sonu kumar
Posted On: 09-04-2019
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Half Girlfriend

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Thirty

'Louder, Madhav. You’re speaking like a mouse,’ Riya shouted, in
contrast to my meek voice.
She was grouchy, perhaps because I had made six mistakes in my
last rehearsal. She stood before me and stomped her feet. She wore an
oversized purple T-shirt and Bermuda shorts. Purple suits her, I
thought; everything suits her.
‘You realize your speech is the day after tomorrow?’ she said.
‘You’re making me tense,’ I said.
‘Fine.’ She threw her hands up in frustration. ‘Tense is not good.
I’m calm. You’re calm,’ she said, trying to swing my mood.
'I'm screwing this up,’ I said. I sat down on her double-mattress
diwan.
I had come to her house on Sunday evening for a final rehearsal.
Gates was arriving on Tuesday. I had to leave for Dumraon tomorrow.
‘It’s looking staged. They will see that I’m no good at this,’ I said.
‘Relax, Madhav. I’m sorry I shouted.’
She sat next to me and held my hand. She coughed again.
It was my turn to shout. ‘Who is this stupid doctor who can’t treat
your cough?’
‘I don’t know. It’s an allergy. Something in the air. Can’t figure out
what’s making it flare up.’
‘What is the doctor in Delhi saying now?’
Riya had gone to Delhi last month, after her family asked her to
come meet her father one last time. He had passed away while she was
there. She had spent two weeks in Delhi, attending the funeral and
various last-rites ceremonies. During that trip, she had also met a
senior specialist for her cough.
‘Same. Find the allergen. You think I’m allergic to you?’ She
winked at me, indicating that she felt better. I smacked her with a red
cushion.
‘Everything okay at home, Riya?’Riya had not reacted much to her father’s death. She had come
back from Delhi and hugged me as if she would never let go. She
mumbled something about forgiveness. I didn’t pry. She would only
tell me what she wanted to tel l me and when she decided to.
‘Yeah. My brothers are taking care of the business and my mother
sounded normal the last time I spoke to her.’ Then she was all brisk
and business-like, clapping her hands to bring me back to the present.
‘And now we have Madhav Jha, trom Dumraoti Royal School.’
I stood in the centre of her living room.
‘Respected Mr Gates, Ms Myers, other members of the Gates
foundation delegation, MLA Ojha, eminent people from Dumraon,
students and staff of the Dumraon Royal School...’
‘You know what?’ Riya interrupted me.
‘What?’
‘Your greeting, it’s too long. Let’s cut it.’
‘Riya, you’re changing the script at this stage?’
‘Minor change.’
We fine-tuned the words in my notes. I began again. She didn’t
interrupt me. I spoke for ten minutes.
‘And that, my friends, is all I have to say.Thank you,’ I said.
Riya clapped.
‘How many mistakes?’ I said.
‘Five.’
‘Five?’
‘Yeah, but minor ones. They don’t really change the meaning of the
sentences.’
‘You are just saying it to make me less tense, right?’
Riya smiled. ‘Let’s eat dinner. No point over-rehearsing. We are all
set. Relax,’ she said.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I made some daal, but chapatis will take time. Should I just
make some rice? Daal-chawal?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll help you.’We went to her kitchen. She cooked dinner and I made a salad of
tomatoes and cucumber with salt, pepper and lemon juice. I set the
table while she cooked the food.
We sat down to eat, facing each other at the dining table.
‘When will you arrive in Dumraon?’ I said as I mixed the daal and
rice.
‘You won’t freak out if I’m there, no?’
‘Are you stupid? Just come with me tomorrow morning.’
‘No, no. I can’t. Too much work,’ she said.
‘So when?’ I said.
‘Tuesday morning with the Foundation people.You’ve told them
about me, right?’
‘Yes,’ I said. I had already given Riya Samantha’s number. Riya's
car would follow the Foundation’s contingent. They would all come
together.
‘The salad is nice,’ she said.
‘It’s nothing. So simple,’ I said.
‘Simple and nice. I like it. I like simple and nice, Madhav.’
Is that how she sees me too—simple and nice? Or am I too simple
and too nice?
*
Post dinner, we cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes. We
came back to the living room. Riya reclined on the diwan. ‘I’m so
tired.’
I checked the time. It was ten.
‘I better leave,’ I said.
Riya coughed again. I got her a glass of warm water.
‘After this speech, your treatment is our first priority. We need to
find that allergen or whatever,’ I said.
‘I’m fine. See, it’s gone now,’ she said.
She shut her eyes and patted the mattress, signalling for me to sit
next to her. She then put her head on my lap and turned on her side
towards me, her eyes closed, by all accounts fast asleep.‘You want to sleep here?’
No answer.
I got a sheet and pillow from her bedroom. I placed the pillow
under her head and the sheet over her.
She smiled in gratitude, like a happy baby.
‘I’m going,’ I mouthed silently against her temple.
She shook her head.
What? I wondered to myself. What does she want?
She held on to me when I tried to move.
‘I’ll stay?’ I said.
She didn’t react. This is what girls do. At crucial moments, they
won’t give you a straight answer. What’s a guy to do?
‘I’ll stay for a bit?’ I said.
She nodded.
Thank God for some guidance.
‘Okay, I’m tired too. If I stay, I need to lie down as well.’
She moved aside, eyes still shut, making space for me. I was
shocked. Riya actually wanted me to lie down with her.
I slid in next to her, as quietly as possible, lest she woke up fully
and came to her senses.
‘Sleeping?’ I said, giving her an awkward cuddle.
She nodded. Girl nonsense, again. I grinned. How could she
respond if she was asleep?
‘Me too,’ I said. I think it is acceptable, almost necessary, for men
and women to lie to one another.
She turned on her side and placed her arm around me. She also
curled up a little, so her chest would not come too close to mine. Only
her arms and knees touched me.
Girls are really good at such stuff. Even in sleep, they can contort
themselves to maintain the boundaries of appropriate physical contact,
I shut my eyes. Of course, I could not, just could not sleep. I wanted
to hold her close. I wanted to kiss her. Restless, I placed an arm
around her. I think girls actually believe guys can casually place theirarms around them with no other idea in their heads.
I didn’t have courage to do anything else. Maybe she is getting
comfortable with me, my mind told me.Why risk it? Chill, Madhav,
chill.
The same mind came up with a different theory a few seconds
later. What if she wants you to do something? She’s created the
setting. Now if you don’t act, she will probably think you are a wimp.
Do something, Madhav. Don’t just chill.
The stress of two conflicting ideas in my head made me restless.
Riya’s smooth arm on me made things worse. I tossed and turned.
Meanwhile, she slept.
Two hours later, Riya opened her eyes. I had involuntarily poked
her shoulder, I had pins and needles everywhere from trying not to
move.
‘What is it?’ she said sleepily
‘You’re awake?’ I said, all sparkly voiced.
‘You woke rne up,’ she said.
‘Sorry,’ I said and patted her shoulder. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘Are you tense?’
A shiver went down my spine. How did she know? God has given
too many senses to women.
‘A little bit.’
‘Don’t worry. You will perform fine.’
‘Huh? What?’ I said. What is she talking about? Then it struck me.
‘Oh, yes. I’ve done my best. The rest is up to Mr Gates.’
‘Exactly. Now sleep,’ she said and closed her eyes again.
‘Riya.’
‘Hmm?’
‘I want to say something, Riya,’
‘Shh,’ she said, eyes still shut. She placed a finger on my lips.
‘Say it to Bill Gates first,’ she said and drifted back to sleep.
*
‘Thirty minutes? Our programme lasts an hour,’ I said, my voiceindignant.
Samantha had called me on Monday morning, a day before Gates’s
visit.
‘I’m sorry, Madhav. It’s a really tight schedule for Mr Gates. Maybe
you can cut down on a few things.’
‘But the kids have been preparing for months.’
‘My apologies. Trust me, we have actually cancelled a few places.
But there’s no question of cancelling your school.’
‘Fine.What time?’
‘10.30 sharp. See you.’
I went with Tarachand jt to inspect the empty field being converted
into a parking lot. From a distance, I could hear the sound of students
practising the welcome song.
We had stopped classes for a week to focus on the annual day.
Students had planned the cultural programme, scrubbed the floors and
walls of the school, drawn new charts and made props for the stage. I
went to the staffroom and told my mother about the shortened length
of the visit.
She said, ‘It was a stupid idea to call these moody goras to school.
We’ve been going mad for the past few weeks for them, and now see.’

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