Half Girlfriend Read online

  I don’t know why many things happened in my life, actually, so maybe this is all part of the crazy plan God has for me. Marriage, divorce and disease, all within a span of three years.

  The funny thing is, you came into my life at various stages too. Perhaps we were not meant to be. I must thank you for accepting me as a friend again, Madhav. I was so lost. I made mistakes, I held so much back from you and yet you cared for me. I know you wanted more, but I’m sorry I was unable to give it to you. The first time, it wasn’t the right time. The second time, well, I have no time.

  I couldn’t have asked for a better two months than those I spent in Patna. To be able to help you prepare for your speech was a wonderful and special time. The best part was that despite the challenge, you never quit.

  I asked you to stay back last night. I had no right to. I just felt greedy and selfish. I wanted more of your caring, while knowing I couldn’t give you anything in return.

  I know what I mean to you, and if I ask you to care without being able to reciprocate myself, you will. Hence, I decided to go. I won’t make it harder for you than it needs to be.

  I’m not one for details. Suffice to say, I have a little over three months left. The last month is supposed to be horrible. I will skip the gory parts. But trust me, you don’t want to know.

  You have something meaningful going on in your life. Your school is beautiful. And if Bill Gates does what I think he will, you will be able to make it even better. If that happens, I don’t want to be here diverting your attention. I have seen your love, I don’t want to see your pity. I am a basketball girl. That is how I want to stay in your mind forever. Your basketball girl.

  I shall leave you with your school and your mother. Meanwhile, in what little time I have, I plan to travel everywhere I can. In the last month, I will find a corner for myself in this world where I don’t bother anyone. Then I will go. You know what? On my last day, I will think of you.

  A good thing has come of my decision to leave here. I feel free enough to tell you everything. I don’t have to hold back or say the right thing anymore. For instance, it isn’t just you who had a sleepless night at my place. I never slept either. I thought of how hard it was going to be to leave you. Funny, I’ve never felt that way about leaving this world. But leaving you, yes, that is difficult.

  So, no crying. No looking for me. No being a Devdas. You are such a good-looking and caring guy, you’ll find a lovely girl. Someone who isn’t a mess like me. Someone who will love you like you deserve to be loved.

  I can’t wait for tomorrow. You will rock the stage.

  I want to end this letter by saying something I wanted to say to at least someone in this lifetime. So, here goes:

  I love you, Madhav Jha. I absolutely, completely love you. And will do so to my last day.

  Bye, Madhav. Take care.

  Riya

  My eyes welled up. Tears rolled down my cheeks. My limbs felt weak. I struggled to stand. The letter fell from my hands. I picked it up and read it again. Memories of me sitting in Riya’s car came to me. Images flashed in my head—her fancy wedding-card box, the glucose biscuits and her driving off. She had disappeared to get married then. She had disappeared to die now. In both cases, she had taken, to use a tough English word, unilateral decisions.

  I called her number again. This time it was switched off. Perhaps she was driving back to Patna and passing through a no-network area. Or maybe she had thrown away her SIM card.

  I went numb, like someone had hit me on the head with a hammer. Nothing mattered to me. The guests at home, the Gates Foundation grant, nothing. Riya had lung cancer, and she hadn’t even mentioned it. How could she do this to me?

  ‘Patna, go to Patna,’ I told myself. She would go home first, obviously.

  I ran downstairs to the living room. A crowd was gathered there.

  ‘Congratulations, Madhav bhai. What a speech you gave,’ said the sarpanch. He spoke Hindi and possibly didn’t know a word of English.

  ‘Hello, sir, I am from Dainik Bhaskar. We would like to profile you for our Sunday magazine,’ a reporter said.

  I found my mother.

  ‘Patna? Now?’ she said.

  ‘The Foundation people need me to sign some paperwork.’

  ‘I thought they went to Gaya for the other programme.’

  ‘Some of them did. Since they have announced the aid, I need to sign documents.’

  ‘Go after lunch. Right now we have guests.’

  ‘Ma, I need to go now,’ I said.

  My mother sensed something amiss.

  ‘Where is that divorceé friend of yours?’ she said. ‘Saree and what all she wore today.’

  ‘Her name is Riya, Ma. Not divorceé friend,’ I said, irritated.

  ‘I didn’t make her a divorceé.’

  ‘She’s dying,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  I told her about Riya being ill.

  ‘Poor girl. So young.’

  ‘I have to go to Patna.’

  ‘You are telling me or asking for my permission?’

  ‘I will call you,’ I said and left.

  Locked. That’s how I found Riya’s house. The neighbours had no clue.

  ‘Madam is strange. I have never had a client like this,’ said the broker, Hemant. I had called him in case he knew anything.

  ‘What happened?’ I said.

  ‘Where are you?’ he said.

  ‘At her apartment. It’s locked.’

  ‘Wait, I need to come there anyway.’

  Hemant arrived in twenty minutes.

  ‘She called me last night. She said the keys will be in her letter box,’ he said.

  ‘Keys?’

  Hemant and I walked over to the letter boxes in the building compound. He slid his hand in and drew out a bunch of keys.

  ‘When madam called me yesterday, she told me she was leaving town. Needs to surrender the house,’ Hemant said, panting as we climbed the stairs.

  ‘Surrender?’ I echoed stupidly.

  ‘I told her there is a notice period. Her security deposit will be forfeited.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said she didn’t care. She said the landlord could keep the deposit.’

  He unlocked the apartment. We went in. Her furniture and TV were all there. I went to the kitchen. Everything seemed to be in its place, from the condiments to the appliances. The utensils and the gas stove were still there. I went to her bedroom. I only found her clothes’ cupboard empty.

  ‘She’s left most of her goods here,’ Hemant said. ‘She said I could sell them.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘Really, she did,’ Hemant said, worried I might stake a claim. ‘Madam said I could sell these goods to cover any costs of breaking the lease or finding the landlord a new tenant.’

  ‘What else did she say?’ I said.

  ‘Sir, I can keep these things?’

  ‘Hemant, tell me exactly what she said. Did she say where she was going?’

  ‘No, sir. Sir, even the TV I can keep?’

  ‘Hemant,’ I said, grabbing hold of him by the shoulder. ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘She said she wouldn’t be coming back as she has quit her job.’

  ‘Did she say where was she going?’ I said, shaking his shoulder.

  ‘No, sir,’ Hemant said, looking scared. ‘Sir, you want some of these things? Really, I am not that type of person. She did say I could keep them.’

  I ignored him and went to the balcony. I looked down at the street. I took out the letter from my pocket and read it again.

  ‘I love you,’ it said at the end. I had read that line over a hundred times on my way to Patna.

  ‘Not fair, Riya,’ I said out loud, ‘not fair.’

  ‘Sir?’ Hemant came out to the balcony.

  ‘If you hear anything from her, her company, her friends or anyone, let me know,’ I said.

  ‘Sure, sir. Sir, I will move her items to a godown. I can wait for so
me time in case someone comes for them before selling them off.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said.

  34

  Chetan Bhagat’s room,

  Chanakya Hotel, Patna

  ‘You okay?’ I said.

  He had paused to wipe his tears. I gave him time. He bit his lip but it was a losing battle. Soon, he was crying like a two-year-old, his tall torso slumped on the chair.

  ‘I don’t know why I’m crying. It was a long time ago,’ Madhav said in between sobs.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Two years and three months. Three and a half months, actually.’

  ‘Since she left?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He excused himself and went to the toilet. I made two cups of green tea. We had finished our first cup of chai a long time ago. He came out in a few minutes. He had washed his face.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I lost it.’

  ‘Here, have some more tea.’

  I gave a cup to him. He took a sip.

  ‘What tea is this?’

  ‘Green tea.’

  ‘No milk? No sugar?’ he said. He looked at me like I was a vegetarian vampire.

  ‘It’s good for you,’ I said.

  ‘Is it? Anyway, thanks,’ he said.

  ‘So, Madhav. What happened then? You met the broker. You saw her empty house. Then? Did you try to find her?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I did. I called her company. They said she had submitted her resignation and left, letting go of all her benefits in return for a shorter notice period.’

  ‘When did she resign?’

  ‘A week before writing the letter to me.’

  ‘So she knew she was leaving?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. When she told me to stay that night, she knew it was our last night together. She had planned it.’

  He grew sad again.

  ‘What else did you do?’

  ‘I asked the company for the list of assigned doctors. I met them. They said Riya had come only once, when she first had a cough. After that she had preferred to consult with her family doctors.’

  ‘In Delhi?’

  ‘Yes. In fact, I went to Delhi.’

  ‘To look for her?’

  ‘I had to go there anyway, to complete the paperwork for the grant. I went to her house. She wasn’t there.’

  ‘You met her parents?’

  ‘Her mother. Her father had passed away a month ago.’

  He sipped his tea and turned silent.

  ‘Did her mother know anything?’ I said.

  ‘No. She knew less than I did. According to her, Riya had called her and said she might do a meditation course. That is why her phone wasn’t reachable, she told me.’

  ‘You told her about the cancer?’

  ‘Couldn’t. I didn’t have the guts to. I just expressed my condolences over her husband’s death and left.’

  ‘And you came back to Bihar?’

  ‘Eventually, yes. Before that, I called every top hospital in Delhi to ask about Riya. Nobody knew where she was. I contacted her family doctor. He hadn’t heard from her for years. I called her old friends from college. They had lost touch with her. I searched on the Internet; she wasn’t on Facebook or any other site. I tried contacts at phone companies. I called the major yoga ashrams in the country. Nothing.’

  His face fell. I could see he found this conversation difficult.

  ‘I tried for three months. I hoped she would call me one more time before she left this world. She didn’t.’

  ‘You’re okay now?’

  ‘I was okay. Until these journals popped up. For the last two years, I have focused exclusively on the school. The grant has made us one of the best schools in the area. You should definitely come to visit.’

  ‘I will. Madhav, you loved her a lot, didn’t you?’

  ‘She is the only girl I ever loved. I don’t know if it is a lot, or less than a lot. I do know one thing, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I will never love again. Ever.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Something is broken inside me. I don’t have the equipment or wiring or whatever one needs to fall in love anymore.’

  I stood up from my chair and went to the bedside table. He continued to talk, more to himself than me.

  ‘I have my school. I have my mother. That is my life.’

  I picked up the journals from the bedside table. I brought them to Madhav.

  ‘So how did you get these journals?’

  ‘Hemant called me. He had taken all of Riya’s stuff to the godown to sell it. However, he had missed a wooden box in the far corner of the kitchen loft. The loft was a storage space in the kitchen to keep dry groceries. A company took the house on lease after Riya. They used the apartment as a guest house. They almost never used the kitchen. Two years later, the company vacated the apartment and a family of four rented it. The lady of the family found the box and handed it to Hemant. Hemant, in turn, called me and handed me the box with the journals.’

  I placed the journals in Madhav’s lap.

  ‘Here,’ I said, ‘take these.’

  ‘Why? I said I don’t want to. I can’t.’

  ‘Just take them,’ I said in a firm voice.

  He kept his hand on the notebooks in his lap.

  ‘I have marked out six legible entries. You need to read them, buddy,’ I said.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he said and placed the books back on the dining table. ‘I told you, I can’t. I made myself get over her during these last two years. Now to read all this will only undo all that.’

  ‘Trust me, Madhav. You need to read them.’

  RIYA’S JOURNAL:

  Legible entry #1

  1 November 2002

  This journal is a birthday gift from me to me. It is my fifteenth birthday. Happy Birthday to me. I feel odd celebrating birthdays now. I am not a grown-up, but I don’t feel like a child either.

  They say people write secrets in journals. Should I write one down?

  They say I am so quiet. Silent Riya. Mysterious Riya. Shy Riya.

  I don’t answer them. All I want to say is, if you crush a flower before it blooms, will it ever bloom as bright later?

  I was not quiet as a child. I became this way. Dad knows I changed. Dad knows I remember everything. Still, he pretends nothing happened. I do the same.

  He hasn’t touched me for the last three years. He dare not.

  I don’t know why I did not tell Mom. Maybe I didn’t even know if it was right or wrong at that time. What could she have done anyway?

  Dad gave me a gold necklace today. I returned it. I find it difficult to talk to him. He tries to reach out, but I avoid him. He says I am still his daughter.

  I like writing in this journal. I am able to say things I never can otherwise.

  My brother is an idiot. So are Chacha ji and Taya ji’s boys. Spoilt brats, all of them. Just because they are boys, nobody tells them what to do. I hate these double standards.

  Yeah, this journal does allow me to vent. Good night, journal.

  Legible entry #2

  15 December 2005

  It’s over. We are over.

  Madhav and I, well, we never had anything as such. Whatever it was, it is over. He made me feel so cheap. All in Hindi. Crass Bihari Hindi. He’s sick. I should have known. What was I thinking?

  I actually hung out with him for a year. I let him kiss me. Yuck.

  My friends were right. He is an idiot gawaar. I must have had a phase of insanity. Why else would I have even talked to him?

  He was not fake, that’s why.

  But, all he wanted was to fuck me. Really, I know it sounds disgusting, but that is what he wanted. And imagine someone saying that to you in Hindi. Being told to fuck him or fuck off.

  Well, mister, I am fucking off, for good. How dare you talk to me like that? I feel like smashing his head on the basketball court.

  I told him I needed time. Lots of it. Well, he didn’t want to w
aste time. Because his main purpose was sex. So he could tell his friends he nailed this rich chick.

  Well, fuck off, says the rich chick.

  Legible entry #3

  4 September 2006

  I said yes to Rohan. Yes, a month ago, when the proposal had come, I had called it the most bizarre idea ever. Rohan bhaiya and me? Had my mother lost her marbles? He was my rakhi brother, for God’s sake. Not to mention I am just about turning nineteen and still in college.

  But today I said yes. Well, it has been an eventful month. First, the gifts that arrived from London every week. Louis Vuitton handbags, Chanel perfumes, Omega watches—Rohan sent them all, not just for me, but the entire family.

  My parents felt we may never get this good a match again. My mother said I didn’t need to study more as Rohan’s family was so rich.

  I still didn’t give in, until last night.

  Yesterday, Rohan came down from London to Delhi. He came down for just four hours, only to see me. None of our parents know he did. He came and picked me up from Stephen’s in the Bentley he keeps in India. We went for a long drive. He said he loves to travel, and I would make his best travel and life partner. He said he realized I was young, but I could continue to study in London. He had found out from Mom that I wanted to study music. He had brought a list of the top music schools in London with him.

  Later, he went down on his knees. He took out a blue Tiffany’s box. It had a giant three-carat diamond ring in it.

  ‘It’s still your choice,’ he said. He put the ring back in the box and handed it to me. Finally, he said, ‘Miss Riya Somani, the most beautiful person I know, inside and outside, since my childhood, will you marry me?’

  So, dear journal, what’s a girl to do?

  That night, I took out the ring from the blue box and put it on. I showed it to Mom. She’s still on the phone with Rohan’s mother, hysterical with happiness.

  I feel rushed, yes, but this time in a good way.

  Legible entry #4 (Set of several entries from London)

  4 April 2007

  I came to London in the middle of the academic year for music schools. Also, they are so hard to get into. I have to prepare, apply, give tests. It is going to take at least eight months.