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Dhruv interrupted Aranya. ‘And the
feminist rises to defeat all men, take
them as slaves!’
‘Ugh. It’s so hard to talk to you. Do
you even know what the term means?’
Aranya shot back.
‘Actually, I’m not interested. Are you,
Sanchit?’ asked Dhruv but Sanchit had
already walked to the other end of the
roof, a bottle dangling from his right
hand, singing to himself.
Dhruv crawled and sat next to Aranya.
Aranya looked away. Dhruv sat there
quietly for a while and they passed the
bottle between the two of them. Ideally,
Dhruv wanted to cry at her feet and ask
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her to not leave but he knew just that
wouldn’t be enough after all that he had
put her through. ‘Remember the time we
first met?’ asked Dhruv.
‘Clearly. You were standing at the
door of our class. You were late and the
teacher scolded you.’
‘Before that. It was the day when I
saw you near the ice cream cart. I know
you saw me laughing at you and that you
remembered that when you first talked to
me.’
‘. . .’
‘You still talked to me. Why?’
Aranya sighed. She closed her eyes. ‘I
was lonely.’
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‘You didn’t have to be nice to me. I
laughed at you and ran,’ said Dhruv,
guiltily.
‘It always helps to be kind. Humans
are hardwired to be nasty, vengeful
people and who would know better than
the two of us. We are programmed to
hate, to destroy, to be born pure and die
evil. We are a mob. So I was just being
nice . . . because it helps.’
‘It’s what I fell in love with, Aranya,’
said Dhruv and shook his head. He
reached out for the cigarette packet and
found it empty. ‘I will just get another
from my room.’ He waved the empty
packet.
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‘I’ll come with you,’ said Aranya and
they both walked towards his room.
Aranya found the cigarette packet under
a month-old pile of unwashed clothes
generously sprayed over with a strong
insecticide-smelling deodorant. She
tossed it to Dhruv. He lit one and took a
long, languorous drag.
‘That’s why it hurt so much when you
threw me under the bus,’ said Dhruv. ‘I
know, I know, you had your reasons but I
was twelve and I had fallen in love for
the first time. And the last.’
‘I’m sorry, Dhruv,’ said Aranya. She
sat on the creaky chair and leaned back.
‘Like you said, I really had no choice.’
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She drank from the bottle till it was
empty. She got up and kept it outside the
room.
‘This is all so fucked up. Can’t you
stay, Aranya?’
‘I can’t, Dhruv. There’s nothing to stay
for,’ said Aranya and sat on the bed next
to Dhruv. ‘I will have a life there. And
as you said, it’s all fucked up here.’
Aranya looked at Dhruv, her eyes glazed
over.
‘I’m here.’
Aranya laughed sadly. ‘For now, you
are, Dhruv. But what about tomorrow?
Day after? Forever?’
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‘But you will never be happy with
Raghuvir, will you?’
‘You overestimate love, Dhruv.’
‘No, I don’t. I spent three months in
love with you when I was twelve and the
wretched thing has followed me ever
since,’ said Dhruv, grumbling.
‘That’s so sweet,’ said Aranya and
pulled his cheeks.
‘I’m not a baby,’ said Dhruv and
looked at Aranya, her face hovering
around his. Dhruv held her gaze and
leaned forward.
‘Don’t do this,’ said Aranya even as
Dhruv’s lips almost touched hers.
‘Why not?’
They were kissing now. His lips were
on hers. She sensed his eagerness and
placed her hands on his shoulders to
push him away but she couldn’t. He
pulled her closer to himself. She wanted
to fight but she realized it was already a
lost battle. Dhruv’s kiss was more like
an assault, an amateur kissing for the
first time, and it almost took her by
surprise as she struggled to make sense
of the rapid and random movements of
Dhruv’s tongue and lips . . . and of what
was happening.
You’re a fucking dog, Dhruv could
hear the words echo in his brain as he
kissed Aranya in what would be the
worst kiss in the world. He realized
Aranya’s helplessness and the disarray
and slowed down a little. Slow. He told
himself and went soft on her.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ said
Aranya. She felt Dhruv backing off a bit.
Maybe his education obtained from porn
was giving way to what he had read in
Cosmopolitan or something. Aranya felt
like she should feel guilty but she didn’t.
Instead she thought of hypothetical
situations involving mad, passionate sex
between Raghuvir and Farah Iqbal. It
became quite tough when she felt
Dhruv’s hand creep up inside her T-shirt.
She felt more nervous, more conscious
than she had felt with Raghuvir. She felt
like a thousand cameras were trained on
her and were relentlessly capturing
every part of her.
‘Lights,’ she said.
Dhruv hopped off like an eager
monkey and switched off the lights. He
took off his T-shirt and walked towards
her. She had to blink twice to make
herself believe that those abs actually
existed and were soon going to crash
into the sea of fat that was her stomach.
‘I’m not sure about this,’ said Aranya
as Dhruv stripped her, slowly yet
dexterously.
‘Obviously, you are,’ said Dhruv and
kissed her everywhere. Aranya froze in
pleasure and embarrassment. How could
Dhruv like kissing the girl he had called
ugly all his life? She almost felt guilty
for looking the way she did. Dhruv
whispered in her ear, as he nibbled,
‘Plus, I won the bet, didn’t I?’
‘Fine,’ said Aranya and pushed Dhruv
over. She sat on Dhruv, unmindful of
how heavy she was, and dived into his
neck. ‘Just because we had a bet.’
‘Fuck. You’re hot,’ murmured Dhruv
as Aranya slobbered and sucked on his
neck.
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