Half Girlfriend

  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
of a few seconds ago.

  ‘Good to meet you, sir,’ I said, my insecurities forcing me to say ‘sir’.

  ‘Madhav what?’ he said. Indians have to know your last name to place you.

  ‘Madhav Jha,’ I said.

  ‘Jha, as in. . .’

  ‘Bihar. I am from Bihar,’ I said, familiar with the upcoming question. Mr Somani didn’t answer.

  Riya broke the awkward silence.

  ‘And that’s Mom,’ she said.

  Riya’s mother smiled and folded her hands. I wished her with a namaste too.

  A waiter arrived with a tray of drinks. Rohan took a beer, Riya picked up a glass of wine and Mr Somani helped himself to a whisky. I didn’t know what to take so I waved a no.

  ‘Nice party, Somani uncle,’ Rohan said.

  Mr Somani lifted his glass for a toast. Mrs Somani made an eye movement to indicate that some important guests had just arrived—someone incredibly rich or powerful, or both. Mr and Mrs Somani excused themselves and sidled off.

  Riya smiled at me. I smiled back at her, trying my best to fit in.

  ‘So you guys do college together, innit?’ Rohan said. His British accent made it hard for me to understand him.

  ‘Yes, different course. Same college,’ Riya said.

  Rohan was an inch shorter than Riya and five inches shorter than me. However, his age and confidence made us seem like kids answering his questions.

  ‘Basketball, that is wicked,’ Rohan said.

  ‘Wicked? Why wicked?’ I said.

  He laughed, as if he didn’t mean it in a bad way. Even Riya smiled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s such a British English thing,’ Riya said.

  I guess I didn’t understand British or English things.

  ‘How do you like India?’ I said, trying to make conversation.

  ‘Grew up here, dude. I left ten years ago,’ he said.

  I wondered if ten years could completely change a person’s accent.

  ‘Stephen’s, eh? Top college. You must be pretty damn smart,’ Rohan said to me.

  ‘I entered through the sports quota,’ I said.

  Riya’s eyes shuttled between both of us. She watched our man-to-man equation. He was six years older, insanely rich and far more accomplished. He also had a fancy accent, gelled hair and lived in London. I was nothing compared to him. Yet, there was something jerk-like about Rohan Chandak. Or maybe it was just my imagination. At least I’m taller, I told myself to feel better.

  ‘Riya, babe, you only got guy friends? Or you have some lovely ladies to introduce me to?’

  ‘Plenty. Come to the poolside,’ Riya said.

  ‘Yeah. Don’t make me hang out here with the oldies.’

  Riya and Rohan turned towards the pool.

  ‘Hey, Madhav,’ Riya said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Stop looking so lost.’

  We rejoined Riya’s gang.

  ‘Ah, so this is where the loveliest ladies in Delhi hang out,’ Rohan said.

  Why couldn’t I think of clever lines like that?

  Riya introduced Rohan to everyone. Rohan held each girl’s hand for a second, lifted it and said ‘a pleasure to meet you’ or something like that. It was too much, if you ask me. However, the giggly girls liked it.

  ‘So you are the London hot-shot,’ Yamini said.

  ‘From London for sure, madam, but not a hot-shot,’ Rohan said.

  Everyone laughed. I think when rich guys say something, girls find it extra funny.

  ‘Wait a minute, guys,’ Rohan said as he took out his phone from his pocket. ‘Yes, Mummy ji. Everything okay, right? When will you be here? Everyone is asking for you. . . Okay, don’t be too late. The party can’t start without you.’

  I watched Rohan’s face as he stepped aside to take his call. It glowed, perhaps due to the facial he had mentioned, or maybe it was just his mother’s voice.

  ‘You ladies like to party? Is there a nightclub for afterwards?’ Rohan said when he came back.

  ‘There’s Agni at the Park,’ Ayesha said, playing with her hair.

  I wondered why on earth anyone would leave such a fancy party and go anywhere else. However, rich people like to have options and try different things.

  ‘You’ve known Riya a long time?’ Rachita asked Rohan.

  ‘Since she was a little girl,’ Rohan said. ‘I used to be able to lift her easily.’

  ‘Hah. I was two, you were eight, Rohan,’ Riya said.

  ‘Yes. Let me try that now.’

  Rohan put his glass down. He bent forward and took hold of Riya’s waist. Riya was too startled to protest. A surge of anger ran through my entire body. My fists and face tightened up in a primal response.

  Leave her alone, you bastard, I said in my head.

  Rohan lifted her off the ground. The girls giggled. He placed Riya back down. It all lasted only two seconds. However, my insides continued to burn long after it was over.

  ‘You are the quiet type, mate,’ Rohan said to me. ‘What’s up? Need another drink?’

  Yeah, I need to drink your blood.

  Rohan beckoned to a waiter with drinks and passed me a beer without me asking for it. I didn’t need a beer. I needed to whack this NRI’s head like a slam-dunk shot. I needed alone time with Riya. I needed another accent.

  I chugged the beer down in one shot. I did it to assert my fast-diminishing manliness in the group. Everyone watched me in surprise.

  ‘Mate, that’s rough. Go easy,’ Rohan said.

  Riya understood I wasn’t being myself. She looked at me as if to ask what the matter was. I turned the other way to avoid eye contact.

  The girls gathered around Rohan. He told them stories about his adventures at Indian airports.

  ‘Madhav, can I talk to you for a second?’ Riya said.

  We stepped away from the group.

  We sat opposite each other on plush white sofas in Riya’s drawing room. Two waiters hovered around us.

  ‘Can’t we just. . .’ I said and fell quiet. A waiter brought us a tray of spring rolls.

  ‘Madhav, so many guests. How are we supposed to be more private?’

  ‘Yeah, fine, I understand,’ I said. I picked up two spring rolls.

  ‘Besides, I will see you in college on Monday, right?’ she said.

  I nodded as I ate the spring rolls. A part of my frustration came from hunger. I felt better after the snack.

  ‘I understand how you feel. In some ways, even I feel like a tourist at these parties,’ Riya said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not real. All this. I’ve lived with this fakeness all my life,’ she said.

  ‘And why did you speak to your dad so rudely?’

  ‘Did I? Whatever. He’s another fake.’

  ‘C’mon Riya. Don’t talk like that.’

  ‘You hate it here, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. What a grand house you live in. I still can’t get over it,’ I said, in an attempt to change the topic.

  ‘I hope it doesn’t affect us. I’m still the same Riya who plays with you on the dusty court,’ she laughed.

  ‘What is “us”, Riya?’

  ‘Us. You and me. Our friendship.’

  ‘Riya, we are more than friends.’

  ‘Are we?’ She looked at me as if genuinely confused.

  ‘I’ve never kissed anyone before,’ I said.

  ‘Madhav.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘People can hear us.’

  ‘Nobody can hear us.’ The loud music in the garden ensured nobody could hear anything.

  ‘We’ll talk about this later.’

  ‘You never do,’ I said.

  ‘I will, I promise. Please cheer up now.’

  ‘What’s with Mr London? What was he lifting you for?’

  Riya laughed. ‘Oh, Ro. Ro is an old buddy. He’s mad.’

  She even had a nickname for him. Ro. It means ‘cry’ in Hindi. I wanted Ro to ro.
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  ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘Whatever, let’s go back in.’

  She stood up. ‘You liked my parents?’

  I nodded. You can’t say you didn’t like someone’s parents.

  ‘Good. Come, let’s go in before they start getting ideas.’

  Ideas? What ideas? I wanted to ask her.

  We walked into the garden. The music drowned out my thoughts. The younger crowd danced around the pool. Rohan danced with Riya’s friends. He called out to us. I wondered if I could pretend to dance and kick Ro into the water.

  Of course, I didn’t do that. I refused to dance. I couldn’t embarrass myself in front of this crowd. In Dumraon, we danced like mad people. We played loud music and moved our bodies frantically. Also, men and women never danced together. Here, Rohan danced with each girl for a few seconds. Sometimes, he would hold their hand while dancing, and the girl would be all giggles. What is so funny about a rich guy holding your hand? He even held Riya’s hand once. She twirled around him. My internal organs twirled inside me. I couldn’t do anything but look away.

  A waiter came up to me.

  ‘Are you Madhav Jha, sir?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, surprised he knew my name.

  ‘I am from Dumraon, too.’

  ‘Oh, how do you know I am from there?’

  ‘The guard outside told me. Nice to meet you, sir. Feels like I’ve met someone from home.’

  The waiter spoke to me for few minutes, shook my hand and left.

  Riya raised her eyebrows from the dance floor, wondering what I was doing with the waiter. I shook my head and smiled.

  There are things some people can never understand. There’s no point telling them.

  9

  ‘Even I have no fucking idea what sushi is,’ Ashu said.

  ‘It’s Japanese food. How the fuck are we supposed to know? Do they know our litti-chokha?’ Raman said.

  He dug his fork deep into the mound of biryani piled high on his plate. We were in the dining hall for Sunday dinner and a post-mortem of Riya’s party.

  ‘Sushi is no big deal. The bigger deal is she didn’t make you feel special,’ Shailesh said.

  He adjusted his spectacles and drank a glass of water. Shailesh, always the straight talker, had silenced everyone with his statement. The sound of cutlery filled the awkward silence.