The 3 Mistakes of My Life

  ‘No bag please,’ I said as I kept the cake box in my rucksack of books. I kept the rucksack upright in my lap until I made it to Vidya’s place.

  Entering Vidya’s house while hiding a cake was hard enough. Ish being in the house made it worse. India was playing England at Kolkata Eden Gardens in a day-night match. Ish had plonked himself in front of the sofa with sandwiches, milk, chips and biscuits – everything that he needed to survive for the next eight hours. Ish’s dad sat on the dining table, continuing his PhD on the newspapers of India. As was often the case when Ish was around, uncle had a disgusted expression on his face.

  I snuck the rucksack between my arm and side body to keep it horizontal.

  ‘India’s batting – Ganguly and Tendulkar. Seventy no loss after ten overs,’ Ish said and screamed, ‘Mom, sauce!’

  Uncle picked up the ketchup bottle from the dining table and banged it as hard as possible on the coffee table in front of his son.

  ‘Thanks dad,’ Ish said. ‘Can you move. Can’t see the TV.’

  Ish’s dad gave his son a dirty look and moved.

  ‘Sit no,’ Ish said to me.

  ‘Tuitions,’ I said, pointing to Vidya’s room.

  ‘Oh, you’ve come for that. She’s studying on her birthday, dedication dude.’

  ‘Some people are serious about their lives…,’ Ish’s dad ranted while still reading his paper.

  Ish pressed the volume button on the TV remote as loud as possible in protest.

  ‘His mother has made him into a monster,’ Ish’s dad said and left for his bedroom. Tendulkar struck a four and the monster clapped.

  ‘Don’t worry, dad’s fine,’ Ish said as he saw my nervous expression. ‘Hey, wish her and all. She’ll like it. I forgot this morning.’

  Ish grabbed a sandwich and topped it with lots of chips and ketchup. He took a big bite. My friend had found bliss. I had to find mine.

  I climbed the stairs, my heart beating fast.

  ‘Happy birthday, Miss Eighteen,’ I greeted as I shut the terrace door.

  She wore a shiny red kurti and white pants. The choice of clothes was a bit over the top but it was ok on a birthday I guess.

  ‘Did you know eighteen is the only number that is twice the sum of its digits?’ she said.

  I took out the cake and placed it on the white plastic table.

  ‘A cake from Ten! Someone is going high-class,’ she teased.

  ‘You like chocolate. They have the best.’ I opened the box. She stood up from her chair and came next to me to see the cake.

  ‘You’ve changed since we have had this thing.’

  ‘What thing?’ I peeped into her big eyes.

  ‘This thing,’ she said and came forward to kiss me. We kissed during almost every class since the last month, so it wasn’t a big deal. Sometimes we kissed everytime she solved a problem. At other times, we took a kissing break every fifteen minutes. Once, we didn’t kiss at all as she did a mock test. However, we made up for it in the next class where we spent the first ten minutes kissing and the rest discussing her mistakes. When we felt desire, we kissed. When we felt guilty, we studied. Somehow, we balanced mathematics and romance within the hour quite well.

  We went to the edge of the terrace. The last bit of sunlight disappeared as the sky turned dark orange. The evening breeze held a chill. At a distance, we saw the dome of Omi’s temple.

  She entwined her hands with mine and looked at me. ‘You tell me,’ she said as she removed a strand of hair from her face, ‘should I become a doctor?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Then how do I get out?’

  ‘Apply to whichever college and just go,’ I said.

  ‘How?’ she said as she tugged my hand. ‘How will I even get the application fee to apply? How will I support myself in Mumbai?’

  ‘Your parents will eventually come around. They will pay for your studies. Until then…’

  A loud roar went through the pol and startled us. India had hit a six.

  ‘Until then what?’ she said after the noise subsided.

  ‘Until then I will support you,’ I said. We looked into each other’s eyes. She smiled. We took a walk around the perimeter of the terrace.

  ‘So my tutor doesn’t believe I need to figure out maths problems?’

  ‘Figuring out the maths of life is more important,’ I said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Who you are, what do you want versus what people expect of you. And how to keep what you want without pissing off people too much. Life is an optimisation problem, with tons of variables and constraints.’

  ‘Is it possible to run away and not piss off my parents?’

  ‘You can minimise the pissed-off state, but can’t make it zero. We can only optimise life, never solve it,’ I said as we came to a corner.

  ‘Can I tell you something weird?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you talk hardcore maths, like these terms that totally go over my head,’ she said, her hand in take-off motion above her head.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It turns me on.’

  ‘Vidya, your boldness…,’ I said, shocked.

  ‘Makes you blush, right?’ she said and laughed.

  ‘So we are cutting this cake or what?’ I said to change the topic.

  ‘Of course, follow me to Café Vidya,’ she said.

  We slid under the water tank and sat on the floor. She had brought six pink cushions and a rug. ‘I brought them from my room, so we can have a little party here,’ she said and passed a couple to me. Under the cushions, she had a stereo.

  ‘Music?’ she said, her face pretty as a song.

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll put on Boyzone, my favourite,’ she said.

  I took out the packet of eighteen candles that came with the cake.

  ‘Let’s light all of them,’ she said.

  I wanted to go switch on the terrace light as it had become dark.

  ‘Let it be,’ she said and pulled my hand as she lit the eighteenth candle.

  ‘What if someone comes?’

  ‘Both my parents have bad knees. They never climb up to the terrace. And Ish, well there is a match on.’

  We heard two consecutive roars in the pol. The Indian innings had reached the slog overs.

  She released my hand as I sat down again. She looked beautiful as the candlelight flickered on her face. A song called ‘No matter what’ started to play. Like with all romantic songs, the lyrics seemed tailor-made for us.

  No matter what they tell us

  No matter what they do

  No matter what they teach us

  What we believe is true

  The candle flames appeared to move to the rhythm of the music. She cut the cake with the plastic knife that came in the box. I wished her again and put a piece of cake in her mouth. She held it in her mouth and leaned towards me. She pushed me back on the cushions and brought her mouth close to mine for my share of the cake.

  She kissed me like she never had before. It wasn’t like she did anything different, but there seemed to be more feeling behind it. Her hands came to my shoulders and under my shirt.

  The music continued.

  I can’t deny what I believe

  I can’t be what I’m not

  I know this love’s forever

  That’s all that matters now

  I don’t know if it was the candlelight or the birthday mood or the cushions or what. But it was then that I made the second mistake of my life.

  I opened the top button of her kurti and slid my fingers inside. A voice inside stopped me, I took my hand out. But she continued to kiss me as she unbuttoned the rest of her top. She pulled my fingers towards her again.

  ‘Vidya…’ By this time my hand was in places impossible to withdraw from for any guy. So, I went with the flow, feelings, desire, nature or whatever else people called the stuff that evaporated human rationality.

  She took off her kurti. ‘Remove
your hand, they won’t run away.’

  ‘Huh?’ I said.

  ‘How else do I remove this?’ she said, pointing to her bra. I moved my hands to her stomach as she took the bra off and lay on top of me.

  ‘Take it off,’ she said, tugging at my shirt. At this point, I could have jumped off the terrace if she asked me to. I followed her instruction instantly.

  The music didn’t stop, and neither did we. We went further and further as the tiny cake candles burned out one by one. Sweat beads glistened on our bodies. Vidya didn’t say anything throughout, apart from one time in the middle.

  ‘Are you going to go down on me?’ she said, after she had done the same to me.

  I went down, and came back up. We looked into each other’s eyes as we became one. The screams from the pols continued as England lost wickets.

  Only four candles remained burning by the time we finished. We combined the six cushions to make one mattress and lay on it. Only after we were done did we realise how cold and chilly it really was. We covered ourselves in my jacket and dug our cold feet inside the lower cushions.

  ‘Wow, I am an adult and am no longer a virgin, so cool. Thank God,’ she said and giggled. She cuddled next to me. A sense of reality struck as the passion subsided. What have you done Mr Govind Patel?

  ‘See, I still have goosebumps,’ she said and lifted her arm. Little pink bumps dotted her flawless, fair skin.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, Govind, what are you doing right now? Touching her goosebumps? The voice in me grew stronger.

  ‘I am so glad this happened. Aren’t you?’ she said.

  I kept quiet.

  ‘Say something.’

  ‘I should get going.’

  ‘Don’t you like it here?’

  ‘Here? You realise we are on top of your dad and mom and brother?’

  ‘Stop freaking out,’ she said.

  ‘I am sorry. I am nervous,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be,’ she said and hugged me. She felt my body shake. ‘You ok?’

  I didn’t know why, but I had tears in my eyes. Maybe I felt scared. Maybe because no one had held me like that ever and asked if I was ok. Maybe because I never knew it would be possible for me to feel like this. Maybe because I had betrayed my best friend. I normally never cried, but with so many reasons at the same time, it was impossible not to.

  ‘Hey, I’m the girl. Let me do this part,’ she said. I looked into her moist eyes.

  I sat up and dressed. We came outside as the moon lit up the terrace. I checked my watch. I had overshot the class time by thirty minutes.

  ‘I love you,’ she said from behind as I opened the terrace door.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ I said and left.

  ‘Hey, you missed the best part. We will win this. Stay on,’ Ish said as I reached downstairs.

  ‘No, I’m quite tired. I’ll watch it at home,’ I said as I reached the main door.

  ‘Eat dinner, son,’ Ish’s mother said as she set the table. ‘I’ve made special dishes for Vidya’s birthday.

  ‘No aunty, my mummy has cooked at home as well,’ I said. I had already celebrated her daughter’s birthday.

  ‘Such a good boy,’ she said fondly as I left the house.

  Seventeen

  ‘Hold it tight, it is shaking,’ Omi said. He stood on his toes on a stool to reach the ceiling. We wanted to drop the tricolour ribbons from the ceiling fan. I held the legs of the stool. Ish stood next to us with glue and cellotape.

  ‘I’ll fall,’ Omi warned, dangling his right foot off the stool.

  ‘It’s not my fault. The stool has creaky legs,’ I said.

  I never wanted to celebrate Republic Day, which came in a week. However, we did want to celebrate our resurrection after the earthquake a year ago. Though thoughts about that day still made me tremble, I was relieved to have fully paid off our loans. Our business had tripled from a year ago and it all happened from this shop.

  ‘January 26 preparations? Keep it up,’ Mama’s entry distracted us all. Omi toppled from the stool and landed on the floor. The ribbons fell on his head.

  ‘You let go!’ he accused me as everyone laughed.

  Mama placed a brown bag of samosas and some yellow pamphlets on the table. We grabbed a samosa each.

  ‘One year since the horrible day,’ Mama sighed. ‘I am so proud of how your hard work has brought you back on your feet. Something else also changed. Govind, do you remember? Don’t ever give it up, ok?’

  I nodded. Yes, my faith in God had helped me last year. And I wanted to continue with it.

  ‘When you believe in God, amazing things happen. And that is why I brought this,’ Mama said and passed a yellow pamphlet to each of us.

  I read the headline.

  Chaitavani Yatra

  All lovers of Rama are invited to come to Ayodhya

  I read further. The Hindu party wanted to send wave after wave of people to Ayodhya temple. It would remind the secular government of the temple issue. The pamphlet had contact details of Mama, other party workers, the various dates of departure and how to sign up for the trips. ‘We have a deadline,’ the pamphlet said, without exactly mentioning one.

  ‘Good, no?’ Mama asked me.

  ‘Yeah, Parekh-ji did say, take initiative. You will get noticed,’ I said.

  ‘You boys must come,’ Mama said ‘In fact, the February trip is only for young people. Even I am not going. My son is going this time. You will have good company.’

  I kept quiet.

  ‘It is easy to go. Direct train from Ahmedabad station, Sabarmati Express,’ Mama said and looked at me eagerly. I had to look interested even if I didn’t want to go.

  ‘How long?’ I said.

  ‘Thirty-two hours one way.’

  ‘Three days of just travel. How to go now, Mama?’ I said, pulling a long face. ‘So much work in the new year.’

  ‘There is more to life than business,’ Mama said. He stood up to leave.

  I opened the cashbox and took out two bundles of notes. ‘Here’s the rent for the next three months.’

  ‘Who has asked for money?’ Mama said as he tucked the notes into his kurta pocket. ‘Come with your little brother this time. He is so fond of you.’

  ‘Mama, please don’t feel bad. We will come when business is slow. Sometime in March during the exams,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t back out then. March is fixed, eh?’ Mama said.

  We nodded. I picked up a broom and swept the samosa crumbs.

  ‘Ok, I better leave. I have to book the tickets for this February trip,’ Mama said and stood up.

  ‘I can go book them for you, Mama,’ Omi said.

  ‘Will you? Thank you so much, son. I have to go to Gandhinagar today and there is no time,’ Mama said. He took out an envelope from the other pocket.

  ‘This has all the names and the money. Dhiraj and eight others. Sleeper class, leaving on 20th February and returning a week later,’ Mama said.

  Omi put the envelope in his shirt pocket.

  ‘Six, seven, eight, no actually that time doesn’t count as we didn’t really,’ Vidya mumbled to herself as she lay next to me.

  Omi had gone to the train station to see off his cousin. Ish manned the shop. I, under the pretext of revising permutations and combinations, lay naked with his sister.

  ‘What exactly are you counting?’ I asked idly.

  ‘The number of times we have made love,’ she replied. ‘Wow, our score is eight already.’

  ‘You keep track?’ I said.

  ‘I keep track of a lot of things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like today is 21 Feb, only five days to my period. Hence, it is a safe day.’

  ‘It’s safe anyway. I used a condom,’ I said as I shifted my cushion for comfort.

  ‘Oh? So now you trust physics over mathematics?’ she said and giggled. She flipped over to rest on her elbows and poked her toes into my shins.

  ‘Are you still embarrassed to buy condoms
?’

  ‘I get them from an unknown chemist in Satellite. And I have enough now for a while.’

  ‘Oh really,’ she climbed over me. ‘So no problem in using a couple more then?’

  With that, our score reached nine.

  ‘Goodnight aunty,’ I said to Vidya’s mom. I always hated that part, the point when aunty offered me something to eat or asked me why I worked so hard.

  I walked back home with my thoughts. Nine times in two months. We made love on an average of once a week. Nine times meant I had lost all benefit of doubt. I couldn’t say that I had made love to her by accident, in an impulsive moment. You don’t do things by accident nine times. Though sometimes, another kind of accident can happen. And I found out exactly five days later.

  ‘There is something you should know,’ she said.

  We had come to the Ahmedabad Textile Industries Research Association’s (ATIRA) campus lawns. She had SMSed me that we needed to go for an ‘urgent walk’, whatever that meant. We had said at home that we had to go and buy a really good maths guide. No one questioned us after that. The ATIRA lawns in Vastrapur swell with strollers in the evening. Several couples held hands. I wanted to but did not. We fixed our gaze on the ground and did a slow walk. Fat aunties wearing sarees and sneakers and with a firm resolve to lose weight overtook us.

  ‘What’s up?’ I said and bought a packet of groundnuts.

  ‘Something is late,’ she said.

  I tried to think of what she was referring to. I couldn’t.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘My period,’ she said.

  Men cannot respond when the P-word is being talked about. For the most part, it freaks them out.

  ‘Really? How?’ I said, struggling for words.

  ‘What do you mean how? It should have happened yesterday, the 25th, but hasn’t.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Excuse me? I wouldn’t know if it has happened?’ she said and stopped to look at me.

  ‘No, I meant are you sure it was due on 25th Feb?’

  ‘I am not that bad at maths.’

  ‘Ok but…,’ I said. I had created the problem. I had nothing of value to offer in the discussion. I offered her groundnuts. She declined.

  ‘But what?’ she said.