Chapter 2: Chapter 2

""Wake up Abhilashhhhaaa!"

All my sleep-deprived head in this hour can perceive is a faint voice and a blurred figure desperately shaking me up.

"Abhilashhhhaaa!"

Another pounding on my head and the next thing that I felt numb all my senses. Cold, ice-cold water! All over me. I woke up with all my sensations running haywire due to the biting cold of the ice water.

"What's wrong with you? Are you out of your mind?" I was dead angry and would have definitely cursed with all my heart, had the person standing in front of me not be my mother.

The pesky lady was throwing her weight around, all ready to lunge at me for having crossed all lines of sleeping so late into the morning. I was all ready for the tirade of unnecessary Mother Indianisms (every Indian mother has her own set of rules and advice, especially for the young beautiful girl at home, the next bahu in the making). 21 years of my life, I have tolerated her, I can definitely tolerate her for a week more. As soon as I land my first internship letter, I am running away from the mini hell that my mother creates for me every day.

Mini Hell = Mother Indianisms

1 Waking up early is a sign of a good upbringing. Your mother-in-law won't tolerate such nonsense unlike me. (Seriously, you are tolerating me? I thought it was the other way round)

2. Big girls like you need to be helping your mother in doing household chores. (In short, get ready for marriage because that's the sole purpose of your life.)

3. Books are not always your best friends. Get out of your fantasy world. (Hell yeah...Definitely! Internet is my newest happening best friend and Google my fantasy world.)

4. No boyfriends and keep a distance from all your BOY friends. (No sex before marriage, not even touching.)

5. A girl's chastity is her family's pride. (Scratching my head over this)

The list is quite long but these five definitely takes the pride of honour.

To my utmost relief, I was saved by the ringing of her cellphone. She walked away hurriedly and so did I to shower before I got caught again.

I was dressed in no quick time, pulled over a basic white t-shirt and rugged jeans to make me look presentable. I hurried to the dining table and grabbed a spoonful or two of cereals and an apple to be out with my dad. As per our daily routine, we would walk to the metro station together. Dad was a saviour, not only from the mindless ranting I was subjected to by my mother but also from the numerous chores I would have been handed over had I stayed any longer. He was far more chilled out than she was but twice as conservative as my mother. Opposites and yet they fitted well together.

My mother was a petite figure of five feet one inch while my dad stood tall at six. An almond-shaped face with small eyes and a long nose, she was a pretty sight to behold. I have heard numerous tales of her being chased by many young men in her prime days. Well, I don't relate to her much being her daughter. Not that I don't believe her stories, but as her daughter, I have never been hounded by boys vying for my attention. So, we are wired differently in every sense.

My father at sixty is jaw-dropping handsome. With dimpled cheeks, a bearded face and a pointed nose, I am definite he must be hitting only on the beautiful girls of his neighbourhood. I am quite sure of his Casanova ways and I have heard a story or two from my mother in this regard to vouch for its authenticity. How did they land together is definitely worth writing a story and then show it on the 70mm screen!

As their daughter, I definitely have no resemblance with respect to their looks. I stand on my feet and barely make it to five-two. My face is round with very small eyes that kind of makes me look like a Chinese doll. I better not describe my nose because a round fat nose like Pinocchio is not even worth describing. I have full kissable lips, but what is the purpose of them without a pretty face. I am freckled with spots on my face that do nothing to add to my beauty. I have cascades of long silky hair which I never intend to show off, hiding them in a plait. What I have missed on my face, has been pretty much added on to as my misery on the body. With heavy bosoms that spill out a cleavage even in the loose-fitting clothes, I have to unnecessarily handle the male gaze everywhere I go. I am endowed with buttocks that would put any heroine to shame for the want of a perfect figure with that pretty face. I have no love handles but a waistline that makes me the envy of most of my girlfriends. Though I fail to place the reason for their jealousy, they fail to understand my non-complacency about my looks. I try very hard to pay heed to their compliments, but over the years especially since my teenage, I have grown to have an understanding that the species called women even the finest specimen amongst them, seem to harbour a sense of insecurity about their own friends and near ones' beauty. Perhaps I am no exception to that because I find my younger sister very lovely to look at unlike myself. Though I am not sure about her opinions regarding her own or my so-called beauty.

I can ruminate for hours on such crass topics as beauty but I have much important work to do. I am heading off to Park Street to meet my Jigdi Yaar aka Jigar Bhansali. I took the 10:06 and would be on time at Barista- our favourite place to hang out. Metro was the city's lifeline and mine too. Cheap and on time (an exception to the rule; when people committed suicide) it was always lovely to get jostled while boarding with a mouthful or two of "uff ki maramari" and "darun" escaping the mouths of those Bong ladies. The metro ride for me was always a short one, yet those few minutes always transported me to a world of colourful memories of my past.

And today I am going to recollect how Jigar and I struck a friendship for a lifetime.

Jigar and I met at a workshop organized by our schools. A year senior to me, he always struggled with studies. While I went on to join college and pursue my dreams, he dropped out to take over the reins of the production house his grandfather left to his mother. The story of how we clicked is indeed funny.

It was customary of schools to come together for workshops, fests and sports to allow intermingling and exchange of new thoughts and ideas and learn new things while competing. Our school seniors did exactly the opposite. The inter-school workshops were devised by them to be an empowering session of meeting potential dating partners. Sister schools were invited with all the sisterly feelings but none were harboured by the students. It was a mating session and the one who found a partner was definitely rated high in the eyes of the schoolmates.

I was a sore loser in that category and right up till college I had no clue how to play this game and win it. Jigar was no stud and no one was ravishing about my beauty too. The geeky me was fairly contented with learning something new at these workshops, indulging myself in nothing but academia. Jigar on the other hand wanted to improve his already languishing image of a good for nothing loser. His friends had dared him to find a girlfriend by the end of the day. Task huge at hand, Jigar was about to lose his bet until he met me.

Jigar and I had a lot of mutual connections; while we knew each other, we had barely interacted at any of the social dos we frequented with our families. His so-called friends who buzzed around him because of his XYZ social status were acquaintances to me. I was famed for my haughty attitude towards boys and was known as Miss Touch Me Not. Very early on I was taught by my mother to safeguard my chastity as it was one of the most prized-possession of ladies. Huh? Now, who knew at that time what chastity actually meant? So, the tiny brain which was brilliant in academics interpreted chastity as making boys stand at a two feet distance while doing any work. Lacking the knowledge of the birds and the bees, ignorance and innocence overpowered the rationale in me, I suppose. And therefore, Miss Touch Me Not was a no girlfriend zone amongst the known group.

I never had a boyfriend in school. College was altogether a completely different story.

However, the sly twist to this story is that I harboured a secret crush on Jigar from the day I was introduced to him by his sister at a party. Dressed in a tuxedo, Jigar those days looked cute to me. Tall and well-built, he did not fit into the fair and handsome category of girls. He wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, nor did he possess a drool-worthy personality. I am sure he must have been ticking off all the girls with his male chauvinistic attitude.

I had no interest in music and the piano workshop was the most boring I could have ever encountered. During the workshop which was making most of us fall off to sleep, Jigar and I noticed each other and nodded our heads in quick acknowledgement. I was looking for an excuse to move out of the workshop and found a quick one on the pretext of helping a friend who had stained her clothes. Red stains still cannot be flaunted without questioning eyes. I quickly hurried to the washroom and was killing my time standing outside when I found Jigar too had escaped the torturous piano session in the form of a loo break.

He passed me without a glance. I was itching to talk to him and so the moment he came out, I initiated the conversation.

"Hi!" I said.

"Hey," was the terse reply he gave me.

I desperately wanted the conversation to flow so despite the dead-end I kept on pestering him for a conversation that was totally out of my character.

"So, how's the workshop going?" The most stupid question I could ever ask.

"Just as it was going when you left and continuing the same way when we are not there."

"Oh! Yeah." I am making a fool of myself in front of him.

"Hmmm. So do you play the piano?" I enquired foolishly.

"Definitely better than what he is teaching in the workshop."

"You have learnt to play?"

"Yes, I was taught by Sonaset."

"Oh! Glad to hear that." Why am I glad to hear that?

Our forced conversation was interrupted by the class coming out of the workshop. His friends waved him and gestured him to meet them. He solemnly agreed, but not without asking me for my cellphone number. I was taken aback but did not read too much into the conversation.

"I don't have a cellphone. You can call me on 222666953, my landline number."

With no afterthoughts or goodbye, he left me standing waiting for the girl whom I had accompanied to the washroom.

"The next station is Park Street," the automated voice brought me back to the present. I hurried out of the compartment to reach the exit before a long queue formed. To my utter dismay, I was not quick enough. I still had to walk five minutes to reach Barista. Jigar- the whiner would fret about me being late for our meetings always.

Jigar's parents were page 3 celebs, father- Editor of the leading English newspaper in the region, mother- famous producer/actress with a family lineage to boast of. Moneyed, he was, but the miser never spent a penny on anyone yet his so-called friends stuck to him in the hopes of a change in heart. Sadly, it never happened.

I walked as fast as my legs could carry me but I soon gave up. It was okay to be late, he was just going to whine not sentence me to death. I reached Barista at five minutes past ten-thirty. He was sitting at our usual spot, toying with his new cellphone. Yet another showoff session, I dreaded them the most. He would endlessly talk about his new possessions, their characteristics, features and the worst price tag.

Without creating any fuss, I took the seat next to him.

"Hi!" I chirped with as much enthusiasm as I could.

"Hello miss, you finally made it on time." The sweet laden voice was filled with venomous anger which was yet to make an appearance.

"Can you ever come on time? I am waiting for you. I have not even had breakfast. I have been delaying the order for too long."

"Can you shut up and please order?" I shouted at the top of my voice to cut short his ranting.

"Excuse me! Two chicken calzones one hazelnut frappe, please." He took no time in ordering our usual affair with food at Barista.

"No make it two frappes please and one chicken quiche too. I am hungry." I gave him the guilty look.

"You better pay off for what you have ordered. I am literally broke."

"Dude! We have struck a deal. I pay you off from my first salary. You better keep the bargain till I drive off to Mumbai.

"Kameenz." pat came the reply. "Why am I putting up with you and your nonsense? It's been seven years and I am yet to get rid of you."

"To answer your first question, you are putting up with me because I did too seven years back. Second, why don't you attempt to get rid of me? You will lose the only genuine friend you have." I am sure I had hit a sore spot but amusingly he didn't seem to be hurt.

He sat in silence for two seconds precisely and then added sloppily with a genuine smile, "You are my jigad ka tukda."

I could not help but burst out laughing at the melodramatic words that he uttered.

"Do you remember the first time I called you on your landline? I was shit scared. And to make it worse your mother picked it up."

A small "hmmm" escaped my mouth in acknowledgement.

"And my mother asked me a hundred questions as to why did you call me? I just couldn't let her know what a douchebag you were." I said reminiscing that day.

"Listen, I agree I was a douchebag but it was unintentional. I actually sort of truly wanted to apologize for my behaviour at the party."

"I never intended to keep you in the dark and would have come forward and let you know the entire story." He said rather apologetically.

"Yeah...until I had finished the part of being the prey." Why was I getting worked up? I don't know. (Which means I know the exact reason what is hurting.)

Jigar was in no mood to back off.

"Come on Abhi, get over it. I was not seeking a girlfriend and I had let you know this before inviting you to the party. I wanted you to come as my friend and act friendly."

"Act friendly?" I rolled my eyes in mock horror. "You almost told your friends you were going to conquer me."

"So, I did. I found my best friend for life in you."

My heart grew warm at this declaration. He is definitely my jigdi. Jigar is my pillar of support, my shoulder to laugh and cry on. While I talk rubbish and nonsensical things often, he loves to make sense out of those gibberish words. He has been there for me countless times. Even today he is helping me out by talking to his father to secure me an internship at FMN News.

"Snap out," and I did from my musings.

"You haven't conquered me. I actually sympathized with your situation and decided to help you out."

He raised his eyebrows to show his astonishment.

"Lady you were crushing on me."

"There is no denial of that. But you have to admit my timely intervention helped you in not making a fool of yourself.'

"True that. I don't know why I fell for the bait of my school friends. They always thought I was a loser because I did not have a girlfriend. And it was quite sweet of you to talk to me that day at the workshop. Because that made my overworked mind find a perfect ruse to stop this bullying."

"I worked out all the pros of getting you on this plan with me but then the con was way bigger than I could handle. What if? Endless possibilities of you bitching and landing me in a soup. So, I decided to take you for a ride. But, alas, my petty mouth was overheard typically bragging to my friend about my conquest." He paused for a moment to sound more convincing.

"But you turned out to be such a nice friend. You played along throughout the party with my lie and gave me a bashing at the end of it."

"I had to, I was itching to thrash you with my own hands for gullying me, but obviously my values did not let me go astray." I sounded so comical but I was sure I mouthed the perfect dialogue of jigdi's favourite serial so well that he would be flabbergasted.

He coughed. "Ahha someone's watching the K serials in their free time."

"Nope." I interrupted, "hearing the dialogues while my family of 3 soppy females watches them."

He laughed hard and I could not be irked any long.

The food arrived at the best time. I was famished and dug into it wholeheartedly. The quiche, chicken calzone and frappe would do nothing to satiate my hunger pangs. I asked Jigar to order a tandoori chicken sandwich and a truffle for me.

He looked disgusted. "God spare your boyfriend!" He announced.

"And obviously it's not you." I retorted with a deadpan face.

"Why can't girls eat? Every man should be happy that the girl in their life is eating. Eating=Happiness & Happiness=Happy Relationship."

"Your justification for your eating disorder, isn't it?" He quipped.

"My justification for my eating disorder is the early morning coffee meeting you called on an urgent basis." I talked while stuffing a mouthful of the lovely minced chicken cooked in the red sauce and wrapped in a pastry.

"Oh, yes that brings me to the agenda of this meeting."

"And that is..."

"Why do you have to go to Mumbai? Why can't you intern here? Papa will be more than willing to take you under his wing."

"Oh! Come on, not again. I have been through this with you umpteen times. There is no future out there. I mean there are a few places to work and they offer peanuts to freshers. Plus, where are the stories and better opportunities? The Left- and Right-Wing politics in this state is never going to change. It is always going to remain stagnant. Plus, I have no intention to slog for years to attain the so-called transfer and get there. I am willing to work hard and work on my dreams. I know it sounds a little hypocritical coming from my mouth because I am taking your dad's help to secure an internship. But my dream to be a top reporter is not rooted in fantasy. I want to work towards its reality. I have no contacts to weave my way through except your dad and...''

Jigar cut through my declaration with the profound proclamation, "You are trying to be too big for your shoes and you're way too ambitious."

This sounded so lame. I had to defend myself from his barb. "Aren't you? Is your dream to expand your grandfather's production house and minting crores an overtly ambitious one? It sounds fine and legitimate to me as well as you." I could have gone on and on but the argument was diffused with the simple, "I don't want to argue on this. It's a meaningless discussion with our views poles apart on this."

"Thanks for letting me know." I was tired, this had been stretched and re-stretched with no finality.

We sat in silence. Jigar gestured to the waiter for the bill. As usual, he refused to tip him. According to him, they are already charging a service tax, why tip.

I refused to make small talk. The sombre mood was catching on the two of us and I didn't want our last or second last meeting before I left to be fraught in tension. He refused to budge and I refused to bow down. He got up, and before he left, he thrust an envelope into my hands and with a curt reply, "until next time," left me staring at his back long and hard until he went into oblivion in the crowd.