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

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Three

'Hey,’ she said. Her perky voice startled me; I had been scanning
the college noticeboard.
I turned around. I had prayed for this to happen. She and I had
both made it.
She wore black, skin-tight jeans and a black-and-white striped i
lurt. Without the sweat and grime from court, her face glowed. She
had translucent pink lip gloss on, with tiny glittery bits on her lips. Her
hair, slightly wavy, came all the way down to her waist. Her long
lingers looked delicate, hiding the power they had displayed on court.
My heart was in my mouth. Ever since I had got my admission letter, I
had been waiting for the month before college opened to pass quickly
and to find out if Riya had made it too.
‘Riya,’ she said. ‘You remember, right?’
Did I remember? I wanted to tell her I had not forgotten her for
one moment since I left Delhi. I wanted to tell her I had never seen a
girl more beautiful than her. I wanted to tell her that the oxygen flow
to my lungs had stopped.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Glad you joined.’
‘I wasn’t sure, actually,’ she said and pointed to the noticeboard.‘Is
that the first-year timetable?’
I nodded. She smiled at me again.
‘What’s your course?’ she asked, her eyes on the noticeboard.
‘Sociology,’ I said.
‘Oh, intellectual,’ she said.
I didn’t know what that meant. However, she laughed and I
guessed it was something funny, so I laughed along. The noticeboard
also had a bunch of stapled sheets with the names of all first-year
students and their new roll numbers.
‘What about you?’ I said. I adjusted my yellow T-shirt and blue
jeans while she looked at the board. I had bought new clothes from
Patna for St. Stephen’s. I didn’t look like a government office clerkanymore. I wanted to fit into my new college.
‘English,’ she said.‘Here, see, that’s my name.' Riya Somani,
English (Hons), it said. My heart sank. A girl doing an English degree
would never befriend a country bumpkin like me.
Her phone rang. She took out the sleek Nokia instrument from her
jeans’ pocket.
‘Hi, Mom,’ she said in Hindi. ‘Yes, I reached. Yes, all good, just
finding my way.’
Her Hindi was music to my ears. So I could talk to her. She spoke
for a minute more and hung up to find me looking at her.
‘Moms, you know,’ she said.
‘Yes.You speak Hindi?’
She laughed. ‘You keep asking me that. Of course I do. Why?’
‘My English isn’t good,’ I said, and switched languages.‘Can I talk
to you in Hindi?’
‘What you say matters, not the language,’ she said and smiled.
Some say there is an exact moment when you fall in love. I didn’t
know if it was true before, but I do now. This was it. When Riya
Somani said that line, the world turned in slow motion. I noticed her
delicate eyebrows. When she spoke, they moved slightly. They had the
perfect length, thickness and width. She would win a ‘best eyebrows’
competition hands down—or as we say in basketball, it would be a
slam dunk.
Perhaps I should have waited to fall in love with her. However, I
knew it was pointless. I had little control over my feelings. So from
my first day in college, I was in love. Riya Somani, ace basketball
player, English literature student, most beautiful girl on the planet,
owner of extraordinary eyebrows and speaker of wonderful lines, had
yanked my heart out of its hiding place.
Of course, I could not show it. I didn’t have the courage, nor
would it be a smart idea.
We walked down a corridor towards our respective classrooms. I
had her with me for two more minutes.‘You made friends here?’ she said.
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘You?’
‘I have some classmates from school in Stephen’s. Plus, I am from
Delhi, so have many friends outside.’
‘I hope I can adjust,’ I said. ‘I feel I don’t belong here.’
‘Trust me, nobody feels they do,’ she said. ‘Which residence did
they give you?’
‘Rudra,’ I said.‘How about you?’
'They don’t give one to Delhiites. I’m a day-ski, unfortunately,’ she
said, using the common term for day scholars.
We reached my classroom. I pretended not to see it and kept
walking until she reached hers.
’Oh, this is my class,’ she said.‘Where’s yours?’
'I'll find out, go ahead,’ I said.
She smiled and waved goodbye. I wanted to ask her out for coffee,
hut couldn’t. I could shoot a basket from half-court three times in a
rmv but I could not ask a girl to come to the college cafeteria with me.
‘Basketball,’ I blurted out.
‘What?’
‘Want to play sometime?’ I recovered quickly.
‘With you? You’ll kick my ass,’ she said and laughed. I didn’t
know why she felt I would kick her rear end or why she found the
phrase funny. I joined her in the laughter anyway.
‘You play well,’ I said as we stood at her classroom door.
‘Okay, maybe after a few days, once we settle into classes,’ she
said. She walked in for her first English lecture. The joy at the
possibility of meeting her again made me forget I had a class. I wanted
to dance in the garden.
The bell for the first period rang. ‘This isn’t sociology, right?’ I
asked a clueless English student as he arrived late for his own class.
♦
‘You are good. Really good,’ she said as she wiped her face with a
towel.We had played a half-court game; I defeated her 20-9.
‘I’m hopeless,’ she said. She took a sip from her water bottle. She
wore a fitted sleeveless white top and purple shorts.
‘You’re fine. Just out of practice,’ I said.
She finished the water and shook the empty bottle. ‘I’m still
thirsty,’ she said.
‘Cafe?’ I said.
She looked at me, somewhat surprised. I kept a straight face.
‘You get good juice there,’ I said in an innocent tone.
♦
A swarm of students buzzed inside the cafeteria. Given that it was
lunch hour, it took us five minutes to get a table. They didn’t have
juice, so Riya settled for lemonade. I ordered a mince and cold coffee.
I realized both ol us had a problem initiating conversation. I couldn’t
talk because I didn’t have the confidence. She, given a choice,
preferred to be quiet. Silent Riya, I wanted to call her. I had to break
this deadlock if I wanted this to go anywhere. The waiter brought us
our food.
‘In Bihar, we have aloo chop, in which we sometimes stuff keema.
This mince is the same,’ I said.
‘What’s Bihar like? I’ve never been there,’ she said and pursed her
lips around the straw to sip her lemonade.
‘Not like Delhi. Simple. Lots of rice fields. Peaceful, apart from
cities like Patna.’
‘I like peaceful places,’ she said.
‘There are problems, too. People aren’t educated. There’s violence.
I am sure you’ve heard. Poor and backward state, as people say.’
‘You can be rich and backward, too.’
We had an awkward silence for two minutes. Silent Riya and
Scared Madhav.
Break the deadlock, I told myself.
‘So you live with your family in Delhi?’
‘Yes. A big one. Parents, uncles, cousins and a brother.’‘What do your parents do?’ I said.
A boy should make more interesting conversation with a girl. But a
loser like me had little experience or finesse in this regard.
‘Family business. Real estate and infrastructure.’
‘You are rich, right?’ I said. Idiot Madhav. Couldn’t think of
anything better.
She laughed at my direct question. ‘Rich in money, or rich in
mind? Two different things.’
‘Huh? Rich, like wealthy?'
'Unfortunately, yes.’
'What’s unfortunate? Everyone wants to be rich.’
'Yeah, I guess. It just embarrasses me. Plus, all the obsession with
money and how it defines you, I just don’t get it.’
I realized she and I came from different worlds. Perhaps it was a
futile battle to pursue her. Logically, practically and rationally, it made
no sense.
'Can I try your mince?’ she said.‘I’m hungry.’
I nodded. I asked the waiter to get another fork. However, before
he could get one she picked up mine and took a bite.
She took my fork, does it mean anything?
‘Where’s home for you?’ she said.
1 himraon. A small town, three hours from Patna.’
‘Nice,’ she said.
You will probably find it boring.’
'No, no, tell me more. As you can see, I’m not much of a talker. I
like to listen,’ she said. She seemed genuinely interested. I told her
about my life back home, revolving around my mother, her school and
basketball.There wasn’t much else. My father had passed away ten
years ago. He had left us a huge, crumbling haveli, a couple of fields
and many legal cases related to property. We had some servants, who
stayed in the haveli’s servant quarters more out of loyalty than their
paltry salaries.
My ancestors were landlords and from the royal family of Iiuinraon, the oldest princely state in British India. When India became
independent, the government took away our family estate and left us
with an annual pension that declined with every generation. My great-
grand-uncles squandered their money, especially since they all felt they
could gamble better than anyone else in the world. Several near-
bankruptcies later, the women of the house took charge as the men had
all turned into alcoholics. Somehow, the women saved the family pride
and the haveli. All of my cousins had moved abroad, and vowed never
to return. My father, the only one to remain in Bihar, held the last title
of Raja Sahib of Dumraon. Ten years ago, he had succumbed to a
cardiac arrest. My mother, Rani Sahiba Durga Jha, was the only
strong-willed person left in the family. She brought me up and
maintained the few farms left. She also tan the Dumraon Royal
School, which taught seven hundred kids from nearby villages, The
noise of air bubbles as Riya sucked up the last of her lemonade made
me realise I had spoken non-stop for ten minutes.
‘I'm boring you,’ I said, I vowed to stay quiet for a few minutes, It
had to be Silent Rlya's turn new, ‘Net at all,’
I smiled, ‘Now you speak, If you let me talk, I won’t stop,'
‘Okay, but wait, technically you're a prince, aren't you? Or are you
the king, Raja Sahib?'
I laughed, ‘There are no kings and princes anymore, Only
uneducated villagers talk like that,'
'But they do, right? Seriously, am I talking to a prince? Do they
address you as Prince?' She widened her eyes, Her award-winning
eyebrows moved up and down a little, ‘Sometimes they do, Listen, it's
not important, We're net rich or anything,*
‘You live in a palace?'
‘Haveli, It's like, well, a small palace, Anyway, I'm no prince, I'm a
Bihari boy trying to graduate, Do I look like a prince from any angle?’
‘C’mon, you are tall and handsome, You could be one, if you had
seme jewellery,' she said, She had said it in jest, but it was the first real
compliment she had paid me. Little cupcakes of happiness explodedinside me, ‘Did I, a commoner, just play basketball with the Raja Sahib
of Dumraon?' she said and burst into laughter, ‘I shouldn't have told
you,' I shook my head, 'C'mon,' she said and tapped my wrist, My arm
went all warm and tingty, ‘What about you? Which eighteen-year oId
girl comes to college in a BMW and calls herself a commoner?'
‘Oh, you noticed. That’s my dad's ear,*
‘You must be so rich:'
'My family is. Not me,'
As she spoke, three girls arrived at our table, “We’ve been looking
for you everywhere,' one of them said.
'Hey, girls’ Riya said. ‘Come, sit with us. Madhav. meet Garima,
Ayesha and Rachita, friends from my class, Girls, this is Madhav, my
basketball friend'
I realised my place in her life. Basketball Friend. Perhaps she had
friends for specific purposes.
The girls looked me up and down, down and up, checking me out.
'Not, bad, Riya,' Garima said and winked at her. The girls burst out
laughing and sat down with us.
‘Are you In the college team?' Rachita asked me. She wore a red-
and-black bandana on her head.
I nodded, nervous at their bold familiarity.
'Madhav has played state level,' Riya said and looked at me
proudly.
'Wow,' the girls said in unison,
'Would you like to order anything?’ I said,
The three girls froze and then began to laugh. It dawned on me that
they were laughing at me. My English had sounded like this: 'Vood you
laik to aarder anything?' I didn't know this was such a cardinal sin.
‘What happened?' I said,
‘Not a thing,' Garima said and stood up,‘Thanks, Madhav, we just
ate lunch, Hey, Riya, let's catch up later, yeah?'
The three girls left. We waved goodbyes,
‘What happened, Riya?’ I said.‘They're ditzy. Forget them,' she said
'Ditzy?'
'Silly and stupid, Anyway, I better leave too. My driver should be
here.'
We walked out of the eafeteria to the main gate. Her dark blue
BMW waited outside, ‘So I'm your basketball friend?' I said as we
reached the ear, ‘Well, that, and my lemonade-and-mince friend,'
'How about tea friend?'
‘Sure,’ She stepped inside the car and sat down. She rolled down
the window to say goodbye.
'Or a movie friend?'
'Hmm,'
‘What?’
‘Need to think about it.’
‘Think about what?’
‘Will the royal highness condemn me to death if I say no?’
I laughed. ‘I might.’
‘See you later, Prince,’ she said. The car drove off. '
I didn’t know if I was a real prince or not, but I had found my
princess.

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