‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine. Madhav, it is my choice. Nobody is forcing me. I want to
leave.’
‘Why?’
‘I never wanted to do this course. I don’t want to be near my sexist
relatives.’
‘You could finish your degree. Go abroad later to study. Why
marriage?’
‘I want adventure, travel and excitement. Rohan promises all that.’
‘Are you sure?’
'Yeah. He's crazy. He keeps me entertained. He’s also well settled.
Wh
at’s wrong with marrying him?’
‘He’s rich.’
‘So? Is that his only flaw? So am I.’
‘Not a flaw. Just an observation. He couldn’t wait for you to finish
college? He wants you to drop out?’
‘Well, he doesn’t care either way. It’s his family.They want him to
get married soon. My parents don’t want to risk losing a match like
him, too.’
‘Riya, nobody drops out of college like this.'
‘People abroad do it all the time.’
‘Not in India.’
‘Oh, come on. Most of India needs a degree to get a job and make
a living. I don’t need that, right?’
She wasn’t wrong. Losers like me need to study, else we have no
fu
tu
re. People who are born at 100, Aurangzeb Road can do whatever
th
ey want in life.
‘Even Rohan joined an MBA and never finished it.’
‘Is Rohan your boyfriend?’
We
ll, he will be my husband,’ Riya said.
‘That's not what I asked.’
'We are getting closer. Of course, I always called him Rohan bhaiya
when I was growing up, so it’s an adjustment,’ she said. She laughed at
her own joke. I wished someone had strangled Rohan at the ‘bhaiya’
stage. That bastard had seemed like trouble right from Riya’s party.
I wanted to say something sensible. I wanted to turn the tide even
somewhat in my favour. Of course, God had not given me the brains
to do so. Neither was my timing right. A girl giving you her wedding
card is basically like a giant ‘Game Over’ sign flashing in a video
game. It is not the time to say you want her back. Or that you love her
more than anything else on earth. I wondered if I should act
supportive.
I wondered if I should ask her about the preparations, or if she
needed any help. I stopped myself. I could not sink that low.
The situation reminded me of what my friends used to tell me.
I was indeed a toy. I felt like Woody from the movie Toy Story. In
th
e film, Woody, a neglected toy, cries alone because his owner grows
up and no longer plays with him.
‘Say something,’ she said.
You bloody bitch, my impulsive mind suggested. I controlled
myself.
Please don’t do this. I love you so much, said the emotional side of
my mind. I realized my head was a mess right now. Given my track
record, saying anything would only mean regretting it later.
‘What do I say? Surprised. Shocked. I don’t know.’
‘People normally say congratulations.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, but didn't congratulate her.
‘I hope we can move past whatever happened. We can, right?’ she
said.
I nodded.
‘You will come?’
‘Where?’
‘The wedding. I just invited you.’
I wanted to throw her over-the-top wedding invitation box-cumcard at her.
‘Let’s see,’ I said. I patted myself mentally. I had responded with
CHETAN BHAGAT - HALF GIRLFRIEND NOVEL
Re: CHETAN BHAGAT - HALF GIRLFRIEND NOVEL
more dignity than I thought I had. ‘Go fuck yourself’ would have been
a more natural response.
‘Please do come,’ she said.
‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ I managed to say one
more time.
‘I’m following my heart. That’s usually doing the right thing,
right?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes following your heart leads you
nowhere.’
I looked at her to see if she understood my sly comment. She did,
an
d gave a wry smile.
‘I am sorry, Madhav, if I hurt you.'
I nodded to reassure her that hurting me was no big deal. Pretty
girls have the right to hurt men. I found it hard to breathe. I switched
off the reading light. That way, in case I started crying, my tears would
not be visible.
I heard a knock on the car’s door.The driver was back.
‘Here, madam,’ the driver said. He handed her four packets of
Parle-G.
She passed the biscuits to me. ‘Please take them for Rudra. I’m
addicted to these. If I keep them in the car I’ll eat them all.’
‘You asked him to get it.’
‘Only so he would leave us alone.’
I kept the packets, my consolation prize. Rohan gets Riya. Madhav
gets biscuits.
I opened the car door and stepped out.
She stepped out from her side and walked up to me.
‘Bye,’ she said.
‘Bye, Riya,’ I said. It was hard to hold back my tears forever. I
wanted her to leave.
‘Hey, you forgot something,’ she said.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Your card.’
She reached into the car and handed me the evil red box once
again, with the cards and the chocolates. I somehow managed to hold
everything along with the biscuit packets.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I said. I wondered where the nearest dustbin was.
‘Take care then,’ she said and came forward for a basic goodbye
hug.
I stepped back. I didn’t want any more fake hugs.
She understood my hesitation and withdrew with grace. She smiled
at me one last time and slid into her car. The BMW slipped away with
its silent elegance, as if nothing had happened.
The car took a left turn from Hindu College and was soon out of
sight. I sat down on the road. The red box and its contents lay around
me, almost like hardened blood.
I cried. The desolate campus road meant nobody could see me. I
let it all flow out. Months of pain condensed into tears. A car passed
by. I probably looked like a Delhi beggar, complete with biscuit
packets around me.
After a while, I collected everything from the road and stood up. I
walked up to the dustbin outside the main gate of the college. I
removed the chocolates and biscuits and stuffed them in my pocket. I
th
rew away everything else.
Ev
en though I was in pain, I remembered the golden rule: if you
live in a hostel, never throw away food.
a more natural response.
‘Please do come,’ she said.
‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ I managed to say one
more time.
‘I’m following my heart. That’s usually doing the right thing,
right?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes following your heart leads you
nowhere.’
I looked at her to see if she understood my sly comment. She did,
an
d gave a wry smile.
‘I am sorry, Madhav, if I hurt you.'
I nodded to reassure her that hurting me was no big deal. Pretty
girls have the right to hurt men. I found it hard to breathe. I switched
off the reading light. That way, in case I started crying, my tears would
not be visible.
I heard a knock on the car’s door.The driver was back.
‘Here, madam,’ the driver said. He handed her four packets of
Parle-G.
She passed the biscuits to me. ‘Please take them for Rudra. I’m
addicted to these. If I keep them in the car I’ll eat them all.’
‘You asked him to get it.’
‘Only so he would leave us alone.’
I kept the packets, my consolation prize. Rohan gets Riya. Madhav
gets biscuits.
I opened the car door and stepped out.
She stepped out from her side and walked up to me.
‘Bye,’ she said.
‘Bye, Riya,’ I said. It was hard to hold back my tears forever. I
wanted her to leave.
‘Hey, you forgot something,’ she said.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Your card.’
She reached into the car and handed me the evil red box once
again, with the cards and the chocolates. I somehow managed to hold
everything along with the biscuit packets.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I said. I wondered where the nearest dustbin was.
‘Take care then,’ she said and came forward for a basic goodbye
hug.
I stepped back. I didn’t want any more fake hugs.
She understood my hesitation and withdrew with grace. She smiled
at me one last time and slid into her car. The BMW slipped away with
its silent elegance, as if nothing had happened.
The car took a left turn from Hindu College and was soon out of
sight. I sat down on the road. The red box and its contents lay around
me, almost like hardened blood.
I cried. The desolate campus road meant nobody could see me. I
let it all flow out. Months of pain condensed into tears. A car passed
by. I probably looked like a Delhi beggar, complete with biscuit
packets around me.
After a while, I collected everything from the road and stood up. I
walked up to the dustbin outside the main gate of the college. I
removed the chocolates and biscuits and stuffed them in my pocket. I
th
rew away everything else.
Ev
en though I was in pain, I remembered the golden rule: if you
live in a hostel, never throw away food.
Re: CHETAN BHAGAT - HALF GIRLFRIEND NOVEL
14
One year and three months later
'So tell us why you’re here,’ said a thirty-year-old man. He wore a
red tie and a crisp white shirt.
I was at HSBC’s placement interview, facing a panel of three
bankers. Each wore a pained and bored expression. They had heard
over forty Stephanians talk nonsense about their greatness. Each
candidate had solved all the problems India faced, redesigned the
bank’s strategy and promised to work harder than apartheid-era slaves.
Why do companies bother with such interviews? Perhaps it makes
them feel better to talk about the problems of the world, even though
the actual job involves sitting at a desk and punching formulas into
spreadsheets.
I had no answer for my panel. I didn’t know why I had applied to
them, or for any job at all. I hated Delhi. I flashbacked to my college
life. Yes, I’d loved it when I had first joined college. The first year had
gone by so quickly it had felt like a vacation. The second year was
painful, with Riya breaking up with me. However, she was at Itast
around. I could steal a glance at her every now and then, be rejected
every couple of months and still remember the good times. I had
something then that keeps people going during the worst times—hope.
I dreamt Riya would come around one day. She would realize I
was her perfect partner—in terms of height, basketball, mental
connect, how hours felt like minutes when we were together and how
little we cared about the rest of the world. She never did. She slapped
a wedding card on me and left. My Bihari gang had made me swear on
my mother I would never contact her again. I didn’t. She quit college
in a couple of weeks. She had a lavish wedding, Stephanians who
attended it said afterwards. I’m sure Rohan spent the colleges entire
annual budget on the wedding reception. I overheard that Riya had
gone to Bora Bora for her honeymoon. The name of the place sounded
like it was in Bihar. However, I googled it and discovered it was a set
of beautiful islands in the Pacific Ocean, some reachable only by
private plane. Which ruled out me going there and murdering the
groom.
However, the pain of the second year felt like a tickle compared to
the third year. Third year sucked. I had zero ability to get over her.
I couldn’t believe a girl who had left me a year ago had such a grip
on me. We had not even slept together. However, it mattered little. She
was the only girl I had played, walked, eaten, talked, studied and had
fu
n with. I had peeked into Silent Riya more than anyone else, or so I
th
ought. How could I forget her?
We
ll, I could not forget her from two years ago, but I had forgotten
the interview room 1 had entered two minutes ago.
‘I said, what brings you here?- the interviewer repeated and sipped
from his bottle of water.
‘Yes, sir. I am here because...’ I fumbled to remember the
company’s name.‘Because HSBC is a dynamic place to work in and I
want to be a part of it.’
Given my cut-paste answer, I thought he would splash his water on
my face. However, he didn’t.
‘Madhav Jha, right?’ said another member of the panel, reading my
resume.
‘State-level basketball, impressive. Shortlisted for national team
trials last year. Did you make it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why not?’
I hesitated for a second and then gave my answer. ‘I didn’t go for
the trials.’ Basketball reminded me of her. After she left, I never went
to the court.
‘Why?’ all three of them asked together.
‘I couldn’t. I was under stress.’
‘What kind of stress?’ said the first interviewer.
‘Personal.’
One year and three months later
'So tell us why you’re here,’ said a thirty-year-old man. He wore a
red tie and a crisp white shirt.
I was at HSBC’s placement interview, facing a panel of three
bankers. Each wore a pained and bored expression. They had heard
over forty Stephanians talk nonsense about their greatness. Each
candidate had solved all the problems India faced, redesigned the
bank’s strategy and promised to work harder than apartheid-era slaves.
Why do companies bother with such interviews? Perhaps it makes
them feel better to talk about the problems of the world, even though
the actual job involves sitting at a desk and punching formulas into
spreadsheets.
I had no answer for my panel. I didn’t know why I had applied to
them, or for any job at all. I hated Delhi. I flashbacked to my college
life. Yes, I’d loved it when I had first joined college. The first year had
gone by so quickly it had felt like a vacation. The second year was
painful, with Riya breaking up with me. However, she was at Itast
around. I could steal a glance at her every now and then, be rejected
every couple of months and still remember the good times. I had
something then that keeps people going during the worst times—hope.
I dreamt Riya would come around one day. She would realize I
was her perfect partner—in terms of height, basketball, mental
connect, how hours felt like minutes when we were together and how
little we cared about the rest of the world. She never did. She slapped
a wedding card on me and left. My Bihari gang had made me swear on
my mother I would never contact her again. I didn’t. She quit college
in a couple of weeks. She had a lavish wedding, Stephanians who
attended it said afterwards. I’m sure Rohan spent the colleges entire
annual budget on the wedding reception. I overheard that Riya had
gone to Bora Bora for her honeymoon. The name of the place sounded
like it was in Bihar. However, I googled it and discovered it was a set
of beautiful islands in the Pacific Ocean, some reachable only by
private plane. Which ruled out me going there and murdering the
groom.
However, the pain of the second year felt like a tickle compared to
the third year. Third year sucked. I had zero ability to get over her.
I couldn’t believe a girl who had left me a year ago had such a grip
on me. We had not even slept together. However, it mattered little. She
was the only girl I had played, walked, eaten, talked, studied and had
fu
n with. I had peeked into Silent Riya more than anyone else, or so I
th
ought. How could I forget her?
We
ll, I could not forget her from two years ago, but I had forgotten
the interview room 1 had entered two minutes ago.
‘I said, what brings you here?- the interviewer repeated and sipped
from his bottle of water.
‘Yes, sir. I am here because...’ I fumbled to remember the
company’s name.‘Because HSBC is a dynamic place to work in and I
want to be a part of it.’
Given my cut-paste answer, I thought he would splash his water on
my face. However, he didn’t.
‘Madhav Jha, right?’ said another member of the panel, reading my
resume.
‘State-level basketball, impressive. Shortlisted for national team
trials last year. Did you make it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why not?’
I hesitated for a second and then gave my answer. ‘I didn’t go for
the trials.’ Basketball reminded me of her. After she left, I never went
to the court.
‘Why?’ all three of them asked together.
‘I couldn’t. I was under stress.’
‘What kind of stress?’ said the first interviewer.
‘Personal.’