ANTI-SOCIAL NETWORK by Piyush Jha

where the lift stood—he had suddenly smelt a hint of a fruity women’s perfume that lingered in the passage. An expensive fragrance such as this was alien to the environs of the building that housed middle-class Gujarati families, who were generally conservative when it came to using aromatics. He covered the last few steps to the end of the passage on tiptoe and peeked around the wall. A slender girl was waiting in front of the collapsible grill of the lift shaft, her designer leather handbag and matching leather high heels making it clear to him that she was the source of the expensive scent. She had her back to him and was engaged in the activity of punching the lift button again and again in the hope that the decades-old lift would make its way down. Akhbir’s eyes scanned her from head to toe—the thick strands of her streaked hair rested on her shoulders in the most perfect bunch of curls he had ever seen. Although she was wearing a salwar kameez, the cut could only be described as ‘sexy’. The top was fitted to enhance the contours of her body and flared just the right amount at the hips to encase her rear in a most alluring manner. Akhbir felt a familiar stirring in his loins.
    He pulled himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. Satisfied that he looked his best, he walked out of the passage and towards the lift. When the girl heard the shuffle of his feet and turned to look at him, Akhbir realized that he had been right about the cut of the dress: the plunging V-shaped neckline gave a clear view of the girl’s ample cleavage. Lingering long enough on it to get an eyeful, his eyes moved to the girl’s face. The playful smile at the corner of her mouth and the twinkle in her eye conveyed that she knew where his eyes had been, and that she was okay with it. Rapidly scanning his brain for the various options he had for an opening line, Akhbir finally chose, ‘The lift gets stuck if you press the button too many times.’
    The girl stopped punching the button immediately and replied, ‘Sorry, I didn’t know.’
    Akhbir smiled. ‘That’s okay. It’s your first time here, isn’t it?’
    She gave him a curious look. ‘How did you know?’
    Akhbir shrugged. ‘You didn’t know about the lift button.’
    The girl giggled in response. ‘Oh, of course. How silly of me.’ Her eyes locked themselves with Akhbir’s. By now, Akhbir was just a few feet away from her and for the first time, he saw that her features were vaguely north-eastern.
    ‘Have I seen you before?’ he asked.
    A hint of mischief played across the girl’s face. ‘Maybe at the SuperTrance nightclub. I’m a hostess there.’ She reached into a pocket, took out a colourful card and offered it to Akhbir. He took it, suddenly realizing that the girl was trying to connect with him. She then continued, ‘Although you might not recognize me there.’
    ‘Why not?’
    She pointed at herself and giggled. ‘I don’t wear such conservative clothes at the nightclub.’
    He smiled back at her while trying not to look back down at her ample cleavage again. The sudden sound of the lift starting on its way down to the ground floor distracted him. As it arrived, he eagerly pushed aside the collapsible grill and ushered the girl inside.
    ‘Which floor?’
    ‘Top,’ she replied.
    He punched the button that said sixth and then turned to her. ‘You’ll have to press the button for the seventh after I get off; this lift has its own rules.’
    She smiled back and they lapsed into an awkward silence. After a minute, she said, ‘So you live on the sixth floor?’
    He nodded. Desperate to continue the conversation, Akhbir asked the only question he could think of: ‘Have you come to meet a friend?’
    She looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘Yes, but I can be your friend, too.’
    This time he stuttered as he said, ‘Mmm…my name is Akhbir Singh Mann.’ He stopped himself from using his trademark line. Something told him that this