by Durjoy Datta
I’m in love with a girl.
She’s smart, she’s kind, and she’s insane. She’s the most amazing, amazing, amazing woman/girl I have ever known. And it’s a complete privilege to have fallen in love with her.
She’s strong and she’s beautiful and she makes everyone feel so good about themselves. I have never seen someone who has the capacity to love so deeply and so passionately. She would fall in love with someone, a friend, a parent, a brother and then love them with all her heart and all her life. It’s a rare thing.
I stopped reading. This guy should really tell the girl, I thought, and started typing out a response. I stopped midway. I wanted to read the whole thing.
I had a crush on her the moment I saw her, which is slightly shallow and it was a little pervertish at that time because she was seventeen. But hey! I didn’t know she was seventeen. So you, anonymous person, should stop judging me. I thought the feeling would pass. That I would stop thinking about her. Hah. But that never happened. I slipped down the long slippery slope of love and never looked back.
I’m not a great guy. I’m not even an above average guy.
I’m a normal guy. I’m the definition of it. I’m not successful. I don’t go to the gym. I don’t cycle. I don’t run marathons. I don’t dance very well or think of myself as a traveller. I’m not a thinker or a doer. I just live. I wake up, I read a few books, watch TV, smile at people, hear about the great things people do, and I go back to sleep. No one’s going to remember me. I’m quite unextraordinary that way. And I know that because I know people who are. Like my brother. A young entrepreneur taking the world by storm. Like the girl I’m in love with, whose kindness and smartness would take her some place great. Like my parents, both overachievers.
Wait. Wait. Wait. This can’t be. I got back to reading it.
But it all changed the day I met her. The love I had for her was quite extraordinary, and that’s something I’m sure of. I can go head to head with all the romantic heroes you might have read about, or seen, or heard of, and I know I will kick the shit of them. I really, really love her.
That brings me to the difficult question of what really is love. Frankly speaking, I don’t know and I can’t put it in words. It’s like little explosions go off in my veins when I see her.
Just talking to her makes my day. Like I plan my day around her talking to me. There are boundaries between her and me so I can’t just text her or call her any time I want to. She’s like my . . . student.
What? This was not happening. Was he? Suddenly, I remembered the things he said when we went shopping, and how I couldn’t stop thinking about it before the incident happened . . .
I started to read again.
But I love her. There’s no running away from that. I will always be in love with her. If there’s something I have tried really hard, it’s to fall out of love with her and it didn’t happen.
A few days back she got assaulted.
By someone she trusted, someone she liked and was possibly in love with. Now, I’m not a brave person. Far from it. If there’s ever a fight, I wouldn’t be the one breaking it up because I would be too scared to pursue it. I’m terrified of fights. But after the assault, I have had to literally restrain myself from going and strangling him with my bare hands. I even spent a night outside the boy’s home, waiting for him to come out, rock in hand to bash his skull open. Such a bad idea, come to think of it now.
I’m doing my little bit for her though. Every day I write like little chits to her, to tell her I believe in her, but now she doesn’t need that any more. Others have started to believe in her. Thankfully. She gets chits from others as well now.
I think that’s what will happen eventually. I will be just another chit. Today, she’s good friends with me, tomorrow everyone around her will know what a great person she is and she won’t need me any more. But it’s fine. I think I have myself resigned to it now.
But I’m glad I met her. I have never felt this way before. I have never felt so alive. People travel. They discover things. The lead. They inspire. Me? I think I fell in love. That’s my calling. It sounds cheesy and it sounds weak but now that I think of it, why not? Why shouldn’t finding the greatest love be everyone’s purpose in life? We can of course do away with the exceptional pixel quality in our phones, or the latest tech in our cars, if we got a few more people to love us with their lives. That’s a no-brainer, right?!
Well, that’s not going to happen and I am not going to be awarded a Nobel Prize for being so stupidly in love.
But as I said, she would never know. And she doesn’t need to. She’s into great boys, not into failed men. But I do hope the best for her. I do hope she finds love in her life.
I’m sorry to have wasted your time. You can’t really help me but it feels good to know that someone out there knows.
I love her. I always will and she can always count on me.
Bye bye.
I closed the laptop. It was him.
I opened it again and read through the identifying passages again. It was him. Oh God. I looked at him. He was pointing his fingers at Ankit’s laptop screen, and scratching his head, and biting his lips, and he was in love with me. He was in love with me right now, right at this very moment. It felt strange. Good, but slightly threatening. He yawned and looked at me.
‘I think I will just go and sleep now.’
‘Danish? Have you ever been in love?’
‘Yes, once. Why?’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing happened. I’m still in love and will always be, I think. It’s a little embarrassing. Can we not talk about it?’ he asked, scratching his hair.
He walked up to me and I felt a little scared. I scrunched up in my sofa lest he tried touching me. He didn’t. He bent over to talk to me. I held my breath. I thought about all those times he had held my hand, comforted me, and I thought about the worst. My body felt stiff. My throat dried.
‘I’m going to bed. When you’re ready you can take Aunty to the guest room and sleep there,’ he said and started bunching the coil of his phone’s charger around his palm.
He moved away a little. I breathed easy. I felt calm again.
For those few moments I was scared of him. I was thinking about what if he did the same to me? I felt ashamed and scared for thinking that way. He was just being kind, but I still imagined the worse. I felt terrified thinking that I would always be this way? Would I ever let anyone come close to me?
He walked out of the room and soon after Ankit did too. I woke up my mother and hugged her. Late into the night, I asked my mother, ‘Will I ever be able to fall in love with someone?’
‘Yes, baba,’ said my mother, wiping my tears. ‘You will and whoever you fall in love with will love you with all his life.’
‘What if I never forget what happened?’
‘The man who loves you will wait for an eternity. Don’t settle for anything less,’ she said, and I decided that if I ever fall in love with someone, it would be Danish.
49
Danish Roy
About a week later, I was sitting in my room in the school, testing out a few changes Ankit had made to the website when Norbu came rushing in and spoke between ragged breaths.
‘Fi . . . Sar . . . hak . . . fight . . .’
‘What?’
‘Come with me.’
I ran behind him through the corridors, he was a little too quick for me, towards the basketball court. Scores of other students ran alongside us. We pushed through the hundred-strong crowd swarming towards the basketball court, and found Sarthak and Vibhor jumping around in circles, shadow boxing.
‘Dare you fucking touch me! I will kill you!’ shouted Vibhor.
‘LOL,’ answered Sarthak. ‘Why the hell are we hopping around each other if not to throw a few punches?’
Sarthak and Vibhor exchanged threats without following through.
‘I don’t know how he got here,’ said Norbu.
‘Ch
ill. Find Aisha and get her here.’
A few students from the crowd started to shout. ‘Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.’ And suddenly, everyone joined in and pumped their fists. A few took out their mobile phones and started to record.
They still weren’t fighting. I fought my way out of the crowd.
‘Where’s Aisha?’
‘I have called her,’ Norbu said. ‘She’s coming.’
A little later, Aisha reached there, panting and heaving. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Sarthak and Vibhor are in there. It’s going to get bloody.’
‘Sarthak? What’s he doing here? Are you kidding me?’
‘He flew down for this. We should let him have his day under the sun.’
‘Ask them to stop. What the hell are you doing here? Do something! Stop him!’
‘They haven’t even thrown a punch. I’m looking forward to it actually.’
‘DANISH!’
I grabbed her and took her away from the crowd. ‘Danish!’ shouted Aisha. ‘Stop them!’
‘NO. I will not!’ I shouted back.
‘Why?’
‘Why the fuck would I stop them, Aisha? Your brother needed to know and now he’s angry. Why should I stop him?’
‘Did you tell him?’
‘Of course I told him. How did you feel when he didn’t tell you he was gay?’
‘Danish!’
‘I wasn’t going to hide it from him forever. And you didn’t tell me about what Vibhor did to him in the locker room. Vibhor deserves it. Sarthak needs to beat the shit out of him and that’s what’s going to happen today.’
‘You called him?’ she asked, clutching her head and walking around in circles.
‘Of course I did.’
‘But how’s he here? I mean, how?’ she said, crying and laughing at the same time. ‘He’s going to get pounded, Danish. He’s going to get hurt.’
‘No, he will not. Don’t underestimate him, Aisha,’ I said. ‘Now come.’
I climbed up a few stairs in the gallery around the basketball court and gave my hand to her. She hesitated for a bit, and then climbed up on her own. Aisha chewed on her fingernails and her skin tags. We sat there watching as Sarthak mocked Vibhor, jumping in his spot, shifting his weight from one foot to another, his fists raised up to his face.
‘Why? Are you scared of this little gay boy? That’s what you said, right?’
He threw a few shadow punches, swayed out of imaginary jabs and hooks, the years of boxing training kicking into gear.
‘No one’s going to be by you this time around, dude. It’s just you and me.’
‘I will fuck you up,’ spat Vibhor, scared and angry, and scanned the crowd for support.
Vibhor’s aides from the football team, most of whom were the ones who had to carry the placards for a week wanted no trouble. They looked the other way. One or two did try to join Vibhor’s side but Erskin, Sarthak’s Irish boyfriend and part-time powerlifter kept them at bay, shouting Irish profanities at them.
‘That’s his boyfriend. He’s Erskin. 6’6” and 256 pounds,’ I pointed out.
‘Are you serious?’ she said. ‘He’s dating The Rock with blonde hair?’
Erskin was almost as tall as a basketball pole and very broad. If he wanted to, he could have flicked Vibhor into orbit. Finally, after three more minutes of shouting and cajoling and booing from the crowd, Vibhor threw his first punch, a wild right hook, and Sarthak effortlessly swayed out of the way. He smiled, danced to Vibhor’s side, and rained a three-punch combo in Vibhor’s rib cage.
‘Your brother is straight out of Tekken 3, Aisha.’
‘Should I be enjoying this?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
Vibhor, now disoriented, threw his punches wildly in the air. Sarthak weaved out of the way every time, and landed painful punches on his jaw, and on his rib cage. The fight lasted a total of three minutes and Vibhor got knocked to the floor thrice. He bled from his eyebrows, his fists and had a huge gash on his upper lip. We could hear the painful cracking of his ribs from afar. A straight punch in the stomach had made him throw up. A kick in his kneecap twisted his leg in an odd angle.
I climbed down once Vibhor was knocked out for good, and lay writhing and moaning on the ground.
‘MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!’ I shouted. ‘GO BACK TO YOUR CLASSES OR I WILL HAVE ALL OF YOU SUSPENDED! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK IS HAPPENING HERE!’
Within seconds the crowd dispersed and I helped Vibhor to get to the sick room. ‘Don’t die,’ I whispered in his ear as I dragged him through the corridors.
An hour later, Vibhor, all stitched up and limping, had ratted to the principal. Sarthak, Erskin, Aisha and I were summoned to his room.
‘Care to explain, Mr Danish?’ asked the principal, putting his angry face on.
He knew the boy deserved it but not in the way he got it. I strongly disagreed. No matter how much I was against mob justice, he deserved the shakedown and more.
‘I was late on the scene, sir,’ I said. ‘But as I have been told, Vibhor was the first person to throw a punch. Sarthak had no choice but to retaliate. Here’s a video I got from one of the students. There’s no audio but it’s clear that he was the one to start a fight.’
The principal watched the video with furrowed eyebrows. Since there was no sound, it was impossible to tell if it was Sarthak who encouraged the fight.
‘Vibhor,’ the principal spoke. ‘You hit him first.’
‘But—’
Sarthak cut him, ‘Sir, I was just showing my friend Erskin my old school and he came out of nowhere and started abusing me.’
‘Sir, believe me!’ pleaded Vibhor.
‘There’s nothing to believe, Vibhor. You threw the first punch.’
‘He abused me, sir!’ shouted Vibhor. ‘Ask anyone! It’s all this bitch’s doing.’
‘VIBHOR,’ shouted the principal and banged the table. ‘YOU WILL NOT ABUSE ANYONE IN MY OFFICE. And I have already talked to a few students. They all corroborate Sarthak’s story.’
‘But—’
‘You can leave now, or I will call your parents and get you suspended. Do you get that?’ Vibhor, defeated, left the room mumbling empty threats, ‘Dekha lunga tum sabko.’
‘All of you can leave as well,’ he addressed us.
We got up from our chairs.
‘Except you, Danish. I need to talk to you.’
He motioned me to sit in front of him and started speaking when everyone had left.
‘I know you’re behind this entire thing, Danish.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.’
‘I know you won’t admit it. But the next time something like this happens you will be answerable, Danish. I thought you knew better than to get a student beaten up inside the school premises.’
I shrugged. I got up and was about to leave the room when he called out and asked, ‘But I have just one question to ask you . . . why did the students corroborate Sarthak’s story and not Vibhor’s? They all saw what happened, didn’t they?’
‘I have no idea, sir, but my guess would be they have started to believe Aisha’s story. It’s time she caught a break.’
He smiled and let me go.
50
Aisha Paul
‘WHAT. WAS. THAT!’ I shouted and lunged at my brother. ‘And what are you doing here?’
‘I think that was the best day of my life!’ he said. ‘And before you flatter yourself, I did it for what he did to me and not for you.’ We hugged each other.
He broke out of the hug and kissed me on the cheek, something he had never done before and asked me how I was doing.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,’ he grumbled.
I told him I was better now, and he hugged me again, and told me how sorry he was to hear about it.
‘We could have killed him,’ said Erskin, the blonde Rock, with biceps thicker than my thighs and whose head hovered dangerously close to the ceiling
fan.
‘Yes, seeing you, you could have,’ I said.
‘Come here,’ he said in his one-part funny, one-part sexy accent. And I disappeared into his bone-crushing hug.
‘You’re beautiful. You’re even more beautiful than what Sarthak had described,’ he said. ‘Next time, the boy tries anything, tell me and I will handle it.’
I smiled.
I addressed my brother in Hindi, ‘Is he really your boyfriend? Like you two are actually like serious?’
He nodded.
‘That’s so unfair. Take me to Ireland as well! I need my fairy tale, too,’ I said.
‘You already have your fairy tale,’ he said and pointed towards Danish who was talking to someone from the administration.
I blushed. Which was strange. Because I didn’t get the familiar crippling feeling when imagining being close to a boy. I smiled and dismissed my brother.
He said, ‘Of course you know he likes you, don’t you? He always has.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’
I don’t know why I said that.
‘Of course, he does. And so do you, you just don’t know that yet,’ he said, and switched to English.
‘Yes, he loves you,’ added Erskin.
How’s it that it was apparent to everyone and not to me?
*
It was the most awkward evening. Thank God my father was already back in Thiruvananthapuram. He wouldn’t have known what to do. Despite my brother’s reluctance, I had called Erskin over to dinner at our place. He filled up our little dining room. For the first fifteen minutes, no one talked, just drinking water and pretending to be lost in their respective phones.
‘What’s the password to the WiFi?’ asked Erskin leaning into me.
‘ITSSOAWKWARD. All caps.’
‘Huh?’
‘It’s aishasarthak. All lower case.’
My mother served the food and everyone just smiled at each other, and ate silently. I stayed shut as well. No one gave me the set of questions or topics you could talk about when your brother’s Irish boyfriend comes home. I texted Danish.