You Are All I Need Read online

  Selvadurai started walking towards the chemistry lab. He was going to meet the girl he had loved for three years. In no time he was there. He stood at the door. He couldn’t enter the lab. Bhavani was already inside, looking at the pipettes and the burettes like she was looking at them for the first time. Selva just stood at the door, looking at her. She saw him and smiled. Selvadurai felt his heart jump to his throat. He stepped inside and slowly walked to her. Both of them were silent for some time. The awkward silence was overwhelming.

  Finally, Bhavani turned to him and asked, ‘Selva, do you like me?’

  Selva didn’t need to think to respond. ‘I love you,’ he said.

  He couldn’t believe he had finally confessed his feelings to her. She didn’t say a word. Her face was empty of emotion. She walked to a window and leaned against it. Selva, not knowing whether to go near her, just kept standing there.

  ‘You want to stand near me?’ asked Bhavani. Selva walked to her. He had been dreaming of this moment for years and now that it was happening, Selva just stood there, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Do you . . . do . . . I . . . uh . . .’ Selva couldn’t get the words out.

  Bhavani smiled. ‘I like you too, Selva. Don’t know since when, but I like you too.’

  She didn’t say anything more. And he didn’t want to ask anything more. Both of them kept staring out of the window in silence. They had a lot of time to talk, but now that they were together they both needed this silence with each other.

  She had waited for his call every night, learnt new kolams to impress him every morning, stolen looks at him when he played kabaddi with his friends, and even had songs that reminded her of him. But she could tell Selvadurai this any time. They didn’t know if they would get this time together in silence again. They cherished it. Both of them had big smiles on their faces. They didn’t know what future had in store for them, or if they even had a future together. They were only in school. They had their whole lives ahead of them and a lot to learn. But, at that moment, Selva and Bhavani were in love. And their love took its own time to develop. Both of them had gone through the pain of having feelings they could not share with anyone else, and both of them knew how it felt to know the other person was reciprocating their feelings. Selva gulped every time he saw her and she remained silent the whole time. But they had taken the first step to togetherness, from unrequited love.

  11

  I’m No Good Human

  Mohammad Afroz

  Listen, girl . . .

  Don’t fall for me, I’m no good human.

  I’ll be soft at the beginning, caring, loving. I’ll stand by you when you or your family need me—of course to gain trust, because everyone who is good at heart wants other people to do good and make them believe that good exists. I’ll play this game of make-believe. I’ll hide my insecurities, try and act like a perfect human, give you freedom, make you feel as if you’re the most important person in my life.

  I’ll not only bring you chocolates and roses, but remind you that your period is around the corner and make it my priority to check if you have your sanitary pads, as well as chocolate bars to keep you company during your mood swings. Just to act like I respect the goddess within you. I’ll sacrifice my dreams, needs, time and sexual desires so I’m not marked as a person who wants to satisfy my lust. That’s my main motto, though—I’ll keep this for the perfect moment when you will be the one ‘asking for it’. When I’ll not be able to control my testosterone any more, I’ll make weird demands and emotionally drain you to fulfil those. But midway I’ll realize that snuggling was more important, so, with tears in my eyes, I’ll ask for forgiveness. Crocodile tears, mind you. It’s an act.

  I’ll write you sweet letters, emotional ones, alarming ones. I’ll write sonnets, poems, even a poetry book, but don’t give in—it’s all because I want to label myself as a perfect match. The kind people crave for, the ones they write about in undying incomplete love stories. I’ll even tell you beautiful lies about how your smile makes me float, how awestruck I am and how your eyes elevate me to the heavens. I’ll plead to God to create words and verses to write in your praise. I will want to woo you in every possible way. That’s why I’ll wait for you—in the sun, in the rain, or when you want to see me to find courage, power and strength, so that you know I am always there.

  But don’t bother—it’s just an act. Remember, I’m no good human. Remember this.

  I’ll remember birthdays—yours, your sister’s, your little brother’s and your mother’s. Remember the day we met, hugged, kissed, went on our first date, first movie, first family function, my sister’s wedding and your sister’s book release? I’ll even write speeches for your mother, because I’ll be good with words. I’ll bring them gifts, chocolates, happiness, support and also treat them as my kith and kin, and tell you repeatedly how they are not yours or mine, but ours, and that we will keep them happy and hopeful forever.

  I’ll even mend that broken pen and that toy gun, and if I’m not able to do it, I’ll buy new ones to replace them. I’ll get your phone with the bad microphone repaired; I’ll say that it’s because I can’t hear your voice properly, but the real reason will be to pretend that I care about your little things too. I’ll also try to mend the trust that you’ve lost in men, because all I want to do is make sure that I am one of the good ones. Long live feminists and feminism!

  I’ll always sound interested in you, your memories of your younger self. I’ll ask for photographs, to see how you looked in your childhood, and when you won’t notice, I’ll sneak one and keep it to myself—keep it in my wallet or inside a book that I read too often. I’ll ask for favours, and if events come up and you’re not able to make them, I’ll criticize you and say things that’ll hurt you, make you feel like you don’t give me enough importance. You’ll be disappointed in me, in my behaviour, and then I’ll act like I’m genuinely sorry for saying those things and that I got angry because that event mattered to me. When you’ll ignore me, I’ll shed a few tears. Men do not cry, but I do, just to make sure you don’t think of me as that not-so-strong man who hurt others.

  Because it’s young love, I’ll try and remain calm when you are having your mood swings. I’ll confirm if you still have chocolates; you’ll nod, but the irritation will reflect in your eyes, so I will let you pass sarcastic remarks. But listen, I will just be acting like a wise and understanding man.

  I am no good human—I’m the worst kind!

  I’ll take you to meet my mother; I’ll try and get you comfortable with her so that you two can get along in future, just to tell you that I don’t date for fun, that I’m serious. But all that will be a myth; remember, I’m no good human. I’ll make some promises, fulfil them just so you fulfil yours too. It’s a trade-off, you see—a promise for a promise.

  I’ll get the fuel pump of your car repaired while you party with your friends on your farewell—because, hey, we drove this car, and it broke down in the middle of the road and I had to push it all by myself on that hot, sunny afternoon, even though I felt faint on my way to the garage. But I’ll make sure that it’s repaired while you party. And hey! Guess what? Even though I had been vomiting the previous day, for I was sick, just to show you that I’m strong and responsible, I’ll pretend I’m okay. But in reality, I’ll be in need of your warm touch and want to cling to you—but remember, I’m no good human. It’s to see that you don’t hang around with your other friends—other male friends. Not to mention it’s been months since we met, as I was busy looking for a good job so I can one day ask your mother for your hand. Besides, I will find one, and it will be my first leave, so that I can be with you. It’ll be a planned sick leave. But don’t bother, I’ll be there to keep an eye on you and watch you while you admire that beautiful white sari. But I’m just here to stop you from hanging out with other guys. With my first stipend, I’ll buy clothes for my mother and yours, and a chocolate for you—your favourite—with the leftover change. Chocolates will giv
e you the idea that I remembered you too. I’ll start buying you more gifts, roses and more chocolates, and when you ask me as why I’m wasting money, I’ll say they were cheap flowers or that I got the gift on offer or that Big Bazaar was giving out free chocolates with a pack of my favourite Oreos.

  I’ll motivate you to start looking for a job too, so that you can help with the expenses of your family. It’ll help your single mother a lot. And when you find a shitty call-centre job, I’ll remind you of your dreams and ask you to go after them and not this—but since you’ll not be taking my advice any more and feel that I’m trying to control you, I’ll put up an act at that time, okay? I’ll understand.

  I’ll cry a little that you’ll be leaving for a few days and how I’ll not be able to breathe the air around you—but remember, I’m no good human, and this is because I don’t want you to get along with the other people at the new place you are going to. Someone will bring you to your senses, and you won’t go, and I’ll hear someone else tell you that it was because I was controlling you. You should listen to them. They’ll be right.

  With Christmas and New Year around the corner, I’ll want to be the first person to wish you, because my happiness comes from you, and the magic within you is the symphony that I want to drift off to. But remember that I’m no good human—it’s all because of the Christmas cake you bake so well, and the New Year party. I have no one else but you, so I have to pretend it’s because I love you, because other people, friends, family and colleagues understand that you’re more important to me and that is why I was not there when they needed me—I was with you. So now I don’t get invites for New Year parties, but I have to be happy, so I have to pretend I’m happy being with you.

  Your uncle’s family will visit your place—it’s their mother’s home too. We’ll not be able to have proper conversations as you’ll be too busy to take my calls. You’ll not reply to my texts, probably because they’ll be around. And I’ll say that I understand and will give you time with your family. And I’ll be busy too. My exams will be underway—important for me, for us! I’ll bag a government job if I get through. I’ll study hard, because I want to secure our future. But remember, I’m no good human—it’s because I want to show you that I’m a man worthy of any girl. And a government job does that. Money in the bank, honey! With money in the bank, you can be a bad human being. Love is only a small, diminishing culture; money is the new sexy.

  When your uncle visits you, he will find you a suitable groom, and you will have to compromise, because it will bring shame to your family to marry for love. I’ll only marry for love. The new guy will be rich, good-looking and well settled, with a great job—and he will be a good human being. I’ll plead with you to fight for us, you’ll say you can’t, you’ll ask me to talk to your mother. I will. I’ll explain to her how much you mean to me, how much I have loved you. I’ll say that I know that I don’t have a settled life as of now, and I’ll ask her to talk to your uncle. She’ll promise me she will. I’ll go for days without food and sleep; I will go to the mosque more often to plead in front of the Almighty, but you, on the other hand, will be interested in the other guy. We’ll talk less frequently over the phone; you’ll get irritated with me, you’ll ignore my texts while being online every time, because you’ll be talking to the other guy—the one you want to marry. Because now you know I’m no good human.

  The exam I was talking about will be on a Sunday; you’ll also have the same exam. We’ll go to the exam centre together, maybe for the last time. I’ll hug you while I’ll leave for mine and plant a small kiss on your forehead. In three hours the exam will be over and we’ll be returning home. You’ll promise to get home and call, but you won’t, because now you know I’m no good human.

  You’ll not take my calls; you’ll ignore my texts even more. I’ll plead with you to talk to me one last time and that I’ll never disturb you again. You will. I’ll tell you about my incompetence, about how all I ever wanted was to hold you and sleep, rest my heavy eyes on your bosoms, maybe sleep the most beautiful sleep of my life. I’ll say this just to tell you how much I’ve loved you. You’ll tell me that I should sleep; this will be the last time I’ll be hearing your voice over the phone. But guess what? I will record this call. I’ll hear your voice every night over and over again while I imagine myself sleeping in your arms. But remember, I’m no good human—this was all for my mission, my carnal mission. And, well, if we sleep together, there’s bound to be sex, right?

  I missed the chance.

  It’s good for you, though, but I’ll remember that call. Things will not be over yet, but you’ll make me feel as if they are by not replying to my texts—and exactly at 1.11 a.m., you’ll send a text: ‘Everything’s finished now. Someone told the other guy about us, about you loving me, and told him that I was no good human.’ I’ll wish it was you who had told him. You’ll say, ‘We are just friends.’ Were we only friends?

  And you will start to blame me, and feel it’s okay to switch rides, because life is a roller coaster and everyone should try a different ride. Your mother will call the next day, asking me to talk to your maybe future fiancé and husband, because she thinks I’m a good guy. But you know the truth. I’m no good human. But since your mother thinks I’m a good human, I will do it. Because I’m still acting to be a good human being. I’ll call your fiancé, tell him the truth—that we are just friends—and end the call with a question: ‘What do you do?’ Answer: ‘I work in an IT company. I am well settled, have a flat in Pune and a good bank balance.’ He’ll not tell me this—I’ll just understand. He is a good human being.

  Without you it’ll be tough. I’ll tell my mother everything. She’ll cry. She’ll know I loved you too much to live without you. She’ll cry, and that’ll be the act of a bad human being, because I made my mother cry. I’m no good human.

  I’ll be distraught watching you go. I’ll hope a miracle will happen. I will hope. But your good human being is now someone else. All I can do is look at our old photos, relive our old memories, write sad poems and sonnets, post statuses with us together and pictures of us holding hands—and guess what, miraculously, your fiancé will see them! I was fighting myself to find purpose, happiness, a reason to live. I think I’ll adopt a baby girl, give her your name—maybe I’ll be a good human being to her.

  And when I’ll be fighting everything, your mother will call. She will start the call with ‘You’re no good human’, and everything will go crazy, and I’ll hear your voice, ‘Ask him if he was the one who did this.’ I will shiver, I will quiver, and feel a benumbing pain inside. My legs will feel paralysed, my head will spin and heart shatter into a million pieces. I guess everyone will have figured out that I’m no good human.

  My mother will be furious. She’ll call your mother and they’ll talk. My mother will say, ‘They loved each other—at least my son did.’ Yours will say, ‘Your son destroyed my daughter’s life. He’s no good human.’ My mother will then say with a smile on her face, ‘I know.’

  So I’m no good human—everyone knows this. I can’t be trusted and, at every instance, I’ll make it clear.

  But this cliché of love—‘I’ll do everything for love’—is so beautiful.

  Don’t fall for me. I’m no good human.

  But remember that though I may not be a good human, I’ll love you as one.

  For sure.

  12

  Pure Love

  Praneetha Gutta

  Today, Ria came to me with a notebook when I went down to have breakfast.

  ‘Ananya, Mom told me to give this to you,’ she said, and ran out of the house to play with her friends. Though at first I was surprised to see my personal diary after so many years, I started to flip through its pages and reminisce. After settling down comfortably on the couch, I opened it. It was my diary, which I’d started writing when I was eighteen. That was the time I got to know that I was already married to my uncle’s son, Siddarth.

  I was told that when I was
two and Siddarth five, my mother was hospitalized as she had a brain tumour and got to know she didn’t have much time left. Since I’d already lost my father in a road accident when I was a six-month-old baby, she wanted my life to be secured. She asked for her brother’s son’s hand for me and he readily agreed, as it was her last wish. So, at that time, according to Hindu rituals, we were married. From then on, my aunt and uncle have taken good care of me, as if I am their own child. They have never differentiated between me, Siddarth and his elder sister Gayathri. All three of us played together and spent a lot of time together. Whenever I remember those days, a smile comes to my lips. Uncle did not speak to me about this marriage until I’d completed my secondary education. That was when Siddarth was working very hard to get into international cricket, and most of the time was away from home. I, too, left Ahmedabad and went to Kolkata for my graduation. There I stayed in a hostel, and this diary became my closest companion.

  Coming out of my thoughts, I shifted my concentration to the words I’d written in the pages.

  07.09.2008

  Hi diary, I am Ananya. Now I am eighteen and I stay in a hostel in Kolkata. I want to introduce you to the most important person in my life.

  Siddarth: my world.

  You have been very special to me since my childhood. I think maybe because we spent most of our childhood together, sharing so many sweet memories. You were always there with me whenever I needed a shoulder to lean on or whenever I wanted to share my happiness or worries with someone. Of course, anyone who has witnessed or experienced your love and care can never hate you. And I would never wish to go away from you. Okay, you might be wondering why this dumbhead is becoming so emotional now, right? It’s because today is your birthday, and this is the first time in so many years that you are celebrating it without me. Anyway, many, many happy returns of the day, Siddarth! We will meet soon, when your tour is over. I will be waiting.