if she were ugly? She would have been rotting at her stepmother’s still.

  What happened to all the lessons she taught herself about being alone in every battle of hers? How did she allow herself to be distracted from the goal just because Raghuvir left the college? Why did she let Raghuvir play such a pivotal part in her life?

  So what if she thought for the first time somebody had truly appreciated her and looked beyond her patchy skin, her less-than-average face and her oddly overweight body? So what if she felt loved for the first time, even acknowledged? So what if for the first time she thought there was someone encouraging her on in her life? So what if she felt loved? Cared for? Or even human for that matter? She wasn’t supposed to feel any of these things.

  And Raghuvir? Did she really expect him to stand up for her? Why would he stand up for a girl like her? Why would anyone stand up for her? Didn’t she learn that from school? Of course he ran away leaving her to rot here. Of course he didn’t even call to see what became of her. Of course he switched off his cellphone.

  She deserved this. She had had one chance to fix everything. One chance and she blew it. Her only job in the world was to stay hidden and not embarrass her family even further. Being born to them was enough.

  Dhruv walked in. He looked different in his buttoned-down shirt, a regular fit pair of jeans and clean sneakers.

  ‘Hello Uncle, Dhruv,’ he said and shook her father’s hand.

  ‘Sit,’ her father said, still no recollection of where he had seen the boy before. But Aranya’s life was one travesty after another and her good fortune didn’t last beyond the first thirty seconds.

  ‘You are Dhruv Roy? Janakpuri? Is he the same Dhruv? You’re the same boy? Bhenchod, tu wahi hai?’ asked her father, startled.

  Dhruv nodded. Her father stood up stumbling, still a little stunned.

  ‘YOU! You stay away from my daughter. Do you hear me? Or I will call your mother. Give me her number, give me her number right now. Did you not hear me? Number de unka warna maar doonga.’ Dhruv stood up, too. Her father continued, ‘GIVE ME THE NUMBER.’

  ‘My parents are divorced, Sir. I don’t think it will help to call my mother. I can give you my father’s number,’ Dhruv said giving out the number

  Aranya’s father dialled the number and it was unreachable. ‘You stay right here,’ he said and tried again. It was still unreachable. ‘Saale, dekhta hoon tujhe abhi! I will call your father and tell him what you’re up to! I WILL TELL HIM EVERYTHING. You’re behind everything. Ruk bhenchod, tu.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The call didn’t connect. He turned to Dhruv. ‘How would you understand, you bastard? You’re a divorcee’s son. What would you understand about family?’ He looked at Aranya instead. ‘Stay away from him.

  ‘Sir—’ Dhruv interrupted.

  ‘SHUT UP! If I find you near my daughter again, I’m going to file a police complaint.’

  And this time it was Dhruv’s turn to bear the brunt of Aranya’s father’s heavy hand. It hit him square on his face. Dhruv staggered backwards and leant on the table to steady himself. Her father continued to humiliate Dhruv, exhausting his entire vocabulary of expletives. Aranya closed her eyes in anticipation of what would follow.

  Dhruv would stand up and laugh. He would clench his fist and throw her father to the ground with one blow. He would shout, you fucker, and would continually punch her father in the face till a few teeth came loose and he spat blood. He would spit on her father but that wouldn’t still cut it. He would jab her father’s ribcage with his foot and swing his foot on his face. FUCK YOU, he would shout. He would walk away from the scene with a smile on his face.

  But nothing happened. Dhruv did nothing.

  ‘Sorry, Sir,’ he said and stared at his shoes.

  ‘Listen to me.’ Her father grabbed his collar. ‘This is your last chance or I will kill you. Do you hear me? I WILL KILL YOU. Now get lost!’ He let Dhruv go, who left without a single word.

  He did nothing, absolutely nothing.

  Aranya’s father left soon after, promising Aranya that he would need a daily progress report, that he would regularly call all of her professors to keep track of her.

  Aranya couldn’t understand though how Dhruv let her father leave the college without a broken jaw and a fractured skull.

  I Love u Rachu

  44

  It was one in the night and Ritika was still on the other side of the phone, now talking about some girl in her school who was dating someone important, someone who drove a big car and was friends with quite a few club owners.

  ‘She was such a slut in school. Always at the far end of the football ground with her skirt in a bunch around her waist,’ Ritika grumbled.

  The first hour wasn’t a problem. It’s the boyfriend’s duty to keep his girlfriend entertained, to listen to mind-numbing stories about people he didn’t know and didn’t care about. He spent the second hour watching an episode of Breaking Bad, the phone on loudspeaker and earphone plugged in one of his ears.

  ‘Are you even listening to what I am saying? Hello? Hello, Dhruv?’

  ‘. . .’

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m there. I’m just a little tired,’ said Dhruv. Ritika didn’t get the hint and went on and on about another story about another girl in her neighbourhood who had been caught making out on her parents’ bed and it became a big deal.

  Dhruv was now sitting on the ledge of the roof. He didn’t love her, he was sure of it now. At a distance he could see the flickering light from Aranya’s laptop.

  ‘I think I should sleep now,’ said Ritika.

  ‘Are you sure? I really wanted to talk to you through the night,’ Dhruv said. Aranya wouldn’t have missed the sarcasm.

  ‘Aww, that’s sweet. Tomorrow, baby. For sur
e. We will talk the entire night. Muah! Goodnight,’ she said.

  He sat there staring at the tiny light of the laptop on the next roof. Aranya never slept before four in the morning, Dhruv knew that by now. He had spent the last few weeks being awake with her, darkness and a few hundred feet separating them. She was making amends, trying to get her life back on track. Back on the projects for Prof. Mitra and Prof. Tripathi, she spent every waking minute trying to crawl back into their good books. The path was as hard and futile as Frodo’s.

  ‘Day twenty-three,’ said Sanchit as he placed a small bottle of Vodka and two plastic glasses between him and Dhruv. ‘You should go talk to her.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’ Dhruv asked.

  ‘It’s better than counting days here.’

  Silence engulfed them and soon they were drinking directly from the bottle.

  Sanchit said, ‘This wouldn’t have happened if Raghuvir hadn’t left. He had quite a shouting match with the dean before he left. But you shouldn’t be concerned. You have Ritika, don’t you? The girl you’re never planning to leave? The girl whose face you will wake up to every morning? The girl you will have kids with? It’s Ritika, isn’t it? The ONE?’

  Dhruv nodded.

  ‘Fuck off, Dhruv. You’re in love with her. That flickering light in the distance—not that girl with an eating disorder.’

  ‘I’m not in love with her,’ mumbled Dhruv. ‘And as you said, she’s into Raghuvir. Look at her. Just look at her mourning the absence of Raghuvir. How fucking stupid is she? Why doesn’t she just get over it?’ If Raghuvir is who she wants, Raghuvir is who she will get.

  I Love u Rachu

  45

  That night, like many before, she sat on the roof preparing for the end-semester examinations like her life depended on it. Her blood was practically liquid caffeine. Between Mitra’s project, Tripathi’s stupidities and the end-semester examinations, she wasn’t sleeping for more than a couple of hours every night. Her concentration was scant. Often she found herself looking towards the other roof, where she could see a silhouette, sometimes two.

  Though Dhruv had kept out of her way since that incident in the canteen, she couldn’t help but think about him, about how Dhruv stood up for her in the class when Dr Mitra censured her. How he even let her father slap him when he could have easily sent him back with a broken face.

  ‘Hey,’ a voice said from behind, startling Aranya.

  ‘. . .’

  ‘. . .’

  ‘What are you doing here? How did you come here?’ asked Aranya.

  ‘I got something for you,’ replied Dhruv and dangled a piece of paper in front of her. ‘That’s the address and the home number of Raghuvir. I have called on the number but the line is disconnected.’

  ‘I have nothing to do with him,’ said Aranya.

  ‘Of course you do. None of this would have happened if he had stuck around.’

  ‘But he didn’t. He left me here to face the music.’

  ‘Well, that’s true. But that shouldn’t stop you from bringing him back. Here’s what I think would have happened. Mitra would have accused you and him for being drunken teenagers, upsetting the decorum of the college, probably doing something juvenile in a closed, dark classroom—’

  ‘Dhruv!’

  ‘I’m just saying! And Raghuvir would have stood up for you. Mitra must have thrown at him a choice between you and him, and he would have chosen to walk out of the college sacrificing himself, the gentleman that he was. Because, if I were a stuck-up dean, I would have thrown you out.’

  ‘What makes you so certain?’

  ‘Sanchit says I watch a lot of television drama.’

  ‘Why are you so concerned?’

  Dhruv didn’t say anything. He sat next to her, his arm inches away from her. Aranya could see Dhruv squirm even as he said this. ‘I’m doing this because I might have sourced the CCTV video that night. The rumour too was started by Sanchit and me.’

  Aranya’s throat went dry. ‘YOU?’

  Aranya had lived the past twenty-four days in a flash, not knowing where things had gone wrong. None of this would have happened had Dhruv had the decency to not try and destroy her life.

  ‘Yes, it was me. And with the reputation that Raghuvir had, it wasn’t hard for people to believe it. Now don’t throw a fit and cry and curse me because we have been through it before. Can we just skip to the part where you think I’m doing this to wash away my black soul?’

  ‘And why would I help you do that? I have been to hell and back, Dhruv. And you think this is a damn game, don’t you? My father slapped me!’

  ‘He slapped me too. Which part of “let’s skip that” did you not get?’

  ‘The part where I kill you!’ growled Aranya and lunged at Dhruv. She grabbed his collar.

  ‘You’re crazy! Let me go.’

  ‘Am I crazy? What did you get out of it? Were you totally out of your mind?’ she screamed.

  Dhruv drew himself up and pushed her away and she staggered backwards. ‘Enough. We can still get Raghuvir back and you can still have your happy ending, walking hand in hand with him into the sunset, or in your case, the lab.’

  ‘I can’t leave the college. And who knows where he is. He could be anywhere by now,’ Aranya said, weighing her options. ‘And, moreover, my father would come to know. The professors talk to him every day.’

  ‘Who says you have to miss classes? Go now.’ Dhruv unclasped her palm and put the paper in it. ‘You will be back by morning. I will take you.’

  ‘I’m not going,’ said Aranya.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why should I? Why should I free you of your guilt? And where did this come from, this feeling of remorse?’

  ‘I feel no remorse.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ asked Dhruv.

  ‘I won’t go until you tell me you’re going to get your father to talk to Prof. Tripathi.’

  ‘My father?’

  ‘I talked to Prof. Tripathi after you were barred from the examinations. He said if your father talks to him, he will let you go. I found your father’s number from the college database to call him here but seems like he hasn’t paid his bills.’

  ‘What? You called him? You’re fucking psychotic, Aranya.’

  ‘Look who’s talking. You’re not repeating the year because of your kindness and your sacrifice!’

  ‘Blah. Blah. Blah,’ grumbled Dhruv, inches away from Aranya’s face.

  ‘I will cut you a deal. I will come with you but I don’t want to see you in college for the next three years, looking at every milestone I cross and telling me that I wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for you sacrificing your first year for me. I won’t take that. Talk to your father. Ask him to meet the dean, apologize for what you did that day, and the dean will let you take the exam. I don’t want to owe anything to anyone. Least of all you!’

  ‘What would you do if I don’t? I like the idea of torturing you, and not letting you enjoy any of your spoils.’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself, Dhruv. You wouldn’t have got me here if you weren’t sufficiently guilty of what you did. And what you did was shitty.’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  Dhruv walked to the ledge of the roof and stood there for a brief second, surveying the perimeter like he was Bruce Wayne.

  ‘Come,’ he said and gave his hand to her.

  Aranya’s heart leaped at the sense of adventure her decision would take her on. It took them fifteen minutes to jump the parapets and reach the parking lot, and she felt her heart would give way any time. By the time she felt solid ground crunch under her feet it felt like she had been through fifteen straight episodes of Man vs Wild.

  ‘You look like you died.’

  ‘I did. Thrice.’

  ‘Take this,’ said Dhruv and handed the only helmet to her.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I would die to live in the blazing glory of having saved someone.’


  Aranya rolled her eyes, knowing all too well that Dhruv was in love with her again. The ball was in Aranya’s court now.

  I Love u Rachu

  46

  Dhruv intended to bring Raghuvir back to college. But as they drove out of the college, with Aranya clinging on to him for dear life, his resolve started to melt away.

  ‘You better not brake and try something stupid. I have seen it in the movies.’

  ‘I wish I could have. I feel like I’m driving with a blue whale clinging to my back. It’s a surprise the front tyre is still on the ground.’

  ‘With your bike, it’s a surprise it’s still running,’ snapped Aranya.

  ‘We could go on and you would lose.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Dhruv liked that in her, that fight to have the last word. She could lose some weight though. One month of HIIT would take off the cellulite from her jiggly vibrating arms. Post that an intensive three-month weight training schedule could make sure her stomach was taut and hard and indestructible.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’

  ‘I imagined you running.’

  ‘It’s like imagining you studying.’

  ‘I actually did study. You can check my answer sheets,’ said Dhruv.

  ‘. . .’

  ‘. . .’

  The ease of conversation, the possibility of rekindling an old relationship, the prospect of him straying, made him queasy, a bit disgusted, and he revved the old engine to its limit. The engine groaned and in the noise, Dhruv came to analyse what he felt.

  The mere thought of Raghuvir and Aranya in the same room gave him nausea. Then why the fuck was he taking her there? Why the hell would he want them to be close again? She was sad and she would get over it.

  Reasons and feelings and the beating of his heart muddled up his head and he concentrated on the road instead. At this time of the night, highways were dangerous. Also terribly romantic, with the long stretches of darkness punctuated with light from distant houses, little stars if you could find some, and silence. But he reminded himself that he was with her, Aranya, not with the girl he had promised to love and be committed to. How would he be any different from his mother?