Love@Facebook

by Nikita Singh

Abhimanyu: Oh really? How about I let your mom know about that CARDS thing . . .

  Vatsala: NO FREAKING WAY!

  Abhimanyu: Then tell me . . .

  Vatsala: Ronit Oberoi

  Abhimanyu: Who’s he? Classmate?

  Are you kidding me? How come no one knows him?

  Vatsala: A VJ and an actor!

  Abhimanyu: OH!! Never heard of him!!! :P

  Vatsala: Been living under a rock?

  Abhimanyu: Look who’s all worked up! :P :P

  Vatsala: Whatever.

  Abhimanyu: Hehe! :D How d’you know him?

  Vatsala: Facebook

  Abhimanyu: Really . . . your taste in men is deteriorating!!

  Vatsala: How can you say that? You don’t even know him!

  Abhimanyu: Exactly my point! Your level has dropped from Pitt to EMRAAN HASHMI! ;)

  Now even lower! Progress!! :D :P

  Yes, I once had a crush on Emraan Hashmi. I don’t want to talk about it.

  Vatsala: Ronit’s awesome.

  Abhimanyu: We’ll see . . . I’m adding him. He has about 3500 friends . . . He’ll add me! :P

  Vatsala: You sent him a request? Already?

  Abhimanyu: Yup :D :D

  Vatsala: I HATE YOU!!

  Abhimanyu: I love you too, sistah!! ;) ;)

  Avi adding Ronit meant he’d get to know everything that happened between me and Ronit.

  The thought wasn’t immensely pleasing.

  Chat-13

  Change of Plans

  November 1st, 2010

  I had just reached the main road when I spotted it. It wasn’t too hard to spot, really. You have to be blind to miss such a . . . creation.

  Porsche Cayenne.

  ‘Car’ seemed too insignificant – almost worthless – word. It is by far the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. On second thoughts, the second most beautiful thing. The first? We’ll get to that later in the story.

  I forgot all about college and followed the scarlet beast all around the city. My poor scooty, which looked so insignificant in contrast, touched its top speed that day. Twenty minutes later, we reached the outskirts of Ranchi and going any further would’ve meant having a hard time coming back. I suck at remembering roads. I’m a girl, after all!

  The fuel metre also showed the arm dipping dangerously towards E (the empty sign). I stopped and looked at the car till it became a speck, patted my scooty and made my way into the city.

  “Did Dhoni buy a Cayenne?” I asked as soon as I reached college.

  “Where were you? We’ve been calling you since the last hour,” Ankit said.

  “Oh, my cell phone was in my bag, which was kept in the under seat—”

  “Why are you so late?” Jaanvi cut in.

  “Was following a Porsche,” I told them.

  “What?” They echoed.

  People in Ranchi aren’t used to seeing big cars everyday on roads. We were just starting to accept that the crowd there was getting richer and buying Mercs and BMWs, but after Dhoni got all famous and rich, his Hummer could be spotted everywhere around the area. Porsche? Definitely a first.

  Jaanvi’s family was rich too. Filthy rich. You know how it is with Marwadi (business-class) families in Ranchi. But hers was a nuclear family, as opposed to the joint-families Marwadis usually have. They had four cars, one for each family member. But Porsche was out of reach even for them.

  “What model?” Ankit asked.

  “Cayenne Turbo S.”

  “You even know what kind of Cayenne it was?” This was from Jaanvi.

  “Yeah,” I shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Of course,” Ankit seconded.

  I had first subscribed TopGear the year I turned thirteen. Since then, the renewal of its subscription has been one of the most important tasks I do every year. Probably the most important. The collection I have by now is worth a small fortune, my most prized possession. My collection of letters written in blood comes to a second. Oh, yes! I have a collection of that too. You see, it’s a trend – almost a status statement – in Ranchi schools to write letters in blood to your girlfriends/boyfriends.

  Yes, plural. People here change their ‘love’ with clothes. Long term relationship? Lasts all week.

  Girls cut the skin of their arms to get blood and boys mostly just received such letters. The whole blood thing wasn’t their cup of tea in majority of the cases, I think. In my school, girls used to wear wristbands not because they played some sport and not even for fashion, but to cover their scarred wrists. Although for girls who had strict families, cutting visible areas of body wasn’t an option, upper thighs were their source of blood.

  So where do I fit in? No. I’ve never done such a thing. Hell, I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Who would want to date me? But I did receive two such letters and I’ve stashed them away carefully in my precious collection. All I did was ask my friends, girl or boy, to give me the letters they had once they’re done with. (Read – once they break up with that particular boy/girl). And they’d been only too happy to oblige. You would be surprised to know how many of them handed me over their letters even before their break-ups. Giving those letters is a ritual, but once they’re given, they have no value. Everyone gets to know that A gave B a letter written in blood, end of story. Who cared about the stupid letter anymore?

  I did. They fascinated me, still do. I’ve got forty-three of them.

  I often wondered that if they go to such pains to write it, can’t they watch their handwriting a bit? And spelling mistakes? Good grief!

  “What colour?” Jaanvi was interested.

  “Red. Scarlet.”

  “It must have been beautiful,” Shruti said.

  “Obviously Shruti. It’s a Porsche! What do you expect?” someone piped in. I didn’t know her name, but just knew that she was in my batch. Maanvi or Maansi? I noticed that she said Sruti, not Shruti. Several people have that problem in my state, Jharkhand. ‘S’ becomes ‘sh’ and vice versa. Some people called me ‘Vatshala’. I don’t want to comment on how I feel about that.

  “Wow! You got to see it, you lucky bitch!” someone else said. Purvi /Purva? Using cuss words in public is cool. People think you’re tough. Blah.

  “Must be costlier than BMW, na?” Maanvi/Maansi asked no one in particular. She was comparing one model of Porsche to a whole brand of cars. BMW is the new Mercedes. Remember older Hindi movies, in which foreign cars were synonymous to Mercedes? Now people have moved on to BMW. Easier to Pronounce. (Mercy – Deej!)

  “So you think its Dhoni? Did he buy it?” I asked Ankit. Shit! I’d been so captivated with the car itself that I didn’t spare a second to notice who was inside it! And Dhoni had a Hummer already. But you never know! The guy was earning big money! Did you know – when he takes a ride on his Harley, two Scorpios lead him and other two follow, loaded with first notch security? How posh is that?

  “Maybe. I didn’t know he was in the city,” Ankit wondered.

  “Mahi is here? Oh my God!” Maanvi/Maansi shouted and left with Purvi/Purva, who looked equally excited with the news. News? We were just wondering, it was not supposed to be passed as real ‘news’. But if that meant getting rid of Maanvi/Maansi and Purvi /Purva, we were glad.

  “You think they went to Mahi’s place?” Jaanvi asked emphasising on Mahi.

  “Couldn’t care less,” I laughed. People in Dhoni’s hometown call him Mahi, not out of love for him but for the sole reason that it made them seem like they’re his relatives or at least know him personally.

  But what ruled my mind at the moment was the Cayenne. The car defined beauty.

  It left an impact on me.

  I wanted one too.

  “I want to become a VJ.” I announced later in the evening.

  “What?” Ankit and Jaanvi said in unison. Were they twins? How can they say the exact same thing at the exact same time? Always?

  “I’m serious. I want to be a VJ,” I repeated
.

  “Do you know what date it is? 1st of November. We have CAT on 28th!” Ankit said. Taking CAT on 28th was my idea; it was the last day. More time to prepare. Not that I had even started preparing till then. Reading newspapers doesn’t count as real preparation!

  “I’m not taking CAT anymore, I’ve decided.”

  “What do you mean you’ve decided? Just like that? What are you going to do instead?” Jaanvi asked.

  “I don’t know. Ronit was an RJ before he—”

  “Ronit? You think your VJ Ron will . . .” Jaanvi seemed very angry. She loses her ability to deliver full sentences whenever she gets too upset. “Are you . . . what the hell!” Jaanvi out! That meant one rival down, one more to go.

  “I’ve sent him a Message . . .” I turned to Ankit.

  “Saying what?” he asked.

  “Just asking if he could help—”

  “Help? You think he’ll help you become a VJ? Do you seriously believe that?”

  “I just asked him what to do . . . as in . . . where do I start? That kind of help. I’m not asking him to get me a job! I’ll do that myself.”

  “And how do you plan on doing it?” he challenged.

  He’s getting hyper. Do something. I made my best lost puppy face and said in a low, scared tone, “I don’t know yet.”

  His expression changed almost instantaneously. It worked. I’m a genius! He released a breath and asked, “Has he replied?”

  “No. I sent him the Message just now. He usually takes at least a couple of hours to reply,” I lied. He takes minutes to reply. Sometimes even seconds.

  He nodded. “Are you serious this time? Or is it like the last time, when you wanted to be a singer?”

  “I’m very sure about this,” I said with conviction. Wanting to become a singer is normal, isn’t it? Everyone feels that way at least once in their lifetime. And music is really important, almost vital for me. And I know I’m a good singer. (Though no one agrees with me on that. Whatever. They’re just jealous!)

  “You do know you won’t be able to buy a Porsche by doing this, don’t you?”

  “Of course I know.” That’ll come later. One step at a time.

  The cross-questioning went for around half an hour. Ankit put all the pros and cons of it on the table. How did he know so much about life in Mumbai and life as a VJ or RJ? Just like he knew about everything in the world, and even outside, you know, galaxy, universe, Milky Way. Or is the sequence universe, galaxy, Milky Way? I’m bad at geography! Ankit was educated. I wasn’t illiterate either, but education to me had an entirely different and rather simple definition – passing the tests.

  Ankit saw the world differently. He paid attention to things. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t a nerd. Far from it. But he was gifted. If we both study for two hours before a test, I’ll score passing marks and he’ll actually score. He might even top, for all I know. Sometimes I thought he purposefully answered some questions wrong to score a bit lesser and make me feel better.

  “Actually, to tell the truth . . .” Jaanvi had regained her power of speech.

  “What?” Ankit asked.

  “I think Vatsala is right. When I think of it, after the initial shock wore off . . . I think she’s meant for the job,” Jaanvi said.

  I smiled. That was the best thing Jaanvi had ever said to me. I wanted to hug her tight, but resisted. Overreactions could ruin my chances.

  “How?” Ankit asked.

  “She’s young and good-looking, not to mention ambitious. Though her ambitions have taken a wild turn! Still, her sense of humour, carefree attitude and chirpy nature certainly add to her points,” Jaanvi said.

  Chirpy? I didn’t have a chirpy nature, I wanted to debate but maintained silence. Teamed with all the other compliments she gave me, I was overwhelmed. I wished she would go on . . . Some more praises won’t hurt!

  Ankit and Jaanvi totally ignored me after that. They discussed me for an entire hour, never paying any heed to the fact that I was in the same room. It was as if I was invisible. They played Mom and Dad and I, their spoilt teenaged daughter, whom they were trying to protect from the evil ways of the world!

  I sat there all the while listening to them consider all possible faces of the matter and wondered how their minds work. How do intelligent people think? How can they come up with another question so quickly, based upon the answer the other person has given to their previous question? Whenever they argued, I wondered how could someone speak and listen at the same time. And how could they jump from one topic to another so swiftly?

  I could probably do all the things mentioned above too. But I was getting bored and had nothing better to think. And also, I liked to pretend that I was dumb.

  I know I’m weird!

  The discussion ended with a final decision everyone agreed on. I will become a VJ, it was decided.

  Ronit hadn’t replied till the time I went to sleep. What kind of a person is he? He’s almost always available to talk about all kinds of rubbish in the world, but when it came to something as important as my career, he’s not bothering to reply. I sent another Message.

  Vatsala: This is important to me, Please help!

  Ronit: You can do whatever you wish. Take any route. There are many!

  Okay, so that Message was totally useless. I said thanks anyway. Just to be polite.

  Chat-14

  Almost Gay

  November 4th, 2010

  “No way! You’re kidding me,” I said to Jaanvi. It was a Thursday afternoon. The staff at college was made ‘aware’ that the PD class was attended by very few students, so the security was tight – meaning no more bunking of classes. We bunked college altogether.

  “Why would I lie about it?” she asked. “It was so amazing. I had no idea. I was just happy being with him and then he took me to this place . . . it was beautiful . . . and he said he loved me . . .

  and gave me Sugar!”

  Sugar was an ugly looking pink-coloured half teddy, half dog. To me, it looked like a pig. Pink . . . the most hideous shade of pink at that—the kind of colour that hurts your eyes if you’re stupid enough to look at it for more than three seconds. It was positively hideous, with all that fur and shiny surface, scary eyes and huge belly. How could someone buy such a thing, let alone gift it? And she actually liked it? Hell! Why would anybody make such a thing in the first place?

  “Isn’t it cute?” Jaanvi asked.

  “You don’t honestly want to know my take on it. Ignorance is bliss.”

  “There is something seriously wrong with you, you know?”

  I cast a glance at Sugar. “Normal people like that thing?”

  “Whatever,” she shook her head in a way that screamed just-wait-till-your-time-comes.

  “So how does it feel?” I asked.

  “To be committed? It feels awesome. It’s the best feeling in the world. Just to know he’s always there for me, will always love me no matter what . . . and he’s such a nice person . . . loving, caring . . .” She went on like that. And I wondered if it was the same Nilaap she was talking about. I mean, I knew him too and he seemed okay, but I couldn’t imagine him as the person Jaanvi was so lovingly describing.

  Thankfully for me, Nilaap called her moments later. She received the call, winked at me and found a seat at one of the corners of the room, sat there and talked for three whole hours.

  My room isn’t very big at all, but I still couldn’t make out a single word of whatever she was saying from where I was lying face down on my bed.

  I’ve observed that when in ‘love’ people go through some changes . . . mutations. They learn the art of whispering loud enough for their girl/boy to hear, but no one else. They can talk continuously for hours, without needing to eat, drink or pee. Conversations like ‘What did you eat today?’ become immensely interesting. So do the corners of every kind – room, balcony, terrace . . . People feel like every other song is written with them in mind and every other movie depicts their story. All movies
are then watched in theatres, let Torrentz rot!

  Weird world, I thought and drifted into slumber. There’s no better use of time than sleeping. Wasting time on phone stood nowhere even close.

  “Hey, congrats,” I woke up to the sound of Ankit’s voice.

  “Thanks,” Jaanvi mouthed. She was still on the phone.

  I sat up on the bed and rubbed my eyes. “Hey.”

  “You’re not wearing those adorable shorts you sleep in?” Ankit commented. He must have noticed it on the morning of the small dragon fiasco. I had been wondering why he didn’t pursue the matter at that time.

  “They are for nights and they are adorable.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “As if I don’t understand sarcasm.” So what if I buy shorts from Rbk’s men’s department? I love them and they are comfortable.

  “In a mood to go out?” he asked.

  “Naah. Let’s watch some movie. Troy.” I decided.

  “Again?”

  “You’ve a better idea?” I challenged. I mean, come on! Achilles, Prince Hector and Prince Paris together. Who can ever get enough?

  “Sadly, no.”

  “Maa, I’m hungry,” I shouted and we were served my mother’s speciality, pyaz ke bhajiye, moments later. I and Ankit watched Troy for the zillionth time that day. Jaanvi was too busy to join us.

  Later that night, Ronit added another Photo on FB. It was a picture of him from a few years back; fuller face, pimples, longer hair and a goatee. ‘Cute’ wasn’t something I was very fond of, but that’s how he looked and I liked it. I have no idea what that means. I commented:

  Vatsala: Aww . . . :-*

  For the uninformed, :-* is an emoticon that denotes ‘kiss’.

  Ronit: :) :)

  Abhimanyu: Ahem Ahem!!!

  I called Avi up, before he could do any harm.

  “How come you remembered me? Funny thing, I was just thinking about you,” he greeted.

  “Leave me alone please.”

  “What did I do?” he acted innocent.

  “That Comment you posted on his picture? Rings a bell?”

  “Who’s ‘his’?”

  “You know who. Ronit.”

  “Oh! That Comment? He’s my friend too, why can’t I Comment?”