I have already found the perfect manuscript. It is on my desk—the diary. The only problem is that it doesn’t have an end. The last few pages are either missing or it just ended abruptly. Ever since I’ve read it, all my mental energies have been diverted to its content. It’s nothing phenomenal, but the sheer circumstance around it is so powerful. What lies on my desk are a dead man’s words. Could a story be more perfect?
There were some books that I had written before I started my own publishing house and they did well, but I don’t write much now.
I pick up the diary and flip through the pages. The writing is ornate, slow and deliberate. It hardly seems like a guy has written it. I guess the guy always wanted to show this diary to Ragini. The writing is too pretty to not show off.
I like this guy. He’s creepy, but he isn’t that creepy. I have tried to decode everything that’s there in the diary and made notes on a sheet of paper. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle with the major parts there but all the tiny critical parts are missing. No city no names, no addresses, no phone numbers. It looks like someone is playing with me. The questions keep troubling me.
My mind creates this image of a guy madly in love with a very pretty girl. It feels so picture-perfect. But as I feel the burnt edges of the diary, I feel unsettled. His hands were blown off from this diary. Somehow, I have assumed that this diary is about a guy who doesn’t get his girl and that’s why he carried it around. It makes perfect sense. If he was with the girl when the blast took place, why would he keep the diary with him? But I have to consider both possibilities. What if both of them died together? Could it be that? What if this was their last remembrance they’d left behind? Of all the people, I get the diary.
I google news results of the Chandni Chowk blast. The death count is rising. It’s now one hundred and twenty-seven dead and fifty-seven injured. Initially, there were three hospitals that all the blast victims had been taken to. I call up the first hospital. I pose as someone from the media and take down the names of twenty-three people who had died there. After the third hospital, I realize it’s futile.
‘Can you give me the names?’ I ask the disinterested guy on the other side of the phone.
There should have been twenty-nine names listed in the third hospital. He gives me three.
‘The rest? Twenty-nine people should be on the list. I called all the hospitals and have got just ninety-eight names,’ I say.
‘People get transferred to different hospitals within hours of when they get here. Some of them are reported, some of them are not,’ he answers.
I pester him to give me more details, but he says he can’t help me. Overeager and scared relatives transfer patients to better, private hospitals as soon as possible. So, the number of people dead is reported on an estimate basis. I hang up, fuming, not knowing what to do next. The tease was thrilling, but now, it’s annoying. I want to know who the hell this RD is. I am pretty sure he is dead, but I want it in writing.
Shrey walks in a little while later.
‘Working?’ he asks. His ruffled hair is more ruffled. This time his hair is strange not because of his botched-up genes. This time I am sure it’s a girl. The glow on his face is more evident than a pregnant woman’s. He smiles and waits for me to ask him about the love bite I spot on his neck, which is big, red and very prominent.
‘Yes, and you have been working hard, I suppose.’ I smirk.
‘You wouldn’t believe!’ Shrey comes and jumps on my table. I hate it when he does that. Twice he has broken the glass top. Twice.
‘Do I have an option of not listening?’ I ask. I know I have no choice. He would still tell me. I don’t mind his sexual escapades, though. They are usually very entertaining till the point he decides to dump the girl. Because after that, it’s just sad and pathetic.
‘You’ve got to meet her!’ he says. ‘Every time we meet, it’s like freaking amazing sex.’
‘You had sex? C’mon! Even I didn’t have sex today and I am engaged. This is just unfair.’
‘Not only that! We did it in the washroom. Can you beat that?’
I have done that, but I let him have his moment of glory. Why would Shrey even think he has done something that I have not? Yes, I am very possessive and proud about my very healthy sex life. Any insult to my sex life is a direct insult to my lust for Avantika, which I think is unmatched and phenomenal by any standards.
‘Washroom! Nice. But in the afternoon? How?’
‘We got drunk. And she needed help to walk up to the washroom! She just pulled me in and we did it.’
‘She pulled you in?’ I smirk again.
‘Okay, whatever,’ Shrey says and I hear the glass top creak under his weight. ‘The manager came and shouted while we were still at it!’
‘Then?’
‘We just said that she was vomiting and he went away. All in all—awesome day, awesome girl, awesome date,’ he says and smiles creepily ‘Look! Look!’
‘What?’
‘She sent me a picture! I am sure she’s still drunk,’ he says and pushes his phone in my face.
‘I don’t want to see!’ I push it away. But I catch a glimpse from the corner of my eye. She is in a really low-cut dress and is hot. Slutty hot. Too big a cleavage for my taste. I am more of a nice-ass guy.
‘I am meeting her again tonight. We are going drinking first and then a movie. But I don’t think we will be watching it. We will be making one.’
‘Just make sure you don’t make babies.’
The last girl Shrey had gone out with ended up pregnant. And he paid for her ‘treatment’ through company accounts. The expense was accounted under ‘indirect expenses’. Why can’t he just keep his pants zipped up? Horny bastard. But it’s good to have him around. He lives a crazy life and does things that are hard to digest or believe.
Anyway, he gets back to work and so do I. Life’s easy these days. I am not working for anybody and I make my own rules. Well, almost. I do have to pay for abortions sometimes, but yes, more or less, I can dictate what I want to do.
I leave the office after a few hours and come back home. A friend of Avantika’s is throwing a birthday party at her place and she’s invited us. The friend has married a pot-bellied, ugly guy who doesn’t even reach my shoulder. And I am 5’10”, which is not a very high scale anyway. But then, of course, he is rich. That adds another foot to his height.
It’s going to be another boring party, but Avantika told me she’s going to dress up and I never miss a chance to see her dress up. I put on the cleanest, whitest shirt I can find. She dresses up exquisitely and makes me look like ragged beggar. I look at her and ask her, ‘Do you wish you were dating someone rich too?’
‘Why would I? I am already dating the richest guy. You give me everything I have ever wanted,’ she says and smiles at me.
A little later, we get inside the car. She is driving today. There’s nothing hotter than a girl driving a big car. Plus, she is wearing a really short dress and I want my hands on her porcelain-smooth skin and not on the hard leather of the steering wheel.
‘Avantika, the only reason you go to these parties is because you like dressing up!’
‘Everyone likes dressing up,’ she says and puts the car into gear.
‘But you dress up to make other people realize that you’re prettier and hotter than them.’
‘That’s just a by-product.’ She smiles and winks at me.
‘I tell you every day that you’re the hottest! Why isn’t that enough for you?’
‘It is, baby. We will stay there for just an hour, pucca,’ she assures me.
‘Can’t we just stay home and get you naked?’ I ask and run my fingers over her bare thighs. I hope she gets turned on. She doesn’t. She gives me a cold stare instead. I still don’t take my hand off—too stubborn, too horny.
‘Be a good boy till the party ends and I promise I’ll be a very bad girl for the rest of the night.’ She winks.
The smile on her face tells me that
things will get nasty tonight. I take my hand off. Soon, we’ll be doing much more.
My mind drifts off. The diary. I still haven’t decided whether I should tell her about it or not. It’s kind of killing me. I take out my cell phone and start to find anything that I can on the internet. I have searched the name ‘Ragini’ a million times on Google, Facebook, Orkut and MySpace, but nothing substantial has come out. There are just too many girls with that name. The only concrete information I have is that this guy was from Imperial Academy, Dehradun. But there is one sentence that can tell me more—‘I used to call him Pappu, to show him down, but he was the champion, his name etched on the achievements board of 2007 as the All-Rounder of the Batch.’
I search the name of the school on Google. They have a very elaborate website, but I can’t find any list of toppers or rank holders. We drive on. I can hardly stop myself from making her stop at a deserted road and ‘ruffling’ her hair, but there is still time for that. We reach the place. It’s a humungous house at Aurangzeb Road, Delhi. Fucking huge.
I look at Avantika. I don’t have a big house, but at least my girlfriend is hot. Within minutes, I am bored. There is no beer in the party. Only expensive whisky, wines and whatnot. I sit in the corner and watch television when my phone rings. It’s Shrey As usual, he’s in trouble and sounds frantic. This time, I don’t mind.
‘I hope you’re not lying,’ Avantika says as we get inside the car.
‘You can ask Shrey! He called and said he needed me.’
‘But why?’
‘He banged his car into a divider,’ I say.
‘So can’t he call a taxi? Or a crane? Why us?’
‘I don’t know.’
Avantika sounds really pissed. I am wishing he really fucked up his car or I would be the worst loser. No sex. Maybe no breakfast tomorrow too. We reach where Shrey had asked me to come. It’s really deserted and I am scared. It really shouldn’t be a silly prank or I will be so screwed. Or not screwed at all.
At a distance, I see two pairs of headlights. I drive towards the cars. As we go closer, I see things more clearly. Shrey s car is smashed! Thank God! I hope he’s a little hurt too. I can act upset then and Avantika can give me a consolatory handjob. Yes, I know I am pathetic.
‘Fuck! That is his car, right?’ says Avantika in shock.
Yes! It wasn’t a prank. I will get laid tonight.
‘Yes,’ I say and park our car nearby. I ask Avantika to stay in the car as I see a police car near his. Girls and policemen is a bad combination. For the police, every girl out in the streets after six in the evening is a slut. I walk up to where Shrey is standing. He is still smiling. On his right is a frail girl, who looks pretty young and she is shivering in fear. A disgusting, pot-bellied policeman is taking down information on his pad in Hindi.
‘Sir, he is Tiya’s brother. Ask him. We’re getting married next month,’ Shrey says in a very timid voice. He winks at me playfully.
‘You are?’ The police guy looks at me.
Before I can say anything, the young girl comes and hugs me. ‘Bhaiya!’
‘Ummm … I am her brother,’ I say and point to the young girl who has held me tight around my waist.
I see Shrey smile. The girl is a better actor. She keeps clutching me, as if hanging on for dear life.
‘You two can go home,’ the policeman points at the girl and me. Shrey nods and tells us he will come home and explain our parents everything. The girl’s arms are still around me. We walk towards the car. Avantika looks strangely at us.
‘What’s going on?’ Avantika asks as soon as we get inside the car.
‘No fucking idea!’ I say, and we both look at the young girl in the back seat.
Suddenly, she is calm and composed and stares right back at us. Before I can say anything else, she asks me to turn the air conditioner a notch up. I am a little offended by her audacity.
‘He was teaching me how to drive. We started making out and I didn’t see the divider,’ she says nonchalantly and keeps chewing on her bubblegum.
‘Why are the police here?’ Avantika asks.
‘We banged the car, that’s why! And they think I’m under eighteen, so they wanted to call my parents. That’s why Shrey called you guys. And that’s why you’re my brother,’ she says with absolutely no change in the expression on her face.
‘How old are you?’ Avantika asks her.
‘Seventeen,’ she says.
Fuck. Is this the girl from the washroom? She’s not even eighteen! Old pervert.
‘Then what are you doing with him?’ Avantika asks, shocked.
‘Hove him!’
‘Love? Avantika asks. ‘He’s just using you! He just wants to sleep with you.’
‘But he has already slept with me.’
‘He has?’
‘Quite a few times and he’s still with me. And Avantika di, he’s really good in bed.’
If you ask me, she looks at least twenty. And she is too hot to be seventeen. But that’s not what I’m concerned about. I am stunned at the ease with which she started discussing her sex life with Avantika. I don’t know why, but girls discuss everything. It’s very disturbing.
Anyway, Avantika isn’t too interested in the discussion. In fact, she’s furious and takes it out on the car. She puts it in gear and goes full throttle on the accelerator. I’m a little scared now. I don’t have a car any more, and if things go like this, Avantika’s car would not be in a good condition either.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘Home,’ she says.
‘And where is she going?’ I point to the girl in the back seat. Tiya, Shrey had called her in front of the policeman. But nothing Shrey says in front of a policeman can be considered truth.
‘She’s coming with us,’ Avantika replies.
‘And Shrey?’ the girl asks.
‘I don’t give a fuck,’ Avantika says. She’s angry and she pushes the pedal all the way down. She shouldn’t do that. She is a girl, after all; people expect her to drive badly and bang into dividers and not weave seamlessly through the traffic. But, I have to admit, I am a little turned on.
A little after we get home, Shrey drops in. We are sitting in the drawing room and no one says anything. I steal a glance at the girl. Despite the dead serious look on Avantika’s face, the girl is unfazed. She sits cross-legged next to Shrey and is least bothered. I hadn’t noticed it before but she is quite tall—around five-eight-and a little too skinny for my taste. She looks a little like those anorexic models on Fashion TV, though with a bigger cleavage. But her face still has a kid-like glow. Her long hair is a mix of black and golden brown, and strangely enough, she is only seventeen.
‘I didn’t know Tiya wasn’t eighteen!’ Shrey says finally. I guess her real name is Tiya, after all.
‘How does that matter?’ the girl protests.
Everyone is looking at Avantika to react. She looks like a mafia don presiding over a gang meeting. Her cold stares are scary and her posture is menacing. I know why Avantika is taking it so seriously. Avantika has a screwed-up past. She had gotten into drugs and alcohol pretty early in her life. She’s had many flings before me and she blames them for the years she lost to drug abuse. So every time Shrey starts sleeping around with someone young, she freaks out. And this girl is seventeen! I can tell she’s very angry at Shrey and Tiya.
I don’t think I’m getting laid tonight.
‘Come. You’re sharing a bed with me,’ Avantika says.
‘Why?’ Tiya protests.
‘Because I’m asking you to.’
‘Why should I listen to you?’
‘My house, my rules. Though you are free to go home. I can call your parents and they will be more than happy to pick you up from here,’ Avantika says.
‘Fuck.’
‘Now come with me,’ she says and takes her away. The girl looks at Shrey blows him a kiss and winks at him. He responds. I look at Shrey. I so want to kill him! I had things planned with
Avantika and he just came and ruined everything.
‘You’re such an asshole,’ I say.
‘Why? I didn’t know, okay? She said she was nineteen!’ Shrey insists.
‘Whatever it is, had it not been for you, I would have been getting laid, fucker.’
‘Had it not been for Avantika, I would have been getting laid too. Why does she have to behave like her granny?’ he says.
I give him a warning stare. We don’t exchange a word and get into bed. Such a waste.
‘You think they’re doing something?’ Shrey asks with a smirk.
‘Fuck off.’
I fantasize about Avantika and what we would’ve done and slowly drift off to sleep.
When I wake up, I find that Shrey and Tiya have already left. Avantika still looks angry about what happened last night. I think she’s making a big deal out of it so that she doesn’t have to sleep with me. Maybe she doesn’t lust for me any more. I look at myself in the mirror. I am not that bad-looking She has made out with worse versions of me—like when I had a paunch and really long rope-like hair! And once when I had kept an ugly beard as I thought it was cool. The beard is still there, a little less bushy though. It’s there to hide my ugly face.
Despite my attempts, she doesn’t talk much and leaves for office. Every time Shrey does something like this, I have to bear the brunt of Avantika’s anger. When will she understand that no one, absolutely no one, can make Shrey mend his ways?
As soon as Avantika leaves, I open the website for Imperial Academy, Dehradun, again. I call on the numbers given there but there is no response. It seems like it has been an eternity since I’ve read the diary and the suspense is killing me. But I’m very bad at resisting temptation-naked girls (read: Avantika!) and books without endings. I can’t help but want to open them both. A very dirty pun intended.
I want to know more about the dead guy, what his name was, where he lived, what he did, everything. All I know is that he is obsessively in love with a girl. And such love needs to be confessed and not hidden. It has never done anyone any good.
If It’s Not Forever: It’s Not Love Page 4