Love@Facebook

by Nikita Singh

  “Let’s go,” Jaanvi said at last.

  Maa seemed quite apprehensive seeing the three of us ‘going to a party,’ I wearing a dress complete with make-up and stilettos and the other two girls dressed in jeans.

  “I lost a bet and they forced me to dress up like a clown,” was the best excuse I could come up with. Damn, I was getting bad at lying!

  We had chosen the terrace of Ankit’s house as our venue because (a) Ankit’s parents were out of town, sanctioning us the much needed privacy and (b) quite frankly, his terrace garden was beautiful. His mother, apart from cooking deliciously, also had a keen interest in gardening. Good for me!

  We reached Ankit’s place and Jaanvi used the stolen key to open the lock. (How we stole the key is a story we shall keep for some other time). We knew no one would be home as Rohan must be busy with his girlfriend, as always, Ankit was at Gymkhana Club, waiting for us as planned and as I said before; their parents were out of town.

  We let ourselves in and flipped on the lights.

  “What the—” Rohan shouted.

  We stared at each other for a minute and said in unison, “What are you doing here?”

  “I . . . I . . .” Rohan stammered. What he had been doing was quite obvious, considering the flustered look on his face, the half-naked girl who ran to another room and some items of her clothing lying on the floor. “Don’t tell Ankit bhaiya,” he pleaded.

  I nodded, hardly being able to hide my amusement. “Just make yourself scarce, I’ll be on the roof.”

  “Okay,” he said before picking up his girlfriend’s clothes and exiting the room.

  “And Rohan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Give me your PSP!”

  Jaanvi and Evita gave me looks.

  “What?” I asked. “Angry Birds is the only game I need just my left thumb to play!”

  ¸¸¸

  The weather was chilly. Chilly. (I later came to know that it was the coldest night of that winter). I was frozen. It had been an hour since Jaanvi and Evita had left, promising to send Ankit to me ASAP.

  What if he doesn’t come? I was getting anxious.

  I looked around myself. Jaanvi was excellent at decorating things, I have to give that to her. Even though we had to replace the candles with torches (we hadn’t taken the breeze into account), the place was looking picture perfect.

  We had arranged everything – music playing softly from the small speakers we’d connected to my Walkman, take-away dinner from Ankit’s favourite Chinese restaurant (Jaanvi didn’t let me order chicken), a small chocolate cake (Jaanvi didn’t let me order Black Forrest) and a bottle of SULA champagne (I planned on intoxicating him to take advantage of his drunken state) completed the arrangement.

  Jaanvi had even gone through additional pains to decorate the setting with flowers and candles. Although, the flowers got lost somewhere amongst those already blooming in the garden and the candles were rendered useless owing to the blowing wind.

  In the light of the two torches we’d been able to find at the last moment, the place looked perfect.

  Almost; Ankit wasn’t there to complete the picture.

  Angry Birds lost its charm, the cool breeze started to feel too freezing, the dinner had turned cold, the torch-light dimmed and the music started to seem too slow and too sad.

  I checked the time. 12:03 a.m.

  Time to celebrate.

  I opened the champagne bottle with a little difficulty (the seal and the cork were a bit tricky). I didn’t bother to pour the drink into a glass and took a swig directly from the bottle. And spit it out instantly; it tasted bad.

  I got up to change the music. When you get used to metal, pop seems like something from your naïve and innocent childhood.

  What if Ankit didn’t come at all? I know that was the kind of treatment I deserved . . . what if he realises the same and decides I wasn’t worth giving a chance.

  It was 1 a.m. when tears made their first appearance. Before leaving, Jaanvi had asked, “Anything else?” to which I had replied, “Is this eye make-up waterproof? I don’t want to smudge my eyes . . . I have a strange feeling that I’ll cry tonight.”

  Jaanvi had just smiled and said, “I’m sure the tears would be out of happiness.”

  “And the make-up is waterproof, don’t worry. Just make sure not to rub your eyes!” Evita had added.

  So that gave me a license to cry. Even if I ended up looking like a ghost, who was there to see me?

  The song changed to Fear of The Dark and goose bumps appeared almost immediately on my bare arms. (I wasn’t wearing a jacket; I was trying to freeze myself to death. Life wasn’t worth living anymore).

  I got up to change the music and staggered a little. Half a bottle of champagne does that to you. Yes, I’d eventually tried drinking it again, for loss of anything better to do. And I have to agree, it had started tasting better with every sip.

  I finally made it to the Walkman and changed the song. My tip to every music lover – if you’re alone on a rooftop after midnight, don’t listen to Fear of the Dark. Especially if you’re afraid of ghosts and you spot an evil looking chameleon on a plant less than ten feet away.

  Owing to the tears flooding my eyes and the effect of alcohol in my blood, I couldn’t read anything on the Walkman, I pressed random buttons and the song changed.

  As the music started, I got a feeling that it was one of the songs that Ankit had transferred to my Walkman when I had asked him for some good songs. Though, quite predictably, I’d never listened to it. How else could pop music enter my Walkman?

  Elliot Yamin’s Wait For You, I later discovered.

  The lyrics instantly caught my attention. How can someone write a song so apt? It suited the situation I was in. Perfectly.

  I never felt nothing in the world like this before,

  Now I’m missing you

  & I’m wishing that you would come back through my door.

  Why did you have to go?

  You could have let me know.

  So now I’m all alone.

  You could have stayed,

  But you wouldn’t give me a chance.

  With you not around it’s a little bit more than I can stand.

  And all my tears they keep running down my face.

  Why did you turn away?

  So why does your pride make you run and hide?

  Are you that afraid of me?

  But I know it’s a lie what you keep inside,

  This is not how you wanted to be.

  Baby I will wait for you,

  ‘Cause I don’t know what else I can do,

  Don’t tell me I ran out of time,

  If it takes the rest of my life.

  Baby I will wait for you,

  If you think I’m fine it just ain’t true,

  I really need you in my life.

  No matter what I have to do, I’ll wait for you.

  I’ll Be Waiting . . .

  By the time the song ended, I was crying uncontrollably.

  A movement behind made me turn around with a jerk. It wasn’t a ghost lizard. It was Ankit.

  There, standing in front of my eyes, was the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid my eyes on. (I told you about the Porsche being the second most beautiful, remember?)

  “You really are here?” No, I wasn’t the one who asked that. He seemed equally surprised to find me there.

  I looked down at myself and met his eyes. “I guess,” I laughed a dry laugh.

  “I just got home . . . I was waiting for you guys at the club. Rohan told me you were here . . . I thought he was joking . . .”

  “Jaanvi didn’t tell you?”

  “I forgot my phone at home.”

  I nodded. “For how long have you been standing here?”

  “I came around the time you were shouting, ‘Fuck you, Ankit Rai. I’ll cut your body into a hundred little pieces and eat them up with a fork’.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why fork, though
?”

  “Manners.”

  “Ah! Right.”

  We stood there, in front of each other, smiling . . . unsure what to do next . . . I decided to take the lead.

  “Would you mind terribly if I say I’ve come back to my senses and want to spend the rest of my life with you?”

  He stayed silent and continued looking at me.

  “How about using your tongue to speak and tell me how you feel? I really can’t read minds. I’m no Edward Cullen.” I tried humour.

  “I was waiting for you to change your mind.”

  “I won’t. It took me an entire month to make up my mind. I’m sticking to my decision.”

  “And you’re sure this time?” Why is he doing this to me? Can’t he see? I’m dying here.

  “I love you, Ankit,” I finally whispered. Oh, so now I’m crying again. Happy?

  He smiled. “Finally,” he said and took me in his arms. Maybe it was the champagne, maybe because I had been frozen and his embrace gave me the much needed warmth or maybe it was love . . . it felt like heaven. I’d always thought that the whole hugging business was for inferior souls. Now I know!

  And when he whispered ‘I love you too’ in my ears, I finally was able to breathe right again.

  “I was so scared. I was afraid you’d reject me. And I waited for almost three hours, sitting here all alone in the freezing cold. I thought you would never come . . . that you realised you were too good for me. I thought—”

  Ankit put a finger on my lips to shut me up. “Shhh . . . you’re ruining the moment. Now I’m here and trust me I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

  Our eyes met. He looked at my lips and looked into my eyes again.

  Oh my God! He’s going to kiss me. What do I do?

  He leaned forward. I looked down, looked up, to the left, at him, to the right and down again.

  He held my chin, making me look at him and meet his eyes.

  There, in the chilly winter night, under a bed of millions of stars and a half moon, I got my first kiss.

  No, it wasn’t gross. Far from it. I speak from personal experience now. (I was glad there wasn’t any tongue involved though!)

  We broke the kiss, looked at each other and smiled.

  Wind blew and I shivered.

  I kicked him between his legs.

  “Aarghh . . . What the hell! What’s wrong with you? Why did you do that?” he shouted in exasperation and doubled over in pain.

  “It’s cold. I’ve been sitting here for ages. Offer me your jacket, boy,” I shouted equally loud.

  “You could’ve just said so.”

  “Yes, but you deserved it.”

  “How? Do you have any idea how badly it hurts?”

  “Nope. I’ve never been kicked in the nuts.” I stated matter-of-factly. But by the way he was withering in pain and his face had turned into a bright shade of red, I could guess.

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  I helped him sit and sat next to him. “Are you okay?” I asked. I was getting a little worried.

  “Never been better. Thanks for your concern,” he mocked.

  “Are you going to offer me your jacket now or do you want to get kicked again? Because you know, I really enjoyed doing that. I’d always wanted to try—”

  “Now would be a nice time to warn me of the other things you’ve always wanted to try,” his eyes got all big in horror. So cute!

  I laughed. “Oh boy! You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “I’m catching up pretty quick,” he said and removed his jacket.

  “Ahh . . .” I winced as he helped me into it. My arm hurt.

  He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You should’ve seen yourself that day. You shouted Viyali’s name thrice and literally dived into the ground face first!”

  “Shut up.”

  “For someone who doesn’t know how to swim, you dive extraordinarily well!”

  I joined in his laughter. And we kissed again. Twelve times, or more? I’ll let you guess!

  Sitting there, under the pale moonlight, champagne inflicting its effect, flowers scattered haphazardly all around us, with the torch batteries finally dead, the food remaining untouched and my make-up all messed up (‘waterproof mascara’ is a myth. No such thing exists!), I realised what true love meant.

  “And just by the way, you look gorgeous tonight.”

  “Good for you, you remembered to mention that. You wouldn’t have liked to get kicked again, would you?”

  He laughed. “Why did you make me wait for so long? Such a waste of time . . .”

  I thought about that. “You don’t like Eminem,” I answered seriously. “And you took too long to take your shirt off.”

  He laughed again. What am I? A joker?

  “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too,” I looked him in the eye and replied.

  Now, the picture was complete.

  The untouched dinner called to me and my perennially starved stomach responded.

  “I’m starved,” I declared and attacked the cake.

  Chat-32

  The End

  January 2011

  For those who’ve had enough of the whole Ronit business, skip this chapter (I usually do!). But in case you’re still interested to know how it ended with him, read on . . .

  Remember I said I feared that chatting with Ronit again might lead to disasters, owing to my tendency to fall in love with him after every chat?

  So, I didn’t contact him after committing to Ankit. My decision was strengthened even more after he proved himself as being a cold and heartless bastard.

  However, I couldn’t stand by my decision for long. I had no idea how my manuscript ended up getting selected by such prestigious publishers, but I’d made up my mind – I wouldn’t let such an opportunity go. I had to write that book.

  And soon.

  Let me tell you why so soon . . . when the publishers had called to ask how much of my novel was complete and by when the entire book will be done, I’d panicked and said, “75 percent of it is complete and I’d send in the full book by 25th Jan.”

  My 5th semester exams ended on 11th Jan, so that gave me a total of fourteen days to write a full book. Fourteen days. Two weeks. Ask me to do stupid things and I’ll stop at nothing!

  Those two weeks were real hard on me. Try forgetting someone and writing a book about him at the same time. Sweet life!

  After wasting the first three days trying in vain, I finally kept my ego aside and sent him a Message. I couldn’t possibly write a story about him without knowing him! Or could I?

  Vatsala: Can I request an interview with you? I have so many questions to ask you, about you. It’d be better if we do it on chat, as opposed to messages, so that we can have a real conversation. Give me a date and time, preferably this week itself.

  Even if the answer is no, at least grace this message with a reply. :)

  It had been a long time since we’d last chatted. I wasn’t sure he even remembered me.

  I was taken aback. His reply shocked me. No, SHOCKED ME!!

  Ronit: Sure . . . just give me a call whenever it suits you . . .

  9876543210

  I read that Message thrice. My brain couldn’t register what my eyes saw. He gave me his number?

  Vatsala: OMG! Are you serious?

  Ronit: Yes!

  After hyperventilating for a while, I called Akansha and we discussed what I’d say and, more importantly, what I’d not say!

  “What if I don’t get his accent?”

  “Oh, you will. He’s from Mumbai. How weird can his accent be?” Akansha assured. Her boyfriend, Tushar, was from Mumbai, too.

  “If I don’t, I won’t ask him to repeat. I’ll just say, ‘I’d love to say that it was nice talking to you, but sadly, I don’t lie. B-bye!’”

  “You will not say that. And you’ve heard him speak a million times on TV. Stop fretting.”

>   One hour later, when I did build up a nerve to call him, he didn’t receive. I sent him a Message on FB.

  Vatsala: Why do I get a feeling you gave me a random number? :P

  I called you and you didn’t receive.

  Two minutes later, my phone ringed Ronit Oberoi Himself Calling.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey Vatsala!”

  And of all the stupid things I could’ve said, I said, “How do you know that I’m Vatsala?”

  “It was pretty easy. I got only one missed call by an unknown number in the last ten minutes and I saw your Message, so . . .”

  “Oh!” Yes, that was all I could say as I mentally cursed myself for acting all witty.

  “And I didn’t give you a random number. This really is my number.”

  “Oh,” I repeated. I and my ‘oh’ moments!

  “So, you wanted to talk?”

  “I don’t know what to say . . .” Dumb-dumb-dumb.

  “You had some questions to ask?”

  “I really don’t know what to say . . .” Dumber-dumber-dumber.

  He said the next few lines very quickly and I caught only a few strings of words from between. He was a VJ and had been an RJ and all, but he did have a strange accent!

  “Anyway, I got the first copy of my book today and I think you’ll . . . buy the book . . . your friends . . . because I’ve mentioned your name in the acknowledgements.”

  I caught the last line – Loud and clear. Still, I have no idea why I still acted all dumb! Maybe because it was just too hard to believe.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes!” he laughed.

  “Really?” I asked for the third time. Okay, it really was very hard to believe but I didn’t have to repeat ‘really’ like an idiot thrice!

  “Arey! Why would I lie?”

  “Right.”

  “Hey, listen. I’m at a friend’s treat right now, so I’m kind of busy. Catch you later?”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye!”

  “B-bye.”

  I was proud I didn’t stammer. Though considering that (in the call that lasted 1 minute 36 seconds) I didn’t speak at all, I didn’t have much scope!

  He mentioned my name in the acknowledgements of his novel. Even if it’s just a passing reference to some of his fans, it meant the world to me.