The Girl of My Dreams

by Durjoy Datta

  Wha—How did she know all of this?

  ‘You started coming here once more. We used to spend so much time together. You wrote, I looked at you write. It was a little crushing for my soul because you never noticed me. For months,

  I used to dress up in my finest outfits and sit right here and never once did you look up and catch my gaze. Maybe you were just shy. Slowly I realized you were trying to write a book. I saw how much you struggled with it. I could literally see the pain on your pretty face. I loved you and I pitied you and I loved you. I wanted to run to you and take you in my arms and assure you, I wanted to take you home, love you, show you the things I had of you, and tell you that you already had one fan for your unwritten book. Just like that weeks passed between us within a heartbeat. You sat there, trying to write your story. I sat here, watching you tussle with it. You never went beyond a few pages. Every day after you would leave, I would fetch your deleted stories from the Recycle

  Bin of the computer and read them. I would take printouts and take them home. I still have them all in a little file. They were all unfinished chapters, so beautiful, like our story.

  ‘Every time I read them I felt I knew a bit of you and then I wanted to know more. I have never done drugs but I am thinking that’s what it must be like. You want to shoot up just once, do just one line of cocaine and pretty soon you want it all the time. There would be a few weeks when you would not come because of your college exams. God’s my witness, how badly I suffered during those days. But after the exams, you would always come running back to me. Every day I used to sit here and think of what I would say to you, but I never managed to muster up the courage to talk to you. The heroines in the stories you junked were unapproachable, smart, sexy, and I thought I was none of that.’ She chuckled and took out her phone. She showed Daman a picture. ‘See! I used to be a little chubby. But no longer, right?’ In the picture, Daman noticed that Shreyasi was a little plump. The picture was a selfie. It had been clicked in the same coffee shop. In the background,

  Daman could see a younger himself hunched over the computer, a coffee by his side. ‘I have many more, baby,’ she said and clicked on a folder. The pictures were of the same kind, taken from the same angle, and ran into hundreds. Only the timestamp changed. All of them were from three years ago.

  ‘You were watching me?’ asked Daman. She’s a stalker.

  ‘I was admiring you all this time. For a year, I sat where you’re sitting and I admired you. Look where we are now. We are finally on the brink of something amazing. The last time we met was a mistake. What happened in Goa shouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘How did you come to Goa?’

  ‘I followed you.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You would often log into your mail account on a public computer and forget to log out. It was that one,’ said Shreyasi and pointed to the couple of computers in the corner. Daman looked in the direction. Multihued screen savers bounced around the computer screens. I’m capable of that, he thought.

  ‘And you checked my mails?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? Why would you want to hide anything from me? Anyway, I was just looking for more stories but guess what I found?’ said Shreyasi, brightly. ‘Plane tickets to Goa. Hotel reservations. I knew this was a sign, this was my chance. Why else would you keep your mail ID logged in? I was so excited.’ A smile lit her face up.

  ‘And you followed me?’

  She grinned. ‘I did. And that’s when I met you, baby. After months and months of just staring at you it was finally going to happen. And it was going to happen in the way you had described it in one of your stories. In a little, empty library in Goa.’

  Shreyasi had finished her sandwich while Daman had just had a single bite. The coffee cups were empty. Shreyasi asked for another round and instructed the waiter to reheat his sandwich.

  ‘But weren’t you engaged at that time?’

  ‘Yes, I was. But what happens in Goa stays in Goa, right?’ She pursed her lips. ‘You were supposed to be my one last fling before I got married.’ She clasped her hand tighter over his.

  ‘You stalked me for over a year and I was supposed to be your one last fling? That seems unreasonable even for you,’ scoffed Daman.

  Shreyasi sulked. ‘I wasn’t stalking you. I was looking at you because I loved you. I loved you since the first time I saw you. Sure, it took me some time to realize it and act on it but I have always loved you. You’ve got to believe that. It’s plain as day. Who would do all that I have done for you?’

  ‘By that do you mean meeting my sister and Avni and Jayanti under guise? Wrecking my deal with Bookhound?’ accused Daman.

  She smiled as if it was meant as a compliment. ‘I also met Sumit. They were there for the picking. All four of them were so innocent. Most of all, your best friend and angry-boy, Sumit.

  How can they just keep their phones lying around when their entire lives, their secrets lay beyond just a four-letter password which they punch in without even bothering to check who is looking over their shoulders. The bigger the phones get the easier they become to get hold of.’ She slipped

  a phone in front of him. ‘You’re not that different, baby. You never look over your shoulder when you type out your password either.’ The phone was Daman’s and it was unlocked.

  When did she pick it up? ‘How did you . . .’

  ‘I have watched you, remember? Also, I deleted the picture you were trying to send to Sumit.

  You could have just told me. We will click a picture when we finish talking. I know where the lighting is good. I have clicked a lot of pictures here.’

  ‘I was . . .’

  ‘Sumit doesn’t like me, does he? That’s okay. I don’t hold that against him. In all fairness, he’s been a good friend to you. But unbeknownst to him, I have done what he should have done or at least wanted to do. Remember the girl you were dating in the final year of college? You were with her for five months. You believed you were in love with her. You even used her name for a few junked stories. I have changed her name to mine. If—’

  ‘What about Ananya?’

  ‘Sumit kept telling you to break up with her. Something about her being the college slut. But you had a propensity to date risqué girls. You always ran after the impossible-to-get, damaged girls and loved them with all you had, hoping to change them, mould them, but also just letting them be, telling them that it was okay to be who they were. Baby, I respect you for that and I love you for that. But you didn’t deserve her. She lied to you every day, she cheated on you, she made fun of you, and that I couldn’t take. You sat right here in the coffee shop, defending that bitch, taking your best friend on for that whore. He kept telling you stories about her and you refused to believe any of them. Who do you think made you break up with her?’

  ‘. . .’

  ‘You got screenshots of her sexts in your mail. Not with one but a couple of guys. Who do you think sent you that?’

  Fuck. ‘I got an anonymous mail,’ Daman pleaded.

  She snickered. ‘Of course it was anonymous, Daman. At that time it was, but it was me.’ She flicked through her phone again. Within seconds, she’d pulled out the screenshots and showed them to Daman. ‘I have always been looking out for you. Imagine if I hadn’t mailed you the proof of

  Ananya’s infidelity you would still be dating her. She would still be fooling you. Trust me, it wasn’t easy. She guarded her phone with her dear life. Smart girl, that one. Anyway now you know who your guardian angel is. I have always protected you. I don’t even want to get to how I saved you from a detention in thermodynamics in your last semester. I will tell you some other time how I dealt with your professor of that subject, B.B. Arora. Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t kill him,’ she said and giggled. ‘But forget detention, you got a seventy-three in that subject. I still remember your smiling face when you looked at the result sheet in the administrative department. You looked so gorgeous, baby. I have many stories to tell
you but I don’t want to digress. You asked why you should give me precedence over Avni. You should because I could have stopped it from happening.

  Avni and you would have never been with each other.’

  ‘But we are,’ mumbled Daman, his wits failing him.

  Shreyasi slammed the table. Her lips turned into a snarl. ‘BECAUSE I LET IT HAPPEN.

  Because I let it happen.’ She continued, her voice a low angry murmur now, ‘I let it happen because I thought she was droll and dull. She was a banker, a far cry from any girl you would ever

  want to date. Even that slut Ananya was more interesting by a mile. She was the most boring of all three girls you dated before her. Why do you think you were Avni’s first boyfriend? Why do you think no one saw what you did in her?’

  ‘Can we not—’

  ‘Because she’s dull, Daman. You know that better than anyone. Or else why wouldn’t you write about her in the first place? That’s a question that answers itself, doesn’t it? Or why don’t you make her meet your parents? Because you’re not sure of her and you will never be. Stop kidding yourself, Daman. I have watched you on your dates with her. You look bored with her.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ defended Daman.

  ‘Look, I know Avni is a compromise like my husband is.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Okay, have it your way. Let’s choose a middle path. Where will I go after disappointing you, baby? My fate is forever entwined with yours,’ she said. ‘I will not mind the two of you being together, just like you shouldn’t mind my husband, as long as you stay committed to me as I have been to you. I reserve the right to be your one true love, your inspiration, your muse. Do you get that? We will be like the writers Sahir Ludhianvi and Amrita Pritam, who never got married, stayed with different people, and yet loved each other till the very end. You know about them, don’t you, baby? We are just like them, you and me.’ She blushed, her cheeks turning light crimson.

  It seemed like she would curl up in the chair like a little baby.

  Daman just sat there, his face contorted in disbelief, looking at her, still like a statue.

  She continued, ‘I know it can be a little hard for you to process, baby . . .’

  ‘Hard for me to process? What are you talking about? What you did is illegal. I can get you jailed for this,’ Daman seethed.

  Shreyasi leant away from him, shocked. ‘Why would you do that? Do you not see my love for you, baby? I did everything for us. Surely you can feel that, can’t you?’ Her voice trembled. She looked away from him, wiping the corner of her eye. ‘Going to the police won’t help. You have no proof and they won’t believe you. They would believe me though after I tell them that there’s a folder in your phone named Shreyasi with a lot of pictures of mine clicked from a distance. But it hurts me to know you would even think of going to the police, baby.’ She clutched her chest and looked up. Her eyes were red and teary.

  Daman fumbled through his phone and there it was. The folder named Shreyasi. When did she do this? Be gentle. Be fucking gentle. ‘Give me your hand,’ said Daman. Taking her hand into his, he spoke with as much tenderness as he could muster. ‘This needs to stop. Please. I recognize your feelings and I am flattered by them. But this needs to stop. I will go with you to a doctor if that is what it takes. But we need to work our way out of this. This madness has to stop.’

  ‘You’re calling my love madness? The last three years were madness?’ asked Shreyasi, tears streaking down her face.

  He shifted his chair close to her and put an arm around her. ‘Shreyasi, enough has happened. But now it needs to end. For your sake and mine. I’m thinking about us. It’s not fair to Avni or your husband. All relationships come to an end. Maybe ours ends here. Three years is a long time, isn’t it? We had a good run. But this is it. If you say you love me, do this for me. Walk away from this, okay?’

  She muzzled her face into his chest and sobbed softly. ‘But can’t we just stay like this.’

  ‘No, Shreyasi. We can’t,’ said Daman with as much sincerity as he could gather. ‘Please. I’m begging you.’

  ‘No. No. Please don’t beg. I will feel bad about myself if I let you do that.’ She took a tissue and blew her nose into it. She sighed. ‘I will think about it. I have loved you so much. Can you give me some time?’

  Daman nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  She started to laugh despite her tears.

  ‘What?’ Daman asked, scared at what fresh hell she would throw at him.

  ‘I thought we would have sex today. It’s so stupid of me. Do you know where we went from the library in Goa?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘To your room. You were so smooth that day. You told me you could make better coffee in the coffee maker of the room. I knew it was a trick to get me to bed but it was also what I wanted.

  Once in the room, you didn’t even pretend we were there for the coffee. You just . . . kissed me.’

  ‘Did we?’

  ‘Thrice,’ said Shreyasi unflinchingly, without a hint of shame.

  Did all of this really happen?

  She continued. ‘Within minutes of being in the room we were naked and you inside me. And within seconds you were done.’ She smiled impishly. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. I was done as well.

  It was the very definition of a quickie.’ She continued unabashedly, wiping the smudged mascara.

  ‘And then we did it twice again. I was still trembling hours later.’

  ‘. . .’

  ‘Do you remember any of this?’

  ‘No,’ said Daman. ‘But I wish I did.’

  Before Shreyasi left that day, they clicked a picture together. After she left, Daman sent it to

  Sumit who confirmed that she is the girl from the car, that she was Shreyasi. His stalker and his guardian angel.

  29

  Avni was not a crazy person.

  On the contrary, she was often accused of being too rational. But this Shreyasi affair was slowly making her lose her mind. The story had shifted another year back, when Daman was in college, two years before Avni even knew of Daman’s existence. They shared a history. Daman–Shreyasi wasn’t the garden-variety case of obsession any more, theirs was a perverse love story.

  ‘Avni wouldn’t have happened had I not let it happen,’ Shreyasi had said that day. These words had kept her awake at nights. Avni had heard the entire conversation between Daman and Shreyasi at the cafe in South Extension, sitting two tables away with her back towards them. She heard

  Shreyasi threaten, grovel, plead, cry and then promise to think about backing off. And yet, Avni hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Daman and Shreyasi, about them. She was sure Daman had been thinking about it as well. After Shreyasi had left that day, Daman and Avni shifted to a coffee shop a couple of blocks down. Daman hadn’t said much during the evening apart from how crazy it all was!

  Coming from a writer who had loved a crazy girl in his head, had written about her on the

  Internet and in his book, she didn’t know how to perceive his reaction. How long before Daman finds Shreyasi’s love and madness perversely cute and falls in love with her? Shreyasi’s perseverance was as commendable as it was sick. She was the Hannibal Lecter of stalkers. With long, flowing black hair and a deathly pale complexion. Daman told her Shreyasi hadn’t contacted him after that day in the coffee shop. But how could she be sure? The past few days she had spent long hours staring at the screen saver of Daman and herself on her office laptop and wondered if

  Shreyasi had called back. What if Daman actually likes her madness? What if I’m really boring?

  What if I’m dull?

  It was a Sunday. She left home dressed in a white suit she had bought the day before from Fab

  India. She left her hair open and applied a little make-up. She knew Daman wouldn’t be too pleased but she was running out of options. It wasn’t paranoia. She was just making sure. An hour after she left her house, she stood outside his parents’ ho
use. She knew he would be there. When

  Daman’s mother opened the door, Avni pretended like it was a surprise she had been planning for long. Daman’s mother welcomed her with a warmth she had not expected.

  ‘Ei to eshe gache! (Look, she has come!)’ his mother had shrieked and kissed her forehead. His mother poured oil outside the house before she stepped in. Avni flushed when his mother bit of a piece of her nail to ward off evil spirits and her own evil eye. ‘So beautiful,’ she had said while

  Daman looked on, annoyed.

  He didn’t talk to her for the entire first hour. He didn’t even look her in the eye. This Daman’s mother took as shyness. Avni knew better. But his irritation was something she could take care of if she had Daman to herself in the long run. This will be a silly anecdotal story we will tell our kids

  in the future, she thought. Daman would tell them how their mother had gotten insecure and landed up unannounced at their grandparents’ house.

  Daman’s father asked her a host of questions about her job, the rotting financial state of the country, the fiscal deficit, and nodded appreciatively through her answers. While his father and she talked, at first agreeably and then choosing to argue on a few points, Daman’s mother whipped up a nice meal. Avni made sure she laughed at his father’s satirical comments on the government. His father returned the courtesy. Once sure she had made an impression on the father, she excused herself and went to the kitchen to help Daman’s mother out.

  ‘Mei to kintu khub bhalo (The girl is nice),’ she heard Daman’s father say to Puchku, who for the most part had looked at her inquisitively. Avni had come to Daman’s place with one and one purpose only. To entrench herself in Daman’s life, to leave landmines for Daman to deal with if he ever retreated from their relationship. She deserved that after all she had put into the relationship.