I square my shoulders and walk towards them, trying to embody Harry Potter’s spirit when facing Voldemort.
‘You know what, Ira, let me tell you a story,’ Papa begins as soon as I sit down. I am instantly reminded of one of those horrible teen shows on Zee Café where the alcoholic/ suicidal/drug addict girls’ parents have a ‘talk’ with them. Like in Gossip Girl when Lily has a ‘talk’ with Serena, when Serena falls in love with Dan, Lily’s ex-boyfriend/future husband’s son, which is conveniently similar to her own wild escapades as a teenager.
‘During my final year B.Com exams, I dreamt that this one question on co-op banks was in the paper. No, don’t interrupt. When I got up in the morning and told your Daadi about the dream, she told me to study that question well because it would come.’
Bloody hell. This paper predicting thing isn’t my fault. It’s in my genes!
‘And it came,’ he carries on. ‘After that I got very excited and start thinking that I am going to dream of some question every night. But I never did.’ He pauses. ‘I was, naturally, very excited about the whole business and boasted about it to my friends, who then expected me to tell them something about each exam paper and of course I couldn’t. Obviously my friends ridiculed me after that.’
This smells fishy. None of Papa’s friends would ever ridicule him. Ever. Not that he is intimidating or anything. Papa’s friends think his retorts are very clever and intelligent because you don’t even realize you’re being insulted.
‘Papa, are you making this up?’
‘Maybe,’ he responds. ‘But that’s not important. What is important is that you don’t start believing in this whole paper prediction thing. OK? Now go.’
Bewildered and pleased by the abrupt ending, I flash a grateful smile and get up.
‘Sit down,’ Ma snarls at me. She throws Papa an exasperated look. He has switched on the TV and is already busy watching a cute gora from Kolkata Knight Riders knock the stuffing out of an unfamiliar podgy bowler from Royal Challengers.
Oooh. Now I had to continue sitting.
Seeing my sudden interest, Ma is momentarily diverted. ‘Since when have you become interested in cricket?’ she asks.
‘Arrey,’ I answer. ‘It’s a Bangalore vs Kolkata match. Rika’s mom is friends with Gauri Khan. She said she might go for one of the matches.’
I add wistfully, ‘IPL used to be such fun. Now they have all these weird teams whose names I can’t even remember.’
Papa nods his head in agreement.
‘Nowadays, you don’t even get Deepika Padukone and Siddharth Mallya kissing. Or Priyanka Chopra turning up in a tank top at a KKR match.’
‘Why can’t you see Deepika Padukone and Siddharth Mallya kissing?’ Ma asks, perplexed.
‘They broke up, Ma. Don’t you read the papers?’
‘Doesn’t matter. Ira, did you even hear what your father said?’
‘Uh-huh.’ I am irritated. I can’t see any celebrities whatsoever nor can I see Rika’s mom, Sameera aunty. And Sameera aunty gets so disappointed if she isn’t shown on TV.
Wait, I think she might be the one in the KKR tube top …
‘Ira!’ Ma almost shrieks. ‘Listen to me. I am not putting up with you throwing a fit before every exam! All this nonsense about you not being able to learn anything has to stop!’ She shakes me hard. ‘Do you understand me? You will have to. Because one day these coincidences are going to stop.’
I whirl my face away from the TV. I know what she is going to say next.
‘I know you’ve told Rika and all your other friends about this. And soon you will be in big trouble, Ira.’
‘Whoever says Disneyland is the happiest place on earth,’ Rika says dramatically, ‘has never been in your arms!’
We both fall on the bed, laughing.
‘Oh, dear, I never thought Ashwini’s Amusementsss,’ Rika’s eyes are twinkling, ‘could amuse me so much! Ira, you had weird classmates.’
I agree with her wholeheartedly. Ashwini Tyagi was the self-appointed ‘it-girl’ of DPS, Kanpur. The kind of girl whose ambition went from fashion designer in class six to airhostess in class seven and finally landed in event management in class eight. She would maintain a Dear Diary adorned with a fierce number of ‘KEEP OUT’s that she would gladly hand over to anyone willing to read the whole thing. She had a blatant crush on the boorish ‘it-guy’ of our class and would giggle, ‘Why does everyone tease me with Aditya? We are just childhood friends.’
I shake my head, smirking at the 668 pictures in Ashwini’s ‘<3My Amusementsss<3’ album series on Facebook.
In class ten, she achieved her minimum target of ten boyfriends per year and each one features in a separate edition of <3My Amusementsss<3 with cheesy quotations below his picture and a dozen comments by Ashwini in a language resembling English.
In Kanpur, everyone looks up to her. She is the Rika of Kanpur. But here in Bombay, her albums are a major source of entertainment during our slumber parties.
‘Who’s Aditi Adhyaru?’ Rika asks suddenly, peering at the screen. ‘See, you’re a mutual friend and her info says she studies in DPS, Kanpur, and she is on My Amusementsss’ friends list.’
I take the laptop from her and see Aditi’s profile. I crack a tiny smile. Her hair is still unruly and curly.
‘Was she your friend?’ Rika asks, not paying much attention to my changed expression.
‘Kind of,’ I answer, trying to maintain a poker face.
‘Who was your best friend in Kanpur?’ she asks in a disinterested voice. Rika is easily bored. Right now, she is clearly in one of her fun-is-over-now-I-am-bored moods.
That gets me annoyed. In almost two years, Rika has never bothered to ask me about my life in Kanpur. In fact, she gave me a weird stare when I first told her I was from there.
Why now? Because she is bored?
I ignore her and, in a desperate attempt to change the subject, say, ‘So what did you do at Amroli’s today?’
‘Uff, nothing,’ she answers. ‘All Shikha can talk about is how stupid IBSE is, trying to be all IB and A levels-ish, and how they’ve made this silly decision to have the exams from May till June. So now she can’t go for a vacation. She has to stay in Bombay till her son’s AIPMT results come out and as soon as they come out, our exams will start.’
‘Oh.’
‘Ira, can I ask you something?’ Rika is looking at me uncertainly.
I stare at her. Rika has never needed permission to ask something. Even when she is writing a paper in an exam hall, she doesn’t think twice before poking Sheetal, the class nerd sitting in front of her (Rika has all the luck in the world!), and asking her for an answer.
‘What?’ I ask nervously.
‘How do you know which question is going to come? Do you get visions or something like that?’
‘Umm … no.’ I slump my shoulders. I have been dreading this question.
‘Actually, it’s nothing that spooky or mysterious,’ I confess. I’m still a little disappointed about that. I mean, how cool would it be to dream about the question paper or suddenly have a vision like Raven in That’s so Raven. (I loved that show, whatever happened to it?) ‘It’s as if only the questions I know or like will come in the paper,’ I say dully. ‘I guess, if I want them to come, they will.’
‘Yeah, like during the prelims all your favourite questions came …’ Rika said slowly. ‘Or the ones you had just revised or told Lavisha and me to.’
We both remain silent for some time.
‘Poor Hina,’ Rika says finally. ‘She’ll have to think of something suitably intriguing if she wants to set up “Ira Says”.’
I smile at her obvious attempt to inject humour into this awkward conversation.
‘Anyway, you have to prepare a question paper for me,’ she says. At my puzzled expression, she sighs impatiently. ‘Uff, Shikha wants us all to prepare practice papers for each other and stupid Lavisha wants to prepare one for Abhinav,’ she explains. ‘So we�
��re stuck with each other.’
She smiles and gives a small yawn.
‘Practice papers? For each other? Why can’t she give us one?’ I ask dubiously.
‘I’d be blessed the day I understand the vagaries of a teacher’s mind.’ Rika looks up at me for just a fleeting second. ‘God, Ira, I don’t know. They must be busy with all the other kids’ exams na?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say uncertainly. ‘And when will we give this exam?’
‘Oh, at home only. You know, sit in a room, time yourself, the works,’ she vaguely gestures with her hands while speaking in that carefully casual voice.
‘Anyway, you love bio. And haan, she is going to give us an Ashok Amroliwallah paper on Monday.’
After fiddling with her toenails for some time, Rika switches off the lights abruptly and before I know it she has dozed off.
I stare at the ceiling, puzzled by her strange behaviour.
I reason with myself, telling myself that I too have been acting strange lately.
I try to sleep but can’t help smiling when I remember Aditi’s hair. Her hair has to be the curliest ever. Her locks would dangle all over her face and Aditi would snarl at anyone who dared point that out. A sharp rebuke would be delivered if a person suggested hair straightening.
Rika and Aditi are so different. In fact, I don’t think Aditi would’ve liked Rika.
And vice-versa.
I lie on the bed tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Spotting Rika’s laptop not far away from me, I quietly get up and pick it up, taking care to not wake Rika.
I’m sure Rika wouldn’t have minded anyway.
I snuggle into her revolving chair with the laptop and sign into Facebook. It is just about midnight. I immediately spot Shantanu ‘Messi’ Ray and Nihar Jaiswal on the online friends list.
I peek into Nihar’s bedroom from the hallway. The door is closed. The lights are off.
What is Nihar doing at midnight on Facebook with the doors closed and lights off? Oh … I scoot back into Rika’s bedroom, squirming at the idea of whatever he is doing. I mean, eewww!
I settle down with the laptop again and see that Shantanu is messaging me.
Shantanu: Hi!
Wowieee! I am writing back an enthusiastic Hiiiiiieee! when something else pops up.
Harsh: Ira
I balk at the sight of Harsh’s chat window, then I abandon my reply to Shantanu and immediately reply to Harsh.
Ira: Didn’t know you are on my friends list!!
Harsh: Don’t worry. I was not. Had just kept your year old friend request in the inbox to stagnate. Accepted it today …
I check my notifications immediately and am furious when I discover that he isn’t lying. What guts! Ignoring my friend request and being so blasé about it!
Shantanu: ????? ira? r u thr????????
Aaack!! This is getting complicated.
Ira: Hi! Sup?
I turn my focus back to Harsh.
Ira: And why did you accept it today?
He immediately replies.
Harsh: Just… felt your friend request shouldn’t be marginalized.
Shantanu: nm … u?
I take a deep breath. I mean, what reply can I give to Shantanu’s ‘nm’ (which, by the way, means nothing much)? The only suitable reply is another nonchalant ‘nm’.
Which would mean the end of our conversation. I can’t do that. I have ignored Shantanu for the past two weeks. I can’t let our friendship stagnate like my friend request to Harsh.
Ira: Am at a sleepover at Rika’s.
Harsh: Not that accepting it changes anything.
Ira: What do you mean?????????????
Harsh: Just that accepting your friendship request hasn’t brought me any closer to knowing you. Which defies the main purpose of Facebook. Yeah, of course I can chat with you, but since when have I wanted to do that?
Obviously, Harsh thinks that now that I have realized he is not in the least bit interested in talking to me, my life is not worth living.
Shantanu: So …?
Ira: So what??
Oh god. Oh god. Nooo. Please tell me I didn’t ‘So what??’ Shantanu.
Ira: Oh god … that wasn’t for you.
Was for my friend.
From Kanpur.
The place I lived in b4 b’bay.
She was annoying me …!
On my other chat window, Harsh’s message popped up.
Harsh: God, Ira, how long does it take for you to type!
Ira: Shut up.
I stop at that. Wait, this is my chance to show Harsh Asnani his place. I erase what I’ve written and go to Shantanu’s window.
Ira: Whatever. I am chatting with other people too. I have lots of friends on FB.
*snicker snicker*
Shantanu: k … watevs … wtcha u ppl dn?
OK. What?!?!
Oh, right. What are you people doing? Or is it what have you people done?
Ira: Everyone’s asleep. Only I’m awake.
Shantanu: Hmm
You know, sometimes it’s impossible to carry on a sensible and meaningful conversation with teenage guys without involving shit and/or Pirates of the Caribbean.
Frustrated with Shantanu and Harsh, I decide to take on Harsh and say goodbye to Shantanu before I humiliate myself further.
Ira: brb
Ira: Harsh, how long does it take for YOU to reply, huh?
Harsh: Oh, am I expected to reply? Thought you are too busy with others…
Ira: u are such a crybaby!!
Anyway, what are u saying about accepting my friend request being useless?
Duh! U can see my wall and profile and pictures now!
Harsh: I could see them earlier too.
You have the worst privacy settings ever.
Oh.
Harsh : Not that your wall has anything spectacular.
Asinine? Yes. Worth seeing? No.
What did he mean, ‘Asinine’? And I’m supposed to be the writer’s daughter! I open an online dictionary immediately and search for it. And then sit back, fuming.
It means foolish.
Whatever. That’s it. It is time to take out the big guns.
Harsh is just bitter because I was chosen as the sports vice-captain for girls. And after some prodding Anita had revealed that Sameer had been chosen as the sports vice-captain for boys.
Not Harsh.
This must have been a big blow to his ego.
I start to type the same but stop myself in time.
Hello, Harsh had used asinine! Now I have to use some dhinchak word.
I open an online thesaurus and search for bitter. ‘Embittered’ is the fanciest-sounding word I find. I start typing rapidly.
Ira: You are just plain embittered because I have been chosen as a sports vice-captain.
Not you!
Ha! In your face! Moron.
Shantanu: wtf is wrng wth u???????????
Oh. God. No.
6
‘Good morning, students and teachers. Sorry to disturb your classes,’ a booming voice says on the intercom. Everyone pipes down at once. That is, everyone in the tenth standard. We all know what this is for.
‘I am pleased to announce that the student council for the next academic year has been selected. A great deal of consideration has been put into the task and the most deserving have been selected.’
I squeal with pain as Rika grabs my wrist and digs her French-manicured nails into my flesh.
‘Iraaa! Do you think I’ll be in the council? They have to make me …’
I turn away from her, unexpectedly annoyed. Why are they obligated to put her in the council? Because her interior decorator mother would mention how great and ‘intellectually-stimulating’ the PTA meetings of Thoburn and Hurst are in her Mumbai Beats column?
A second later, I feel horrible for thinking about Rika like that. She’s my best friend. I fidget guiltily in my chair. Our principal is droning on about the responsibilit
ies attached to the respective posts.
‘Listen, Ira,’ Rika says, ‘do you mind if I go sit with Yash? There won’t be any teacher in their class and anyway, I know you’re going to become sports vice-captain. But you know, the chances of him being in the council …’ she trails off.
‘And then when he isn’t in the council, he’ll be all wound up about it. Remember when he wasn’t made class representative last year?’ I say.
Rika and I start giggling. Every year, Yash harbours hopes of getting some position of power, from class rep to the waste disposal project leader (I still think he would be very good at that last one, considering the long hours he spends in the loo). Last year, he was convinced that the post of book monitor was a perfect match for him. After being snubbed by the class teacher, Prakash sir, he created a Facebook group called ‘Endangered Bhalu’.
Prakash sir has an astonishing amount of hair. Just not on his head. On his body. (Incidentally, Yash took responsibility for informing everyone that god had decided to take away Prakash sir’s crowning glory in exchange for the shiny coat on his body.)
On the group page, Yash had threatened to correct Prakash sir’s uneven topography by plucking each hair from his body with Rika’s Bobbi Brown tweezers after gagging and binding him. In addition to the pain, it would also effectively kill Prakash sir’s chances of opening a Hindi tuition class called ‘Hairy & Chikna’, and force him to call it ‘Chikna & Chikna’.
‘See you later!’ Rika traipses away to Yash’s classroom.
‘The Green house, whose colour stands for …’ the principal starts with the list. I try to listen to him but can’t escape the guilty feeling in my heart. I am a horrible friend.
‘… boys vice-captain …’
The class breaks out into a loud cheer and the shrieking makes it difficult for me to decipher my own thoughts.
I know Rika deserved it. That doesn’t make what I did any better.
But Ira Said Page 5