Half Girlfriend Read online

  Suddenly, in this lap of luxury, I felt lonely. I missed home, my hostel room and my mother, all at the same time. It is funny how class works. The moment you are placed in a higher one, a part of you feels terrified and alone.

  ‘Come this way,’ the maid said as she saw me stand still.

  We reached the back garden. Loud music and a waft of cool breeze greeted me. I saw the manicured, basketball-court-sized garden lit up with small fairy lights. White-gloved servers manned a buffet and bar counter. In the right corner, water shimmered in a small swimming pool. Most of the eighty-odd guests had gathered around the pool. Everyone was dressed as if they had just participated in a fashion show.

  People chatted in small groups. Everyone seemed extremely happy.

  I looked around for the tall girl who had invited me. However, this party had several tall girls, a lot of them on account of their three-inch heels.

  ‘Hey, Madhav!’ I heard her voice.

  I squinted to find Riya waving at me from a distance. She walked towards me. She wore a wine-coloured dress which ended six inches above her knees. She had applied light make-up. Her face looked even prettier than it did every day. She wore dangling diamond-and-white gold earrings, with a matching necklace and bracelet. She had dark red lipstick on, making her lips appear fuller than usual. I couldn’t believe I had kissed these same lips a week ago.

  She hugged me like she always did. It felt odd to embrace in front of so many people.

  ‘Why so late?’ she said.

  ‘Took a while to figure out the bus routes.’

  ‘I told you I would send the car. You and your ego hassles,’ she said. ‘Anyway, come.’

  She held my wrist and pulled me towards the crowd. We walked towards the pool where her friends stood.

  ‘Garima, Ayesha and Rachita. You know them, right?’ Riya said.

  ‘Yes, from the café.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ayesha said. She brushed her hair away from her forehead. The three girls wore expensive dresses and giggled at regular intervals for no apparent reason. Riya introduced me to another girl in a black dress.

  ‘This is Yamini. We were best friends in Modern School,’ Riya said, hugging Yamini.

  ‘We were. I hear you are the best friend now, my competition,’ said Yamini, blowing a curly fringe out of her eyes.

  ‘Shoo, Yamini,’ Riya said and turned to me. ‘She’s teasing you. Both of you are my buddies.’

  I hated that word—buddies. Buddies felt like a pair of stuffed toys placed next to each other, with no romantic spark whatsoever. I had thought after our first kiss that Riya would be more open about us.

  I handed over a present to Riya.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said. ‘But my birthday isn’t until next month.’

  She opened the present without asking me.

  ‘What is it?’ she said as she fingered the fabric inside, trying to make sense of it.

  ‘It’s a shawl,’ I said. I didn’t have much money to afford a big gift. With winter coming, I thought this would be a nice present. Besides, it was within my budget of five hundred bucks.

  ‘So thoughtful. This will keep me warm,’ Riya said with a big smile on her face.

  ‘I hear you play good basketball. Can you beat her?’ Yamini said.

  ‘I try,’ I said.

  ‘He’s being modest. He plays state level. Going to be college captain soon.’

  ‘Handsome college captain,’ Yamini chuckled.

  A waiter brought over a tray of snacks.

  ‘What’s that?’ I said.

  ‘Sushi,’ the waiter said.

  I had never heard that word before. I looked puzzled.

  ‘It’s fish on rice,’ Yamini said.

  I extended my hand to pick up a piece.

  ‘Raw fish,’ Riya said.

  ‘What?’ I said and recoiled from the tray.

  The girls burst into laughter.

  ‘It’s okay. Japanese food. Even I don’t eat it,’ Riya said.

  ‘Your family is vegetarian, right?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but our guests are not. It’s for them. Come, let me introduce you to some people.’ Riya grabbed my arm.

  ‘Hey, Riya, one second,’ Ayesha called from behind.

  Riya excused herself and went back. I saw the five girls chat with each other in an animated manner. At one point, everyone apart from Riya laughed; she didn’t seem to find the joke as funny as the others.

  ‘Sorry,’ Riya said as she rejoined me. ‘Are you having a good time?’

  ‘Fancy house you have,’ I said as we walked to the other end of the garden.

  ‘My dad’s and uncles’ house, you mean.’

  ‘Still, great place.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Are you having a good time?’

  ‘I’m with you. That’s how I define a good time.’

  She smacked my back with her hand and smiled.

  ‘So, who am I meeting?’ I said.

  ‘Dad, Mom and some of their friends.’

  ‘Dad and Mom?’ I said.

  Every guy has a fear of meeting his girl’s parents. Apparently, there is a scientific term for it—soceraphobia.

  We reached the bar. A distinguished-looking couple in their early fifties stood with guests.

  Riya’s parents held a glass of champagne each. They looked like those people in the Titan watch ads. They wore well-ironed clothes with immaculate accessories. Everything they had on was designer, including their smiles. Riya’s father wore a black bandhgala and gold-rimmed glasses. Riya’s mother wore a gold-coloured silk saree.

  ‘Riya, there you are,’ Mr Somani said. He put his arm around his daughter. ‘Rohan’s been asking for you.’

  Riya extracted herself from her father’s embrace and moved aside one step.

  ‘Hi, Rohan,’ she said. ‘When did you arrive?’

  Rohan was a handsome man in his mid-twenties with gelled hair. He wore a black formal suit.

  ‘Two minutes ago. The parlour took so bloody long to finish my facial,’ Rohan said with a heavy British accent.

  Rohan Chandak, I learnt, had come from London three days ago. He and his mother were staying at Riya’s house for the duration of their one-week trip. The Chandaks and the Somanis both hailed from Jaipur, family friends for three generations. The Chandaks had a hospitality business in London. I presumed, like the Somanis, they were rich.

  ‘Never mind, young man,’ Riya’s father said and patted Rohan’s back. ‘We are so proud of you, beta.’

  Mr Somani recited the story of Rohan’s father who had died two years ago. Rohan had taken over the hotel business at a young age and was doing extremely well. Riya and Rohan seemed to have heard the story too many times before and looked embarrassed. Mr Somani went on for three minutes. I checked it against my watch.

  ‘It’s okay, uncle,’ Rohan said. ‘I just do it to make my mum happy and proud. That’s all.’

  Riya’s mother stood next to her husband throughout. Like me, she had not said a word.

  ‘So, at just twenty-four, running six hotels in London with four hundred rooms, and planning the seventh. So proud of you, son,’ Mr Somani repeated, finally ending his tribute.

  I put on an expression of extreme awe and appreciation, as seemed to be expected of me.

  ‘Not that my daughter Riya is any less. Let me tell you. . .’ Mr Somani said. Riya interrupted him.

  ‘Dad. Stop,’ she said, somewhat rude and abrupt, considering she was speaking to her father. Mr Somani smiled and let Riya speak.

  ‘Dad, I want you to meet Madhav, a good friend of mine from college,’ Riya said.

  Mr Somani looked at me. He paused for a second before saying hello. I had worn Shailesh’s best blazer and shirt, but it still didn’t match the clothes of the other guests. Mr Somani, with his impeccable taste, had noticed my less-than-designer outfit.

  ‘Hello, Madhav,’ Mr Somani said. He shook my hand in an extra-friendly way, as if to compensate for the doubts