The 3 Mistakes of My Life Read online

  ‘No bag please,’ I said as I kept the cake box in my rucksack of books. I kept the rucksack upright in my lap until I made it to Vidya’s place.

  Entering Vidya’s house while hiding a cake was hard enough. Ish being in the house made it worse. India was playing England at Kolkata Eden Gardens in a day-night match. Ish had plonked himself in front of the sofa with sandwiches, milk, chips and biscuits – everything that he needed to survive for the next eight hours. Ish’s dad sat on the dining table, continuing his PhD on the newspapers of India. As was often the case when Ish was around, uncle had a disgusted expression on his face.

  I snuck the rucksack between my arm and side body to keep it horizontal.

  ‘India’s batting – Ganguly and Tendulkar. Seventy no loss after ten overs,’ Ish said and screamed, ‘Mom, sauce!’

  Uncle picked up the ketchup bottle from the dining table and banged it as hard as possible on the coffee table in front of his son.

  ‘Thanks dad,’ Ish said. ‘Can you move. Can’t see the TV.’

  Ish’s dad gave his son a dirty look and moved.

  ‘Sit no,’ Ish said to me.

  ‘Tuitions,’ I said, pointing to Vidya’s room.

  ‘Oh, you’ve come for that. She’s studying on her birthday, dedication dude.’

  ‘Some people are serious about their lives…,’ Ish’s dad ranted while still reading his paper.

  Ish pressed the volume button on the TV remote as loud as possible in protest.

  ‘His mother has made him into a monster,’ Ish’s dad said and left for his bedroom. Tendulkar struck a four and the monster clapped.

  ‘Don’t worry, dad’s fine,’ Ish said as he saw my nervous expression. ‘Hey, wish her and all. She’ll like it. I forgot this morning.’

  Ish grabbed a sandwich and topped it with lots of chips and ketchup. He took a big bite. My friend had found bliss. I had to find mine.

  I climbed the stairs, my heart beating fast.

  ‘Happy birthday, Miss Eighteen,’ I greeted as I shut the terrace door.

  She wore a shiny red kurti and white pants. The choice of clothes was a bit over the top but it was ok on a birthday I guess.

  ‘Did you know eighteen is the only number that is twice the sum of its digits?’ she said.

  I took out the cake and placed it on the white plastic table.

  ‘A cake from Ten! Someone is going high-class,’ she teased.

  ‘You like chocolate. They have the best.’ I opened the box. She stood up from her chair and came next to me to see the cake.

  ‘You’ve changed since we have had this thing.’

  ‘What thing?’ I peeped into her big eyes.

  ‘This thing,’ she said and came forward to kiss me. We kissed during almost every class since the last month, so it wasn’t a big deal. Sometimes we kissed everytime she solved a problem. At other times, we took a kissing break every fifteen minutes. Once, we didn’t kiss at all as she did a mock test. However, we made up for it in the next class where we spent the first ten minutes kissing and the rest discussing her mistakes. When we felt desire, we kissed. When we felt guilty, we studied. Somehow, we balanced mathematics and romance within the hour quite well.

  We went to the edge of the terrace. The last bit of sunlight disappeared as the sky turned dark orange. The evening breeze held a chill. At a distance, we saw the dome of Omi’s temple.

  She entwined her hands with mine and looked at me. ‘You tell me,’ she said as she removed a strand of hair from her face, ‘should I become a doctor?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Then how do I get out?’

  ‘Apply to whichever college and just go,’ I said.

  ‘How?’ she said as she tugged my hand. ‘How will I even get the application fee to apply? How will I support myself in Mumbai?’

  ‘Your parents will eventually come around. They will pay for your studies. Until then…’

  A loud roar went through the pol and startled us. India had hit a six.

  ‘Until then what?’ she said after the noise subsided.

  ‘Until then I will support you,’ I said. We looked into each other’s eyes. She smiled. We took a walk around the perimeter of the terrace.

  ‘So my tutor doesn’t believe I need to figure out maths problems?’

  ‘Figuring out the maths of life is more important,’ I said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Who you are, what do you want versus what people expect of you. And how to keep what you want without pissing off people too much. Life is an optimisation problem, with tons of variables and constraints.’

  ‘Is it possible to run away and not piss off my parents?’

  ‘You can minimise the pissed-off state, but can’t make it zero. We can only optimise life, never solve it,’ I said as we came to a corner.

  ‘Can I tell you something weird?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you talk hardcore maths, like these terms that totally go over my head,’ she said, her hand in take-off motion above her head.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It turns me on.’

  ‘Vidya, your boldness…,’ I said, shocked.

  ‘Makes you blush, right?’ she said and laughed.

  ‘So we are cutting this cake or what?’ I said to change the topic.

  ‘Of course, follow me to Café Vidya,’ she said.

  We slid under the water tank and sat on the floor. She had brought six pink cushions and a rug. ‘I brought them from my room, so we can have a little party here,’ she said and passed a couple to me. Under the cushions, she had a stereo.

  ‘Music?’ she said, her face pretty as a song.

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll put on Boyzone, my favourite,’ she said.

  I took out the packet of eighteen candles that came with the cake.

  ‘Let’s light all of them,’ she said.

  I wanted to go switch on the terrace light as it had become dark.

  ‘Let it be,’ she said and pulled my hand as she lit the eighteenth candle.

  ‘What if someone comes?’

  ‘Both my parents have bad knees. They never climb up to the terrace. And Ish, well there is a match on.’

  We heard two consecutive roars in the pol. The Indian innings had reached the slog overs.

  She released my hand as I sat down again. She looked beautiful as the candlelight flickered on her face. A song called ‘No matter what’ started to play. Like with all romantic songs, the lyrics seemed tailor-made for us.

  No matter what they tell us

  No matter what they do

  No matter what they teach us

  What we believe is true

  The candle flames appeared to move to the rhythm of the music. She cut the cake with the plastic knife that came in the box. I wished her again and put a piece of cake in her mouth. She held it in her mouth and leaned towards me. She pushed me back on the cushions and brought her mouth close to mine for my share of the cake.

  She kissed me like she never had before. It wasn’t like she did anything different, but there seemed to be more feeling behind it. Her hands came to my shoulders and under my shirt.

  The music continued.

  I can’t deny what I believe

  I can’t be what I’m not

  I know this love’s forever

  That’s all that matters now

  I don’t know if it was the candlelight or the birthday mood or the cushions or what. But it was then that I made the second mistake of my life.

  I opened the top button of her kurti and slid my fingers inside. A voice inside stopped me, I took my hand out. But she continued to kiss me as she unbuttoned the rest of her top. She pulled my fingers towards her again.

  ‘Vidya…’ By this time my hand was in places impossible to withdraw from for any guy. So, I went with the flow, feelings, desire, nature or whatever else people called the stuff that evaporated human rationality.

  She took off her kurti. ‘Remove