Half Girlfriend Read online

‘My mother makes even better litti-chokha,’ I said.

  ‘You make this at home?’ Riya said.

  ‘All the time. You should come sometime,’ I said.

  She kept quiet. I sensed her hesitation. We stepped out of the Maurya Complex.

  ‘You don’t have to come. I will bring some home-made litti-chokha for you,’ I said.

  ‘No, I would love to visit Dumraon. I want to meet your mother, too. I’ve heard so much about her.’

  We found an auto outside Maurya Complex. ‘Chanakya Hotel for madam first. After that, Boring Road,’ I told the driver.

  ‘What did you say? Boring?’ Riya giggled.

  ‘What? Yes, my classes are on Boring Road.’

  ‘The name says it all.’

  I laughed.

  ‘They aren’t bad. Just tough to learn English in such a short time.’

  ‘The challenge is, you have to focus on three things at the same time: English, public speaking and, the most important, the actual content of the speech,’ she said.

  I looked at her. She had nailed the problem on its head.

  The auto moved through the bustling traffic. I have no idea why everyone in Patna loves honking so much.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘Madhav,’ Riya said.

  ‘Yeah?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Say it, Riya.’

  ‘Would you like me to help you with English?’

  I didn’t reply at once.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s okay. I won’t ask twice.’

  The auto reached Chanakya Hotel. As she stepped off, she held my hand for a second.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply my English is superior to yours or anything like that.’

  ‘When can we start?’ I said.

  25

  ‘Here’s the plan,’ she said. She slid an A4 sheet towards me.

  We were in Takshila Restaurant at the Chanakya Hotel for dinner. We were meeting a week later, after I had spent Monday to Friday in Dumraon. The waiter arrived to take our order. She ordered plain yellow daal and phulkas.

  ‘I miss home food,’ she said.

  I missed you, I wanted to say but didn’t. The five days in Dumraon had felt like five life sentences.

  ‘Sure, I like yellow daal,’ I said.

  I picked up the A4 sheet. It read:

  Action Plan: Operation Gates

  Objective: Ten-minute speech in fluent English to a live American audience.

  10 minutes = approximately 600 words.

  Focus Areas:

  Delivery: confidence, style, accent, flow, pauses, eye contact.

  Content: rational points, emotional moments, call for aid.

  I looked up at Riya. ‘You typed all this?’

  ‘No, little elves did at midnight,’ she said. ‘Go on, read the whole sheet.’

  I turned to the sheet again.

  Top Ten Tools:

  YouTube videos of famous speeches.

  Watching English movies with subtitles.

  English-only days—no Hindi conversation allowed.

  Working on speech content in Hindi first.

  Recording an English voice diary on the phone through the day.

  Thinking in English.

  Watching television news debates in English.

  Calling call centres and choosing the English option.

  Reading out English advertisements on street hoardings.

  Reading simple English novels.

  I whistled.

  ‘It’s a different approach,’ she said. She walked me through the ten steps and spoke non-stop for a few minutes, explaining each step.

  ‘And last, reading simple English novels, like, the one by that writer, what’s his name, Chetan Bhagat,’ she said, ending her monologue.

  I watched her face, pretty as always. Do not fall for her again, I screamed in my head.

  ‘So, let us start. Talk to me in English.’

  I switched to English. The English I knew at that time, that is.

  ‘I am. . .very. . .thankful. . .for your making the list. . .for learning the English,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you for making this list of steps to learn English,’ Riya said. She spoke in a calm voice, without sarcasm or judgement.

  ‘Yes, same thing only.’

  ‘So instead of “same thing only”, say “I meant the same”,’ Riya said. ‘I will correct you sometimes. It is not that I don’t understand you. I just want to make sure you say it right.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘Now that one word was correct.’

  I laughed.

  She made me talk to the waiter in English. I did fine, since the waiter’s English was worse than mine. She didn’t correct me when the waiter was around anyway.

  ‘And sweet. . .later,’ I said as he left us.

  ‘We will order the sweet dish later,’ Riya said, ‘or, dessert instead of sweet dish.’

  ‘Desert? Like Rajasthan desert?’ I said.

  ‘D.E.S.S.E.R. T. Different word, same sound.’

  ‘I hate that about English. Hindi doesn’t have that problem.’

  ‘Hindi is incredible. We speak it like we write it. There’s no need to learn pronunciation separately,’ Riya said.

  ‘So why doesn’t everyone speak Hindi?’ I said.

  ‘Because we are not. . .’ Riya said and paused. ‘Oh my God, you asked that question correctly.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said, “So why doesn’t everyone speak Hindi?” in perfect English. When you say something without being self-conscious, you say it correctly.’

  I tried to look modest.

  ‘We will get there, Madhav,’ she said. She patted the back of my hand on the table.

  I wondered if we would ever get there as a couple.

  Don’t fall in love with her again, a voice within me warned.

  You never fell out of love with her, another voice countered with an evil laugh.

  ‘Dolphins? In Patna?’ Riya said.

  ‘Yes, there are river dolphins in the Ganga. If you’re lucky, you might spot them,’ I said.

  I had brought Riya to the Ganga ghat near Patna College off Ashok Rajpath on a Sunday evening. For twenty rupees a head, boatmen took you to the sandy beach on the opposite bank. She held my hand to keep her balance as we tiptoed on the wooden plank towards the boat.

  She slipped a little and clasped my hand tighter. I wished the shaky wooden plank would never end.

  We sat in the boat. The diesel engine purred into action, making conversation impossible. The sun had started to set. It turned the sky, the river and Riya’s face the colour of fire.

  On the other side, we stepped on to the sand and walked to the tea stalls. We sat inside one of the many gazebo-styled bamboo huts meant for tea-stall customers.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Riya breathed.

  ‘All we have for peace in this city,’ I said.

  We sat in silence and watched the ripples of water, my hand inches from hers. I wondered if she would be okay if I held it. She had held mine on the plank, after all. But I guess it was okay on the plank, because she needed to hold it. Now, it would mean something else. At least that is how girls think. Still, I decided to try my luck. I inched my hand playfully towards hers. She sensed it, and moved her hand away.

  How do girls do this? Do they have antennae, like insects do? Or are they thinking of the same thing themselves? How else are they able to react so well so fast?

  ‘You’ve started working on the speech?’ Riya said, shaking me from my thoughts.

  ‘Sort of,’ I said.

  I took out sheets of paper from my pocket. I had scribbled notes in Hindi on the key points I needed to address. I handed them to her.

  ‘The school needs toilets, chairs, blackboards. . .’ she read out. She turned to me. ‘Madhav, you need to do more. This is just a list of things you want.’

  ‘I’m still working on it.’

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