‘Excuse me?’
‘Spare me the bullshit, baby,’ said the girl. ‘I will see you in a bit. You have a bit of answering to do at this book event.’ She whispered it like a threat. ‘I know you have been looking forward to seeing me, haven’t you? Well, your wait ends, baby,’ said the girl. ‘The battery is low.’
She cut the call. Daman tried calling Avni again but the phone was switched off. Daman’s heartbeat quickened. The voice was unmistakably hers. He called on Avni’s number again. It was still switched off. What is she doing with Avni? He heard a knock on the door of the back office and the bookstore owner, Ram Prakash, a fat, jolly man walked in. He told them that the crowd had swelled to about thirty people and they could start any time they wanted. ‘Just a few more minutes.
I’m waiting for someone,’ said Daman, his fingers quaking.
‘I will go and make the announcement,’ said Ram Prakash. ‘Daman? There’s one request. You can’t smoke in there. There are smoke detectors—’
‘Got it,’ said Daman and he left.
‘Have you started writing the second book, Daman? I’m trying to make the calendar for the coming months. So I need to know,’ said Jayanti.
‘Can we please not talk about it right now?’ snapped Daman.
‘This can’t wait, Daman. Karthik Iyer’s next book’s date is going to be finalized. We don’t want your book to be placed around his. It would kill your book, so we need to be careful. The earlier we sign the book, the better. And before you start again, Bookhound Publishers will have the final say on how the book will shape up. I hope you understand that now. The book has worked and there are thirty people outside—things are going well for you.’
‘Weren’t you calling this event a disaster a few minutes earlier?’
‘Because it was and because I thought you didn’t do all that I told you to. But seems like you did and see? Anyway, let’s not keep them waiting. Let’s start. I don’t think that girlfriend of yours is coming.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about? Of course she’s coming!’ said Daman.
A little later, Daman followed Jayanti towards the little stage that was built for the book launch.
He worried for Avni’s absence, his right hand firmly inside his pocket, waiting for his phone to ring.
15
Daman Roy and Jayanti Raghunath sat on two red couches on an elevated platform discussing how
Daman’s first book, The Girl of My Dreams, now a well-loved bestseller, came into existence.
Jayanti talked about how she had spotted Daman on Facebook and thought he had the spark and the intelligence to be a successful writer. She peppered the story with juicy anecdotal lies and conversations they had never had. ‘Oh, he would not pick up my calls! But he was always good with deadlines! Daman is a joy to work with . . . I remember this one time . . .’ Daman had looked nervous for the first fifteen minutes and had searched for a familiar face in the crowd. He breathed easy when in the far corner of the room he found Avni looking on with a proud smile on her face.
She was alone.
Daman fake-smiled and fibbed about how he saw a mentor in Jayanti Raghunath, and was thankful for everything she had done for him. Avni kept distracting him, blowing kisses and winking from where she stood in the crowd. Unlike everyone else, she didn’t have a copy of The
Girl of My Dreams in her hands. ‘I will read it as soon as the project ends,’ Avni had said when
Daman had given her the book weeks ago. He would never ask her again to read the book. Not after he’d read this anonymous one-star review on Amazon which had kept him awake for a week.
Review submitted by FDKJHFDSH:
The author is a narcissistic prick. Why would he use his own name? As far as my friends tell me, Shreyasi is fictional, so shouldn’t the author have used a name that isn’t his? Is the author trying to mislead his readers into believing it’s a real story? It’s clearly not a real story. I feel it’s a dick move by the author. Also I feel sorry for his real girlfriend. How unfair it must be for her? I will not give this book more than one star. It might be a great story but it’s principally wrong.
Daman had bristled when he’d first read the review. What the fuck does this reader know about what goes into completing a book? Naive bastard. He couldn’t even write his name, bloody
FDKJHFDSH. It would have remained just another review to be read and forgotten if he hadn’t clicked on the username FDKJHFDSH. The user had reviewed two more items—a Panasonic microwave and a charger for iPhone 6s. Avni had made both these purchases last month. Daman had helped her pick the microwave. FDKJHFDSH was Avni. Even so, Daman couldn’t bring himself to confront her. ‘Also, I feel sorry for his girlfriend. How unfair it must be for her?’ It wasn’t a review of the book. It was Avni venting out.
A little later, Daman was asked to read from the book. The audience chose the passage—a page- long confession of Daman’s love for Shreyasi, edited heavily and almost rewritten entirely by
Jayanti.
‘I’m bad at book readings so bear with me. Here goes:
‘I never thought I would fall in love. Maybe I was just scared to imagine the possibility of not being loved back. You changed all that, Shreyasi. Am I scared? Yes, I am. Do I deserve you? Of
course not. But the fact that you walked into my life when everything had gone to shit and made me look forward to every new morning is something I can never forget. You can walk away today. It will rip a huge hole in my heart but I can’t stop you. But even if you do walk away you will always be a huge part of my life, the most important part of my life. Will it be hard? Only if dying is hard.
Just to think of spending a day without you crushes my heart. To live without you is a fate worse than death but I’m ready for it. I had decided that the day I made up my mind to let my guard down.
And now, I’m in love and there’s no going back, Shreyasi. I will always love you . . .’
Daman read on till he reached the end of the page, despite wanting to gag on the cheesy lines.
The audience applauded. Daman smiled back at them. Avni clapped the hardest but her eyes gave her away the truth. She hated Shreyasi.
‘That was beautiful,’ said Jayanti. The crowd nodded in affirmation. ‘We will now take questions from the audience.’
Daman had enjoyed most of evening and wondered why he had been so against the idea of doing a book event in the first place. The questions from the audience were more or less generic, nothing
Daman hadn’t expected. A couple of people asked why the character of Shreyasi had changed so drastically in the book and it was handled by Jayanti who talked about the need to tell stories which were more identifiable. Except a handful, most of the readers liked the new Shreyasi. A girl who had been blushing all this while got up and asked, ‘Why is the main character’s name Daman?
Is it because you love your name? Or it’s because the character is based on you? Is the story real? I love the book by the way!’
‘Thank you for your question,’ said Daman. ‘It’s a bit of both. When I started writing I picked up traits that I had and put them in the book and so I kept the main guy’s name in the book as Daman. It made the writing process easier. I just never happened to change the name. Also, it doesn’t matter if the story is real. Because if the story made you feel something, it’s real for you, isn’t it? For me, the story happened in my head. So it’s all very real to me. I can imagine the characters and situations and I feel like I was there when it was happening. Thank you for the question.’
The girl nodded brightly and sat down.
‘We will take one last audience question,’ said Jayanti. ‘And then we will have the author sign the books. Everyone who wants to get a book signed can form a queue on the left. Daman will not leave till he has signed all the books. Thank you.’
Daman waved at Avni as the crowd started to move towards the dais to get their books signed.
People jostled and pushed to get in fr
ont of the line. Avni was caught between two overenthusiastic readers.
‘Jayanti,’ Daman whispered. ‘Take Avni to the back office?’
‘You will be okay here?’
‘It’s a book signing, Jayanti. What can go wrong?’
The microphone was passed to a girl in the second last row for the last audience question.
Daman had noticed her before because she stuck out like a sore thumb. She hadn’t once looked up and spent the entire time peering into her phone. Daman wondered if she was here with a friend.
‘Hi, Daman?’
‘Hi.’
‘I don’t know if I should ask you the question I have in mind,’ said the girl. The coldness and the anger in her voice was unmistakable. She was now the only one sitting amidst the empty chairs.
She looked familiar. And then it struck him where he had seen that face. Ashi. Reya. Shreyasi.
Daman squirmed in his seat.
The girl noticed his discomfort. ‘Should I?’
‘You can ask whatever you want,’ said Daman, composing himself.
‘Are you a coward, Daman?’ she asked, crossing one leg over the other. Her leather pants glistened under the lights of the bookstore. A silent murmur filled the bookstore. All eyes turned towards her. ‘You changed the character of the book because you had to tell an identifiable story, sell more books, isn’t it?’ She air-quoted the word identifiable. ‘You wrote a book you didn’t believe in. Why are you even a writer then?’ she asked. ‘Don’t just look at me. Answer my question.’
Daman got his voice back and said, ‘I changed the character for the betterment of the novel. The neurotic, deranged, sociopathic, depressed Shreyasi wouldn’t have worked so I chose the option I felt would be more interesting to read for a large section of the audience. I don’t want to write in a bubble. I want my books to be read, liked and sold because that’s what allows me to do what I like to do best—write. Because, believe it or not, you need to earn to get by and writing doesn’t pay much anyway.’
The crowd giggled.
‘So what you’re—’
Ram Prakash cut her off. ‘Young lady, that was the last question.’
The girl shook her head in defiance. ‘With all due respect, Daman still wants to answer my counter question since he hasn’t put the microphone down. He’s answerable to everyone connected to the book and God knows I’m connected to the book,’ said the girl with an authority that surprised everyone. The girl spoke again, the threatening bass of her voice now filling up the entire bookstore. She wasn’t loud yet her voice seemed to hit Daman at the bottom of his stomach. It made him nervous. She continued, ‘My second question is what happens to the muse, the girl who served as an inspiration behind that character? What should she think of you for what you did with her for money?’
‘There is no muse. And even if there was, she should be happy I used the name,’ he said.
The crowd giggled again.
‘Happy? She would have been happy had you stayed the damn away from her name. Why did you insult her by changing everything about her? WHO THE HELL GAVE YOU THAT POWER?
DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE A DEAD DUCK. USE THAT TONGUE AND ANSWER ME—
WHAT ARE YOU IF NOT A PIMP?’
Her voice crashed against the walls and echoed. A pin-drop silence descended to the room. She kept the microphone on the chair next to her, and looked at Daman calmly.
‘Your hypothesis is incorrect. The previous Shreyasi and the one in the book are both fictional so the question doesn’t arise—’
The girl got up and left mid-sentence. An awkward silence followed. It took a few seconds before everyone recovered. Readers swarmed him in groups of four and five and got their books signed, asked him a few questions, posed for pictures and selfies, and thanked him for making time
for them. The girl’s presence still hung in the air like a corpse’s stench. Daman followed Ram
Prakash to the back office after the signing was over. Ram Prakash apologized to Daman for the girl’s behaviour. He told him that she was a regular customer and hence he couldn’t chastise her more than he did.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Daman.
Avni lunged at Daman and hugged him as soon as he entered the back office. ‘That was so good!’ she said and kissed him on his cheek. Daman kissed her back.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Daman.
‘Yes? What would happen to me?’ asked Avni, surprised.
Ram Prakash, Jayanti and Daman sat in the back office and chatted about the session over cups of coffee. No one mentioned the unruly girl from the Q/A session.
‘So when’s the next book coming?’ asked Ram Prakash. ‘You should hurry up. Public memory is short.’
‘See? That’s what I have been telling him. He should finish it quickly and sign the contract,’ said
Jayanti like a concerned parent.
Soon, the conversation drifted to the one Daman thought of as the Justin Bieber of Indian literature—Karthik Iyer—and his next book which was due to come out in the next few months.
Another tasteless love story about him and girlfriend for life, Varnika.
‘Has he finished writing it? He’s a very good writer. My customers love him! Some even buy multiple copies of his books. They are crazy about him,’ said Ram Prakash. Jayanti told Ram
Prakash that Karthik hadn’t finished writing the book. Ram Prakash continued, ‘We are waiting for it. If it’s big like the last book was, we will have some money rolling in after all.’
Daman excused himself, told them he needed to visit the washroom. What he really wanted to do was vomit because all the excitement around Karthik’s impending book made him sick. He desperately needed to smoke; he wondered where Shreyasi was.
16
Daman washed his face. He hadn’t realized how exhausting book launches could be. But mostly, he felt drained thinking of how to deal with the Shreyasi issue. He was drying his hands when over the din of the dryer he heard someone giggle and whisper, ‘Stop. Stop. Not here. STOP.’ He turned.
The voice came from inside the stall. The very next second a couple tumbled out and Daman looked away.
‘Hey?’ the man was next to him, drying his hands with a tissue, a silly smile pasted on his face.
‘I am sorry about that.’
‘I hope it was fun.’
‘My wife is a big fan of yours,’ said the man, nudging Daman with his elbow.
Daman looked over his shoulder. The girl had disappeared inside the stall. ‘That’s sweet.’
He had just turned to leave when the man called out. ‘Hey? Daman?’ Daman turned. ‘I haven’t read anything of yours but my wife has. But she was late and couldn’t get her book signed. Do you mind?’
‘Of course not,’ said Daman.
‘She’s just fixing herself up,’ said the man, ruffling his hair, embarrassed. They both stood waiting awkwardly for the man’s wife to come out of the stall. In the dim lighting of the washroom it took Daman more than a second to realize who had stepped out of the stall. She’s married!
‘Shreyasi! Look who I caught here,’ said the man to his wife.
The girl clasped her mouth in shock. Her eyes grew wide and she looked at Daman with amazement. ‘OH. MY. GOD,’ said the girl, gasping.
The man looked at Daman and said, ‘Didn’t I tell you? She loves you. Your book is always on the side table. No one dares to move it from there. She reads it every day.’ The man kissed his wife on her cheek. The wife, Shreyasi, smiled at Daman. ‘Now get it signed, will you? Don’t complain once you get home that you couldn’t get it signed,’ said the man, nudging her ahead. ‘I’m Akash, by the way.’ He shook Daman’s hand. ‘Your hands are so cold,’ he remarked. Daman smiled weakly at him.
Shreyasi clumsily fumbled through her handbag to fetch a book and a bundle of papers. ‘Can you sign them all?’
Daman tried to form a sentence but words failed him. He nodded. It’s all an act. This man is not her husban
d. This is another trick of hers. She’s playing another role. If she is Shreyasi, why don’t I feel anything? Why did you have to come back? Daman spoke, ‘Listen—’
Shreyasi kept the pages and the book on the sink ledge and handed a pen to Daman. ‘Sign them,’ she said. The awe of a star-struck fan had dried from her voice. The coldness in her eyes was unambiguous. ‘Can you sign every page? Would mean a lot to me!’
Akash muttered to his wife, ‘You’re making him sign these in a washroom? At least let’s just go out?’ The man put an arm around Daman’s shoulder like they were brothers and walked him out.
Shreyasi followed them, cradling the book and the pages in her hands. ‘Keep them here,’ Akash said to Shreyasi pointing to the cashier’s table. He looked at the cashier and said, ‘We just need to sign some papers.’
‘Of course,’ said the cashier and looked at Shreyasi. ‘Kaisi hai ma’am aap? (How are you, ma’am?)’
‘I am good. And you?’
‘You don’t come here often any more?’ asked the cashier.
‘I have been a little busy,’ said Shreyasi.
And while the cashier and Shreyasi talked, Akash whined to Daman about how Shreyasi would drag him to bookstores and the British Council Library every now and then. ‘She knows everyone here,’ said Akash. ‘I am not into books though. I am a seaman. A sailor. A modern-day pirate.’ The man giggled like men ought not to. ‘Just kidding, I am a marine engineer. And the little time I do get on land, she drags me to these bookstores. No offence.’ Daman was hardly listening to the man. He looked over his shoulder trying to make sense of it all. Along with the cashier, another helper of the bookstore had joined the conversation now. They were chatting as if they were long-lost friends. A little later, she introduced Akash to the employees of the bookstore. Daman started signing the pages, doubly aware of Shreyasi’s closeness to him. The pages were printouts of the posts he had put up on Facebook.