You Are All I Need

by Ravinder Singh

  RAVINDER SINGH

  You are All I Need

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Contents

  Editor’s Note

  1. A Brief Reunion

  Dayal Punjabi

  2. Love in Dhavali

  Sucharita Date

  3. The Doors of the Closet Are Now Open

  Sai Nithin

  4. A Cocoon of Love

  Ruby Gupta

  5. The Matchmaker

  Anuj Dutt

  6. Destiny Swipes Right

  Rachita Ramya

  7. Love Transcends Generations

  Rupali Tiwari

  8. Fast Train to Love

  Pooja Dubey

  9. The Genesis of Luck

  Ruby Gupta

  10. Untold Affection

  Aarthika Mathialagan

  11. I’m No Good Human

  Mohammad Afroz

  12. Pure Love

  Praneetha Gutta

  13. Beyond Right and Wrong

  Supreet Kaur

  14. Once Upon a Love . . .

  Suranya Sengupta

  15. Yesterday Once More

  Sarbani Ray

  16. Platform 9 . . . and 3/4?

  Sashwati Ghosh

  17. Flare

  Mariam Rashid

  18. I Got You

  Krusha Sahjwani Malkani

  19. The Other Side of the Road

  Hamsini R.

  20. Something in the Rain

  Kaustubhi Singh

  21. A Tender Ray of Love

  Nandita Warrier

  22. Our Story

  Garima Bohra

  23. My Superhero Girlfriend

  Writuraj Ghosh

  24. Arjun

  Maria K. Jimmy

  25. Love in the Times of Marriage

  Aparajita Shishoo

  26. Love Is Coming Soon . . .

  Kiran Wingkar

  Footnotes

  10. Untold Affection

  24. Arjun

  Contributors

  Follow Penguin

  Copyright

  EBURY PRESS

  YOU ARE ALL I NEED

  Ravinder Singh is the bestselling author of I Too Had a Love Story, Can Love Happen Twice?, Like It Happened Yesterday, Your Dreams Are Mine Now, This Love That Feels Right . . . and Will You Still Love Me?. He has edited two other anthologies, Love Stories That Touched My Heart and Tell Me a Story. After having spent most of his life in Burla, a small town in western Odisha, Ravinder is currently based in Gurgaon. He has an MBA degree from the renowned Indian School of Business. His eight-year-long IT career started with Infosys and came to a happy ending at Microsoft, where he worked as a senior programme manager. One fine day, he had an epiphany that writing books was more interesting than writing project plans. He called it a day at work and took to full-time writing. He has also started a publishing venture called Black Ink (www.BlackInkBooks.in) for debut authors. He is a fitness freak and loves to play tennis and badminton.

  When he is not writing stories, he is creating funny videos for his YouTube channel, SOCHAALAY. The best way to contact Ravinder is through his Instagram handle, www.instagram.com/ThisIsRavinder/

  Editor’s Note

  The world is full of stories. We are full of stories.

  We tell them every day, many times without even realizing. That’s what we do when we write a caption underneath a picture we post on Instagram, or we text a friend about a break-up. We tell stories when we talk to our loved ones, we tell stories when we gather together and think about life gone by, we tell stories when recounting happiness, when we talk of sadness, moments of anger, moments of joy . . .

  And then, at some point, we want the other person to tell us their story and we listen to what they have to say. That’s when we say: Aur batao (tell me more)!

  You see now? The world loves stories. And I love love stories!

  That’s what I have been doing for more than a decade now—writing love stories. My readers love them. They are never done, and there is always space for more to be added. That keeps me going. But I also like to hear from my readers, get everyone together to read a good love story, to connect everyone so they can read together.

  Therefore, when I, together with my publisher Penguin Random House India, embarked on this new journey for a collection of short stories, I wanted to hear from you, my dear readers, about your fantastic love stories—and I wanted to bring some of those to this platform, this anthology, You Are All I Need.

  We took the excitement to the next level when we partnered with Romedy Now, a television channel that I love to watch when I crave romantic movies. We rolled out this campaign, #GetPublished, giving those who love to read love stories, who love to watch romantic movies, an opportunity to get to tell us their tales. And when we did that, what came our way was an ocean of romance. The numbers were overwhelming. After rigorous rounds of elimination, we chose the final twenty-six. These are the best of the best.

  And not only are they the best, they are as varied as they can be. If one talks about unrequited love, another tells the story of same-sex lovers; if one talks about love from a distance, the other talks about a quiet love that only reveals itself in actions; if one is about loving and yet letting go, the other is about finding ways to creating the ‘happily ever after’ with each other.

  Together, the anthology is like a rainbow, where each story brings out the beauty of love.

  Dear reader, this anthology will leave you with a variety of emotions. And even before you begin reading, I want to place a bet with you. In some of the stories you read, you are going to find yourself; in some you will question yourself; and in some you will simply enjoy the beauty of love. But you will not remain untouched. And when that happens, please find me on any of my social media pages and let me know. I will eagerly wait to hear from you.

  Now flip the page and let the magic begin.

  With love,

  Ravinder Singh

  1

  A Brief Reunion

  Dayal Punjabi

  He was astonished at even being recognized. He was so tongue-tied that he stood there like a fool, his eyes as wide and round as a cherry pie. As a schoolboy, he’d never really mustered up the courage to walk up to David, always scared of either being punched in the face or laughed at. They did have a moment, though, when they had been asked to share a presentation on environmental studies in high school. Although David had contributed nothing, he’d showed up on the final day, looked at the slides and blabbered details on the screen as if he knew everything.

  Rustom only wished he had a moment where they could share some work again—at least he would be able to handle the uncomfortable silence between them.

  ‘Long t-t-time no s-s-see,’ he stammered, wishing he had worn a better shirt or his new shoes or at least a jacket to cover the wet patches under his arms.

  ‘Doesn’t really seem like it,’ David replied casually with a simple smile. ‘Seems like just yesterday we were presenting the three R’s of EVS!’

  He began unbuttoning and folding the sleeves of his shirt, his eyebrows furrowed because of the scorching sun on his face. A bead of sweat made its way down his forehead, barely missing his left eye. He sucked in his lips.

  Rustom couldn’t believe how this man, who hadn’t even bothered to touch the pen drive so many years back, remembered a moment so brief. A moment he had hoped had vanished by now. He looked at David and then looked away, remembering that there were a lot of people around who knew both of them; perhaps even the unchanged walls of the school building had their memory imprinted on them. The old principal was giving her speech on the tiny concrete stage, her voice fragile.

  ‘So,’ David resumed, ‘what are you up to now?’


  ‘O-oh,’ Rustom stammered again, embarrassed, to say the least. What would David think if he told him he still wrote stories for a living? ‘Um . . . I’m an author, fiction . . . I write fiction,’ he said, managing to find his voice.

  ‘Wow! Sounds fun. Do tell me the name of your book. I’ll be interested in reading it,’ he said with a sort of pout, obviously uninterested, and then turned to look in front.

  There was a round of applause when the speech was over and Rustom joined in. He looked at the carefully combed hair, jet-black and shimmering, and the slim-fit shirt pressing against David’s back. His scent was almost hypnotizing, indicative of a masculinity only David was capable of. A slight breeze ruffled his hair ever so slightly and they seemed to dance. He then suddenly looked back, and Rustom went red, like a rose petal.

  ‘What about getting out of here? We could have some ice cream. It’s pretty humid up here.’

  For a moment Rustom was paralysed, his eyes wide and his lips parted slightly. He couldn’t believe those words had slipped out of David’s mouth. They’d never even greeted each other when they were in school! He wouldn’t know how to talk, to walk or to look better. And even though he’d mentally pictured them walking together, and even though he’d done it plenty of times as a young boy, it seemed so disconnected from his reality now—a lie. He couldn’t react at first—it was as if his lips had lost their ability to move and his mind was clouded. His vocal cords felt as though they had collapsed and there was a lump stuck in his throat. He nevertheless nodded.

  Before he knew it, they were outside the school building and walking down the sidewalk of the main road, the sound of the city buzzing in their ears, the sun so bright that one could watch the vapour rising in the thick, polluted air. They were walking so close that their hands brushed against each other. David didn’t seem bothered at all. But Rustom was flushed; he almost took a couple of steps back. After all, he’d only ever touched him with his eyes. David’s skin felt smooth, and Rustom could feel the soft hair on his wrist brush against his skin as their hands touched. From the corner of his eye, he risked a peek at the emotionally distant man walking beside him, and the shadow of a tree fell on them. As they kept walking, the shade stayed with them, and suddenly, almost like an epiphany, Rustom realized he still loved David.

  Though it seemed like a lifetime ago that he had yearned for this man, and it had seemed lost when they parted ways, now, with David so close that he could reach out and touch him, Rustom felt like there was no other feeling deeper than this, and that he had never known anything more expansive. Certainly, he thought, no other love had started so far back in time—and now it had only grown and spread throughout his body.

  While walking among the sea of people, Rustom bumped into a woman. He quickly mouthed a sorry but the woman didn’t bother; she seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. But when Rustom turned around to look at David, he was nowhere to be seen. He looked around frantically, a pit in his stomach, as if he had suddenly been abandoned. He panicked and felt unsteady for a moment, and took the support of the tree he was standing under.

  This can’t be it! I just saw him after years! Is this all it was going to be? I hadn’t even spoken to him properly! His eyes began to well up. But then, suddenly, in the midst of the incessant honking of cars and buses, and the un-rhythmic chorus of people, he heard his name being called out. He recognized that voice, even though he’d just heard it, like a brand-new favourite song. He spun on his heels to find the man of his dreams standing across the street, waving at him.

  David called out his name again, and Rustom, in dumbfounded fascination, watched his own name form on the lips of the man he’d always wanted. He heard it so close to his ear his body shivered. Everything around them went silent for that moment, and he heard his name again closely, clearly, echoing throughout his being, under his coffee-colour shirt, under his darker skin, so warm and real that his body suddenly went hot.

  He raised his hand and waved back. He crossed the road clumsily, almost getting hit by an autorickshaw. Now he was sweating.

  When they leaned against an ice-cream truck, David took his vanilla cone, while Rustom took a tiny cup of double chocolate. Then they went and sat on a bench outside a garden. This was what showed Rustom the absolute difference between the two of them, which summed up his hesitation in going up and talking to David in the first place when they were kids. They were opposites! Vanilla and chocolate. North Pole and South Pole. Longitude and latitude. Dark and bright.

  And, like always, even now, in this moment when they were sharing a seat, Rustom’s voice rang out inside him, praying for some ray of hope. But what sat between them like a ghost was uncertainty. In this clear light of day and the stifling heat and the hoarse cry of the city, silence loomed like a fishing eagle. Escaping that still quietness that had settled on the bench with them would take a reckless roar from inside of Rustom, a vehement articulation of everything he was feeling sitting there beside David.

  The silence soon broke like shards of glass.

  ‘What have you been doing all these years, you know, besides writing?’ David asked as he sucked on a corner of his melting ice-cream scoop.

  The question caught Rustom off-guard. His discomfort grew, with sweat slipping down his face like raindrops from a roof. It uncovered the hollow question of Rustom’s own doubts. What had he been doing all his life that he could even talk about? Especially compared to David’s achievements that the entire school knew about. Rustom always found himself gathering information on David’s career as an indie publisher, who published books in the local languages and had blogs written about him. How could he not? It was the only way to know him. And while he kept abreast of David’s activities, David clearly had no knowledge of Rustom’s dull and obviously less-documented life.

  He tried to build up a story in his mind—one that would make his life look livelier than it was. But there lingered a lack of inspiration. He opened his mouth to speak, but then just took a spoonful of his ice cream. And by every drop of flavour that melted on his tongue, he wished they could talk about something else—anything that didn’t have to do with his own life.

  Thoughts flitted in and out of his ambivalent mind like a fly. Even being a writer did not help Rustom think of something to say that would make David sit up and take notice of him, find him interesting enough. Just say something! Anything!

  At that moment, David’s phone rang and he excused himself, walking away towards the shade of a lone mango tree. He spoke quietly, smiling easily; Rustom could never help himself from falling for it. These were the small things that lingered—the stillness of their new friendship, the air full of thoughts and unexpressed emotions.

  Rustom couldn’t resist the charm of the man he had once cried for behind closed doors of tiny bathrooms all his growing-up years. David’s face stood in his memory, young and beautiful, sure of itself. Such that, even today, it caught Rustom off-guard and held him still, tight, until he reminded himself to breathe again. David’s cheekbones were so well defined that even under the shadow of a tree, they cast a shadow of their own on his neck. Rustom watched him, and had the slightest spark of hope, like the flash of a lightning bolt inside his fist-sized heart. It felt as if his eyes were accustomed to just marvelling at the beauty of the imperfect perfection that stood just metres from him.

  He had never looked at anyone or anything else, only at him, with an expression that would easily tell anybody around what was in his heart. It was so intense—delicate and adoring but inhumanly strong and divine at the same time.

  Perhaps insane.

  Soon David was done with the call. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and made his way towards Rustom. He had almost polished off his ice cream and now sat on the bench beside Rustom, munching on his cone.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said as it made a crunching sound. ‘The wife. You know how they can be sometimes . . .’ And followed that up with a chuckle.

  His words pierced th
e air, and then Rustom’s heart so terrifyingly that his body started shivering. Words that had lain like unsaid letters suddenly became bits of torn paper drifting in the wind. He felt like someone had knocked the air out of his lungs. His world all of a sudden had been shaken, and his lips began to quiver.

  Of course he is married! What did I think, that he would stay single all these years for me? Me? Someone he barely even remembers?

  ‘She’s expecting now,’ he continued, ‘so she keeps calling to make sure I’m good.’

  Shoving the rest of the waffle down his throat, he dusted his palms and then sighed contentedly. ‘It’s exciting. Scary, to be precise, to even imagine someone like me being a father. Can you believe it?’

  But all that David was saying seemed like an echo from a faraway land, for Rustom had ceased to listen. His heart groaned and rumbled like an impending storm. Once again, Rustom hunted for words, for voice, for something. But all he could feel was his churning gut. Everything he believed he knew dissolved like sugar in a cup of afternoon tea. He merely smiled. It wasn’t as if David wanted to be endorsed by Rustom.

  ‘Hey, I have to leave now, but would love to catch up some other time.’ He smiled and stood up. ‘Do you have a card or something?’

  But Rustom just sat there looking dumbly at the man he had loved all his life and then found out that he was no longer available. But he avoided the urge to just wail and run, and instead dug into his shirt pocket to fish out a visiting card of his authorship that his agent had forced him to get. He handed it to David, who only said ‘thanks’ and ‘see you soon’, and walked away.

  Rustom watched as David stopped an autorickshaw in the middle of the running traffic, pulled out his mobile from his pocket, with which Rustom’s card slipped out and fell on the uneven road, and disappeared from view as the vehicle rounded the corner.

  2

  Love in Dhavali

  Sucharita Date