Authors: Chetan Bhagat
‘Please,’ I said.
She semi-turned towards me.
‘Hi, Madhav.’
I stood squarely in front of her.
‘I want to talk. Five minutes,’ I said.
‘Anything important?’
'To me it is. Five minutes?’
'I'm listening.’
We stood in a dark corridor, facing each other stiffly, as it in
confrontation. It didn’t seem like the right place to talk. I saw her face.
She was still the most beautiful woman in the world to me. Even
though we were in the middle of what seemed like a world war, I
wanted to kiss her. That is how sick the male mind is. It can forget the
entire context of a situation and follow its own track.
'I said I’m listening,’ she said. I flushed out the sick thoughts front
my mind.
‘Not here. Somewhere private?’
‘Oh, really?’ she said.
I realized it had come out all wrong.
‘Sorry, not like that. Somewhere we can sit, face to face. And it
isn’t so dark.’
‘The cafe?’ she said.
‘Now? It’s packed with the DU crowd.You won’t get a table.’
‘Listen, I have plans. I have to go,’ she said.
‘Okay, the cafe then. Fine.’
We walked to the cafe. As expected, lines to enter extended all the
way outside.
‘It is crowded. Is it okay if we talk in my car?’ she said.
I looked at her. She seemed to have calmed down a little.
‘Yeah. The driver will be there, right?’
‘I’ll send him away. Actually, let’s go to the car. I need to give you
something, too.’
13
We walked out to her car. She handed her driver a fifty-rupee note.
‘Driver bhaiya, can you go and buy a few packets of Parle-G
biscuits for me, please?’
The driver looked puzzled.
‘Madam, we will buy it on the way?’
‘No, go now. Leave the keys. I’ll wait inside’
The confused driver handed the keys to Riya and left.
Riya and I sat in the backseat of her BMW. A fat armrest separated
us. She switched on the reading light and slipped her feet out of her
shoes. Turning side-ways, she leaned back against the window to face
me. She tucked her feet under her legs on the seat.
I sat stiffly. The BMW reminded me how out of place I was in her
world.
‘So?’ Riya said.
‘You were really great on stage. And congrats on winning the
English vocals.’
‘Oh, thank you. That’s nice of you, Madhav, to congratulate me.’
‘Amazing show,’ I said, clearing my throat.
‘Thanks. Is that all you wanted to say to me?’
I shook my head. I hated it when she adopted this formal tone.
‘So let’s skip the small talk. Say what you want to.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Have heard it a million times from you.’
‘Forgive me.’
‘I have forgiven you. I have also moved on. It’s past. It’s over. So,
that’s it?’
I looked into her eyes. In the dim reading light of the BMW, I
could not spot any emotion on her face. I felt weak in her presence.
I fought back tears.
‘I want us to be friends again,’ I said.
‘Why?’ she said, her voice as cold as Delhi’s foggy winter night.
Did she miss nothing about me or what we had?
Because l miss you, damn it!
I wanted to scream at the top of my voice. Of course, I couldn’t. I had lost the right to express any words,
'let alone any emotions, to her. I had to say something reasonable,
underplaying what I felt.
‘So I have a chance to show you I am not a jerk,' I said.
‘! am sure you are not. I take your word for it. You don’t have to
show me.’
Riya is too clever, too smart and sometimes too icy. She left me
speechless. I had a sinking feeiing something was not going right.
However, she touched my hand on the armrest. Her soft fingers
pressed into my wrist, as if checking my pulse.
'Listen, Madhav,’ she said. ‘I am sorry I am being this way. Cold
and aloof.’
Her warm touch melted my resolve to keep my composure. I loved
her touch but I wished she would remove her fingers. I didn’t know if
I could hold back my tears anymore.
‘Please,’ I said. It sounded needy. I hated myself for saying it.
‘Madhav, I’m not angry with you anymore. It is anyway not
possible for us to be friends again. I am leaving.’
‘What?’
‘I’m leaving college.’
‘What? Like quitting?’
She nodded.
‘I’m dropping out.’
‘You’re in the second year. You won’t finish your degree?’
‘Never cared much for formal education.’
I looked at her, shocked.
‘Of course, I can say that because my dad’s rich. It’s okay if you
think that I’m a quitter.’
‘No, I didn’t think that. All I’m thinking is, why?’
She shrugged.
‘You’re dropping out of St. Stephen’s. There must be a reason.’
Our eyes met. Maybe it was my imagination but, for a moment, I felt
the same connection to her as I had in the past.
‘I don’t think you want to know.’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘Of course I do.’
‘You will judge me.’
‘Have I ever?’
She kept quiet.
‘Riya, have I ever judged you? You judged me and threw me out of
your life.’
‘Madhav, please.’
‘Let’s not go there. Yeah, fine. Anyway, are you still thinking about
quitting or is it final?’
‘Pretty final.’
‘Why?’
She took a deep breath.
‘Open the glove box.’
‘What?’
She pointed to the storage box below the dashboard. Puzzled, I
reached over and opened it. It had three red cardboard boxes inside.
‘Take one,' she said.
I picked up a box and sat back on my seat. The velvet-lined red
box had golden leaves embossed on it.
‘Open it.’
I switched on the reading light on my side of the car. I lifted the
red-gold lid of the box.
Inside, I found a red envelope on top of a silk pouch.The card and
the pouch had ‘R and R’ on it.
‘What?’ I said.
She gestured with her eyes that I look further.
I held the envelope in one hand and the pouch in the other. The
pouch contained pieces of chocolate wrapped in silver paper. I put the
pouch aside and opened the card.
I read a couple of lines. My head swam.
‘What?’ I turned to Riya.
‘I told you, you don’t want to know.’
I composed myself and summoned the resolve to read the full
card. It went like this:
Shri Vishnu Somani and Shrimati Kala Devi
Somani
humbly invite you to the wedding of
their granddaughter
So.
Riya Somani
(d/o Mr Mahendra Somani and Mrs Jayanti Somani)
with
Chi. Rohan
Chandak
(s/o Late Shri Manoj Chandak and Jamna Bai Chandak)
on 25
January 2007 at 8p.m.
at the Taj Palace Hotel, Delhi
Programme and RSVP details
attached. Request no gifts.
I didn’t read the other cards in the box, which had details of the
other ceremonies. I simply sat there frozen. I clutched the silk pouch
like a stress ball and looked straight ahead.
‘It happened so fast,’ Riya said.
I remained quiet. Shock waves ran through me. Numb, I traced the
golden embroidery on the pouch.
‘A part of me can’t believe it is happening,’ she said, to fill the
awkward silence.
‘You’re getting married?’ I whispered, my tone unusually calm, my
gaze still averted.
‘In two months,’
I smirked and turned to her. ‘Wow, Riya. I’ve never faced such a
dodge, even on the basketball court.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I wanted us to be friends again. But you are leaving college.
Getting married.’
‘That’s life, I guess.’
‘You’re nineteen.’
‘Will turn twenty after the wedding, later the same year.’
‘Have you gone mad, Riya?’
‘You’ve lost the right to talk to me like that,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine. Madhav, it is my choice. Nobody is forcing me. I want to
leave.’
‘Why?’
‘I never wanted to do this course. I don’t want to be near my sexist
relatives.’
‘You could finish your degree. Go abroad later to study. Why
marriage?’
‘I want adventure, travel and excitement. Rohan promises all that.’
‘Are you sure?’
'Yeah. He's crazy. He keeps me entertained. He’s also well settled.
What’s wrong with marrying him?’
‘He’s rich.’
‘So? Is that his only flaw? So am I.’
‘Not a flaw. Just an observation. He couldn’t wait for you to finish
college? He wants you to drop out?’
‘Well, he doesn’t care either way. It’s his family.They want him to
get married soon. My parents don’t want to risk losing a match like
him, too.’
‘Riya, nobody drops out of college like this.'
‘People abroad do it all the time.’
‘Not in India.’
‘Oh, come on. Most of India needs a degree to get a job and make
a living. I don’t need that, right?’
She wasn’t wrong. Losers like me need to study, else we have no
future. People who are born at 100, Aurangzeb Road can do whatever
they want in life.
‘Even Rohan joined an MBA and never finished it.’
‘Is Rohan your boyfriend?’
Well, he will be my husband,’ Riya said.
‘That's not what I asked.’
'We are getting closer. Of course, I always called him Rohan bhaiya
when I was growing up, so it’s an adjustment,’ she said. She laughed at
her own joke. I wished someone had strangled Rohan at the ‘bhaiya’
stage. That bastard had seemed like trouble right from Riya’s party.
I wanted to say something sensible. I wanted to turn the tide even
somewhat in my favour. Of course, God had not given me the brains
to do so. Neither was my timing right. A girl giving you her wedding
card is basically like a giant ‘Game Over’ sign flashing in a video
game. It is not the time to say you want her back. Or that you love her
more than anything else on earth. I wondered if I should act
supportive.
I wondered if I should ask her about the preparations, or if she
needed any help. I stopped myself. I could not sink that low.
The situation reminded me of what my friends used to tell me.
I was indeed a toy. I felt like Woody from the movie Toy Story. In
the film, Woody, a neglected toy, cries alone because his owner grows
up and no longer plays with him.
‘Say something,’ she said.
You bloody bitch
, my impulsive mind suggested. I controlled
myself.
Please don’t do this. I love you so much
, said the emotional side of my mind. I realized my head was a mess right now. Given my track
record, saying anything would only mean regretting it later.
‘What do I say? Surprised. Shocked. I don’t know.’
‘People normally say congratulations.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, but didn't congratulate her.
‘I hope we can move past whatever happened. We can, right?’ she
said.
I nodded.
‘You will come?’
‘Where?’
‘The wedding. I just invited you.’
I wanted to throw her over-the-top wedding invitation box-cum-
card at her.
‘Let’s see,’ I said. I patted myself mentally. I had responded with
more dignity than I thought I had. ‘Go fuck yourself’ would have been
a more natural response.
‘Please do come,’ she said.
‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ I managed to say one
more time.
‘I’m following my heart. That’s usually doing the right thing,
right?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes following your heart leads you
nowhere.’
I looked at her to see if she understood my sly comment. She did,
and gave a wry smile.
‘I am sorry, Madhav, if I hurt you.'
I nodded to reassure her that hurting me was no big deal. Pretty
girls have the right to hurt men. I found it hard to breathe. I switched
off the reading light. That way, in case I started crying, my tears would not be visible.
I heard a knock on the car’s door.The driver was back.
‘Here, madam,’ the driver said. He handed her four packets of
Parle-G.
She passed the biscuits to me. ‘Please take them for Rudra. I’m
addicted to these. If I keep them in the car I’ll eat them all.’
‘You asked him to get it.’
‘Only so he would leave us alone.’
I kept the packets, my consolation prize. Rohan gets Riya. Madhav
gets biscuits.
I opened the car door and stepped out.
She stepped out from her side and walked up to me.
‘Bye,’ she said.
‘Bye, Riya,’ I said. It was hard to hold back my tears forever. I
wanted her to leave.
‘Hey, you forgot something,’ she said.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Your card.’
She reached into the car and handed me the evil red box once
again, with the cards and the chocolates. I somehow managed to hold
everything along with the biscuit packets.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I said. I wondered where the nearest dustbin was.
‘Take care then,’ she said and came forward for a basic goodbye
hug.
I stepped back. I didn’t want any more fake hugs.
She understood my hesitation and withdrew with grace. She smiled
at me one last time and slid into her car. The BMW slipped away with
its silent elegance, as if nothing had happened.
The car took a left turn from Hindu College and was soon out of