Hah, I knew that!
‘Amira, if you don’t mind my asking, did something bad happen today?’ Aisha asks nervously. ‘I apologized to Sujata aunty when I went to the kitchen and she said something about how you might, umm, be distressed about what happened today. What happened?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just that Ashok Amroliwallah,’ I pause dramatically, ‘decided to visit my house.’
‘Shut up,’ Nihar counters.
‘Are you serious?’ Nim asks in an awed voice. Realizing her tone isn’t appropriate given the circumstances, she asks brusquely, ‘Why was he here? Bloody oaf.’
‘To threaten me,’ I declare, enjoying the attention of my captive audience. I tell them the entire story but even their engrossed faces cannot help the emptiness in my heart as I live that moment again.
‘But he can’t do anything,’ I concede, trying to inject some enthusiasm into their disturbed faces. ‘The IBSE head himself assured my mom that they cannot and will not stop me from writing my exams. Luckily, he sympathizes with me. Apparently, he doesn’t like Ashok Amroliwallah’s practices. He thinks he is evil to the core and the media should be ashamed of themselves for subjecting me to this kind of censure.’
Their mouths fall open and their eyes pop out of their sockets.
‘Jagdish Burrow told you whaaaat?’ Shantanu asks.
‘Oh my freaking god, how the hell do you know him?’ Rika enquires.
I answer airily, ‘Oh, my mom forged some connection with him. Some journalist friend of hers knows him.’
‘Wow,’ Nihar says quietly.
‘Do you know that Ashok Amroliwallah is the Jagdish Burrow-cum-IBSE Groupie Number One?’ Nim asks. ‘He would die to meet him.’
‘He’s such an awful man. He refuses to take his fee by cheque. I mean, have you seen the Amroli’s brochure? “We prefer cash” is written in the most obnoxious way you can imagine,’ Rika says, looking revolted. ‘How incredibly cheap.’
‘My parents are saying that the Amroli’s building is not legal. It is on the sea coast and apparently they have broken a few rules and regulations here and there,’ Aisha pipes up. ‘Ira, you’d better stay away from him. I hear he’s become deranged.’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ I snort. ‘He was always this loony and disturbed.’
‘Wow,’ Nihar repeats. His face looks awed and he obviously can’t get over the fact that my mom corresponded with the dude who had instituted the exams that would decide his fate day after tomorrow. ‘So, do you have his phone number? Jagdish Burrow’s?’
‘Shut up, Nihar,’ Rika snaps. ‘Ira, you should do something about Amroliwallah. He’s evil.’
‘His wife came to my parents to get a divorce. She was the one who gave me copies of the papers you had made,’ Aisha says suddenly. ‘Listen, Ira, do you have his contact details? Burrow’s?’
‘My mom must have them, but why?’ I ask, baffled by their interest in Jagdish Burrow. ‘And the secretary came to your parents? For a divorce?’
‘Yeah,’ Aisha says, but her mind is obviously occupied by something else. ‘She loathes him. She didn’t have the guts all these years, but after she saw how dreadfully he treated you, she put her foot down. He still doesn’t know.’ She pauses before continuing, ‘She wanted me to tell you that she’s really sorry. She didn’t think your parents would want her to communicate directly with you.’
I nod distractedly, still surprised by this revelation. Suddenly Aisha gets a strange look on her face, a lot like those cartoon characters when they get a brilliant idea and a light bulb appears in a thought bubble. All of us turn to her, confused. Aisha is muttering ‘So if she …’ and ‘then he …’ to herself. There is a wicked smile on her face.
She grins at us and says, ‘Rika, come with me.’
There are exactly four hours left for my exam to start. It is geography again. Unlike the last geography paper I gave where I began to study barely a day before the exams, I am excruciatingly well-prepared for this.
I aimlessly start flipping through the pages of my book. I still have no idea what Rika and Aisha are up to. Aisha had run back to her house, grabbing Rika. They wouldn’t tell me what unbelievably clever strategy they were plotting. Aisha just took Jagdish Burrow’s phone number from me. She swore that none of them would try to contact him for anything.
Which makes me wonder why they needed it so badly.
I shut my textbook with a bang. I am waiting for that feeling to come. Usually a few questions stood out. Now they all lie before me equally boring and mind-numbing.
I know, I know. But hey, nothing wrong with praying for a select few, right?
Epilogue
‘Dude, I got three questions wrong!’ I moan as I see Rika coming towards me.
‘Aww, chill. I knew just one line in the second-last three-mark question,’ Rika giggles. ‘I bullshitted like anything!’
‘I know! So did I! But focus on the positive. Three exams over!’ I squeal as I rummage through my bag trying to find my history textbook. ‘Bismarck is the Prussian dude, no? The one who formed all those groups?’
‘Yeah, but stop it. I barely survived the exam the first time, why do we need to do its post-mortem?’ Rika protests, snatching my history book from me. ‘I am so throwing a party the day exams end. Maybe I’ll have a sleepover.’
‘Rika, you can’t stay awake past eleven-thirty even at a sleepover, what are you going to do the night our exams end?’ I point out.
‘That’s true,’ Rika agrees. ‘I’ll be dead to the world before ten o’clock. So I’ll have one the next day. Just Aisha and Nim. And maybe you if there’s space.’
I gasp and slap her arm hard. She yelps and backs away from me, rubbing her arm.
‘So, did you speak to your great phraand from Kanpur?’ Rika asks nonchalantly.
‘Yeah, but just for five minutes,’ I answer, looking up at Rika. ‘It’s OK. We spoke very cordially and I apologized to her. At least we are on speaking terms now. But we can’t become best friends again, can we?’
‘What happened to her father?’ she asks apprehensively. ‘And no, you can’t. Because I am your best friend.’
‘He works in another school now,’ I say. ‘And runs his own coaching classes.’
‘Oh.’
‘How were your papers? Ira, dude, you could’ve told me that Cold War might come,’ Nihar moans as he sits down on the steps, scratching himself energetically. As weird as I feel saying this, his scratching makes it seem like everything is back to normal. I am no longer a mutant astrologer, Rika isn’t being a bitch BFF and Nihar isn’t a maniac who wants to do well in his exams.
‘Shut up, Nihar,’ I snap. I continue with a long face, ‘Exactly two questions that I liked came.’
‘Hey, is that the column?’ Rika asks excitedly. She grabs the newspaper that Nihar is clutching under his arm and grins goofily when she sees it.
I grow suspicious. As noble as Aisha’s and Rika’s intentions of revenge were, getting his wife to subtly encourage him to bribe Jagdish Burrow was very Machiavellian.
Rika shoves the paper in my face and cries victoriously, ‘Look at that!’
It is Shalini aunty’s weekly column. And it starts with, ‘My daughter’s best friend’s name is Ira. Yes, the same Ira who has been wronged …’
‘Oh my god!’ I exclaim. ‘Rika, you have to stop this! Everyone already thinks I’m this great victim …!’
Rika snorts. Hard. She slings her bag across her shoulder and runs ahead, turning to throw water at me and poor Nihar from her bottle. ‘Come on, slowpoke. Show me what you got!’
I take out my bottle combatively, knocking down Nihar who promptly falls on the ground but refuses to stop scratching his wet pants. I open the cap of my full bottle and throw down my bag. Giving her a wicked smile, I yell, ‘You so shouldn’t have done that!’
And I run laughing like I haven’t in ages.
Acknowledgments
Sanjana Adhyaru, my most loyal reader, who
kept me going through those enticing Star World TV shows with her constant ‘It’s really good’s. And never complained about reading a page of my book every day.
Aishaani Srivastava, my most ‘intellectual’ friend, whose mad, curly hair I borrowed. Also, for not being offended by my threats of bodily harm should she not read the chapters I send her.
Deann Almeida, for planting the idea of But Ira Said in my mind. You know, you’re almost as good as Ira.
Neelini Sarkar, my kickass Bong editor, who pahtays and then edits, giggles with me over psycho covers and deals with me so patiently and indulgently.
Resham George, my copyeditor, who spotted slips I’m sure no reader would have noticed. Hopefully, Ira has helped you connect with your teen self.
A very big thanks to Karthika V. K., my publisher, for believing that my book and I were rocking enough.
Everyone at HarperCollins who helped me with the book and never made fun of my Gmail id when they mailed me.
Kanishka Gupta, my agent, for guiding me and encouraging me. Thank you for your dedication, frantic updates and immense belief. But Ira Said wouldn’t have been possible without you.
Sanjana Kumbhani, my link and guide to the world that is cool. Though, of course, since hanging out with me, her coolness quotient has gone down drastically. But hey, your nerdiness quotient has shot up!
Shaila Yardi—no teacher has ever influenced me as much as you have. I have no words to describe your impact. From those ‘very goods’ to your replies to my e-mails, thank you!
All the schools I’ve attended for letting me borrow so heavily from their histories. Also, all my classmates who hopefully won’t sue me. Haha, did you all spot yourselves?
Nani, who I am sure must’ve secretly been bribing god to find a publisher for my book.
Dhruva, the original manmade dimples dude, who I will always stalk and make fun of. Regardless of how many girlfriends he has.
Mamma, who, despite my impatience, stubbornness and hot-headedness, continues to indulge every dream of mine and turns a blind eye whenever she reads, ahem, unsuitable words in the manuscript. Thank you for the encouragement, love and for sending embarrassing messages to everybody on your contact list. (Hey everybody! My daughter’s book has just been accepted for publication by HarperCollins India!) I couldn’t do without your goodnights or your writing genes.
About the Author
SHREYA MATHUR was born in Ahmedabad and has lived in Ajmer, Baroda and Mumbai. She is a student of St Xavier’s College, Mumbai. But Ira Said was unabashedly written during her pre-board study leave when she was fifteen. Her hobbies, apart from writing fan mail, include painting, calculus and re-reading books.
First published in 2012 by Harper
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers India
Copyright © Shreya Mathur 2012
ISBN: 978-93-5029-381-2
Epub Edition © April 2013 ISBN: 9789350295786
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Shreya Mathur asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction and all characters and incidents described in this
book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under The Copyright Act, 1957. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers India.
Cover design Nitesh Mohanty
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But Ira Said Page 17