BHAD MEIN JAA! (GO TO HELL!)

You know, there are days when you want to attend all lectures, strictly refrain from bulldozing your friends into proxy-ing for you, sit and pay attention to the teacher’s every word, scribble notes from ‘initial time: 0’ to ‘final time: t’, get up at the end of the lecture, wish the teacher ‘good afternoon’, wait till she leaves, then sit down and wait for the next teacher to come…

And then there’s every other day…

But even though today was like every other day, it felt different. Me and my new world friends (i.e. friends at my new college, where I am doing BSc) came down the stairs and entered the canteen. We had actually sat for the first botany lecture (all five of us) and had had enough of our dose of teachers, classrooms, attendance and lectures and anything remotely related to studies. We were now free to enjoy the day…

‘Su layees?’ my Gujju friend asked her twin… and immediately there were echoes of the only Gujurathi words we knew. Several ‘su layees’es later we had finally decided on the usual items… one missal-paav for the twins, and one dosa, one wada sambaar and one packet of strictly American Cream ‘n’ Onion flavored Lays in sharing for the rest of us.

‘What the hell yaar! The lecture was exceptionally boring today, no?’ the usual chit-chat began.

‘If you will sit for the lecture after so many days, it will obviously be so boring,’ Trupti, the sincerest among us patronized.

‘Ae! Baas ha!’ (Hey! That’s enough!) We all know you are the mostest sincere gal among all of us,’ I said. ‘Now no need to lecture us.’ That evoked several supportive responses from everyone, and a predictable response from Trupti: fury. She hated it when I spoke wrong English… of course only to tease her.

‘What the hell yaar! You don’t sit for the lecture, and then you call sir names!’ she said indignantly.

‘Bh___’ I began to say something, but quickly stopped myself. God! Was it really true then, what my parents and friends and people who knew me said? I couldn’t speak one sentence these days without saying those three words I was trying to get out of the habit of saying.

‘Just go yaar!’ I said finally. I tore the packet of Lays open, and munched noisily on the chips.

‘No, but really, today was utterly boring,’ one of the twins, Rupal, jabbed in. ‘God! My head is aching as if it might split any minute! I so badly need to sleep…’ she said wistfully.
‘Yeah, it was boring,’ said Tejashree. ‘I never thought Shinde-sir could get so boring. Not a single smile! I was literally dozing off. At one point all I wanted to do was get up and leave the class, right on his face.’

‘Shut up!’ Rashmi, the other twin, said suddenly.

‘Ab tujhe kya hua?’ (Now whats wrong with you?)

But Rashmi only nodded. We all looked and saw our Vice Principal walking into the canteen.

‘What the hell! Why is she coming here?’ I mused aloud; and shut up immediately as Trupti elbowed me in the stomach, but not before threatening to murder her as soon as our Vice Principal was out of sight. As we looked at our Vice Principal, our eyes following her everywhere she went, we realised she was headed for the only empty table in the canteen, right next to ours.

This is whats called ‘luck’.

As she came in and sat down, our voices dropped, but the banter kept going.

But just then I sensed; something was going to happen.

Something huge.

Something bad.

I kept putting the thought out of my head. But it kept coming. And so did Trupti’s arguments. God! I so wished I had my camera with me to click a picture of Trupti; she was arguing like her life depended on it.

‘You know what? You have a problem with everyone! You find everyone boring! What the hell! Poor sir was unwell, did you see? His nose was red like a tomato and still he was teaching!’

‘So?’ I answered in a monosyllable.

‘So? What do you mean ‘so’? Our teachers do so much for us. The least we can do is appreciate it.’ Trupti’s voice was going up by a decibel with every word.

‘Ya! So when did I say ‘no’?’

‘Then how can you call him boring?’ she was almost screeching now, to her fullest; or rather to the fullest she could while she struggled to prevent our Vice Principal from hearing it.

And just then, even before I knew it, the dreaded words were out.

‘BHAD MEIN JAA!’

Sound of steel spoon clanking onto plate.

Five pairs of eyes turned in the direction of the sound.

‘Honestly, I can’t do a thing without being clumsy these days,’ we hear the Vice Principal say to another lady sitting in front of her.

I heave a sigh of relief. She hasn’t heard me.

Resumption of all activities.

Some moments pass.

Some minutes pass.

The Vice Principal finally looks like she wants to get up.

She gets up and turns to look at us.

She looks at me, straight at me.

‘Five minutes before I see you in my cabin,’ she says, and I gulp. Damn! So she did hear me! I don’t know what words she is going to shower upon me (I choose not to think about it) but I know one thing for sure… I am damned. Five minutes, or rather four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later (I have a digital watch) I am in her cabin.

‘Welcome!’ she says, with a smile.

Ok.

Either she is mad, or I am imagining things. I swallow. Man! She is angry and she is smiling... should I be scared or relieved?

‘Please take a sit Miss Mrunal Belvalkar…’ she says. I am taken aback to know she knows my full name. In case you are wondering, I am not used to trips to the Vice Principals cabin. ‘You want water?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Please,’ I add.

A peon appears out of nowhere and puts a glass of water in front of me. I gulp it down. I am about to wipe my mouth to the back of my sleeve, but I check myself and stop short of it. I remove a never-used napkin from my bag and wipe my mouth to it. The Vice Principal looks impressed. She gives me a minute; and I think how I am going to explain it to Dad, least to Mom. Man… what a soup I was in!

‘I guess you know by now why I have called you here, to meet me…’ the Vice Principal said.

I gulped and tried to smile.

‘I had never expected this,’ she continued. ‘Neither had I,’ I thought. What yaar! Why did she have to come and sit in the students’ area in the canteen? And on top of that, why did I have to say it in front of her? Daaaaamn!

‘Your parents will be very proud of you when they hear it,’ she continued. ‘And so am I proud of you.’

Hold it. Hold it hold it hold it. I was now convinced; our Vice Principal is officially mad.

Suddenly she got up. I too automatically got up. She came to my side from across the table and took my hand.

‘Congratulations. You have stood first in the college.’

SHIT.

‘Ma’am but___’

‘But what? Aren’t you happy?’

I try to absorb what she has just said. And then it dawns on me. Today is 27th December. Our results were going to be declared today afternoon! I realise her lips are moving… she is still saying something… but I can hardly hear her! About ten minutes I find myself walking out of her cabin and towards the canteen. My friends are still there.

‘Kya hua?’ (What happened?)

‘Abe bol na! Come on! Speak up!’

‘I am first in college.’

‘What?’

‘F*#@!’

And suddenly everyone (except the five of us) was concerned the roof of the canteen was going to blow up. Suddenly Trupti looked at her watch and said, ‘Oye! We must leave! Its Micro lecture!’ But all I did was wave my hand and shout:

‘BHAD MEIN JAA!’

THE MEETING

Just about two hours ago, I was an ordinary teenager, sitting in the canteen of her college, enjoying with her friends, and eyeing the few good-looking guys (read: extremely rare and almost endangered species) in the college as they came and went; and now, I was sitting in Barista, acting suave and grown-up, reading a book while I waited to meet him. Exactly after four years.

Recap.

We met. Became friends. Lost touch. Were back in touch (courtesy an old slam book and courtesy my efforts). He shifted to Bombay for higher studies. I still tried to remain in touch with him. One day I come to know he doesn’t really care to be in touch with me, and wouldn’t mind it (or maybe would be rather glad) if we didn’t talk, stay in touch.

I stopped contacting him.

But somewhere in the midst of all this, I fell in love with him. Truly. Madly. Deeply. And inexplicably.

Then why was I sitting in Barista waiting for him?

He was getting married.

Oh, didn’t I tell you? He is seven years older to me.

Yeah. Seven whole years older to me.

Still; why was I sitting in Barista waiting for him to come?

I couldn’t explain that myself. Jut about two hours ago I had received an SMS from him. Note: he still had my number.

But I tried to figure out whose number it was. Note: his number was not stored in my phonebook.

It may seem trivial, but this meant a lot. For me, a person who wasn’t in my phonebook was virtually dead.

The SMS read: ‘hi.m getin married on 2dec.u r invitd to d reception.venue central park junglee maharaj rd,time 7 to 9pm.pl b der.rgrds.’

My stomach lurched. And suddenly I placed the number; it was his number.

I had anticipated the arrival of this day so many times… and for so many days and months… and now that it was actually here, it numbed me. I was so totally unprepared. I didn’t know what to say!

‘hi.congrats.nice to hear frm u.thnx 4 d invitation.bt I dnt think I’ll b abl to mak it.of curs u knw,my wishes always wit u.’: my reply.

‘cm on.u hv to com.try n mak it.pl.’: his reply.

And I smiled. Laughed actually; a blushy girly laugh. And what I did next was totally mad; dumb, unexpected… incomprehensible. Unneeded.

I replied: ‘u hvnt chngd a bit.’

What was I thinking? Why did I have to do it? And then I knew he had changed! He had gone from the person I loved to the person I had come to utterly dislike now… I won’t say ‘hate’ because hate is a very strong word. I plead temporary insanity… no. Actually I plead nothing for getting myself into the situation I was in. But I guess, by that one SMS, he had transported me back to the time I was madly in love with him.

His reply: ‘bt u hv chngd a lot.’

My reply: ‘lemme assure u I hvnt.’

His reply: ‘hw abt letin me decide tht?coffee?1hr.barista.if u r free.’

My reply: ‘ok’

I don’t know what absurd moment it was when I agreed to meet him. God. Yes, I loved him. I mean, I used to love him. But I had just gotten out of him recently, of course with a lot of help from my old world friends, and this special friend… but more on that later. Anyway, so I had agreed to meet him within an hour, at a coffee shop I didn’t like, at a time I didn’t have coffee at, in a way I had never expected, and under circumstances I had never dreamt of.

Sigh.

I glanced at my watch for about the zillionth time. ‘Bridges On Madison County’ was propped open in front of me on the table, and for the first time, I wasn’t able to absorb into a book to get away from something. And just then I looked up; and I was staring at him.

Telepathy? Maybe…

Style check: he was wearing black jeans and a wine-red full-sleeved shirt, sleeves folded up to his elbow. Full marks. But… his hair was messy, his face was pimply, he had put on weight… God! I couldn’t help finding flaws in him. He had changed so much. And yet I had to go and type that SMS out and send it to him: ‘u hvnt chngd a bit.’ Mad. Totally mad!

But most of all, I noticed something that really ripped my heart out.

His smile was gone.

He spotted me and nodded. Wow! So he recognized me after all these years. But even as he smiled, I noticed yet again there was something strained about it; like he was making a Herculean effort to smile. I tried to smile back, but couldn’t. How? Why? What had happened? I kept wondering. He came and sat down at the table.

‘Hi!’ he said.

‘Hi…’ I replied.

‘Let’s order first and then talk,’ he said, and picked up the menu card. ‘I’m hungry.’

He went on to study the menu card, I studied him till then.

‘I don’t know,’ he said suddenly. ‘I never come here. You say, what do you want?’

‘I never come here either,’ I said. ‘But I guess espresso is the same everywhere. I’ll go for an espresso.’

‘Black coffee? You like black coffee?’ he asked, as if I had ordered for poison.

‘Yes, and without sugar,’ I added, quite bitterly too. Suddenly I was cursing myself for ever having agreed to meet him. The only thing I wanted to do was get up and leave. The hatred, the disgust… the hurt… it was all coming back, gushing into my mind with a force I couldn’t counter.

‘Hmmm… I didn’t know that....’ he said. A boy came to take our order. He placed the order. The boy left.

‘So… how is college? You are in, what… second year now?’ he asked.

‘Yes; and college is going great,’ I replied.

‘Modern right?’ he asked. Modern as in, the name of my college.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘And you are doing science I guess…’ he said. ‘An intelligent and talented girl like you would be wasted in commerce or arts.’

‘Yes I am doing science. But I do have second thoughts about my decision sometimes,’ I reply truthfully. ‘There are so many things I would have liked to do, if I had the time to.’

‘Like?’

‘Oh, like lots… drama, for starters; music, and maybe photography too.’

‘Which reminds, I saw your album on Orkut. It’s brilliant.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, just as our order came. I eagerly took a sip of my coffee and burnt my tongue.

‘Aaah!’ I exclaimed.

‘Careful!’ he exclaimed, and reached out to wipe my mouth with a tissue paper. I moved back. There was an awkward moment. I wiped my mouth and set the cup back on the table. I took a sip of water. Suddenly I saw he was smiling.

‘Ajunahi tashich ahes, wendhali,’ he remarked (You are still the same, careless.)

I kept quiet.

‘So where were we? Right! Photography. ‘

‘Yeah.’

‘I love the stuff you have put up on Orkut.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And drama you said?’

‘Yes.’

‘I didn’t know you had a liking for drama.’

‘I am an artist at heart after all… and drama has always fascinated me.’

‘But English drama doesn’t have much scope___’

‘Marathi drama I mean.’

‘Marathi drama? Wow! That’s great.’

Pause.

‘And what about painting? You used to sketch right?’ he asked.

‘Yes. But I realised it isn’t my cup of coffee.’

‘Strictly without sugar.’ He remarked, and for the first time, we both laughed together. Genuinely.

‘You tell me about yourself,’ I said. I was beginning to relax, just a little, but still…

‘Nothing yaar,’ he said. He tore the packet of sugar open and poured it into his cup. He picked up the spoon and stirred it. ‘Same old life.’

‘Yeah right. You are getting married and nothing’s new. Same old life.’ I said. He didn’t respond. I changed the topic. ‘How many days are you here?’ I asked.

‘Leaving today evening,’ he said. ‘Anyway, majha sod. (Forget about me.) You say yaar. What are you doing? I mean, what are your future plans like?’

‘Well, I will do my graduation in Microbiology.’ He raised his eyebrows at this. ‘And then, I will go abroad and complete post-graduation. I want to do research.’

‘Wow! That’s great… so I am sitting with a future scientist.’

I smiled.

Pause.

‘Mrunal please talk to me.’

My spoon fell out of my hands and right into the cup, sending small droplets of coffee flying around.

‘Oh God! I am so sorry…’ I said, as I took a tissue and wiped the coffee off his hand and mine. He waited for me to finish. I made as if I hadn’t heard him. He repeated: ‘Come on. Talk to me.’

‘I am talking to you,’ I said.

‘You are not.’

‘Come on, honestly. You are imagining things.’

‘Kunala banavtes Mrunal, mala?’ (Whom are you trying to fool Mrunal, me?)

Pause.

‘Why have you come to meet me?’ I finally came out of the closet and asked him the question I was burning to ask. And I can see he has been waiting to hear it too.

‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘Talk to me about what? You didn’t want to be friends with me right? Mi sodla tula, (I left you) then what do you want to talk about now? Haven’t you had enough of me? God!’ I held my head in my hands. ‘Why did I even come to meet you…’ I said, in a low, tired voice. ‘This whole meeting is a bloody mistake…’ I blinked as I realised my eyes were welling up with big fat tears… and I thought I was done with crying over him, crying for him. He waited for me to compose myself. I could feel his gaze on me. I took my own sweet time. Finally I looked up, but not at him. I lifted my head and looked out the window. My eyes were still a bit watery. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his was feeling it… my pain, my anger. And somewhere… it stung him.

‘I wanted to tell you something,’ he said. ‘And I must tell this to you before I get married. Or I never will… I know I won’t.’ He took a deep breath.

‘Frankly, I don’t know where to begin. I have always imagined this moment, when I would tell it to you. But now that the moment is actually here, I don’t know what to say… When we were together at the fitness centre, I was aware of your feelings for me. I knew you used to like me. Even after I shifted to Bombay for studies and job and all, you still kept in touch with me. And every time we talked, I felt it. And I even felt you were trying to hide it. You were trying to not let it show. But, good or bad, I saw through it. I am a PRO after all… we are taught to read people’s body language as part of our training. So yes, you tried your best to hide it, but I found out anyway. And that is how I started avoiding you… But I am sure you think I started avoiding you because I didn’t want to be friends with you… because you were too small to be my friend, and I was embarrassed when you called in front of my friends. But its not so. The truth is…’ he paused; took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye. ‘The truth is I was afraid of making a choice. I was afraid of taking a decision, of taking an action. And I regret it now.’

I was stunned. I looked at him. Right there, right then all I wanted was to get up and hug hum. I felt so many things at a time. I felt… naked. I felt insecure about the fact that someone knew me so well… and yet, it was heady. I was petrified and ecstatic at the same time. Was he implying that… that he loved me too? Even saying it to myself made me feel so strange.

‘Even if you don’t believe me, it’s true. I regret not having done what I wanted to do; not having done what felt and still feels, and will always feel the right thing to do. I can’t imagine what I put you through… and I just wanted to say, tujhyat kahich kami nahiye, mich kami padlo.’ (There is nothing lacking you, I was the deficient one.)

By now I had started crying… tears were rolling down my cheeks in a continuous stream. I imagined what life could have been if he had had the courage to come up to me and say yes he loved me too; and as I did, I realised what I had been deprived of; what we had both been deprived of.

‘I know this doesn’t help in any way, but I just had to tell you this. I knew I just had to. But if there is any way you could forgive me… I would be extremely humbled.’

But I realised… how could I blame him for not having the courage to speak up? Can you blame someone for not being strong enough to do something? Yes it hurt a lot. At one point, all I wanted to do was die or kill him. But was it really his mistake? Could he be held responsible for all that happened? It was neither his fault, nor mine. And in that one moment I realised how big the word ‘fate’ is. I used to think I was so terribly wronged. And here was a guy who, just because he didn’t have the courage to do something, was now asking me to forgive him; thinking it might be his ultimate penance. Who was I to forgive him?

But he deserved it.

‘Its ok,’ I said quietly, ‘I forgive you.’

And just then, just like that, he got up, hugged me, and said something I would have loved to hear before, something that would have satisfied my ego and made me immensely happy some time ago, but something which tore my heart from my chest now as he said it. He hugged me and said;

‘I am sorry.’

ORKUT MATRIMONY

So this is how Indian mothers’ brains functioned.

Correction.

So this is how Indian mothers’ (whose daughters are doing BSc and whose daughters have only GUY friends, but only guy FRIENDS on Orkut) brains worked; although it wasn’t surprising. I knew it already___ the functioning of individuals belonging to this dangerous and seemingly unrealistic category. So where’s the catch?

I didn’t know my mother belonged to this category.

Yeah… what was I thinking? Wasn’t I also doing BSc? And didn’t I also have only GUY friends, but also only guy FRIENDS on Orkut? Sigh…

I had just been talking to my friend S___ no no, hold it; at least I can save him the embarrassment, right? Let’s call him… ummm… ok, yes. Let’s call him Neel. So I had been just talking to my friend Neel, for over 20 minutes now. In case you are wondering, let me tell you, this isn’t long. We had recently gotten into the nightly ritual of calling each other up, and talking till all the lights in the neighbourhood went out one by one. (Yeah, even the one in the ‘newly-married-and-still-in-marital-bliss’ couple’s house.) I got off the phone and came out into the drawing room to have a glass of water before I went off to meet Richard Gere and do things… of course in my dreams, what did you think? And there was mom, playing solitaire on the computer; waiting for dad to come back home.

‘Who was it?’ she asked.

‘Neel,’ I replied non-challantly.

‘How is he doing?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ I said, and sat down on the sofa. Yes, it was eleven-thirty; and yes, I had chemistry-practical next day morning at eight; but Mom looked like she could use some company.

Pause.

Long pause.

Maybe she didn’t need the company after all. It was just a passing comment. I made to get up and leave.

‘How old is he you said?’

‘What?’ I asked, a bit lost.

‘Neel. How old is he?’

‘I don’t know… maybe 23-24.’ Ok yes. The guy was my best friend. But we never discussed trivial things like age… we had a lot of other worldly things to talk about, right? But just then I began wondering… really how old was he? I didn’t know the age of a guy who was the only other person besides my old-world friends (that is, my friends from junior college; we were six of us, and all six in six different colleges and six different fields now) whom I’d told about my ex-boyfriend. And soon the questions just kept coming… What was his favourite colour? What was his favourite food? What was his best-friends name? And they gave me enough substance to talk about the next time we talked, which is to say, tomorrow night.

‘What has he studied?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Honestly, are you awake, or have you walked till here in your sleep?’

‘No, I am awake. I was just thinking.’

‘About Neel?’

‘Yes. I mean no. I mean… anyway, what were you asking?’ I said, shaking my head, and looking at mom’s face in profile. And just then I saw something___ something that sent my sleep to the dogs.

Mom was smiling.

Ok, she was smiling… again; so where is the catch?

She was smiling coy.

BOLLOCKS.

She was smiling in an ‘aw-look-at-my-daughter-all-grown-up-and-falling-in-love’ way. God! Help! SOS! Was I witnessing proof to the existence of the kind of dangerous and seemingly unrealistic category I previously talked about? Or more so proof to the fact that my Mom belonged to this category?

I imagined a thousand ways in which things could have proceeded after my phone call with Neel, had I not felt like my life depended on that glass of water I just had to have before I met Richard. (Oh, I told you, Richard Gere.)


a) I get off the phone and come to the drawing room to drink water. Mom is playing solitaire on the computer. I say ‘Good-night’, walk back to my room and sleep.
b) I get off the phone and come to the drawing room. Mom is fast asleep in her room. I hear her snore. i walk back to my room and sleep.
c) I get off the phone. I get into the bed and sleep.

But no. I had to come out. I had to come out; I had to sit to give Mom some company while she waited for dad to come, and I SIMPLY HAD TO get myself into this situation. Why couldn’t dad be on time for once?

‘What has he studied?’ Mom repeated. But this time, I heard her alright. I was now red-alert; antennas going round in wild circles.

‘MBA Finance.’ I answered.

‘Where does he work?’

GOD NO! PLEASE HELP ME!

‘Citi Group.’

By now I was trying to remember the last time I had prayed. My mind went back to when I was in school. Suddenly I was chanting ‘Lead Kindly Light’ in my head.

‘Is he alone?’

‘No, he has a younger sister. She is doing Engineering, first year.’ I provided mom with all the details even before she asked me. That’s what happens to me when I panic. People freeze; people go weak in the knees; I resort to non-stop, and often non-sensical blabbering.

And then came the final blow.

‘Has he thought of marriage?’

BOLLOCKS. EFFING BOLLOCKS.

Suddenly the sky darkened. Ok ya, it was already almost mid-night now, but I want to make this dramatic. So; suddenly the sky darkened, and I saw myself seated on an over-sized throne. I was wearing a red sari. Aargh. Aargh! Me? Red SARI? RED Sari? These words weren’t supposed to go together in one sentence; maybe atleast till I turned thirty. But that’s what I saw; me seated on an over-sized throne, wearing a red sari, and lots and lots of jewellery. And next to me was Neel, dressed in a navy blue suit and looking handsome.

Wait.

Did I just say handsome? Yes, I did! Oh my God! Mom was passing it onto me now! Let me just give you Neel’s character sketch in one line: he is not the kind of guy I’d actually get the hots for, ever! But if I were thirty and if someone suggested his name as a possible suitor for me, I wouldn’t have a good solid reason to say no.

Yes, he was looking handsome. And there was his sister, standing next to him, guarding his shoes. And there were his parents, looking onto me, their lovely bahu. And there were his friends, giving him thumbs-up every time he looked at them and secretly envying him. And there were my old-world friends, wondering if it was really Neel sitting next to me. And there was my Mom, dabbing here eyes every once in a while. And there was Dad at the door, welcoming the guests and they came with bouquets. Neel was leaning in to say something. Whatever it was he said made me go from pink to red to crimson in my cheeks.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I was back in the drawing room. Mom was still playing solitaire. ‘Mom, why are you doing this to me?’ I thought. But I could already see my doom. Career gone. Research plans ruined. Speed-dating plans ruined. And Richard! I just chose not to think about him.

‘I don’t know…’ I found myself saying. ‘we never talked about marriage!’

Pause.

‘But, why did you ask?’ I asked.

‘Mangal-maushi is looking for a match for Saili na… So I was just thinking. Maybe she could___’

But I wasn’t listening anymore… Ah! There was still goodness in the world! God existed! I was alive! Hallelujah! Long live the King! Long live the Queen! Long live Mom!

I did a mini-jig inwardly. But I was careful enough not to show it. I got up, kissed mom goodnight, and walked back to my room. I went through my stuff and finally found my iPod. I switched it on, turned the volume full, scrolled through the playlist and pressed the play button.

My mom did NOT belong to the dangerous and seemingly unrealistic category...

It was time to celebrate.