2 States: The Story of My Marriage

by Chetan Bhagat

  ‘No,’ I screamed and sat up. ‘Are you stupid? You, of all people, are asking me if I am gay.’

  ‘I heard they make you do all sorts of stuff in ragging.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t that bad. I had a girlfriend.’

  ‘Really?’ She blinked. ‘How come you never told me!’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over. It ended when I left college, two years ago.’

  ‘Why? Who was she? A student?’

  ‘Prof’s daughter.’

  ‘My, my, my! We have a stud here.’ Then, ‘Pretty? Prettier than me?’

  I looked at Ananya. Why do women size each other up in looks so much?

  ‘Similar, though you are smarter,’ I said.

  ‘Similar?’

  ‘OK, you are better looking,’ I said. The girl who asks the question is the better looking one, always.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she stepped off the bed to wear her track pants. ‘Why did it end?’

  ‘I sort of had a deal with her father.’

  ‘Father? What, he bought you out? Gave you a blank cheque like in films?’ she laughed.

  ‘No, he let me have my degree on time. Because of which I am here. But the implicit deal was, don’t push it. Don’t dream of being family. There was no future, so it died.’

  My throat closed up as I thought about my previous girlfriend. Somehow, it never really gets over with an ex. You merely learn to push their thoughts aside. Unless someone prods your brain again to think of them. ‘Can we leave it now?’

  ‘Where is she now? Campus?’

  ‘No, father went to the US to a senior faculty post in MIT. She found a geeky guy of the same community. Engaged in six months, married in a year. Rest I don’t know. Now, even though we were naked a few moments ago, I do think I can make a case for invasion of privacy.’

  ‘Well, it affects me. In case you are still involved with her.’

  ‘I’m not. It took me a long time to get over her, but I am not involved anymore.’

  ‘Did you love her?’

  ‘Yes. And I feel sick I didn’t have the courage to fight her father. And no more talk about her please,’ I said. My ex-girlfriend and my father were off-limit topics.

  ‘One last question. Is she South Indian?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You mentioned IIT, MIT, geeky software programmer, it wasn’t that hard.’

  I laughed.

  ‘My parents are pretty conservative too,’ she said, switching on her electric kettle.

  ‘We haven’t planned to get married yet.’

  She stared at me. I wondered if I had said the wrong thing. I was being factual.

  ‘You are right. We are just friends with benefits, right? Or what is it? Fuck buddies?’

  She looked upset. It is amazing how the vulnerability in a relationship shifts from the guy to the girl after you’ve had sex.

  ‘Hey, we. . . .’

  But she interrupted me, ‘Sorry, I am freaking out. Have tea.’ She passed me a cup. I twiddled with the handle for two minutes. Despite the sexual possibilities, we still had to study.

  ‘Should we open the HR case? It is about a strike in a hotel,’ I said as I opened my folder.

  She nodded without eye contact. I racked my brains hard on what I could say that could make her feel better. ‘I love you,’ I said.

  She carefully closed her case materials and looked up at me. ‘Mean it?’ she said, her eyes wet.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘You are not just saying it so you can have sex with me again?’

  ‘No. But are you saying that. . . .’

  ‘I am not saying anything. Is that all you think about?’

  ‘We study together, eat together, go out together, sit in class looking at each other all day, the only time we are apart is when I have to go to sleep or when I have to use the toilet. So,’ I paused.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘I love you, damn it! Don’t you get it?’ I yelled.

  ‘That’s better. Now you sound convincing,’ she smiled.

  ‘And you?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m going to think about it.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Well, I could be only using you for sex,’ she said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I said, this time louder.

  She laughed. I threw a pillow at her.

  ‘I told you, I have to think about it.’

  Even though she never said ‘I love you’, Ms Swaminathan moved in with me. I had freaked out about the idea when she arrived at my room one day with a backpack for overnight clothes. I’d have much preferred her place, as I didn’t want her to be the only woman in the dorm with twenty testosterone-charged men.

  Still, it was kind of nice. She brought her electric kettle, sweet smile and Maggi-making abilities with her. While we used to study together earlier, now there was even more discipline. When a woman comes into your life, things organise themselves.

  We woke up in the morning, she half an hour earlier than me. She would rush to her dorm a hundred metres away and bathe there. I’d get ready and meet her at the mess for breakfast.

  ‘This is your assignment and this is my quant worksheet.’ She’d take out the stack of work from last night and divide it in the mess. We’d go to class together, and if Kanyashree was in a good mood, she’d switch places with Ananya for a day. Otherwise, we’d take our original seats and stare at each other through class. The five Mohits were quite amused at first, but later adjusted quite well and turned to check us out only when the lecture got boring. In fact, her moving in with me created a mini scandal. Like it always happens, I earned the tag of a stud. And she earned tags ranging from stupidly-in-love to slut. But it didn’t matter to her as maybe she was stupidly in love. Every day in class, she would pass me a note.

  ‘I miss you. Can’t wait to cuddle with you after class,’ it said, and it came to me via Ankur, Anoop, Bipin, Bhupin, Bhanu, ten other students and Kanyashree. We lived with each other, yet she missed me in class from six rows away.

  ‘Stop sending such notes in class. People will open them,’ I warned.

  ‘You are no fun,’ she replied with several sad smilies. Bipin smiled as he passed that note. OK, so someone had entertainment in class.

  ‘You are a whisker away from being in the top ten. One more A in the statistics final exam and you are there,’ she said one night three months after she had moved in with me.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m studying so much. In IIT, all we’d do is chat all night.’ I switched off the lights.

  ‘We could chat all night,’ she said as we tucked under the quilt together.

  ‘About what? And why? We are with each other all the time. Why sacrifice sleep?’

  ‘Still, we could talk. Future plans and stuff.’

  The word ‘future’ and females is a dangerous combination. Still, in a business school future could merely mean placement. ‘We’ve good grades. You’ll easily get HLL. It is the best marketing job, right? And I’ll go for WPM.’

  ‘WPM?’

  ‘Whoever pays more, so I can save as much money as fast as possible,’ I grinned.

  ‘You still serious about becoming a writer, right?’ She ran her fingers through my hair.

  ‘Yes, but I’m still wondering what I’d write about,’ I yawned.

  ‘About anything. Like that girlfriend of yours.’

  ‘Ananya, we had a pact. We will not talk about my ex-girlfriend again.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry. You said you had a deal with the Prof for grades, so I thought maybe it will make an interesting story.’

  ‘Good night, my strategist.’ I kissed her and lay down.

  ‘I love you,’ she said.

  ‘Mean it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How come you said it now?’

  ‘I think about it a lot. I only articulated it now. Good night,’ she said.

  One-and-a-half years later

  ‘Tell me your thoughts
. Don’t you like to talk after making love?’

  Actually, I prefer to look at the fan above. Or drift into a nap. Why do women want to talk all the time? We were in my room. We were snugly wrapped up on a cloudy, winter afternoon.

  ‘I love to talk,’ I said carefully. ‘Do you have something in mind?’

  ‘It’s one week to placement and I’m nervous,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry, every company has short-listed you. You will hit the jackpot.’

  ‘I’m not nervous about receiving a job offer. What after that?’

  ‘After that? Finally, we will have money in the bank. No more scrimping while ordering in restaurants, no more front row seats in theatres, no more second-class train travel. College is fun, but sorry, I’ve had my share of slumming it. Imagine, you can shop every month!’

  ‘I don’t like shopping.’

  ‘Fine, you can save the money. Or travel to exotic places.’

  Her face turned more thoughtful.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked.

  ‘Do you realise we leave campus in four weeks?’

  ‘Good riddance. No more mugging and grades, hopefully for life,’ I said.

  Her voice dropped an octave. ‘What about us?’

  ‘About us what?’ I asked with an idiotic, confused expression exclusive to men when they have to get all meaningful with women.

  She sat up and wore her top. She stepped off the bed to wear the rest of her clothes. Despite the serious mood, I couldn’t help but notice how wonderful women look when they change. ‘I’m going to my room. Enjoy your nap,’ she said.

  ‘Hey,’ I extended my arm and stopped her. ‘What’s up? I am talking, no?’

  ‘But like a dork. We could be in different cities in four weeks. It will never be like this again.’

  ‘What do you mean never?’ I said, my mouth open.

  ‘Wear your clothes first. I want to have a serious discussion.’

  She kept quiet until I finished dressing. We sat across, cross-legged on the bed.

  ‘Here is the deal,’ I said, collecting my thoughts. ‘You are the career-focussed one, I am doing it for the money. So, I will try to get a job in the same city as you. But the issue is, we don’t know which city you will be in. So how can I do anything about it now?’

  ‘And what will you do next week? We are all going to get placed around the same time. You can’t wait for me to get a job.’

  ‘So let fate play out,’ I said.

  ‘And what about our future? Or sorry, I should ask, is there a future?’

  ‘I can’t talk about that right now,’ I said.

  ‘Oh really, can you give me a time in the future when we can talk about the future?’

  I kept quiet.

  ‘Forget it, I’m leaving,’ she said and made for the door.

  ‘I need time to think,’ I said.

  ‘Two years are not enough?’

  I kept quiet.

  ‘You know it baffles me,’ Ananya said, ‘how you men need so much time to think about commitment, but how you need no time at all to decide when you have to sleep with the girl.’

  ‘Ananya,’ I began only to hear the door slam shut.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ she told me for the fifth time. We took a four-kilometre walk outside campus to reach Navrangpura. I wanted to be as far from the madness as possible. Day Zero, or the first day of placement, had ended and I hadn’t got a job.

  ‘I thought with my grades I will crack Day Zero,’ I said.

  ‘Who cares? There’re six more days left for placements,’ she said.

  We stopped at a roadside vendor for pao-bhaji. She ordered two plates with less butter. ‘You will be fine. See, marketing companies don’t even start until tomorrow. I have my big HLL interview. I’m not stressed.’

  ‘You’ll get in. I can’t think of a single company who can say no to you,’ I said.

  She looked at me and smiled. ‘You do realise that not everyone is in love with me.’

  ‘You have good grades and a passion for marketing. You are so HLL, I can see it on your face.’

  ‘You have two more banks tomorrow.’

  ‘I want Citibank,’ I said. ‘I should have better answers than “I like the money”. I need to lie better in interviews.’

  The waiter served us. She broke a piece of the pao and fed me. ‘But that’s the only reason why anyone would work in a bank, right?’

  ‘Yes, but the interviewers like to believe they are doing something meaningful. Like they work for the Mother Teresa Foundation or something.’

  ‘Well, you should say this – I want Citibank as I want Indians to have access to world-class financial services. And use words like “enormous growth” and “strategic potential”,’ she said.

  ‘I have to say all that without throwing up?’

  ‘And remember, the Citi never sleeps. So say you will work hard,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t lie that much,’ I said.

  She laughed as she wiped a bit of bhaji off the corner of my mouth. I thought how lucky I was to have her. She could be running HLL in a few years, but today her priority was to wipe bhaji off my stupid face. Guilt knotted within me. She deserved an answer about the future. Do it, loser, I told myself. Do it now. Even if it is a makeshift pao bhaji stall in Navrangpura. I gathered the courage to speak.

  ‘What? You want to say something?’

  ‘Do you want more pao?’ I said.

  ‘You are third,’ a first-year student volunteer who assisted in placements told me. I sat on a stool with seven other candidates outside the interview room. We resembled patients at a dentist’s clinic, only more stressed.

  The HLL interviews were on in the room across me. Ananya had moved up all the rounds and now waited to be called one last time. I reflected on what had gone wrong on Day Zero. OK, I only wanted a job for the money, but I had hidden that when they spoke to me. Then why did I screw up with five banks yesterday? What if Citi also screws me? I thought. Sweat beads popped on my forehead. Was it destiny leading me to doom after all these degrees and grades? Is God not on my side? I wondered if I had given any reason to God not to be on my side. I saw the HLL room from a distance. Ananya stood outside, looking beautiful in a peacock blue sari. Maybe God will not let me decide my future unless I give her clarity on her future.

  ‘Krish Malhotra,’ the student volunteer called my name.

  I offered mental prayers and stood up. I checked my tie knot and shirt collars. Remember, you need this job, I told myself. Banks pay double, I could quit a corporate career twice as fast to do whatever I wanted to. I breathed in deeply and exhaled.

  ‘Welcome, take your seat,’ a man in an impeccable black suit spoke from his chair. He was rich enough to wear a Rolex watch and obnoxious enough not to look at me while he addressed me. He rifled through a pile of resumes to find mine.

  ‘Good afternoon.’ I extended my hand. I flexed my forearm muscles as people say a tight handshake is a sign of confidence and world domination.

  ‘Rahul Ahuja, managing director, corporate finance,’ he said and shook hands with me. He pointed to his colleague on the right. ‘And this is Devesh Sharma, vice-president in HR.’

  I looked at Devesh, a thirty-year-old executive with the timidity of a three-year-old. He came across as someone who could be kicked around despite being called vice-president. Anyway, I’d heard Citibank had four hundred vice-presidents to accommodate careers and egos of hundreds of new MBAs that joined every year. Of course, it took away the relevance of the title but at least it gave you a good introduction. Rahul signalled Devesh to start.

  ‘So Krish, I notice you have poor grades in your undergrad,’ Devesh spoke in a voice so effeminate, he’d be the obvious choice for female leads in college plays.

  ‘You are pretty observant,’ I said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Devesh said, surprised.

  Cut the wisecracks, I told myself. ‘Nothing,’ I cleared my throat.

  ‘So, what happened?’<
br />
  A girlfriend, fun-loving friends, alcohol, grass and crap profs happened, I wanted to say. But Ananya had told me the right answer. ‘Actually, Mr Sharma,’ I said, emphasising his name so he felt good, ‘when I entered IIT, I didn’t realise the rigours demanded by the system. And once you have a bad start, due to relative grading, it is quite hard to come back. I did get good grades in the last semester and my IIMA grades are good. So, as you can see, I’ve made up.’

  There were twenty minutes of stupid questions like ‘will credit cards grow in India?’ or ‘can India improve its banking services?’ where you easily answer what they want to hear (yes, they will grow and, yes, India can improve heaps). Finally, they asked the big question, ‘Why Citibank?’

  I want Citibank because none of the other five banks worked out. I sucked in my breath along with my stupid thoughts. BS time, buddy, I thought, the ten seconds that will determine your career start now.

  ‘Mr Ahuja, the question is not why Citi. The real question is why would any ambitious young person want to go anywhere else? It is the biggest private bank in the world, it has a great reputation, it is committed to India, and there are opportunities in almost every area of the bank. It is not a bank, it is a growth machine.’

  I paused to see if I had gone over the top. But Rahul listened with rapt attention and Devesh nodded. Yes, they were falling for it.

  ‘And, ultimately the biggest reason is, Rahul,’ I said, switching to the first name to show my closeness to him, ‘I really want to work with people I look up to. When I see you, I want to be you. And Citi gives me a shot at it.’

  Rahul flushed with pride. ‘How . . . I mean, how do you know you want to be me?’

  No matter how accomplished people get, they don’t stop fishing for compliments. ‘I saw you at the pre-placement talk. I’ve attended dozens of talks, but the way you presented showed more thought clarity than anyone else. I think it is a Citibank thing. Your people have a different confidence. Right, Devesh?’

  Devesh looked at me, perplexed. ‘Actually, we at human resources pick the best talent,’ he parroted, probably from a manual.

  ‘HR does nothing. I personally pick everyone for the job,’ Rahul said as the two jostled for my attention.

  ‘It shows,’ I said.

  Rahul pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Listen Krish, I like you. So between us, let me be honest. We are mostly done with the recruiting and have only one place left. But we have internal criteria; we need a seven-point grade in undergrad to take new recruits.’