Five Point Someone Read online

  “Really? What does your brother do?”

  “Not much,” she shrugged. “He’s dead.”

  Now this was unexpected. I mean, I just thought I’d tease her on a mannish middle name and everything but this was turning heavy. “Oh!” I said.

  “It’s fine, really, he died one year ago. We were just two years apart, so you can imagine how close I was to him.”

  I nodded my head. Her beautiful face was turning sad and I wished I could do something clownish to change subjects.

  “How did it happen?” I asked, for it seemed the polite thing to do.

  “A freak accident. He was crossing the rail-tracks and got hit by a train.”

  I wondered if I could take a chance and hold her arm like she had a few minutes ago. I mean, that is how shallow I was. She was all choked up and everything, but all I could think of was if I could make my move.

  I shifted my hand closer, but she startled me by talking again. “Life goes on, you know. He was my only sibling, so that is kind of tough. But life goes on,” she repeated, more to herself than to me.

  I pulled my hand back. I sensed this was not the best moment.

  “Ice-cream? C’mon let us do round two,” she said brightly and went up to the counter without waiting for me. She returned with these two big sundaes, and she was smiling again.

  “So he had a train accident? In Delhi?”

  “Yes. You don’t think that can happen?” she asked challengingly.

  “No….o.”

  “C’mon, tell me something cheerful about your hostel.”

  I told her about Ryan’s scooter and how we over-speed on it and things. It was hardly interesting, but it changed the topic. We talked about other things until dusk and Neha’s internal clock went off.

  “Have to go,” she jumped up. “Shall we walk back?”

  “Yeah. Separately though right?” I was catching on fast.

  “Yes, sorry please,” she said in a mock-baby tone that girls lapse into at the slightest provocation.

  I stood up, too.

  “So, Hari?”

  “So what?”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me out or what?”

  That stumped me. I mean, of course I’d wanted to but thought she’d say no for sure and then I’d have felt crap all night. I would have been satisfied with the ice-cream and everything but this was kind of neat, and now I had no choice anyway.

  “Huh? Sure. Neha, would you like to go out…with me?”

  She had made it pretty safe for me, but I tell you, the first time you ask a girl for a date, it is like the hardest thing. Almost as stressful as vivas.

  “Yes, of course I will. Meet me at this parlour next Saturday, same time as today.”

  I nodded.

  “And next time, don’t be this shy IIT boy, just ask.”

  I smiled.

  “So, what are you waiting for? Leave now.”

  A demure five minutes ahead of her, I pleasantly dwelt on the mechanics of the female mind, waddling back into hostel.

  5

  —

  Make Notes not War

  U.S. WAS GUNNING FOR IRAQ, TAKING AS ITS FIRST CASUALTY our majors, or end-semester exams. Thousands of kilometres from our campus, a despotic dictator annexed another smaller despotic dictator’s country. It just so happened that both countries had heaps of oil and that made the whole world take notice. Next, the world’s most powerful country asked the dictator to get the hell out. Big dictator refused and very soon it became clear that he would be attacked.

  So, what the hell did this have to do with the three of us at IIT, you’d think. If this was one of Ryan’s stupid sci-fi movies, the three of us could be like involved in a conspiracy, using the IIT lab to provide superior weapons to the CIA or something. But this was not sci-fi, and the three of us considered ourselves lucky to complete the ManPro welding assignment on time, let alone provide superior war technology.

  No, the Gulf war did not personally invite our involvement but it was a big bang that swallowed our first semester majors, a catalyst for all our competitive, macho instincts.

  But before that let me tell you of the glory days of the short-lived ‘draw-the-line’ policy. As per plan we studied for three exact hours every day, mostly late unto night, which meant we had the evenings free for fun.

  “The best game ever invented,” Ryan said as he took us to the squash courts despite Alok and me looking like guys who never came near a mile of a squash court.

  “This game will rest your mind, and burn some of that fat off.” Ryan, who had been the squash captain in his school, tossed warm-up shots in the court.

  Unless you are like a champion or something, you probably know how difficult the damn game is. The rubber ball jumps around like a frog high on uppers, and you jump around it to try and connect it to your racket. Ryan had played it for years and Alok and I were hopeless at it. I missed connecting the ball to the racket five times in a row, and Alok did not even try moving from his place. After a while, even I gave up. Ryan tried to keep the game going as we stood like extra pillars on court.

  “C’mon guys, try at least,” Ryan called out.

  “I can’t do this,” Alok said and sat down on the court. The guy is such a loser. I mean, I could not play squash for nuts, but at least I won’t sit down on the court.

  “Let us try again tomorrow,” Ryan said, optimistic to say the least.

  He dragged us to court for ten days in a row, but Alok and I got no better. We found it hard enough to even spot where the ball had gone, let alone chase it.

  “Ryan, we can’t do this man,” Alok said plaintively, panting uncontrollably. “If you really want to play this, why don’t you find other partners?”

  “Why? You guys are getting better,” Ryan said.

  Yeah right, maybe in thirty years, I thought grimly.

  “So you don’t enjoy this?”

  What was Ryan thinking? Enjoy? Enjoy? I was in danger of tearing that ball into roughly fifty pieces.

  “Not really,” I ventured mildly.

  “Fine then, we don’t have to do this. I mean, I can give up squash,” Ryan said.

  “No, that is not…” Alok said.

  Ryan had already decided, no point arguing with him. It was his whole ‘where my friends go, I go’ stand, though I kind of felt bad making him give up his favourite sport.

  “You can play with others,” I suggested.

  “Others aren’t my friends,” Ryan said in a firm voice that sounded like the final word. Alok and I shrugged and we left the court.

  After squash came something tamer and less active, chess. Alok and I felt somewhat up to this one, for, unlike squash, we could at least touch and move the game pieces. But Ryan usually won, and I would never be passionate about bumping off plastic pieces like him.

  Apart from chess, we spent our free time riding Ryan’s scooter, feeling the fierce wind whistle through our hair. We caught every new movie, visited every tourist destination in Delhi, did everything, went everywhere.

  For the most part, we managed fine within the three hours assigned to studies. Sometimes assignments took longer, leaving no time for revision. That worried Alok, especially when the end-semester exams edged closer, and he suggested increasing the limit. And we would have if it hadn’t been for one thing – the afore-mentioned Gulf war.

  Now wars happen all the time and India alone has fought more than it can afford. But the Gulf war was different, as it came right on TV. CNN, an American news channel, had just opened shop in India and brought the deserts of Iraq right into our TV room.

  “This is CNN reporting live from the streets of Baghdad. The sky is lit up with the first air raid,” a well-groomed person told us.

  Alok, Ryan and I looked up from our chess game. It was sensational, spectacular and unlike anything we had ever seen on TV. To put it in context, this was before cable or any private channels came to India. Until then we had two crummy government channels in which women playe