by Durjoy Datta
As I saw her smile, I could not remember the last time I had smiled looking at my house after a long day. My house had a fully functional gym and central heating, while hers had leaking pipes and stained walls, and yet, she was smiling and I was alone.
‘Thank you for everything today,’ I said and got down from the car too after her. ‘You are such an awesome teacher.’
‘As if I had a choice. You’re pretty clingy, Benoy,’ she said.
‘I have been told that. But hey, just one thing more, the bag you carry has to go! It’s ridiculously big, Diya. It looks like you’re carrying dead bodies inside.’
‘If I had the kind of money you have, I would have slaves carry my bags, bags much bigger than this,’ she mocked.
‘Yeah, yeah.’
She left and I drove back home, smiling. Diya was not the kind of girl I was used to, but behind all the crappy clothes she wore, the hideous spectacles and the dead people’s bag, she was pretty in her own special way.
I went back home and opened the book immediately so that I could finish it up quickly before falling asleep. I revised what I had studied since morning. I was amazed at how much I could recall. I felt intelligent!
I called her. She was busy making the presentation. In the background, I could hear her entire family shouting and creating a ruckus.
So, that’s how a family feels like, I thought.
I couldn’t study for much longer, and I logged into my Facebook account.
Diya Gupta accepted your friend request.
She hadn’t uploaded many pictures on to her profile, but she looked nice in the few she had. She would have looked much better if she got rid of her spectacles and brushed her hair once in her lifetime.
However, it was not her pictures that kept me occupied for the rest of the night. It was someone else’s.
I woke up the next day, a little groggy from the previous night, tired, because I had just fallen in love. I was still hugging the laptop for dear life.
It wasn’t her pictures that kept me up all night, but someone else’s. Most of those were not tagged so initially I did not know who she was, but I felt compelled to find out. I started scanning through her friend list. Once. Twice. Thrice. None of the faces matched! Well, there were 687 friends and a lot of them had decided to hide their faces with flowerpots or replace their faces with Japanese schoolgirls with striped stockings. There was no way I could tell who that girl was.
Well, the girl in the pictures was beautiful. It seemed like that girl’s eyes would pop out of the screen. She was fair and she had such extremely sharp features that could cut through steel, yet soft like a kitten’s. Facebook pictures often lied, but it was such a beautiful lie.
I wanted to call Diya up and ask her about the girl, but it was not a wise idea! I didn’t want her to think I was a creep who spends nights staring at pictures of random girls and tries to establish contact.
But, I mean, there has to be some law against looking so perfect.
It was only after I read a few comments on one of the pictures, in which the girl had a cute puppy pout, that it struck me who she was. I felt stupid for not having read the comments earlier.
Diya Gupta: Well, thank you. After all, she is my sister. <3
Almost immediately, I ran the search ‘Gupta’ in her friend list.
Bingo!
Shaina Gupta. Studies BA (Hons) English at Miranda House, Delhi University. Lives in Delhi. Knows English and Hindi. Born on August 12.
Her picture was a sketch, but it was a match. It was her. Diya’s sister. I had slept with Diya’s sister. I had hugged the laptop to sleep!
Shaina Gupta. I already had a big Facebook crush on her.
Chapter Ten
Diya and I spent the next week studying and fine-tuning the presentation, ironing out the chinks and revising the course over and over again.
I had not stopped stalking Shaina’s profile, her blogs and her sketches (there were many!); if there was any trace of her on the Internet, I got to it and devoured it. Her poems were mostly distressing, in a silver-lining sort of a way—a dying girl meeting God, a hurt puppy getting wings and other weird magical stuff—and her sketches were either of beautiful girls crying or sitting on the edges of cliffs or they were dressed up in finery, holding wine glasses in hand; it was confusing and intriguing, and I couldn’t make out if she was a depressed alcoholic or a pretentious prick.
Diya and I gave the presentation, and it went beyond our expectations. Well, she was horrible when she started—she sweated, rubbed her palms together, faltered and forgot everything. Diya totally blanked out again and the professor just made it worse by raining down a flurry of questions on her.
‘What was in that slide again?
‘You have written this here, but earlier you said that …?
‘Can you explain this slide?’
She had looked at me when she was all lost. I looked at her and smiled. She smiled back at me. I think that gave her confidence because little by little, all her nervousness evaporated, and she kicked some serious ass out there. The professor, surprised and defeated, turned to me and started asking me questions.
‘So, Benoy, now you tell me …’
Only God could have bettered my performance.
The professor accepted that when he announced the grades and said that we had far surpassed his expectations. Fuck him.
I was glad it was over.
‘Happy?’ I asked when I left the class. She had been freaking out all day, like only girls can, as if tension-inducing hormones are girl-specific.
‘You have no idea how much, Benoy! I had been so tense. You did so good!’ she said and hugged me again. She could not stop smiling.
‘Yeah, I have to admit. I was kind of awesome.’
‘You’re so full of yourself!’
‘But you kicked ass, too, Diya,’ I said and smiled at her.
She was ecstatic. I was happy because she was so happy. It really meant a lot to her. I was glad I had been a part of it.
‘We should go out and celebrate,’ she said.
‘Kamla Nagar?’ I asked.
‘Only if you’re paying,’ she said. ‘I mean I shouldn’t have to tell you this. It’s been days since we had food on our table at home. I’m starving. I think I have goitre and beriberi. I am, like, the poster girl for malnutrition.’
‘Shut up! You’re not THAT poor,’ I said.
‘You never know,’ she said and we laughed. She couldn’t stop making fun of the economic chasm between her and me. We went to the closest coffee shop and I couldn’t get her to stop talking. She didn’t let me pay so we split the bill.
‘So you’re saying your parents will get you married as soon as you graduate?’ I asked. ‘But who’s going to marry you? Won’t people notice the bag you’re carrying?’
‘He he. Benoy, I know you think you’re funny, but you’re not,’ she mocked. Then added, ‘They will not get me married if I, like, get through to London School of Economics on a full scholarship for my master’s.’
‘LSE? You will go to London? I’m not sure if they would let those spectacles inside their country,’ I responded.
‘Fine. I just hope I get the scholarship. They just choose two out of thousands of applicants. I wish I could sell a kidney and scrounge up the money,’ she said, despondent.
‘But are you serious about the marriage thing?’ I asked.
‘Dead serious. You have no idea how conservative my dad is. He would get me off his back like this,’ she answered and snapped her fingers. ‘It’s so unfair. Benoy, I have not dropped out of the top five in any grade. In ANY grade, and I didn’t study hard all these years to be a housewife at twenty-one. It’s just not fair.’
I nodded, not knowing what to say.
‘Best of luck,’ I said. A little later, we left the coffee shop and walked to my car.
‘Diya,’ I said, as we huddled inside the car. ‘There is something I wanted to give you.’
‘Me? What?’ she asked.
‘Aw! Benoy, you didn’t have to do this,’ she said, as I gave her the bag I had bought for her. ‘This is too small for carrying the heads of the little children I kill every day!’
‘Can you stop being disgusting for a minute?’ I grumbled.
‘But I do not need this. You need this. You don’t have a bag.’
‘I don’t have a bag because I don’t need one! I don’t want my best friend to look like the Hunchback of Notredame with that bag,’ I said.
‘Don’t push it. I am NOT your best friend,’ she retorted. Seeing me make a puppy face, she cupped it in her hands and said, ‘You’re, like, my only friend!’
‘That’s better!’
‘You are sweet, Benoy.’
‘Thank you. You aren’t bad either,’ I said.
We smiled and though she was happy, I could not ask about Shaina, something I thought I would. I thought she would pick up the conversation because I had liked every picture in which she was with her sister, but she did not mention anything.
Chapter Eleven
‘Where the hell are you?’ Deb asked.
‘I was in college. Why?’ I said.
‘College? Just when I need you, you are in college? Come home, I am outside. And why college, man? Is everything all right?’
I wanted to tell him that I enjoyed attending classes with Diya, but I couldn’t mouth the words; I couldn’t even believe the words.
‘Why? What’s the problem?’ I asked because I had never seen Deb so flustered.
‘I need to do something special for Avantika and I thought I would decorate your house and get her here. What say?’
‘Deb? Haven’t you already done that before, like, a million times?’
‘But that’s all I can think of. I have done almost everything else. I don’t know what else to do, Benoy.’
‘But it’s not her birthday, right?’
‘Will you just stop attending your stupid classes and come home?’ he asked.
I excused myself and hurried back home; Diya told me she would photocopy the notes for me.
‘What’s the matter? Why the big surprise?’ I asked as I let him in and he sat on the couch, his head in his palms.
‘I am tired of the cat-and-mouse game, Benoy. The pursuit and everything have lost their charm and I want to get it over with.’
‘Get it over with?’
‘Yes, Benoy, get engaged!’ he said. ‘Do you even have any idea when was the last time I made out?’
‘Umm … a year ago? Is that why you want to get married? That’s the stupidest reason ever!’
‘Well, not really, but that could have been playing in my subconscious, now that I think. Anyway, I really need her, man. The break-up is killing me now. She used to be everything to me. She was the person whom I could fall back on. Now it just sucks. Don’t you wish for someone like that in your life?’
‘I already have that someone in my life. More than one.’
‘Benoy, I am really not interested in listening about your flings right now,’ he said. I was talking about Diya and Eshaan, and I would never make out with either of the two!
‘Whatever,’ I said.
‘Anyway, I will do it with a big diamond ring, and I will get it soon,’ he said.
‘Umm, okay. I am not sure if it’s a good idea,’ I murmured.
‘What? You think I shouldn’t do it?’
‘No,’ I said. He looked at me and wanted me to explain my apprehension. ‘Look, Deb, you have cheated on her. Twice. That’s not by accident. You’re an asshole.’
‘So? I won’t do it ever again, Benoy. I love her,’ he protested. ‘And there is no one else I could ever get married to. You know that! I love her too much.’
‘It hasn’t even been a year since you two have been apart. Give it time, maybe you will get over her. It’s not the first time you’re breaking up with someone!’
‘I don’t want to get over her,’ he complained.
‘I know, Dada, and, well, I like Avantika, but you know you shouldn’t get into something like marriage without being sure,’ I argued.
I was never against relationships, but I had seen Mom in a loveless marriage.
‘Benoy, I know why you’re saying this, but not every marriage breaks down,’ he continued.
‘I read somewhere, All weddings end in either divorce or death. Nothing good can come out of it, Deb!’ I coaxed. ‘Plus, if you get married, I will lose a brother. I can’t have that! You’re the only family I have, man.’
‘C’mon, Benoy. I will always have time for you. You just have to call and I will be here.’
‘Oh, fuck off. Either you’re busy in your business or busy wagging your tail around Avantika. I’m not even sure she likes you any more,’ I ranted.
‘Of course she likes me!’ he scoffed.
‘Do whatever you want to do! Why did you even ask me?’ I barked.
‘Because you’re the only one who understands. Dad can’t care less, and Mom wants me to marry a Bengali girl,’ he reasoned.
‘I am on your mom’s side,’ I said. ‘And you’re so young, Deb. Like, you’re twenty-one!’
‘I’m twenty-five,’ he countered.
‘You look twenty-one!’ I exclaimed.
‘I just want to know you’re with me on this one,’ he said.
‘Fine, whatever. Don’t run after me when she refuses and tells you that she has a boyfriend far better looking than you.’
He laughed.
With Deb engaged, I would need a girlfriend at least. He left my place after an hour. Nothing I said could change his decision. He was going to do it, much to my disappointment.
Once he left, I switched on the laptop. Shaina had posted three new poems on her blog. I couldn’t understand one of them. I suspected the leaking boat in the poem was a metaphor for life, but I wasn’t sure. The other two poems were just twenty lines long, and I cursed when I finished reading them in a few short minutes; her sentences always had a tinge of tragedy sprinkled in them—honest and beautiful. Like her.
And I had not even met her.
Chapter Twelve
Over the last few weeks, there had been two people who had been extremely happy. One was Eshaan. The other one was, well, me! Eshaan saw me in college every day and now he could go a little easy on project ‘Help Benoy’.
Diya and I were growing close. Diya was fun and bitchy and really mean when she wanted to. The look-at-her-boyfriend type. I had slowly dragged Diya from her traditional sit-on-the-first-bench-and-write-everything approach to listen-to-only-those-professors-who-matter approach.
The best part about her was that she smiled and laughed at whatever I used to say. She made me feel that I was the funniest guy in the whole world. It was a great ego boost. I liked spending time with her; she was insanely funny, and she laughed at all my jokes (that was new!). After a long time, I had found someone like that, like a breath of fresh air.
‘This is so boring,’ I whispered in her ear.
‘Shut up,’ she said, as she jotted down something that the professor said.
‘HEY!’ the old professor shouted and looked at us. He warned us to stop talking or he would throw us out of the class. I wished that he would, and the next time he caught us, he did.
‘I told you to SHUT UP!’ she said angrily.
‘I did! It was you who was talking. You asked me to shut up and that’s when he caught us.’
‘But I had to ask you to! You just keep on talking like you have something important to say but all you say is bullshit,’ she said, as she angrily walked towards the parking lot. I was laughing and that was pissing her off.
We instinctively went to the coffee shop we used to go to. Her anger fizzled out in a while. We figured we could not remain angry at each other for long. We were back to our usual conversations, and she began to analyse me like a certified psychiatry practitioner, something she loved to do.
‘But how can you make out with some
one you barely know, Benoy? That’s disgusting,’ she snapped.
I had told her about my friends, all of whom were rich and slept around. My school life was pretty happening. I had a serious girlfriend, but all my other guy friends were good-looking and popular, and they led scandalous and colourful sex lives. In fact, the school basement was out of bounds during our last year in school because our headmistress had caught two of my friends having sex with their girlfriends in the music room in the basement, together. It was a huge scandal!
Diya refused to believe I wasn’t one of them.
They did this to ensure privacy!
‘It’s their personal choice,’ I said. ‘It’s their lives. Let them do what they want to. It’s not as if they are doing it in your bedroom.’
‘Don’t lie! I am sure you did it too. Serious relationship, my foot! You seem just the kind of guy who would do such a thing,’ she accused.
‘Why don’t you believe me!’ I said and refreshed the browser on my phone. Shaina hadn’t uploaded anything new.
It was very important for me to drive it into Diya’s head that I was not as bad as she thought I was, that I was not a flirt, and that I didn’t sleep around. It was bad enough that I was stalking her sister on Facebook. Tired of trying to convince her that I was the good guy, I steered the conversation away from me.
‘Why do we always talk about my relationships? Why not yours?’
‘Mine? Be serious, Benoy. Who would date me? I am every guy’s worst nightmare. And plus, my parents would have killed me had they known.’
‘Oh c’mon. You haven’t dated anybody?’ I asked.
‘Umm … I have … one. Two, really. It’s pretty daring of me to do so. I felt like Lady James Bond, and I had to be all sneaky when I used to meet them. I don’t date now. I don’t want to break their trust in me. I was young and foolish.’
‘Aha! This is interesting,’ I said. ‘So tell me everything about the guys!’
Her first relationship was in school when she was in tenth standard and they were together for two years. After school, he went off to do his engineering from somewhere outside Delhi. And as it happens, differences crept it. Different schedules, different timetables, new friends and new insecurities. Not to forget, expensive STD calling too!