The 3 Mistakes Of My Life (23 page)

'The coil is not working,' I said as I came up, 'I see a mozzie party on top of your

head.'

'Mozzie?'

'It is what they call mosquitoes in Australia,' I said.

'Oh, foreign returned now. How was Australia?'

'Great,' I looked at her. I tried to be normal. I couldn't, not after that call. I had

opened my cards already. No matter how close I held them to my chest now, she.

had seen them.

I noticed her dress. She wore a new purple and white bandhini salwar kameez

today. Her necklace had a purple teardrop pendant and matching earrings. She

had freshly bathed. Her hair smelt of a little bit of Dettol soap and well, her.

Every girl has a wonderful smell right after a bath. I think they should bottle it

and sell it.

'You brought my gift,' she said to break the pause, or rather to fill up the

silence as I checked her out.

'Yeah,' I said.

I stood up to take out the match box from my jeans pocket.

'Blue Orange Cafe, cool,' she said. She took the box and slid it open with her

thin fingers.

'Wow, an Australian beach in my hands,' she said. She held it up with pride as

if I had presented the queen's stolen diamonds.

'I feel silly. I should have brought something substantial,' I said.

'No, this is perfect. Look there is a tiny shell inside,' she signalled me to lean

forward. Our heads met in a dull thud as we looked into the matchbox's contents.

Her toes touched mine as we inched closer.

'Ouch,' she said as she pulled her feet away.

'What?' I said.

'Nothing, the mosquito coil,' she said, 'I touched the hot tip.'

I sat back upright. Water droplets had passed from her hair to mine. Half the

mosquitoes hovering over her head had shifted over to mine as well.

'Why am I so cheap?' I said.

'It’s fine. The call would have cost something.'

'Yeah, five dollars and sixty cents,' I said and regretted talking like an

accountant the next second.

'There you go. Anyway, life's best gifts are free,' she said and pulled her hair

back to tie them with a rubber band.

I nodded. Ok, enough is enough, my inner Mr Logical told me. Time to study.

I opened the books. She asked the dreaded question. 'So how come you called?'

'I told you,' I mumbled.

'Did you really miss me?' she said and put her palm on my hand.

I pulled it back in reflex. She looked surprised.

'I am sorry, Vidya. I shouldn't. I have my business to focus on and this is really

not my thing, but...,' I said and turned away. I couldn't talk when I looked at her.

Or rather, I couldn't talk when she looked at me.

'It's ok, you don't have to be sorry,' she said.

'It's not ok. I don't have time for emotions,' I said in a firm voice, 'and this is

not the place anyway. My best friend's sister? What the fuck ... oops, sorry.'

She giggled.

'Be serious, Vidya. This is not right. I am your teacher, your brother trusts me

as a friend, I have responsibilities - loans, business and a mother. You are not

even eighteen.'

'Two months,' she wiggled two fingers. 'Two months and I will turn eighteen.

Time to bring me another nice gift. Anyway, please continue.'

'Well, whatever. The point is, significant reasons exist for me not to indulge in

illogical emotions. And I want...'

She stood up and came to my side. She sat on the flimsy armrest of my plastic

chair.

She put her finger on my mouth. She cupped my face in her palms.

'You don't shave that often eh? Ew,' she said. She threw a tiny spit ball in the

air.

'What?' I said and looked at her.

'I think a mosquito kissed me,' she said and spit again, 'is it still there in my

mouth?'

She opened her mouth and brought it close. Her lips were eight millimetres

apart from mine.

Soon the gap reduced to zero. I don't know if I came towards her or she came

towards me. The tiny distance made it difficult to ascertain who took the

initiative. I felt something warm on my lips and realised that we have come too

dose, or maybe too far.

We kissed again. The mosquitoes on our respective heads re-joined.

I'd love to say I saw stars and heard sweet, music during my first kiss. But the

dominating background sounds were (a) Vidya's mom's pressure cooker whistle

from downstairs in the kitchen, (b) the campaign sounds from the autos of

various parties for the upcoming elections and (c) the constant buzz of the

mozzies. But when you are in the middle of a kiss, sound and sight get muted I

checked once to see if the other terraces were empty. Then I closed my eyes.

'Vidya, what are we doing,' I said, not letting her go. I couldn't stop. Probability,

algebra, trigonometry and calculus - the passion held back in all those classes

came blazing out.

'It's fine, it's fine,' she kept reassuring me and kissing me.

We broke away from each other because even passionate people need oxygen.

She looked at me with a big grin.

I packed my pens and books. No maths tonight.

'Why aren't you making eye contact?' She remarked, mischief in her voice.

I kept silent.

'You are older than me and a hundred times better than me in maths. But, in

some ways, I am way more mature than you.' 'Oh, yeah?' I challenged weakly,

collecting the textbooks. She pulled my chin up.

'I am turning eighteen. I can do whatever I want,' she said. The loudspeaker of

a campaign auto continued in the background. 'I can vote in that election,' she

continued, 'I can have a bank account, I can marry, I can...'

'Study. You can also try to get into a good college,' I interrupted

her.

She laughed. We stood up and walked over to the watertank on the terrace. We

leaned against the tank and saw the sunset. We talked about everything other

than maths. I told her about the academy, the dinner with Fred, the blue

Australian sky and the loamy water on Bondi beach.

She listened in excitement. She said she wished she could have a home on the

beach and how she would colour the walls inside pink and yellow. It is amazing

how specific girls can get about hypothetical scenarios. 'Want coffee?' she said.

'You'll have to go down?' I said as I held her hand on instinct. A voice in me

still protested, but now that voice had no volume.

'No, I have a secret stash under the water tank. Come,' she said and pulled at

my hand.

The five feet cubical cement water tank was raised from the ground on

reinforced concrete pillars. Between the tank and the ground, there was a gap of

four feet We could sit on the ground under the tank.

'This is my favourite place since I was a kid,' she said. I bent on my knees and'

slid inside, following her. She pulled out a picnic basket. It had a thermos flask,

red plastic cups and Marie biscuits.

'Welcome to Vidya's rooftop cafe" sir,' she said and passed me a cup.

I looked at her. She is too beautiful to study maths. Maths is for losers like me.

I took a sip. My lips still felt the sensation of her lips. I rested on my elbow but

the concrete surface hurt.

'I'll get cushions next time,' she said. 'It's fine,' I said.

We finished our coffee and came out. We switched on the terrace bulb. I flipped

through the textbook to forget the kisses and coffee. The symbols of integration

looked dull for the first time in my life. At one level, maths does suck.

'Thanks,' I said.

'For what?' she said.

'For the coffee and the ... you know.'

She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. 'Thanks for the gift, the gift of true

close friendship.'

True-close-friendship, another hyphenated tag. It meant progress.

I came down the steps passed through the living room on the way out.

'What a good, responsible boy. Ish hasn't learnt anything from him,' Vidya's

father was saying to his wife as I shut the door behind.

★

I could have done my accounts much faster if I didn't have the parallel SMS

conversation. My phone beeped a fifth time.

'Who the hell are you SMSing?' Omi asked from the counter.

It was six in the evening, almost time to shut the shop. Ish had gone to one of

the KVs and Omi had to leave soon for the evening aarti. Two dozen invoices,

notebooks, pens and a calculator surrounded me.

'Nothing, I am bargaining with a supplier,' I said. I turned the phone to silent

mode.

'Call him,' Omi said.

'I'll look desperate. I'd rather he calls first.'

'Do the accounts first, Govind. So many unpaid orders, it is a complete mess,'

Omi said, popping a candy from the jar into his mouth. I let it pass. Anything to

get his mind off the SMSs.

My phone flashed again.

itz my bday.

i celebr8 my way.

u'll get cake or not??

I had saved Vidya's number as 'Supplier Vidyanath' in my phone, in case

anyone picked it up. Also, I deleted her messages as soon as I read them.

'I hope you are staying away from Ish's sister?' Omi said. My hands froze as I

manipulated the messages. I told myself,
It is a coincidence. Omi doesn't know

who I am messaging to. Be cool.

I replied to the SMS.

Ok, u win. will get a small 1

now let me work, you study 2 

I kept the phone aside. Smiley faces had entered my life.

'I teach her, Omi. Just a few months for her entrance exams,' I said. I dug

myself deep into the paperwork.

'Does she...,' Omi began.

'Can I do the accounts or should we gossip about my students?' I glared at

Omi.

Mama came running to our shop. 'Switch on the TV fast.'

'Two planes crashed into the World Trade Center Twin Towers located in New

York,' the BBC news channel reader said. The live visual was incredible even by

sci-fi movie standards. The hundred-storey tall twin towers had deep incisions in

the middle, like someone had cut through loaves of bread.

'Two planes in a row suggest a planned .terrorist attack,' a military intelligence

expert said on the TV. 'The world will never be the same again,' the Israeli prime

minister said.

We half-closed the shutters. Everyone in the temple gathered around TV sets

where the towers crumbled down again and again in replay. Smoke, soot and

concrete dust filled the streets of New York. Reports said thousands may be dead.

'What the...,' Ish said as he returned to the shop.

'Muslim terrorists, I guarantee you,' Mama said as his phone rang. He saw the

number and stood in attention.

'Parekh-ji?' Mama said, his voice subservient.

I couldn't hear Parekh-ji's words.

'I am watching it,' Mama said,'They are turning into a menace Yes, yes sir we

are ready for the elections Parekh-ji, yes,' Mama said, wiping sweat off his chest,

'Belrampur is not a problem ... yes, other neighbourhoods need work but you

know Hasmukh-ji. He doesn't spend as much time...'

Bittoo Mama stepped away from us. Parekh-ji gave him tips on the elections

next week.

Later at night, pictures of the first suspects were released. Four Muslim boys

had joined a flying school a few months back. They had hijacked the plane using

office box cutter knives and caused one of the most spectacular man-made

disasters of the world. A stick-thin old man called Bin Laden released an amateur

video, claiming it was all his big idea.

'What's up?' Omi asked Mama as he ended his call.

'Hasmukh-ji takes everything for granted. He doesn't pound the streets of his

constituency.'

'Parekh-ji is not happy?' Omi said.

'He is fine with me. He isn't too worried. The bye-election is only for two seats

in Gujarat The real elections are next year.'

'Mama, so next year,' Omi said and patted Mama's back, 'we will have an MLA

in the family.'

The temple bells rang to signify time for the final aarti. Omi and Mama stood

up to leave.

'I have to show Parekh-ji I deserve it. Winning this seat will help,' Mama said.

'You need any more help?' Omi asked. 'You already did so much,' Mama said

and kissed Omi, 'but we must put extra effort next week. Parekh-ji said these

attacks could work in our favour, Let's tell everyone at the puja.' They left the

shop and went inside the temple.

'Your phone flashed. Is it on silent?' Ish said. He collected all the invoices

scattered on the ground. We were closing the shop for the night.

'Oh, must be by mistake,' I said and picked it up, 'a supplier is sending me

messages'.

I opened supplier Vidyanath's message.

when I study, I think kisses

u and only u, v misses

I put the phone in my pocket

'What? Trying to sell you something?' Ish said.

'Yes, wooing me, hard,' I said as I locked the cashbox.



I knew it, that old man wouldn't listen,' Mama said.

His mood alternated between anger and tears. It was hard for a tough, grown-