The Turning Point

by Nikita Singh

  ‘Yes, as a friend and a driver. I needed one anyway. Drop me off to college every morning, pick me up thereafter and drop me back to my hostel. It will make me feel safe as well as save my money. How much money are you willing to work for? Would twenty rupees a day suffice?’

  ‘I am going to hang up now.’

  ‘I know you will not hang up. If you will, then how will you know my answer?’

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked, exasperated.

  ‘I want to leave it to God.’ At this point, I knew she had lost it.

  ‘Wow, what a sick choice! Leaving it to God. Why are you talking to me then? Go and talk to your damned God!’

  ‘Okay, bye. Will I find him in the Yellow Pages?’

  I kept quiet, trying hard not to laugh. There was nothing I could say to her without being made a joke out of.

  ‘Wait for tomorrow. If it rains, I shall say yes,’ she said, breaking the silence.

  ‘What the hell is that? It’s late July and haven’t you seen the sun? There is no probability that it will rain. You are being unfair to me.’

  ‘If God has a positive answer for me, then it will rain.’

  I was not sure whether God had a positive answer for her or not, but I was entirely sure that whatever be the case, God would definitely have a negative answer for me. It had always been like that. Nothing good had ever happened to me just by chance; in fact bad things happened to me when I was least responsible for them. As a child, while my friends made noise, teachers considered me the culprit and caned me. Friends cheating from my answer-sheet during exams got better grades than I did. In sports, when I practised sprinting for a year and was sure that I could defeat every other runner in the school, these three new kids from some Sainik School enrolled in my class and outran me during sports day. In college, when I wanted to become the house secretary, my roommate accidentally (or intentionally?) locked me while I was sleeping inside my room, and went home. By the time I’d managed to get the lock broken, I was too late to nominate myself for the post. God, for me, has been like the Devil, whose only role in life was to kick my ass on a daily basis. Now that I had come this close to matters of the heart, I didn’t want God’s propensity to goof up my life.

  ‘You’re beyond impossible,’ I said and hung up on her. As I’d expected, she didn’t call me back. Neither did I. We both waited silently for the next day. In spite of my scepticism, I kept looking at the sky every now and then.

  The many stars twinkling across the clear skies only made me sad. The reminiscence of our first meeting, of discovering constellations and funny shapes seemed to belong to a distant past. The phallic constellation now seemed like God’s way of showing me the finger.

  I dragged my bed nearer to the window and stared at the sky till late in the night. Lost in thought, I didn’t realise when I fell asleep. I dreamt of being weary and old, unsure and bothered, excited and hopeful, all at the same time. The next day seemed to take more than the usual time to come.

  Drops of water slapped my eyelids hard. ‘Go away,’ I said, assuming it was my roommate trying to wake me up for class. It wasn’t him. As I squinted at the window, I realised that the morning sun had forgotten to rise. There were clouds dancing in the rain in front of my eyes. I rubbed my eyes, unable to believe.

  I picked up my phone and dialled her number right away. She was sleeping, unaware of the summer rain.

  ‘Hey, your God answered and answered for me too! You owe me a yes,’ I charged. It took her some time to respond. It’s only after she opened her windows that she spoke.

  ‘Your yes is still with me and I am too selfish to give it to you,’ she said; her voice drunk with sleep.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘God can’t be so direct. It is by chance that it rained; my belief has not been affirmed yet. If it rains again tomorrow, then I’ll say yes. I promise.’

  ‘You do know that you don’t need to prove your meanness over and over again.’

  ‘Practice makes a woman more perfect,’ she said. She must have winked after her statement. I could almost see it through the phone.

  ‘You know what, you think you are funny, but in fact you are lame. You are one confused and superstitious girl. Let me tell you loud and clear that I hate you,’ I said and disconnected the call.

  I was feeling guilty for being very rude to her right in the morning. A minute later, however, an SMS from her that washed away my guilt. It said, ‘Smile. That’s the second best thing you can do with your lips. And stop fantasising about the first thing, silly.’

  I did smile and messaged her back a smiley simultaneously. We shared no words during the day. That night, she called.

  I hung up saying, ‘Let us talk tomorrow, if anything happens.’

  ‘Not anything, silly. Something,’ she managed to squeeze in before I cut the call.

  The second night was equally long; the daytime clouds were nowhere to be seen. The stars seemed farther away—faint and sleepy, much like I was. I strolled across the college campus all alone, thinking about the turn our relationship had taken, delving into the circumstances that led to the admission of our fondness for each other. She had said that she loved me, out of the blue, but I had confided it to her very formally, after a lot of thinking and apprehension. Would she mind if I told her that I loved her? Would it complicate my friendship with her? Was I good enough for her? I had gotten used to this perpetual state of hanging in between, of being stuck in a limbo, having no clear answer. Having no answer is always better than a clear negative answer. At least, hope remains. Dry winds raced through the empty roads of my college. There was no way it was going to rain the next morning.

  I returned to my room and slept at the regular time. I had already done enough thinking to tire myself out. This time when I didn’t long for the next morning, to remain content with whatever little hope remained in me, it arrived quite early.

  By the time I woke up, the sun had already warmed up my room. My pillow was wet with sweat. Was it anxiety or just the heat? I presumed it was the latter, since the bed was still by the window, sunlight creeping in like an unwanted guest. The rays that rudely invaded my eyes, seemed to say, ‘The clouds have cleared. Now your life shall be darkened with light.’

  It was rare to have classes on a Saturday, but summer courses made it worse. I had flunked in two courses the previous semester and it was the remedial summer courses that prevented me from running home, a thousand kilometres away, in Bihar. Two lectures, followed by meetings with three professors concerning summer projects didn’t allow me to notice how the morning comfortably merged with dusk, bringing an end to what could have been the day of my acceptance. A tinge of orange and yellow in the far off sky became dark before one could even give them a proper look. The sudden darkness reeked of sarcasm. God had failed me, once again. It all seemed rather funny. ‘Is it the end? If yes, you are a big bore,’ I cursed God, ‘at least you could have ended it on a better note, despite the same end.’

  Free from work, a bit anxious to ask her to reconsider the last morning rain as God’s answer, I looked at my phone intently. It showed nothing but a blank screen—much like my mind. She hadn’t sent a message. Was it because she wasn’t sure about me? If that was the case, I would rather ask her not to put herself through the torture of considering my inept proposal. Was it because she was as apprehensive as I was that it wouldn’t rain? Did she have a plan B? What would she do if God’s answer is actually no—that there is no rain? Would she refute him for me? I doubted she would.

  If she had to refute God’s wishes, she wouldn’t have roped him in, in the first place. My train of thought was broken by an intermittent tickle in my hand. It was her on phone.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! A million times yes,’ she cried. I’d never heard her as excited before.

  ‘Did it rain today?’ I asked. I felt numb. I had no idea what had changed her mind. What was going on?

  ‘Yes, yes, yes; it is raining cats, dogs, elephants and hip
pos, here since the last two minutes,’ she said, ecstatic. The twenty kilometre difference had made all the difference.

  Was I ecstatic? Umm, no. I looked up at the dark night sky. A huge rain-drop struck against my spectacles with a great force and scattered all across. I didn’t bother to wipe it. Soon followed more drops, some of which welled up in my eyes, but the sky had enough water to wash away my tears. It had rained. The clouds were just two minutes late.

  ‘Some hippos have come here too,’ I said, still struggling to pull myself together.

  ‘They have found their lost brother in you.’

  ‘Come on, my face is not like theirs. It’s more like yours,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, so should I say that I have found my lost brother in you?’

  ‘You always make me lose when I am winning.’

  ‘You never are,’ she said.

  She had won. Not only the conversation, but the game of faith as well. But there was something within me that didn’t seem convinced. I was not feeling the same way I thought I would feel. How could God grant my wishes? It had never worked that way with me, had it? What if it had rained just by chance, yet again? What if we were actually unsure of each other and the rain was actually jinxing it? Three in-person meetings, a little over hundred telephone conversations, how could these little things be enough to say a yes to sharing our lives with each other? I needed more certainty.

  ‘Listen to me. I have to tell you something,’ I said.

  ‘Now what? My stomach is already full—with joy.’

  ‘Give me a break. Now, it’s not a yes from me,’ I said. This time, it didn’t take me courage to say that. I was sure that this was what it was.

  ‘Oh my God, yet another tantrum! Listen silly, don’t you dare act smart. Leave that bit to me. Moreover, it doesn’t suit you at all.’

  ‘I am serious. If it rains tomorrow, then I shall say a yes. I need to convince myself that it really works.’ I don’t know what made me say that but I stuck to it, I meant it.

  ‘We’ll talk tomorrow then. Tomorrow never lies,’ she said, a bit seriously though, still I could say for sure a wink would have followed her statement. She loved being the one-eyed queen. Cute, she was. And I was in love with her. As she was with me. All that separated the two of us was a few drops of water to fall from the sky the following day.

  The next day dawned, this time neither suddenly nor slowly, but at its natural but boring pace. Yet there was something new to this day. Thanks to the two days of unexpected rain, the weather had taken a pleasant turn and this called for a meeting.

  ‘Hey, it is a Sunday.’ Even after a million yeses from her the last evening, it was quite strange that I still employed a formal reason to propose a meeting.

  ‘Thanks for making me realise that today you’re going to stink,’ she said, mocking my habit of not taking bath on weekends.

  ‘I want to meet you and I have already taken a bath.’

  ‘Aww, that’s a surprise.’

  ‘What? My wanting to meet you or taking a bath?’

  ‘First tell me whether this “taking a bath” means bathing in perfumes or a proper bath,’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, so the “I want to meet you” thing is not a surprise for you.’

  ‘Of course not. It’s our day, after all.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ I asked, struck by her optimism.

  ‘In the same way you always remain unsure, silly.’

  I had already had a proper bath and I bathed in perfumes too. Having two baths a day does make one feel confident. Her optimism was contagious. It took me a while to choose what to wear; after all, she said that it was our day. Unable to choose, I finally decided on the blue jeans and white shirt, the same combination that I had worn the day she had come to my college for the festival. She had even complimented (I think) me about it, saying that I looked less silly than usual. I thought of buying her flowers, but couldn’t decide which ones to buy—yellow ones were for friends, while red is for lovers, apparently. Unable to decide between the two colours, I bought a bunch of orange marigolds instead.

  I set off. It was during those days when the metro ran only in the northern and central part of Delhi. South Delhi to Central Secretariat was either a painful bus ride, or a costly auto ride. Careful not to ruffle the creases of my ironed white shirt, I chose the costlier option—something that I would have never chosen before. I looked out at the sky, which was painfully blue, with no hint of an impending rain. But something changed within me. There was a sudden sureness about her as my auto inched towards the Central Secretariat metro station, from where I had to head to Vishwavidyalaya, where her hostel was. It took me one hour twenty minutes to reach her place—a five-storeyed hostel. She lived on the third floor, her window facing the road. I knew this because she had once described on the phone the view from her window. She had talked about the big mall road, filled with vehicles of all kinds, the rickshaws near the corner, the flurry of people near the metro station entry after the red light, the numerous hawkers who sold burgers, cold coffee and her favourite momos stall.

  I looked up at the window, trying to figure if she was sitting by it, waiting for me. I knew it was too much to ask for, but still a part of me wanted to know whether she was as excited about meeting me as I was about meeting her. The bright sunlight made it impossible for me to discern anything. I called her. She didn’t answer the phone though. But her SMS came within a minute of my call. It said, ‘Silly, you look sillier when you look for me with your monkeyish face trying to fight the sunlight.’

  I smiled. I looked up again, trying to make my face look less like a monkey’s. She was standing there by her window, an ear to ear smile on her face. Her face disappeared abruptly and a hand holding a jug came out of the window instead. Puzzled, I stood there until the jug emptied half a litre of water over my monkeyish face.

  Another SMS arrived, ‘Silly, here is your rain. Are you convinced now that it really works?’

  I replied with a smile, ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! A million times.’

  She smiled back upon reading my message. She asked for five minutes which I happily gave her. I went to the other side of the road, standing there to wait for her.

  When she came out, our eyes were locked into each other’s. Before I could say anything, she jumped on me giving me the tightest hug ever. A tight hug in the middle of the road, it would have certainly made me feel awkward earlier, but not that day. I gingerly returned her hug.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you two, three, four, five, six…’ she squeaked merrily.

  ‘I love you a zillion times,’ I said, sure that I’d trumped her, at last.

  ‘I win!’ she said and winked in the same way as I always used to imagine her while speaking with her on the phone.

  I was lost in her, until something kissed my cheek. It was a wet kiss. That of the rain that had just arrived.

  THE X-BOSS

  SHOMA NARAYANAN

  It all started on a Monday. I got to work late because I’d managed to lock myself out of my bathroom (it has a sliding door with a nifty little catch that clicks into place if the door is slammed too hard), and it took the building watchman half an hour to get it open. My bladder almost burst while waiting and I had to tip the watchman a hundred bucks for his efforts. Also, the door was ruined, and would need to be fixed before my landlady came around on her monthly snooping exercise.

  So I was already in a bad mood when I got to work, and finding a set of rude e-mails in my inbox about a delayed pricing proposal didn’t help at all. The proposal had been ready for around two weeks, but Deven, my boss, hadn’t got around to signing it. I lay in wait for him, and pounced as soon as he got out of a meeting.

  Me: Have you seen the pricing proposal I gave you?

  Boss: What proposal?

  Me: I gave it to you last week—it’s a bit urgent.

  Boss: (looking around vaguely) I don’t think you gave it to me, Sanjana.

 
; Me: (digging among the papers in his in-tray and handing it to him)

  Boss: Humph. What happened to the market scoping exercise you were to do in Nasik?

  Me: I’ll get it done by month-end (We will launch in Nasik the day Rolex starts selling watches in Dharavi. He always brought up something like this when he was wrong-footed.)

  Boss: (looking at me as if wondering why I was still there and not rushing off to Nasik immediately to begin scoping) Well?

  Me: The proposal?

  Boss: Ah that. I’ll look at it.

  Me: Sales is putting a lot of pressure on me.

  Boss: So?

  Me: Could you sign it now please?

  Boss: No, I need to go through it first. You should have given it to me earlier.

  I walked away, fuming. Deven was the most irritating boss I’d ever worked with. Not only was he stupid and stuck-up (a deadly combination), he also behaved as if he was doing his team a personal favour by doing any work. Pretty much everyone in his team left within a year, and I’d completed ten months and was raring to be off.

  For a while, I sat around, brooding darkly. I had slogged really hard all through the year and during my mid-term appraisal my boss told me that while my work was ‘at par with peer group’, he felt that I needed to improve my interpersonal skills—read don’t make faces at him behind his back, something he caught me doing a couple of times during meetings. Which meant he’d probably give me a mediocre rating and ruin my chances for a promotion that year.

  At around twelve o’ clock, Deven suddenly landed up at my desk and announced that he’d decided to take me along for the sales convention in Singapore later that week. For a minute or two, I was actually pleased, until I realised he wanted me around to take the flak for the pricing change being delayed.