Our Impossible Love Page 8

  Also, I was lying.

  Inside, I hoped for balloons, cake, a huge party, a thousand guests, and maybe a little alcohol since everyone else’s birthday had that. But where was the money to celebrate? So instead, I put up a brave face and kept telling people that eighteenth-birthday celebrations were for kids and that I was a grown-up. Already eighteen. Done and dusted. A celebration shouldn’t make one nervous and anxious. My impending eighteenth birthday made me want to crawl into a hole and die.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a party?’ asked Namrata. ‘Not even a small one?’

  She was turning out to be my best friend these days. Namrata had swooped in and replaced Megha in a matter of days. She was what people defined as my type. Her parents were college professors, English and Sanskrit, and so she was like a walking-talking Goodreads recommendation list, and had a library at home which could put the one at our school to shame. Also, she had little twin sisters, Dhriti and Dhisti, who were fat and cute and edible, and they called me Agha whenever I went to her house. I would curse myself regularly for losing all those years of a potentially fulfilling friendship.

  Our affair started in the library where we found out we loved the same authors and had often issued the same books in the past. Things were really awkward at first but there’s nothing that fifty flavours of Baskin Robbins can’t cure. We used to spend hours after school at the outlet nearby eating out of a single cup.

  Then we discussed our favourite TV shows, debated aggressively about whether Geoffrey, the chef, was more vile or Gordon Ramsay, watched episodes of Modern Family together, admitted that we liked Zayn Malik’s hair and Justin Bieber’s songs at one point in time, and that we masturbated every alternate night. Finally! I’d got someone to talk to about it without feeling like a complete pervert. We exchanged pointers on what turned us on. Fictional men in books > Porn.

  She was just a great person.

  She was kind and compassionate, and brought great food from her home, and I was falling in love with her.

  ‘No, I don’t want a party. It’s all a sham, really,’ I lied. I so wanted a huge party.

  ‘Norbu has promised me that he will throw me a massive party when I turn eighteen,’ she said, blushing.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ said Norbu who walked into the library just at that moment. They made quite a pair. He was the cute boy from. . . . No, that’s what I had decided, I wouldn’t describe people first by how they looked.

  Norbu’s parents were both IAS officers and the brain gene has carried on in their only child. He was brilliant with words. And yes, he was damn cute. His skin glowed like spring, eyes twinkled like Christmas. I could pack him up, take him home and keep him by my bedside and hug him to sleep every day but Namrata wouldn’t have been too happy about it.

  It was Norbu who had kept Namrata loved and sane all these years.

  ‘I will make it your best day ever,’ said Norbu, holding her hand, and somewhere I cried. They looked so good together. In love. Just perfect.

  Maybe that’s what I needed. A boyfriend. Someone who treated me like Norbu treated Namrata, someone who would hold my hand and look into my eyes and not at my pimples, someone who wouldn’t call my emotions melodrama, who would know what I needed for my eighteenth birthday was a big ass party and not a mature thought.

  I needed a boyfriend.

  *

  I reached home to find my mother cooking chicken that smelled wonderful. It was a luxury and it wasn’t my birthday yet. Was my mother losing her mind again? I threw my bag on the couch and barged into the kitchen to enquire why my birthday chicken was being wasted days before the actual date.

  ‘Your brother’s friend is coming,’ said my mother. I took the chopping board from her and cut a few onions.

  ‘But he doesn’t have any friends!’ I said. My mother shot me a look. ‘Not any I know of,’ I added.

  Sarthak’s friendlessness was legendary and we never talked about it. I remembered Googling about whether my brother was bipolar or depressed or suffered from a mental illness.

  I came up with naught.

  My brother just didn’t talk to anyone. It had been years since my mother, my father or I had had a proper conversation with him. He was so shut off. At least I talked about the weather and the food and about my pimples and the hot water running out.

  He was a body.

  ‘Is the friend a boy?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course, it’s a boy!’ snapped my mother.

  As if on cue the bell rang and I was asked to get it.

  ‘Hi,’ said my brother as I opened the door for him and his friend. Hi? We never said Hi to each other? What was Hi? My mother walked into the living room to greet Sarthak’s friend and offered him water. His friend was introduced as Vibhor.

  She pulled me into the kitchen and asked me to change out of my skirt.

  ‘Why? He studies in my school! He sees me like this every day.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem right to wear a skirt in front of a boy inside the house. Go! Change!’

  Reluctantly, I changed. I had no clothes. Not like my cupboard was full and I was being a diva. I literally had no good clothes to wear so I changed into my sweatpants and my brother’s T-shirt and reminded myself of how little outer appearances matter.

  I went to the living room with the tray my mother handed me. Vibhor helped me to keep the teetering tray on the table. Quite chivalrous. Now that I had a good thing to say about him, I can tell you he was gorgeous, delectable, a piece of art even. He was tall, like freakishly tall, he filled up the entire room when he walked in with his muscled biceps and his crew cut. Screw chicken. I could have had him instead!

  ‘So why are you here? Since when have you been friends?’ I asked him.

  He looked at my brother strangely. ‘Umm . . .’

  ‘Go to your room,’ said Sarthak.

  ‘Hey? You’re the goalkeeper, right?’

  Vibhor nodded.

  ‘I knew it. Girls are crazy for you!’

  He smiled. Must be totally not embarrassing for him. I felt a little sorry for him now. I needed to shut up.

  ‘We have work,’ said Sarthak.

  ‘What work?’ I asked him, but still looking at the chivalrous, shy Vibhor.

  ‘Mom!’ Sarthak shouted.

  That was my cue. I ran to my room and bolted the door before Mom could say anything. I stayed put and held my pee for an hour because our bedroom didn’t have an attached bathroom. Outside, they tapped furiously on the laptop and talked in hushed whispers. My brother had a nice voice. It would have been great to hear more of it. I pinned my ears to the bedroom door to hear what they were talking about.

  Later before leaving, Vibhor knocked on the bedroom door and casually asked for my number. ‘If you don’t mind,’ he added at the end of the sentence.

  Yes, he did that.

  I blushed and stammered and managed to blurt out the entire number in the sixth attempt.

  ‘Are you sure you just asked for my number? Or is it in my head?’

  ‘I did. And I just texted you.’

  I scrambled for my phone. Hi, the text message said.

  ‘I will call you?’ he asked. ‘If it’s okay with you?’

  ‘Of course, it is. I need to shut up, right?’

  ‘No, not really but I have to go,’ he said and closed the door.

  I called him on his number. ‘Hey?’

  ‘You’re calling me from behind the door?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Does my brother know you just took my number?’

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ he said and I could sense him smiling that devilish smile.

  Now it seemed like my birthday was approaching. The gods were listening. I might not get a huge party or presents but at least I had a real chance at getting a huge, chivalrous boyfriend. Hellboy finally might have a competitor.

  21

  Danish Roy

  I didn’t know why I said that name—Aisha—I didn’t really mean it. Maybe because I’d
liked the name. Otherwise it was just plain creepy. She was only seventeen—over five years younger than me. It sounds like right out of Lolita but only more perverse because it’s 2015 and they have laws against that kind of stuff. And she wasn’t even that pretty. Well, that’s just a lie. Let me try and describe her in the most innocuous, legal way possible. She was quite tall, around 5’9” and very fit, not that I noticed or anything. God. She was only seventeen! Her eyes had a certain curiosity, like they were questioning everything, me, the room, herself, the universe. Did I tell you she was only seventeen? She was dark-skinned in the most beautiful way possible. The pimples on her skin almost suited her, only made her more human. She was always a little lost, like she’d forgotten to walk or breathe sometimes. She was always thinking, always thinking, always thinking . . .

  I wanted to get inside her mind and know what she was thinking about.

  But I took that name just because I had to take a name.

  *

  That day, she strode inside the room and almost stumbled over the chair before she could sit on it, her smile so warm it felt like she had dragged the sun in with her.

  ‘Hi!’

  ‘You seem happy today.’

  ‘So happy!’ she said. ‘I think I might have a boyfriend! This is the best day of my life!’

  Thank God, she got one.

  ‘You don’t seem to share my enthusiasm. My counsellor should think his job is half done if the student is happy and feeling on top of the world!’ she said, her finger pointing towards the sky.

  ‘I didn’t take you for a girl who would celebrate getting a boyfriend. That’s undermining your worth,’ I said.

  Gold. Pure gold. I was getting better under pressure. I knew where it was coming from. The rejection of not even being considered for Smriti’s cousin’s prospective boyfriend still stung. I was happy for her and her new boyfriend, but not happy with the concept of happiness and having a boyfriend/girlfriend being so closely strung together.

  ‘Of course. Yes. Hmmm. Okay. Umm? So I shouldn’t be happy about it?’

  ‘Sure. You can be happy. But I don’t think it qualifies for the best day of your life.’

  ‘So I’m not happy about my new boyfriend, like not very happy, only averagely happy. I’m not really sure if he’s yet my boyfriend or anything. So, yes, I shouldn’t be very happy about that. Because he’s a boy and he’s also getting to date me. So it’s not like it’s a one-way street.’

  She looked really confused now. Her eyes were staring at the ceiling and then at me and then at her fingers, trying to make sense of what she had just said.

  ‘But what if he’s better than I am? Like a better person? Shouldn’t I be celebrating even then?’

  ‘Do you know if he’s a better person than you are?’

  ‘I don’t but he seems nice.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He helped me with a tray and asked if he could have my number,’ she said.

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Okay, I get it. But then how should I behave? Like he’s lucky to have me? Or should I show him some attitude? I want to bring my A game to this thing. So counsel me! How should I act?’ she asked, throwing her hair back.

  ‘Like nothing has changed.’

  She nodded her head sadly. ‘But can I be happy about the party my brother is throwing for my eighteenth birthday?’

  ‘Yes! That’s the kind of thing you should celebrate! Brothers are great,’ I said.

  The last party my brother threw me was when I got through the graduate programme. It was a noble gesture and the party was great but I got drunk too early because I was scared I wouldn’t be funny enough without the alcohol. By the time everyone arrived, I was already dunking my head in the commode and puking. My brother charmed everyone in the party and soon they forgot what they were celebrating.

  ‘You aren’t kicked about it? ’ I asked.

  ‘I am. Of course I am.’

  ‘No, you aren’t,’ I said, my Spidey-senses working overtime.

  ‘No, I’m not. I know I’m supposed to be happy and this is a great surprise. It must have taken him a lot to plan it. But I feel guilty now.’ She looked at her feet.

  ‘And why is that?’

  ‘Like we don’t have a relationship. We don’t talk and yet he’s doing this for me. How am I supposed to take that?’

  ‘Have you tried talking to him?’

  ‘We don’t talk any more. He looks through me like I don’t exist.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We just grew apart. He retreated into a little world of his own and never came out.’

  ‘And you never tried to wrench open that world of his?’

  ‘I’m his little sister! He should have looked out for me! Not the other way round!’ she protested.

  ‘You’re not a little girl any more,’ I said.

  These sagely words I said made me feel ancient and my faint liking towards this girl felt even more wrong.

  ‘I should talk to him? I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘He’s your brother. You can always talk to your brother.’

  She smiled. ‘Do you have a brother?’

  ‘Yeah. And I love that bastard more than life itself.’

  ‘That’s so sweet.’

  The bell rang and it was time for her to leave. I spent the rest of the day walking about listlessly in the corridors, watching the happy kids mill around, one among them being Aisha and her prospective new boyfriend, the tall, handsome tree—Vibhor.

  22

  Aisha Paul

  I was starting to realize why first crushes and loves are legendary.

  It makes you aware of the intricate workings of your heart’s auricles and ventricles. When Vibhor casually asked me out on a date, I felt the world spin around me; it felt like I was on a carousel from one of the Final Destination movies and it was a surprise I didn’t faint or throw up. He held my hand in the empty corridor, looked deep into my eyes like he was born for this and this purpose only, and asked me if I wanted to meet this Sunday. Sure. Done. Why not? I will go. And hence, I was going.

  It was important for me to kick this out of the park, have a check mark in the box in front of the words ‘first date’, and move on to achieve great heights from there. I might have been too late for a first date but had I got there quicker than my mother, so that’s something.

  Despite what everyone thought of me—I’m often the guide for other girls’ first dates—I had never been on a date so I Googled dating etiquettes for girls. It required me to tease but not give in, wear a nice dress but not expose too much lest I wanted to come across as slutty. Talk but not talk too much, be interested in him and smile and acknowledge his achievements, his job, etc., try and pay the bill but don’t try too hard . . . there were way too many rules!

  There was absolutely no chance of me following those rules because a) they didn’t seem to make any sense and b) how would I remember all of them?

  So like every person with a sane mind, I did the next logical thing—I decided to go on a test date to see if these rules made any sense. I called up my student counsellor and asked him if he would meet me for I had to talk to him urgently. It’s an emergency, I told him. Reluctantly, he agreed.

  I waited for him in the mall, hiding near the washroom because I didn’t want to be there before time. ‘It reeks of desperation,’ the dating manual had said. Though we had decided to meet at the TGIF, I knew I wouldn’t be able to pay if I ordered anything more than a basic salad without chicken. The dating rules said the boy should pay, which seemed cute and wrong at the same time.

  He was there at the precise time, hands in pocket, chewing gum, in his track pants, making me feel immensely overdressed in my only little black dress. I almost made up my mind to go back home to change into a pair of jeans and T-shirt.

  I waited for ten minutes after he took his seat near the window and then entered the restaurant, just like what the dating doctor had ordered.

&nbs
p; ‘Hi!’ I said, brightly, as if it was a surprise he was there.

  ‘Hi.’ He seemed rather anxious. ‘What happened? Anything serious?’ He looked me up and down and up, confused. ‘You said you wanted to talk. And why are you so dressed up?’

  ‘That’s what people do on dates, right?’ I said, as I sat down and smiled. I didn’t want to freak him out or anything.

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘This is a date,’ I said, and smiled again though it didn’t seem to put him at ease at all. ‘No! Don’t go! It’s not that kind of date, sir. It’s only a practice date, just to get my basics right before an actual date.’ His jaw was still open and he was still standing.

  ‘What’s happening here? Is this a prank or something? Is someone recording this?’

  ‘Actually, Vibhor has asked me out and I have never been out on a date. So I need firsthand experience. I need to be smashing good at it. So I thought who better to guide me through it than you! You know? Guidance? You’re my guidance—’

  ‘I know the words, Aisha.’

  ‘Okay! Then it’s a date.’

  ‘Give me your home number,’ he said.

  ‘No, no. Don’t call my mom.’

  ‘School rules say if I decide to meet a student outside school, the parents need to know.’

  ‘No they don’t! The school is stupid. You know that, of course.’

  ‘Give me the number,’ he said sternly.

  ‘Remember, I told you my mother tried killing herself once,’ I said instinctively.

  ‘Yes, you did, but you never told me why.’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘You either tell me the story or I’m calling your mother.’

  I looked down and told him about the incident. I decided to fake cry to elicit sympathy but real tears flowed abundantly and soon I was sobbing loudly, attracting a lot of attention. Just the way any first date should go. Perfect.

  He quietened me down. Like he just sat there and made a sorry face and said nothing. Much better than people telling me that it’s going to be okay as if they studied medicine and they have a cure for my mother.