The 3 Mistakes of My Life Read online

  Vidya took the book in her hand. Her red nail polish was the same colour as the atoms on the cover.

  ‘Flip through it, see if you like it,’ I said.

  She turned a few pages. The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. He was asking me about the girl. See this is the reason why people think Ahmedabad is a small town despite the multiplexes. It is the mentality of the people.

  ‘Student, I take tuitions,’ I whispered to satisfy his curiosity lest he gave up sleeping for the rest of his life. He nodded his head in approval. Why do these old people poke their nose in our affairs so much? Like, would we care if he hung out with three grandmas?

  ‘If you say it is good, I am fine,’ she said, finishing her scan.

  ‘Good, and in physics, have you ever read Resnick and Halliday?’

  ‘Oh, I saw that book at my friend’s place once. Just the table of contents depressed me. It’s too hi-fi for me.’

  ‘What is this “hi-fi”? It is in your course, you have to study it,’ I said, my voice stern.

  ‘Don’t they have some guides or something?’ she said, totally ignoring my comment.

  ‘Guides are a short cut. They solve a certain number of problems. You need to understand the concepts.’

  The shopkeeper brought out the orange and black cover Resnick and Halliday. Yes, the cover was scary and dull at the same time, something possible only in physics books.

  ‘I won’t understand it. But if you want to, let’s buy it,’ Vidya agreed.

  ‘Of course, you will understand it. And uncle, for maths do you have M.L. Khanna?’

  I could see his displeasure in me calling him uncle, but someone needed to remind him.

  ‘Maths Khanna,’ the shopkeeper shouted. His assistants pulled out the yellow and black tome. Now if Resnick and Halliday is scary, M.L. Khanna is the Exorcist. I haven’t seen a thicker book and every page is filled with the hardest maths problems in the world. It was amusing that a person with a friendly name like M.L. Khanna could do this to the students of our country.

  ‘What is this?’ Vidya said and tried to lift the book with her left hand. She couldn’t. She used both hands and finally took it six inches off the ground. ‘No, seriously, what is this? An assault weapon?’

  ‘It covers every topic,’ I said and measured the thickness with the fingers of my right hand, the four fingers fell short.

  She held her hand sideways over mine to assist.

  ‘Six, it is six fingers thick,’ she said softly.

  I pulled my hand out, lest uncle raise his eyebrows again, or worst case join his hand to ours to check the thickness.

  ‘Don’t worry, for the medical entrance you only have to study a few topics,’ I reassured her.

  We paid for the books and came out of the shop.

  We walked on the Navrangpura main road. My new shop was two hundred metres away. I had the urge to go see it.

  ‘Now what?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing, let’s go home,’ I said and looked for an auto.

  ‘You are a big bore, aren’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I said.

  ‘Dairy Den is round the corner. I’m hungry,’ she said.

  ‘I am starving. Seriously, I am famished.’ She kept a hand on her stomach. She wore three rings, each with different designs and tiny, multi-coloured stones.

  I took the least visible seat in Dairy Den. Sure, no one from our gossip-loving pol came to this hip teen joint, but one could never be too careful. If a supplier saw me at Dairy Den, I would be like any other trendy young boy in Ahmedabad. I would never get a good price for cricket balls.

  I felt hungry too. But I couldn’t match the drama-queen in histrionics. She ordered a Den’s special pizza, which had every topping available in Dairy Den’s kitchen. All dishes were vegetarian, as preferred by Ambavadis.

  ‘These books look really advanced,’ she said, pointing to the plastic bag.

  ‘They are MSc books,’ I said.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Can someone explain to me why seventeen-year-olds are made to read MSc books in this country?’

  I shrugged. I had no answers for lazy students.

  The pizza arrived. We kept quiet and started eating it. I looked at her. She tied her hair, so that it would not fall on the pizza and touch the cheese. She kept her dupatta away from the table and on the chair. The great thing about girls is that even during pauses in the conversation you can look at them and not get bored.

  She looked sideways as she became conscious of two boys on a faraway table staring at her. It wasn’t surprising, considering she was the best looking girl in Dairy Den by a huge margin. Why are there so few pretty girls? Why hadn’t evolution figured it out that men liked pretty women and turned them all out that way?

  She checked her phone for any new SMSs. She didn’t need to as her phone beeped louder than a fire alarm everytime there was one. She pulled back her sleeve and lifted a slice of pizza. She used her fingers to lift the strands of cheese that had fallen out and placed them back on the slice. Finally she took a bite.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ she broke the silence. ‘Are we allowed to talk about anything apart from science subjects?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. I glared at the boys at the other table. They didn’t notice me.

  ‘We are not that far apart in age. We could be friends, you know,’ she said.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘tough, isn’t it?’

  ‘Tough? Give me one reason why?’

  ‘I will give you four – (1) I am your teacher (2) you are my best friend’s sister (3) you are younger than me, and (4) you are a girl.’

  I felt stupid stating my reasons in bullet points. There is a reason why nerds can’t impress girls. They don’t know how to talk.

  She laughed at me rather than with me.

  ‘Sorry for the list. Can’t get numbers out of my system,’ I said.

  She laughed. ‘It tells me something. You have thought it out. That means, you have considered a potential friendship.’

  I remained silent.

  ‘I am kidding,’ she said and tapped my hand. She had this habit of soothing people by touching them. With normal people it would’ve been ok, but with sick people like me, female touches excite more than soothe. I felt the urge to look at her face again. I turned determinedly to the pizza instead.

  ‘But seriously, you should have a backup friend,’ she said.

  ‘Backup what?’

  ‘You, Ish and Omi are really close. Like you have known each other since you were sperm.’

  My mouth fell open at her last word. Vidya was supposed to be Ish’s little sister who played with dolls. Where did she learn to talk like that?

  ‘Sorry, I meant Ish and Omi are your best friends. But if you have to bitch … oops, rant about them, who do you do it with?’

  ‘I don’t need to rant about my friends,’ I said.

  ‘C’mon, are they perfect?’

  ‘No one is perfect.’

  ‘Like Garima and I are really close. We talk twice a day. But sometimes she ignores me, or talks to me like I am some naive small town girl. I hate it, but she is still my best friend.’

  ‘And?’ I said. Girls talk in circles. Like an algebra problem, it takes a few steps to get them to the point.

  ‘And, talking about it to you, venting, like this, makes me feel better. And I can forgive her. So, even though she is a much closer friend of mine, you became a backup friend.’

  If she applied as much brain in maths, no one could stop her from becoming a surgeon. But Vidya who could micro-analyse relationships for hours, would not open M.L. Khanna to save her life.

  ‘So, c’mon, what’s the one rant you have about your best friends?’

  ‘My friends are my business partners, too. So it’s complicated,’ I paused. ‘Sometimes I don’t think they understand business. Or may be they do, but they don’t understand the passion I bring to it.’

  She nodded. I loved that nod. For once, someon