He raises his hands in surrender and speaks calmly. ‘Look, I know you’re angry. But one of you still has a chance to get through. If not, you will be together for the next hurdle.’
‘Just . . . don’t talk about this.’
‘Are you angry about him? Or are you scared about your result?’
‘Can’t I be both?’ I growl. ‘If he was in SRCC, I could have told my parents about him next year. He could have told his parents about me. How do you think his mother will react when I get a higher placement than herraja betadoes? He’s an only son. Aunty is obsessed with him.’
‘And I’m assuming his parents won’t understand even if you guys tried to make them understand?’
‘You think Vicky himself will understand? Because of him, I have a chance to get into SRCC. He taught me . . .’ I can barely breathe. Now if I get in and he doesn’t . . . it’s . . . let’s go back to the hotel.’
I fight my tears all the way back.
In the eight years that we have been in the same school, Vicky scored less than me only twice; once in mathematics, once in economics. The first time he called it ‘too embarrassing’ to lose to me. The second time he called our economics teacher a pervert who favoured me over him. Both times, he had been furious with himself—and at me.
After that time, every time our answer sheets were distributed, I wished that he’d score as much as I did to avoid the unpleasantness afterwards. Our names meant I was always roll number one and he was the last. My answer sheet the first one to be distributed, his the last. It also meant that if I scored a 99, I would hold my breath and pray till his roll number came, that he scored at least 99 as well.
Vicky didn’t like losing to me—his student. And I didn’t want him to lose to me. Partly because I feared how he would behave. And partly because of what his father would do to him. Maa-Papa expect Gaurav and me to do well; they scold us, withhold love, but they never raise their hand. But Vicky’s father—a mathematics teacher—strips him and canes his back for every mark he loses. Uncle doesn’t stop until he draws blood. Sometimes Vicky would come to school with blood seeping out of his school shirt. I shudder to think what his father would do when he misses SRCC by one question, and that too in mathematics.
Back in the TV room, Gaurav’s still on the PlayStation.
‘Gaurav, let’s go,’ I call out to him.
‘Five minutes, Didi.’
‘I’m not going to say it again, let’s go,’ I warn him.
He doesn’t listen. I yank the wires out. The screen goes blank.
‘DIDI!’ he screams.
‘You scream one more time and I am going to slap you. And if I see you playing video games once more, then see what I will do,’ I warn him. ‘Maa–Papa do so much for us and all you do is play games. One slap and you will understand.’
He’s about to argue, but he looks at my face and decides otherwise. We walk silently to our room. He bristles but dares not say anything to me. My fury starts to peter out.
‘Vicky got a question wrong,’ I tell Gaurav. ‘He won’t clear the cut-off.’
He first shrugs to ignore me. Two steps later, he hisses, ‘As if you care, Didi.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You only care about yourself. Who cares what happens to Vicky?’
‘What do you mean, Gaurav? I don’t—’
He cuts me. ‘Remember Geetika and Kanika? They were your friends till the tenth standard. But the minute you met Vicky and realized the two of you could make it to SRCC or something, you forgot them. It will be the same with Vicky. You will find someone else. He will be left behind. Don’t worry about it.’
I feel as if my body was on fire.How could my brother say this about me?
‘You mean I don’t care about you? About Maa–Papa? How can you say this? Do I not do anything for you?’
Gaurav smiles. ‘Didi,’ he says softly. ‘You obviously care about us, your own family . . .’ He looks at me. ‘. . . but not about anyone else. Be it Vicky or anyone.
‘Shut up, Gaurav.’
‘You also know you’re not the world’s most caring girlfriend. You’re the worst—’
‘You’re wrong.’
