Poor, naive Dada. He doesn’t know how much love can hurt.
‘Dada, but this is an escape hatch. You can get away from this toxic relationship. Even Maa–Baba will be happy. Take this opportunity, please. I know you love her but—’
‘That’s bullshit. I don’t care what her parents or Maa–Baba think. I’m looking out for my own happiness,’ argued Dada.
‘But she’s a M—’
‘One more time you say that and I will smack you. When did you become so bigoted?’
‘Dada, I’m not. Like I’m okay with them.’
‘Them? When did they become THEM?’
‘I mean, Dada. I don’t mind at all. I like Zubeida Didi. But Maa–Baba. They want—’
‘SHUT UP,’ he screamed and got up.
‘Bu—’
He strode out.
How quickly things fall apart.
I feel feverish.
I can see Sami looking at me. He’s saying, we will jump at the same time, Raghu, on my count, one, two, three, you jump at the same time, okay, I can’t swim but you can, okay, so jump. I promise him that I will jump. I can see him jumping. I have not jumped. I am still there. It’s too high, it’s too high. And suddenly, he’s drowning, he’s calling out my name. He’s calling out for me. A minute passes, then another. There’s time, there’s a lot of time. I can climb down. But the blood, the water, the splashing around. It’s too high, it’s too high. My feet are bolted to the ground. I can’t move. It’s too late. His voice is fainter, his eyes are looking at me, and now his body is limp. I should have done something. I can do something. He’s floating lifeless, right there. I have to run, run from the swimming pool, go out and say nothing to anyone. I’m too scared.
Sami rotted.
I feel sleepy.
27 May 1999
There are rumours about Sahil Ahuja. I hadn’t thought much of him or the rumours around him because he or his supposed charm with girls older or the same age hadn’t had a bearing on my life. Now it does. After all, he made the dissection of a frog into a romantic activity. He’s a threat and so are Brahmi’s smiles. I will not be abandoned and be wrested of my will to live.
If I had to wage a war against them I had to take the rumours surrounding Sahil Ahuja seriously. It is said that last year a girl two years older to him was found in a manner of undress with Sahil Ahuja. This was the worst of all the urban legends that surround the boy who is talked about in whispers on the last benches across all sections. While I was alternatively chalking out plans to drive a wedge between them and sulking, the bell of my house rang.
I peeped through the peephole and she shouted from the other side. ‘It’s me! ARUNDHATI. I wondered if you would want to join me for a game of carrom. I can give you a head start if you want one. I’m really BORED!’
‘I have homework to do,’ I said as I opened the door.
‘You can come when you finish, can’t you? There’s leftover kadhi-chawal too if you like that?’
‘I am quite full.’
‘Don’t be a spoilsport now.’
‘I am not being anything,’ I said.
‘Just one game? Come, no? It’s not as if your IIT will run away if you don’t study today.’
And then it struck me. I stood there smiling stupidly at Arundhati, the gears in my mind clicking into position, the domino effect of what I would do from here visible clearly in quick cuts and montages in my head.
‘What? What are you thinking?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. I will come and play with you. Of course I will,’ I said.
She led me into her house and arranged the carrom table swiftly. There was a corner dedicated to it, complete with an extra set of coins and a lamp hanging overhead. I committed her house to memory just in case. If I had to have a pretend girlfriend, I had to make it sound as plausible as possible. Every detail should fall into place if I had to make Brahmi believe in the tragic, heartbreaking love story of Arundhati and me.
