Like a Love Song

by Nikita Singh

  This is for all the small-town girls,

  showing the world how it’s done.

  #girlpower

  ‘I hope she’ll be a fool – that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.’

  — F. Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby)

  Contents

  Part One

  1

  2

  3

  4

  Part Two

  5

  6

  7

  8

  Part Three

  9

  10

  11

  12

  Part Four

  13

  14

  15

  16

  Part Five

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Part One

  1

  Maahi could have sworn the man standing behind her wasn’t as close to her the last time she checked. He had been there when she first boarded the bus at Bangalore Dairy Circle. She had been running to catch it, and in her agitated state, accidentally brushed against his arm when she climbed in. He had looked up and smiled at her, a smile she returned hesitantly. Now she could feel him inching closer by the minute, towering over her. She shifted her weight on her feet and breathed out softly, deliberately. A few more minutes and she would reach her stop. She wished she could take a taxi, but she had to save from her allowance to buy lunch for Kishan. Her mother had sent her more money just over a week ago, and she didn’t want to have to ask for more.

  She was wearing a white chiffon shirt with a mandarin collar and loose sleeves that collected at her wrists. She had a beige tank top on underneath, an attempt to keep her stomach pushed in. Her mother called it baby fat—she thought it was adorable and assured her she would eventually lose it, that she was just a kid. But Maahi wasn’t a kid, she was nineteen, and embarrassed about the slight bulge at the waist of her jeans.

  Maahi raised a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, and became aware of the man’s eyes on her. She slowly pulled the hair back to her face, hiding as much as she could. She wasn’t too fond of her round, chubby face either; it made her look younger. When the bus stopped at JP Nagar 3rd Phase, Maahi disembarked on impulse. She was supposed to get off at the next station, Bilekahalli, but preferred walking an extra kilometre to being around that man. The sunrays hit her face and she dug into her bag for her sunglasses. There wasn’t much traffic, but it would soon be lunchtime and she wanted to surprise Kishan before he left on his break.

  Born and raised in Ghaziabad, Maahi was having trouble adjusting to life in south India. She convinced herself that all she needed was time. She was halfway through her first semester at Christ University, from where she was getting her bachelor of engineering in IT, and she was yet to settle comfortably in this new city. There were a few people she talked to in class, but all her real friends were back in Vaishali, a township in the suburbs of Delhi. She called her friend Rohit every Sunday, and they texted each other throughout the week.

  Maahi walked hurriedly towards Accenture, where Kishan worked as an associate software engineer. She still had to pick up lunch, and contemplated getting something from either Nagarjuna or Biryani Bowl, both of which were on her way. She knew Kishan missed north Indian food and would appreciate some butter chicken and garlic naans. Just the thought of it made her stomach grumble. She was coming straight from college and hadn’t had a chance to eat. She felt guilty skipping the next two classes, but it was their anniversary. They first met exactly two years ago, and that needed celebrating.

  Maahi saw a rectangular green neon board boasting ‘Nagarjuna Andhra Style Since 1984’ ahead on her right and decided to go there. Kishan always talked about how much he hated north Indian food cooked by south Indians. He didn’t seem to mind this place though, when they came here a few months ago. He had brought her here for dinner when she had just moved to Bangalore. She walked into the dimly lit air-conditioned restaurant and the change in temperature made her sneeze. Covering her mouth with her palm, she walked to the reception.

  ‘Can I look at the menu, please?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ the middle-aged man in a white uniform at the reception asked.

  Maahi was intimidated by his moustache. She cleared her throat and spoke again, louder this time, ‘I have to get something packed.’

  ‘You want the menu? Here, ma’am.’

  Maahi felt weird being addressed as ‘ma’am’. Her ears got warm as the man watched her read the menu. When he smiled at her, his teeth shone white—it was strangely appeasing and she smiled back, saying, ‘Butter chicken and kulcha, please?’

  ‘One kulcha only?’ He pronounced ‘only’ as ‘one-ly’, and Maahi smiled wider as she scanned the menu again. The kulchas were Rs 50 each. If she got two, her total would be close to Rs 350, which would be too much for her. She shook her head, her stomach grumbling in protest.

  ‘Wokay. One plate butter chicken and one kulcha, pack,’ the man yelled towards the kitchen, before turning back to Maahi. ‘Any sweet dish?’

  ‘Oh.’ She hadn’t thought of that. ‘Do you have gulab jamun?’ she asked mechanically.

  ‘Yes, two per plate.’

  ‘One plate, please.’ Maahi quickly dropped her eyes to the menu to check the price. Rs 65 for two gulab jamuns. It was their anniversary, she reasoned, and Kishan loved gulab jamuns. He would never think about money and she shouldn’t either. He did have a job, to be fair, while she was a student. As she added up the amount in her head, the waiter handed her the bill. It was Rs 417.12. She had forgotten to take service tax and VAT into account. At least there would be no service charge since she ordered takeaway.

  Maahi pulled out her wallet and counted the cash while trying to calculate how much money she would have left. A few hundred, to cover the next couple of weeks. It wouldn’t be too bad; she had a meal plan at the college mess and her boarding was taken care of. She would just have to be extra cautious with spending until her mother sent her more. As long as she didn’t run short and have to ask her for more, she would be fine.

  While she waited for the food, Maahi observed the family having lunch at the table closest to her. They looked Punjabi and were speaking in Hindi. She realized how much she missed hearing people talk in Hindi. She stuck her tongue out at the little boy at the table, who giggled in response, but when his mother looked at Maahi, she quickly composed herself and diverted her eyes.

  Her order was ready soon, and she thanked the waiter with one last smile before leaving the restaurant. She walked on the uneven sidewalk at the edge of the asphalt road, kicking up dry dust with her sneakers. It was close to 1 p.m., and Kishan’s office was still about twenty minutes away. She walked as fast as she could without stumbling and falling on her face. She couldn’t have another one of those. Kishan would make fun of her and call her a baby. She laughed quietly at the thought; he was always teasing her, but he knew better than anyone else that she was not a baby.

  By the time she turned at Bannerghatta Main Road, Maahi was running short of breath, even in the pleasant September weather. The sidewalk got narrower and dustier. It was ten past one and she was afraid Kishan might have left for his break already, maybe even sat down and ordered food. If she had to call him and ask him to come back, her surprise would be ruined. She wished she were taller, just so she could have longer legs and walk faster. At 5’3” she found her pace quite restricted. She was thinking about how she looked next to Kishan—who was six inches taller, her skin pale against his— when
she saw him walk towards her, right outside his office building. He was in conversation with a colleague, Payal, his head leaning towards her to listen. Maahi had met her a few times and wasn’t particularly fond of her.

  ‘Hello,’ Maahi said, stopping right in front of them.

  Kishan looked up. ‘Oh, Maahi! Hey, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Are you joining us for lunch?’ Payal asked, her lips barely stretching in a tight smile. Her pointed nose was shinier than usual.

  ‘Actually,’ Maahi raised the takeout bag and said, ‘I brought him lunch.’

  ‘Aww, isn’t she the sweetest girl!’

  Maahi didn’t like Payal’s patronizing tone, but tried to be reasonable and shake it off. She felt better when Kishan said, ‘I know, right?’ and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She blushed instantly. Kishan said to Payal, ‘Sorry about lunch. Some other day?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Payal said. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Bye,’ Maahi murmured, before Kishan turned her away and they started walking to his office.

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming here,’ he said, looking down at her sideways. He had recently taken to growing his beard. Maahi thought it was funny how it mostly spread around the edges of his face, making the V-shape of his jaw look rounder. The hair on the rest of his face, including his moustache, was scattered sparsely.

  ‘That was the point—it’s a surprise! Don’t you … remember?’ Maahi asked, inspecting his eyes.

  ‘Of course I do. Happy anniversary, baby,’ Kishan said, rubbing her lower back.

  The touch of his hand through the fabric of her shirt sent shivers up her spine. Maahi snaked her arm under his and rested it at his waist. As they walked to his cubicle, some people glanced their way and nodded. Maahi nodded back. She liked coming here, meeting Kishan at his workplace, around his colleagues. They were all nice to her and she enjoyed every visit.

  When they reached Kishan’s cubicle, he took the takeaway bag from her. There were two chairs. Maahi chose the one with his coat draped over the back. She could smell him on the coat, even over the strong aroma of butter chicken.

  ‘Didn’t you have class this morning?’ Kishan asked, taking the other chair. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out two Styrofoam plates and plastic spoons.

  ‘I did. I’m not eating.’ Maahi pushed away the plate Kishan was offering her.

  ‘Why aren’t you eating? Have you had lunch already?’

  ‘Well, not really. But I’m not that hungry. I had a glass of milk before class.’

  ‘With Bournvita?’ Kishan chuckled. He loaded up one plate with the butter chicken before placing the kulcha on the other.

  ‘What, it tastes good, and it’s really good for you. More than that, it keeps milk from tasting disgusting and that’s the point!’ Maahi punched him softly on his arm.

  He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. Looking her in the eye, he slowly kissed her knuckles before biting her skin.

  Maahi inhaled sharply.

  Kishan licked the bite, pulling her skin between his teeth, not breaking eye contact for a second. ‘You know how I feel when you get aggressive…’

  She tried to find her breath. He could take her to a different world in a second. That’s all it took. From the first time she met him, he had held a certain power over her, something she could never understand. That night, two years ago, when her friend had introduced her to his cousin, and she had seen this man with dark eyes and even darker hair, she had felt something special for him. He wasn’t like the boys back at school. He was more man than boy. He had two years left in his bachelor’s programme in computer technology & applications at Delhi University. He had treated her as an equal. He looked smart, confident and interested in her—an awkward schoolgirl—and she was flattered by his attention.

  That night, when they talked, and he asked her questions about her, she tried not to shiver under the sheer force of his gaze. No one had shown such interest in her life before, and she could see herself, as if from a distance, falling in love with this man. They exchanged numbers, and soon, their text messages became phone calls that lasted all night. She was in love and could feel it in every bone of her body, just as she did now, as he continued to hold her hand.

  ‘There are people around,’ she whispered.

  ‘So? I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t; you’re my girlfriend.’

  ‘Yes, but still…’

  Kishan laughed and released her hand, kissing it before placing it back on her lap. ‘You need to eat though. Here.’ He tore a bite of kulcha and dipped it in gravy.

  She leaned forward and ate it off his fingers. He looked at her as she chewed, which made her extremely conscious about the tiny acne scars on her face. She swallowed quickly and asked, ‘How has your day been? Busy?’

  ‘As usual. I’ll have a more normal schedule by next month, I’m hoping. Once we finish this project.’ Kishan nodded, more to himself. ‘Tell me about your college. How are classes going?’

  ‘They’re okay.’

  ‘Good. I hope you’re not cutting classes. Why did you need to come here in the middle of a weekday? I don’t want you to fall behind on your coursework.’

  ‘I know. I’m doing fine, don’t worry about me.’ Maahi smiled. ‘I went to the morning class and I’ll get notes for the ones I’ve missed. I mean, it’s not really all that difficult—’

  ‘Maybe not right now, but it’s going to get tough. You’ll see. I’ve been there and I’ve done exactly that—that’s how I know. You have to take this seriously. The initial classes will build your basics more than anything else.’

  They ate quietly. Maahi took small bites, even as her stomach contracted with hunger. Back home, she could go without a few consecutive meals and still be fine, but recently she had found herself too weak to skip even one. She had no energy reserves to pull her through if she didn’t eat.

  ‘I need water,’ she said.

  Kishan passed her the bottle of water. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was only saying that for your own good.’

  ‘I know. But it’s our anniversary…’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I do appreciate all this.’ Kishan pointed to the food. ‘And look, you got me gulab jamuns! How can I not love you?’

  Maahi laughed as he ate one.

  ‘I have a surprise for you too.’

  ‘Really?’

  Kishan nodded. ‘You’ll have to wait though. I have work to finish here, but I’ll see you after that?’

  ‘You’ll come to my hostel?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind! Around when? I’ll have to check who the warden is and how to sneak you in, but we’ll figure it out. We always do!’ Maahi said, excitedly. She couldn’t wait to see what the surprise was, but tried to contain her enthusiasm.

  ‘I have to get back to work now. But I’ll come to you as soon as I can, okay? If there’s a problem with me getting in, I’ll just take you back to my apartment. It feels like I haven’t spent time with you properly in forever.’

  ‘You’ve been so busy,’ Maahi said, as Kishan kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  ‘We’ll make up for it tonight.’

  That evening, Maahi took a second shower and changed into a light-yellow dress that fell in pleats just above her knees. She sat down on the bed with a book. Her room had ugly green bumpy walls. She was nearing the end of Catching Fire, the second book of The Hunger Games series. Rohit was reading the same book and she wanted to finish it before he could spoil it for her. She lost track of time as she fell asleep, her dreams and the novel meshing strangely.

  Maahi woke up hours later, still holding the book, and looked around for her phone. It was almost ten and Kishan hadn’t called. She texted him.

  Maahi: Where are you?

  Kishan: Stuck at work. Be there ASAP.

  Maahi wasn’t sleepy after her nap, and opened her novel again. She was getting to the climax and hoped to finish it before Kishan arr
ived.

  A little over an hour later, when she finished reading the book and set it down, she texted Rohit.

  Maahi: Just finished Catching Fire.

  Rohit: Shit! I’ve got 4 more chaptersssss

  Maahi: Do you want to know what happens in the end?

  Rohit: OMG SHUT UP!!!

  Maahi: I’m just trying to help…

  Rohit: Turning off my phone NOW

  Maahi: Haha jk!

  When Maahi didn’t get a response, she figured Rohit had actually turned his phone off. Or chose to ignore her. She texted Kishan again.

  Maahi: Kishan!

  Kishan: I’m on my way!

  Maahi: Ugh. Come soon.

  Kishan: Coming!

  With nothing else to do, Maahi turned on the radio. Some regional music was on and she let it play. It sounded like Kannada, or maybe Tamil or Telugu. She felt quite embarrassed about not being able to differentiate between these languages, but she couldn’t help it.

  The song ended and another one started. She tried to guess what it was about, and judging by the upbeat tone, reached the conclusion that it could be about a crazed lover chasing after his new love interest, or a man singing at his friend’s wedding, probably chasing the bride’s friends and sisters. She laughed when she tried to analyse why she thought that the song had to be about a man wooing a woman in both scenarios.

  The next song was milder, but she could hardly stand the one after that—the woman’s screeching voice was disturbing. Even so, Maahi had no will to even pick up her phone and change the station. So she simply lay there that night, sleepless, listening to one song after the other, not understanding anything, but drawing her own conclusions about each of them, building stories to entertain herself. She eventually got hungry and drank water from the bottle by her bed.

  She texted Kishan once or twice, and each time, he told her he was on his way. She resisted the temptation to call him, knowing it wouldn’t make him come any sooner, since he was already on his way.

  It was almost five in the morning when she got a text from him.

  Kishan: Too tired. I think I’m getting sick. I’m just going to go home and crash. Sorry.