2 States The Story Of My Marriage Read Online Free PDF Page A

my dorm-mates
    didn’t act like Neanderthals and had disappeared into their rooms.
    I opened the door. She stood there, wearing the blue and white salwar kameez
    that she wore the first time I saw her. When you are in campus, you can figure out
    a pattern in people’s clothes. Her blue salwar kameez repeated itself every three
    weeks.
    She had brought two Frootis with her. ‘Can I come in? Can I distract the
    scholar for ten minutes from his studies?’
    Unlike her room, there was no aesthetic appeal to mine. I had left the red
    bricks bare, and they looked like prison walls. My originally white bed-sheet had
    turned grey after being washed in acid in the IIT hostels. My desk only had books,
    unlike Ananya’s who always had cut flowers from campus lawns or arty incense
    holders or other objects that men never put on their shopping lists.
    ‘Wait,’ is aid. I turned around to do a quick scan. No, there was no underwear
    or smelly socks or porn magazines or old razor blades in sight. I held the door
    open.
    ‘Mugging away?’ she asked as she sat on the bed.
    ‘No choice.’ I pulled back my study chair.

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    ‘Your grades will improve as you don’t study with me anymore.’
    ‘It’s nothing like that,’ I said.
    ‘Then, what is the matter? What is this childish behavior? Like you don’t even
    acknowledge me in class.’
    I looked away from her.
    ‘Eye contact please.’
    I looked at her. I had missed her so much I wanted to lock my room and never
    let her go.
    ‘I can’t,’ I said.
    ‘Can’t what?’
    ‘I can’t be just friends. I’m sure some guys can be friends with girls. I can’t. Not with you.’
    ‘What?’ She sat up straight.
    ‘I know you are out of my league and I don’t deserve you and whatever so
    spare me all that and….’
    ‘What are you talking about?’ she sounded confused.
    ‘Forget it. Thanks for the Frooti,’ I said. I took a long, gurgling sip to finish the drink. I slammed the tetrapack on the table like a retro Hindi film hero who takes
    the last sip of his VAT69. Yes, leave me alone as I drown my suffering in mango
    juice, I thought.
    ‘Hey.’ She touched my shoulder.
    ‘Don’t put your hand on my shoulder,’ I said as her touch sent tingles down
    the back of my neck.
    ‘OK, peace.’ She moved her hand away. ‘But this is sort of not fair. We had a
    deal.’
    ‘Screw the deal,’ I said as I crumpled the Frooti carton and threw it in my
    dustbin.
    We exchanged glances, silent for a minute.
    ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

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    ‘I want us to be a couple,’ I said. ‘And this is not a proposal. I am not Mr.
    Fourteen.’
    She stared at me. I stared back, to show I was unfazed. ‘If this isn’t a proposal, what is it?’
    ‘You have come to my room. You asked me what I want. It’s different.’
    ‘But you want us to be a couple.’ Her voice was still defiant.
    I nodded.
    ‘We used to practically be a couple, studying together, going to the STD booth
    together, having meals in the mess together.’
    ‘All that stuff you can do with anyone,’ I said.
    ‘You aren’t making any sense,’ she said.
    ‘OK, I will explain it,’ I said and stood up. ‘I will explain it so it makes sense. To sit and study with you is an exercise in double self-control. First I have to force
    myself to pay attention to these boring cases. Second, I have to avoid looking at
    your face as much as possible because when I look at your face, all I want to do
    is kiss you. But we have this stupid just-friends deal and you are all cool about it and so that leaves me whipping my mind to study nicotine-free cigarettes and not
    think about your lips and the little mole that is there below the lower one.’
    ‘You noticed that mole? It’s tiny.’ She touched it.
    ‘It may be tiny, but it at least has a fifty percent market share in terms of my mind-space. But hey, I am just a friend. I don’t get the mole. I only get the