Love@Facebook

by Nikita Singh

  I initiated the Chat.

  Vatsala: Hey!!

  Ronit: Hi :)

  Vatsala: You tagged me in a note?

  Ronit: Yeah :) :)

  Vatsala: :D

  Ronit: I hope you like it though

  Vatsala: Reading . . .

  Ronit: Fingers crossed!

  I quickly went through his Note and was taken by surprise. Although I’d been Ronit’s biggest fan for quite some time, amazingly, that was the first time I was reading something written by him. Sure, he’d been blogging since the last five years and his blogs were kind of famous too, but blogs weren’t my thing. They never interested me. Who’d like to read about a bunch of people who wrote about anything mildly interesting (and sometimes unbelievably boring!) going on in their lives? They seemed like personal diaries of lonely people – who have no one to talk to – to me!

  So after reading Ronit’s Note, I was amazed by how little I knew him. In my mind I’d projected him as someone he clearly wasn’t. He turned out to be a hopeless romantic who was into all that gooey and gross stuff.

  And to my intense astonishment, it made me like him even more! Was there anything he could do which I wouldn’t like anymore?

  Once Akansha was teasing me because of that little idol worship thing I did of a certain Ronit Oberoi, and I’d replied quite simply with, “If you’re a fan, be die-hard, else what’s the use?” Of course, she’d made fun of me, but it did nothing to lower my degree of loyalty to Ronit. I wasn’t joking when I said I worshipped the ground he walked on.

  Vatsala: It’s sooo cute :)

  Makes me want to fall in love!!

  Ronit: Hehe! Thankuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! :)

  Twenty-five ‘u’s, I counted. My take on his Note mattered to him? I was getting more and more hopeful.

  Vatsala: Pleasure!

  Ronit: :) :)

  He was using a lot of smileys that day. Good sign?

  Vatsala: I’m still getting over the fact that you found me worthy enough to tag me in your note!!

  SO HAPPY right now!

  Ronit: You were the first person I thought of after people I knew in real life to tag! :) :)

  Vatsala: OMG!! I’m gonna tell all my friends! They’ll envy me bad!

  No, I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I had only two friends and I knew for a fact that none of them would take the news kindly. And Akansha was also Tagged, so no use telling her. I did copy-paste the entire Chat with Ronit and send it to her as a Message, though. Just like I always did.

  Ronit: C’mon! :) Stop embarrassing me!

  Vatsala: OK. No more flattery! You’ll miss it soon, though!

  Ronit: Hehe! Yeah, friends don’t flatter each other :)

  Vatsala: Point taken ;)

  First lull point. Vatsala, think of something to keep the conversation going.

  Vatsala: See, again . . . I logged into FB and the first thing that came up on my homepage was ‘Ronit Oberoi is now friends with Fatima Mirza and 53 other people’!!!

  Ronit: Hehe! :P :P Never mind, some day it will all finish off!

  Vatsala: Must be nice, na? People fawning over you all the time?

  Ronit: I don’t take all this seriously! It will all end as soon as I stop jockeying/ get fired!

  So I just find it amusing! :) :)

  Sometimes he acted so humble that I wanted to kick his freaking ass! Come on dude, you’re human!

  Vatsala: Yeah, we Indians are quick to make people stars! But the stardom doesn’t last long.

  NOT IN YOUR CASE! You’ll be a star forever! :P :P

  Ronit: Blah! I give it two more years and it’ll blow over! :) :)

  Enough! Stop acting all virtuous!

  Vatsala: Not for me! And you can always anchor another show!

  Ronit: It can suck!

  Vatsala: Yeah, but it won’t. No one can make you feel inferior without your consent!

  I’d read that sentence somewhere. Perhaps some Princess Diaries book. (Yes, I once used to read all that. Ahem.)

  Ronit: But it can genuinely suck without me thinking so! :P

  Vatsala: Oh, what am I here for then? I can make you feel good about yourself anytime!

  Flattery and all . . . :P

  Ronit: Haha! :P :P I will count on that! :P

  Vatsala: :D

  Another dead-end. I like people who actually make an effort to keep the conversation alive. Hey, wait a minute . . . did I just say that? Just a few months back I was someone who went offline if someone initiated Chat and got annoyed whenever she received an SMS. I was a loner and was staunchly antisocial.

  But then, Ronit had always been an exception to all my rules. Even my huge ego-issues vanished when it came to him. I’d never been so damn talkative in front of anyone! I mean, I kept sending him Messages even though he chose to ignore them ninety percent of the time. Where did my self-esteem go?

  What the hell is happening to me?

  Vatsala: Hey, are you in love or what?

  Ronit: Not really!

  Vatsala: So what was the note all about?

  Ronit: I just have a crush on somebody I wouldn’t get involved with!

  Ah! Crush. Crushes are bad, ask me!

  Vatsala: Oh, thank God! I thought you were committed!!

  Ronit: Naah! Naah! :P

  Vatsala: I can still flirt then! ;) ;)

  Ronit: And what if someday I start going out with someone?

  The attention will stop? :( That’s mean! :/

  Attention? Interesting word to describe what I’d been doing for over three months now!

  Vatsala: Aww . . . trust me, I won’t give up!

  Ronit: Hehe! :P :P Now I like it! :) :) :)

  Grinning like an idiot. I SO loved him!

  Vatsala: :D :P

  Yet another lull. I didn’t want the Chat to end just yet. I thought I was ready to talk Heavy Metal. One month was a lot of time to become a Metal fan, especially for a music lover like me.

  Vatsala: So you like metal music . . .

  Ronit: NOT AT ALL!! My friend uploaded fake info about me in my profile!!

  Vatsala: Oh

  I come across very many moments in my life when I get speechless. But the word ‘oh’ always manages to get out!

  So that’s how all the pains I’d gone through to make myself like ‘his type of music’ went down the drain. Metal has a tendency to hurt your ears when you’re new to it.

  Vatsala: What kind of music do you like then?

  Ronit: I listen to Akon and Black Eyed Peas!

  WHAT? I, who was a big fan of Rock and Rap, had started listening to Metal for him and he turned out to be a fan of Pop and Hip hop? You’ve gotta be kidding me.

  Conversation. Concentrate on the conversation, Vatsala. There was one plus point, though. . .

  Vatsala: Hehe! I was wondering how someone could like Snoop Dogg and Lil Wayne!!

  Ronit: Actually . . . I do like those two!

  Another ‘oh’ moment. All was going well, why did I have to ruin it? It was the best Chat I’d had with Ronit in ages.

  That Chat – one of my very favourites till date. . . the ones I still remember with a feeling of nostalgia – had lasted for a little over an hour and by the end of it, I was sure of three things.

  First, I was in love with whatever I had with Ronit and I wasn’t going to let it go.

  Second, I somehow had to make Ankit understand how much Ronit meant to me.

  And third, I’d have to find more things in common with Ronit to have something interesting to talk about.

  When I clicked on the ‘See Relationship’ option on FB, the only two things that popped up as our similar interests were F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and How I Met Your Mother. For all I know, he might be a bigger F.R.I.E.N.D.S. fan! Disaster!

  That was unacceptable. We just had to have more in common with each other. I resolved to make it happen, making a mental note, this time, I’ll confirm with him before ‘trying to like’ stuff of his choice.

  Chat-28<
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  Blood & Bones

  December 16th, 2010

  This time when Ronit Liked some of my Photos, I sent him a Message saying ‘thanks’ just out of habit. His ‘most welcome’ that I received moments later must’ve been out of habit too! So, all the conversation we had that day consisted of our customary exchange of thanks and welcome. And that was it.

  To tell the truth, I was looking positively dreadful in those pictures. I wondered why I added them on FB in the first place. But what I really dwelled upon was how come he Liked such terrible photos of me? Did I look good even in my terrible pictures? (I know, I know. I was just wondering!) Was he trying to start a conversation?

  The ringing of my cell phone interrupted the string of rather wishful thoughts!

  “Heya!” I greeted Jaanvi.

  “We’re going out.”

  “Where?”

  “There’s a party. Come quickly. I’m waiting outside your house.”

  “Now?” It was 2 p.m.

  “Yes. You’ve got two minutes.”

  In those two minutes, I changed out of my PJs to put on some jeans and a freshly laundered Tee, grabbed a jacket, pulled on my sneakers and combed my hair. That was all I could do in the name of getting-ready-for-a-party.

  “We broke up,” Jaanvi disclosed casually when I got in her car.

  “What?”

  “Nilaap and I aren’t together anymore.”

  “Why? What happened?” How the hell was she so calm? Was she doing drugs? Should she drive in such a condition?

  “It wasn’t working out.”

  “Aarrghh! Are you ever going to tell? Stop walking around in circles.”

  “He was getting too possessive about me. He had problems with me talking to Ankit. He thought there was something ‘going on’ between the two of us.”

  “He said that?”

  She nodded. “He believed dancing was an excuse I used to ‘fool around’ with Ankit.”

  “How sick!”

  “That bastard.”

  “What a scumbag.”

  “That bloody mother-fucking son-of-a-bitch.”

  I couldn’t believe Jaanvi just said that. For someone who had problem saying the F-word alone . . . teaming it with ‘mother’? Progress. She must be really angry.

  “You didn’t tell him the truth?”

  “I did. And after a lot of convincing, he did say he trusted me. But then, just moments later, he said, ‘So you don’t mind if I join you guys in your dance practices?’ That was it. I dumped him.”

  We stayed silent for a while and then I asked the most pressing question on my mind, “Are you okay? Don’t you miss him or anything? I mean, you guys were close . . .”

  “Close? He was suffocating me. That guy has major insecurity issues, I tell you,” she burst out.

  “Are you okay?” I asked again.

  “I guess. I’m a free-bird now. We’re celebrating!” she cheered.

  “What? You mean this is the party you are taking me to? Your break-up party?”

  “Yes! It’d be so much fun!”

  She was high on something, I was sure. Break-up parties happened only in movies, not in real life! I crossed my fingers and prayed silently that we don’t meet an accident on our way.

  Everyone was there. Praveen, Evita (I wonder why I always end up taking their names together!), Nalini, Shruti, Viyali, a few people I didn’t know, a few people I didn’t remember the names of and . . . Ankit, of course.

  That was the first time we were seeing each other after that Dasham Fiasco. I should’ve known he’d be there; he’s a good friend. Even if it meant coming face to face with me, he wouldn’t back out from being there for Jaanvi.

  For the three hours that the party lasted, we sat facing each other, less than ten feet apart, but didn’t exchange a sole word. Our eyes did meet about two thousand times, though.

  He wasn’t wearing anything fancy that day, just a blue sweatshirt with blue jeans, but still managed to look ravishing.

  What is wrong with me? I Chat with Ronit, I fall in love. I look at Ankit, I fall in love. I’ve turned into a freaking pendulum.

  When, mercifully, the party ended, someone suggested a long drive. Vella that we always were, we all agreed. We had one car, seven bikes and two scootys. Jaanvi gave the car to Praveen and Evita, who feared being seen together by someone who knew their parents, or worse, their parents themselves.

  Jaanvi joined Ankit on his bike and I joined Viyali on his.

  We went to Hinoo, which was one of the most calm and serene areas of Ranchi. Apart from having butter-smooth roads, which were usually quite deserted, it also presented a beautiful sight, with trees surrounding the roads.

  Once there, we stopped at roadside to see the sunset. I had never been attracted to natural beauty and other masterpieces of His creation, but even I have to agree that the scene was quite astonishing.

  Soon after the sunset, the street lights were turned on and everybody started their bikes for one last round. Praveen, Evita and Jaanvi’s car had gone missing for some time by then. In fact, they never made it to Hinoo.

  “I want to drive,” I told Viyali as he started his bike.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Damn right I’m sure!”

  “Alright.” He parked by the side of the road and we switched places.

  “Hold this,” I said and handed over my handbag to him. I’d started carrying one recently, after I’d made the transformation into girl type of a girl.

  “Be careful, it’s heavy,” Viyali warned. He owned a Yamaha FZ-16, which I’d always fancied driving but hadn’t got a chance until then.

  “I can handle this, Viyali. Chill. I’ve driven a Pulsar and a Unicorn before.” I took pride in the fact.

  “Okay.”

  “Just tell me when to change gears.”

  “Sure.”

  It took me two tries to make the bike move. (The whole releasing of clutch and accelerating simultaneously business takes some getting used to.)

  “Gear,” Viyali said.

  “Wow!” I exclaimed. “I thought Pulsar was the best bike ever. But this is pure pleasure to drive. Your bike is makkhan!”

  “It’s the best!”

  “Most definitely,” I gained confidence as I started enjoying more and more. The trouble came – all too soon – when we reached the first turn.

  “Viyali, they’re all turning.”

  “Turn the handle slowly . . .”

  I’d been driving my scooty for five years and was taught driving a bicycle about fifteen years ago. So turning the handle was pretty basic a task. But right then, at that moment, I just couldn’t.

  Oh, and I forgot to mention, I have a tendency to accelerate when I panic while driving. We were moving at a speed of 50 km/hr. It might not be a high speed generally, but for a girl driving an FZ-16 for the first time, it could lead to disasters. And it did.

  “I can’t.”

  “Gear down, gear down, don’t accelerate.”

  How do we change gears? Do I press it from above or lift it from below? “Viyali, I can’t! What do I do?”

  “Go straight. Don’t turn, go straight.”

  But I couldn’t do that either. In my efforts to make the turn, I had turned the handle a little. So now we were neither turning, nor going straight. We were heading straight to a one foot high cement structure built at the side of the road (where people used to sit and talk for hours to pass time). I thanked God there wasn’t anyone sitting there then.

  Brake, my mind screamed at me. There was a little sand on the road, so applying disc brake would result in skidding.

  When you’re accustomed to driving a scooty, you are also accustomed to applying brakes by hand. And then, when you start driving bikes, people remind you a million times not to use disc brakes. And when you get nervous, you forget which leg to use to apply brakes.

  I used left.

  “Viyali, Viyali, VIYALI!” I screamed in alarm.

  We hit
straight into the cement structure. I was thrown off forward and fell face down roughly ten feet ahead of where the bike lay. Viyali, who was thrown forward, too, landed a couple of feet ahead of me.

  As I raised my face to spit out the mud and blood, I heard brakes shrieking, my friends shouting, everyone jumping off moving bikes and running towards us, abandoning their vehicles and handbags.

  As it always happens after accidents, I felt disoriented. One moment, I was on my bike and in the next, lying face down on ground (dirty ground, at that. I had mud and grass all over me!). It all happened in a jiffy.

  “Not my hand,” I groaned as someone tried to pull me up by my arm. “It hurts . . .”

  Praveen and Evita chose that blessed moment to reappear and Ankit carried me to the car and drove me to the hospital.

  The wrist of my right arm had swollen to twice its size in no time (my right arm. We had exams!) and I had ruined Jaanvi’s car seat with all that blood. My new jeans!

  “Viyali . . .” I murmured.

  “He’s okay. Nothing happened to him,” Jaanvi answered.

  And it was true. When I looked out of the car window, I saw everyone driving by our side or behind us. and amazingly, Viyali was not only sitting on his now-a-little-tattered bike, looking good as new, without a single scratch on his body, he was even driving.

  Till then, I’d been thinking that I’d killed him. Was it his ghost? Will it haunt me forever for taking his life?

  Two hours later, I was lying on Jaanvi’s bed. I hadn’t been able to build up enough courage to inform my mother of the accident, so I’d used studies as an excuse to stay at Jaanvi’s place for the night.

  I wished the accident had been more severe. I’d never been admitted to a hospital for anything and the idea fascinated me! And the blood . . . you already know about my affinity to it! So you can imagine my disappointment when the doctors let me go after applying a crepe bandage on my arm and dressing the major and minor wounds that spanned throughout the left half of my body.

  “It is nothing serious,” the doc had said. “Her right wrist has a hairline fracture that, if taken proper care of, will heal in about a couple of weeks and the other wounds will be fine in less than a week.” Damn! Unlucky me!

  “I’m sorry,” Viyali said. He had been saying that repeatedly since the last two hours. Did that mean his ghost wouldn’t haunt me? Or was there a hidden ulterior motive . . . like plotting a sinister conspiracy behind the façade of innocence?