Half Girlfriend Read online

  ‘My trial now. I change, sir?’ I said to him.

  Piyush turned to me, surprised, I don’t know whether at my English or my stupid question or both.

  ‘Aise kheliyega? Trial-va hai ya mazaak?’ he said in Bhojpuri, not even Hindi. He meant: will you play like this? Is it a trial or a joke?

  I regretted knowing him.

  ‘I. . .I. . .’

  Then R interrupted. ‘Oh, you are also sports quota?’

  Piyush looked at both of us, surprised at the familiarity.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, one of the few English responses I could give with confidence.

  ‘State-level player. Watch this Bihari’s game and go,’ Piyush said and guffawed before he left.

  I could have taken offence. He had used the word ‘Bihari’ as if to say ‘Watch, even this poor little Bihari can play’, despite being a Bihari himself. However, he had helped me without knowing it, so I was grateful. She looked at me and smiled.

  ‘No wonder you gave those tips,’ she said. ‘State level, my God.’

  ‘What is your good name?’ I blurted out, without any context or sense of timing. Also, who on earth says ‘good name’ these days? Only losers like me who translate ‘shubh naam’ in Hindi to English.

  ‘Good or bad, only one name. Riya,’ she said and smiled.

  Riya. I loved her short little name. Or maybe when you start liking people, you start liking everything about them—from their sweaty eyebrows to their little names.

  ‘Your name?’ she said. For the first time in my life a girl had asked my name.

  ‘Myself Madhav Jha.’

  That was my reflexive response. It was only later that I learnt that people who construct sentences like that sound low class. You see, we think in Hindi first and simply translate our thoughts, word for word.

  ‘From Bihar,’ she said and laughed. ‘Right?’

  She didn’t laugh because I was a Bihari. She laughed because Piyush had already revealed that fact about me. There was no judgement in her voice. I liked her more and more every second.

  ‘Yes. You?’

  ‘From Delhi itself.’

  I wanted to continue talking to her. I wanted to know her full name and her native place. That is how we introduce ourselves in Dumraon. However, I didn’t know how to ask her in English, the language one needed to impress girls. Plus, I had a selection trial in a few minutes.

  The coach blew his whistle.

  ‘I have my trials now, will you watch?’ I said.

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  I ran—rather, hopped—in excitement towards the changing room. Soon, I was back on court and Piyush started the game.

  I played well. I don’t want to brag but I played better than any player on the college team.

  ‘Basket,’ I shouted as I scored my fifth shot. As the crowd clapped, I looked around. She was sitting on one of the benches, sipping water from a bottle. She clapped too.

  I had a good game, but her presence made me play even better.

  The score inched forward; I pushed myself harder and scored a few more baskets. When I took a tough shot, the seniors patted my back. Piyush blew the final whistle. Final score: 25–28. We had done it. The newbies had managed to defeat the St. Stephen’s team.

  My body was drenched in sweat. I felt drained and exhausted. Players patted my back as I struggled to catch my breath. Piyush came running up to me in the middle of the court.

  ‘You scored 17 out of 28. Well done, Bihari,’ he said. He ruffled my sweaty hair. I walked out of the court deliberately towards Riya.

  ‘Wow, you really are good,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, still panting after the game.

  ‘Anyway, I have to go,’ she said and extended her hand. ‘Nice meeting you. Bye.’

  ‘Bye,’ I said, my heart sinking. My head had known it would end like this. My heart didn’t want it to end.

  ‘Unless we are both lucky,’ she added and grinned. ‘And the higher powers here admit us.’

  ‘Who knows,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. But if they do, then see you. Else, bye.’

  She walked away. I realized I didn’t even know her full name. As she became more distant with every step, I wanted nothing more than to get admission to St. Stephen’s.

  I walked up to Piyush.

  ‘You cracked it. On fire on the court, huh?’ he said.

  ‘Sir, but the interview. . . My English—’

  ‘Sucked,’ he said.

  Disappointment slammed into me. His expression suggested ‘sucked’ meant something nasty.

  ‘But you play bloody good basketball,’ Piyush continued. He patted my back and walked away.

  I stood alone in the middle of the basketball court. Everyone else had left. I saw the brick-coloured buildings and the greenery around me.

  Is this place in my destiny? I wondered. Well, it wasn’t just about my destiny. It was our destiny.

  That is why, one month later, a postman came to my doorstep in Dumraon with a letter from St. Stephen’s College. He also wanted a big tip.

  3

  ‘Hey,’ she said. Her perky voice startled me; I had been scanning the college noticeboard.

  I turned around. I had prayed for this to happen. She and I had both made it.

  She wore black, skin-tight jeans and a black-and-white striped T-shirt. Without the sweat and grime from court, her face glowed. She had translucent pink lip gloss on, with tiny glittery bits on her lips. Her hair, slightly wavy, came all the way down to her waist. Her long fingers looked delicate, hiding the power they had displayed on court. My heart was in my mouth. Ever since I had got my admission letter, I had been waiting for the month before college opened to pass quickly and to find out if Riya had made it too.

  ‘Riya,’ she said. ‘You remember, right?’

  Did I remember? I wanted to tell her I had not forgotten her for one moment since I left Delhi. I wanted to tell her I had never seen a girl more beautiful than her. I wanted to tell her that the oxygen flow to my lungs had stopped.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Glad you joined.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure, actually,’ she said and pointed to the noticeboard. ‘Is that the first-year timetable?’

  I nodded. She smiled at me again.

  ‘What’s your course?’ she asked, her eyes on the noticeboard.

  ‘Sociology,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, intellectual,’ she said.

  I didn’t know what that meant. However, she laughed and I guessed it was something funny, so I laughed along. The noticeboard also had a bunch of stapled sheets with the names of all first-year students and their new roll numbers.

  ‘What about you?’ I said. I adjusted my yellow T-shirt and blue jeans while she looked at the board. I had bought new clothes from Patna for St. Stephen’s. I didn’t look like a government office clerk anymore. I wanted to fit into my new college.

  ‘English,’ she said. ‘Here, see, that’s my name.’ Riya Somani, English (Hons), it said. My heart sank. A girl doing an English degree would never befriend a country bumpkin like me.

  Her phone rang. She took out the sleek Nokia instrument from her jeans’ pocket.

  ‘Hi, Mom,’ she said in Hindi. ‘Yes, I reached. Yes, all good, just finding my way.’

  Her Hindi was music to my ears. So I could talk to her. She spoke for a minute more and hung up to find me looking at her.

  ‘Moms, you know,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. You speak Hindi?’

  She laughed. ‘You keep asking me that. Of course I do. Why?’

  ‘My English isn’t good,’ I said, and switched languages. ‘Can I talk to you in Hindi?’

  ‘What you say matters, not the language,’ she said and smiled.

  Some say there is an exact moment when you fall in love. I didn’t know if it was true before, but I do now. This was it. When Riya Somani said that line, the world turned in slow motion. I noticed her delicate eyebrows. When she spoke, they moved slightly.