Half Girlfriend Read online

  ‘Ditzy?’

  ‘Silly and stupid. Anyway, I better leave too. My driver should be here.’

  We walked out of the cafeteria to the main gate. Her dark blue BMW waited outside.

  ‘So I’m your basketball friend?’ I said as we reached the car.

  ‘Well, that, and my lemonade-and-mince friend.’

  ‘How about tea friend?’

  ‘Sure.’ She stepped inside the car and sat down. She rolled down the window to say goodbye.

  ‘Or a movie friend?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Need to think about it.’

  ‘Think about what?’

  ‘Will the royal highness condemn me to death if I say no?’

  I laughed. ‘I might.’

  ‘See you later, Prince,’ she said. The car drove off.

  I didn’t know if I was a real prince or not, but I had found my princess.

  4

  Three months later

  ‘Did you just put your hand on mine?’ she whispered, but loud enough for people around us in the movie theatre to look our way.

  ‘Accidentally,’ I said.

  ‘Learning big English words, are we?’ she said.

  ‘I’m trying.’

  ‘Mr Madhav Jha, you have come to see a movie. Focus on that.’

  ‘I’m trying,’ I said again. I turned my attention back to Shah Rukh Khan. He had rejoined college and was singing ‘Main hoon na’ to anyone in need of reassurance.

  We had come to the Odeon Cinema in Connaught Place. Riya had finally agreed to see a movie with me. She had lost a basketball bet—she had challenged me to score a basket from half-court in one try.

  ‘Now that will be a super shot,’ she had said.

  ‘What do I get? A movie treat?’

  ‘You can’t do it.’

  I had given it a try and failed the first week. Half-court shots are tough. I couldn’t do it in the next two weeks either.

  ‘See, even destiny doesn’t want us to go out,’ she had said.

  In the fourth week, I put in all the focus I had and made my shot. The ball hit the ring, circled around it twice and fell into the basket.

  ‘Yes,’ I screamed.

  Even though she had lost the bet, she clapped.

  ‘So, do I get a date?’ I said.

  ‘It’s not a date. We just go for a movie. Like friends.’

  ‘Isn’t that what high-class people call a date?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s a date then?’

  ‘You want to see the movie with me or not?’ she had said, her hands on her hips.

  The hands-on-hips pose meant no further questions. In the three months I had known her, I knew she hated being pushed. I thought maybe that was how rich people were—somewhat private. We overdid the familiarity in our villages anyway.

  Now, as Shah Rukh Khan continued his song, I wondered what I meant to her. We met in college every day, and ended up having tea at least three times a week. I did most of the talking. I would tell her stories from the residences, or ‘rez’, as the students called them—the fancy word for hostels in Stephen’s. I was in Rudra-North, and told her tales of messy rooms, late-night carrom matches and the respect we needed to show seniors. She listened intently, even smiled sometimes. When I asked her about her home, she didn’t say much. Back in Dumraon it is unthinkable for friends to not share every detail about themselves. High-class people have this concept called space, which means you cannot ask them questions or give them opinions about certain aspects of their life.

  Am I special to her? I kept asking myself. Sometimes I saw her chatting with other guys and felt insanely jealous. My insistence on seeing a movie together was to find out what Riya Somani really thought of Madhav Jha. I had held her hand to figure out where I stood. Given her reaction, nowhere.

  In fact, she removed her arm from the armrest for the rest of the movie. She seemed upset, even though she never said a word. She kept watching the film.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I said. She sipped her drink in silence. We had walked from Odeon to Keventers, famous for its milkshakes sold in glass bottles.

  ‘Uh huh,’ she said, indicating a yes. I hated this response of hers.

  We had finished two-thirds of our milkshakes without talking to each other. She looked straight ahead, lost in thought. I felt she would cry if poked.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What?’ she said, surprised.

  ‘About placing my hand on yours,’ I said. I didn’t want my stupid move to backfire.

  ‘When?’

  ‘During the movie. You know, I. . .’

  ‘I don’t even remember that,’ she said, interrupting me.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, and felt a wave of relief run through me. ‘Then why do you look upset?’

  ‘Never mind,’ she said. Silent Riya’s typical response. She brushed aside strands of hair from her face.

  ‘Why don’t you ever tell me anything?’ I said, my voice a mixture of plea and protest.

  She finished her milkshake and placed the empty bottle on a table. ‘Ready to go?’ she said instead.

  ‘Riya, we never talk about you. Am I only good enough to play basketball with?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We meet, play, eat and talk. But you never share anything important with me.’

  ‘I don’t share much about my life with anyone, Madhav.’

  ‘Am I just anyone?’

  A waiter arrived to collect the empty bottles. She spoke only after he left. ‘You are a friend.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what? I have many friends. I don’t share stuff with them.’

  ‘Am I just like every other friend of yours? Is there nothing special about me?’

  She smiled. ‘Well, you do play basketball better than anyone else.’

  I stood up. I didn’t find her funny.

  ‘Hey, wait.’ Riya pulled me down again.

  I sat down with a stern expression.

  ‘Why do you want to know about my life?’ she said.

  ‘It matters to me. Unlike your other friends, I can tell if something is bothering you. And, if something is bothering you, it bothers me. I want to know things about you, okay? But getting you to talk is like a dentist pulling teeth.’

  She laughed and interrupted my rant.

  ‘I have a fucked-up family. What do you want to know?’ she said.

  I looked at her, puzzled and astonished at her choice of words. More than anything, I could not associate any family with a BMW to be fucked up.

  Her eyes met mine, perhaps for a final check to see if I deserved her trust. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said.

  Her plush car dropped us off at India Gate. The soft evening sun cast long shadows of the monument and of us on the red sandstone pavement. We walked the mile-long distance all the way up to Rashtrapati Bhavan. On these roads, far away from Bihar, India did not come across as a poor country. Pigeons flocked the sky and government babus from nearby offices scurried about, both trying to reach home before it got dark.

  We walked together. At least our shadows appeared to hold hands.

  ‘I don’t open up to people. At most I keep a journal, and even that is rare. You know I’m a quiet person,’ Riya said.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Thanks. The problem is my family. They’re obsessed with money. I’m not.’

  ‘That’s a good thing, right?’

  ‘I don’t know. Also, I don’t matter. My brothers do, because they will take over the business one day. I’m supposed to shut up, get married and leave. The high point of my life is to have kids and shop.’

  ‘And that’s not what you want to do?’

  ‘No!’ she almost shouted. ‘You know me better than that. Don’t you?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sucks being a girl in this country, I tell you. Sucks.’

  ‘You seem upset. Did something happen today?’

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