could still smell the burning fumes from Rohan’s Bentley long
after he had left. Or maybe it was my burning insides.
*
I had to talk to Riya. I decided to do it during Harmony, the annual
cultural festival of St. Stephen’s. It would be my final attempt to
rescue our friendship. The festival had various cultural competitions
such as choreography, music, debates and treasure hunts. Students,
including the day-skis, stayed in the college until late at night. Riya had already won the music competition in the solo English vocals category.
She was also taking part in Western choreography.
I took my place in the audience early, sitting in the front row facing
the makeshift choreography stage on the front lawns. Boys from all
over Delhi University had gatecrashed.They sat at the right vantage
points to ogle at the St. Stephen’s chicks. Some of these boys
resembled men back home. They spoke loudly in Hindi. They whistled
every time a pretty girl came on stage. Stephanians, of course, hated all this. We were way too dignified to express our lecherous feelings in
such a public manner. We ogled nonetheless, but in a dignified way.
A dozen girls wearing pink tights and silver-grey tops came on
stage. Riya, the tallest amongst them and the easiest to spot, stood in
the centre. Stage lights changed colours. A commentator spoke in a
husky self-important voice. He spoke about evolution and how all life
emanates from nature. It is stuff that sounds profound when you hear
it but is total bullshit when you look back and think about it.
Riya’s lean frame, athletic body and stunning looks meant most
men had their eyes on her. Of course, another girl with a massive bust
had her own set of fans.
As the commentator spoke his lines in a sexy voice, I rehearsed
mine in my head.
‘Riya, I think people deserve a second chance.’
Riya did cartwheels on stage with incredible grace. The crowd
burst into applause as she did a perfect cartwheel.
Inside my chest, my heart did the same.
‘Riya, not a day— not a day —passes when I don’t think of you,’ I
said to myself. I deleted it from my mental shortlist. It sounded too
keen. Girls are difficult. It is all about finding the right balance. You can neither be too pushy, nor come across as too cool to care. I suck at
this fine balance.
In the last act, Riya took a handheld mic and sang the two closing
lines about nature and how we need to protect it. Her clear and tuneful
voice earned a round of spontaneous applause.
The show ended. The girls came forward to take a bow. The crowd
cheered. I slipped out and then sprinted to the classroom converted
into a green room. Finger-combing my hair, I knocked on the door.
A female student peeked out.
‘What?’
‘I need to talk to someone.’
‘Sorry, only girls allowed inside.’
‘Is Riya Somani there?’
‘She is changing,Wait.’
I had little choice. I sat on a ledge opposite the classroom. I waited
for thirty minutes. A group of girls came out, giggling for no particular reason. Riya didn’t.
Forty-five minutes later, dressed in black jeans with silver buttons
and a tight black top, Riya stepped out. In a deliberate act, she took
brisk steps away from me.
‘Riya,’ I said.
She stopped. However, she didn’t turn towards me. Her hands
froze, as if uncomfortable.
‘Please,’ I said.
She semi-turned towards me.
‘Hi, Madhav.’
I stood squarely in front of her.
‘I want to talk. Five minutes,’ I said.
‘Anything important?’
'To me it is. Five minutes?’
'I'm listening.’
We stood in a dark corridor, facing each other stiffly, as it in
confrontation. It didn’t seem like the right place to talk. I saw her face.
She was still the most beautiful woman in the world to me. Even
though we were in the middle of what seemed like a world war, I
wanted to kiss her. That is how sick the male mind is. It can forget the
entire context of a situation and follow its own track.
'I
after he had left. Or maybe it was my burning insides.
*
I had to talk to Riya. I decided to do it during Harmony, the annual
cultural festival of St. Stephen’s. It would be my final attempt to
rescue our friendship. The festival had various cultural competitions
such as choreography, music, debates and treasure hunts. Students,
including the day-skis, stayed in the college until late at night. Riya had already won the music competition in the solo English vocals category.
She was also taking part in Western choreography.
I took my place in the audience early, sitting in the front row facing
the makeshift choreography stage on the front lawns. Boys from all
over Delhi University had gatecrashed.They sat at the right vantage
points to ogle at the St. Stephen’s chicks. Some of these boys
resembled men back home. They spoke loudly in Hindi. They whistled
every time a pretty girl came on stage. Stephanians, of course, hated all this. We were way too dignified to express our lecherous feelings in
such a public manner. We ogled nonetheless, but in a dignified way.
A dozen girls wearing pink tights and silver-grey tops came on
stage. Riya, the tallest amongst them and the easiest to spot, stood in
the centre. Stage lights changed colours. A commentator spoke in a
husky self-important voice. He spoke about evolution and how all life
emanates from nature. It is stuff that sounds profound when you hear
it but is total bullshit when you look back and think about it.
Riya’s lean frame, athletic body and stunning looks meant most
men had their eyes on her. Of course, another girl with a massive bust
had her own set of fans.
As the commentator spoke his lines in a sexy voice, I rehearsed
mine in my head.
‘Riya, I think people deserve a second chance.’
Riya did cartwheels on stage with incredible grace. The crowd
burst into applause as she did a perfect cartwheel.
Inside my chest, my heart did the same.
‘Riya, not a day— not a day —passes when I don’t think of you,’ I
said to myself. I deleted it from my mental shortlist. It sounded too
keen. Girls are difficult. It is all about finding the right balance. You can neither be too pushy, nor come across as too cool to care. I suck at
this fine balance.
In the last act, Riya took a handheld mic and sang the two closing
lines about nature and how we need to protect it. Her clear and tuneful
voice earned a round of spontaneous applause.
The show ended. The girls came forward to take a bow. The crowd
cheered. I slipped out and then sprinted to the classroom converted
into a green room. Finger-combing my hair, I knocked on the door.
A female student peeked out.
‘What?’
‘I need to talk to someone.’
‘Sorry, only girls allowed inside.’
‘Is Riya Somani there?’
‘She is changing,Wait.’
I had little choice. I sat on a ledge opposite the classroom. I waited
for thirty minutes. A group of girls came out, giggling for no particular reason. Riya didn’t.
Forty-five minutes later, dressed in black jeans with silver buttons
and a tight black top, Riya stepped out. In a deliberate act, she took
brisk steps away from me.
‘Riya,’ I said.
She stopped. However, she didn’t turn towards me. Her hands
froze, as if uncomfortable.
‘Please,’ I said.
She semi-turned towards me.
‘Hi, Madhav.’
I stood squarely in front of her.
‘I want to talk. Five minutes,’ I said.
‘Anything important?’
'To me it is. Five minutes?’
'I'm listening.’
We stood in a dark corridor, facing each other stiffly, as it in
confrontation. It didn’t seem like the right place to talk. I saw her face.
She was still the most beautiful woman in the world to me. Even
though we were in the middle of what seemed like a world war, I
wanted to kiss her. That is how sick the male mind is. It can forget the
entire context of a situation and follow its own track.
'I
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