Family Planning Read Online Free PDF

sidekick.
    Deepak said, “Also, tell me, is your Ministerji Papa still milking your Mama’s you-know-what for Parliament? Is he trying to be the father of the nation , ho-ho?”
    He helpfully put his right index finger through his left fist inslow, heaving motions. Arjun was used to this. Ravi, Deepak, and Anurag were united in the common goal of taunting Arjun about his massive family. They had nicknamed him Torn Condom—marking him as the first of a long line of contraceptive mishaps. And they thought he had only six siblings.
    “No yaar, they are all Arjun’s kids,” said Anurag, slapping Deepak’s back.
    “You want me to slap you or what?” Arjun grimaced.
    “Why don’t you sing?” said Deepak. “It’ll be the same as slapping.”
    Anurag snorted. “It’ll be the same as slapping! Because your voice is like a slap!”
    “You’re truly mad, man,” said Deepak to Anurag. “Do you have to say everything you think?”
    Anurag shut up.
    Arjun was onto bigger things. “We need a name.”
    Ravi said, “Three dudes and one duffer Arjun.”
    “That’s a good band name.”
    “What about the Torn Condoms,” suggested Deepak.
    “You want me to slap you or what?” Arjun inquired.
    “Best name ever!”
    Things went smoothly from there on. Once a band begins debating its name, it is already a band. Of course, as the recess progressed, other, smaller, pettier debates were to follow. They had to. This is all essential if one is to start a band. Tension, violence, must exist on the surface. The band is about sublimation. For instance: at one point in the conversation, as theypassed by the water cooler and Ravi explained in great detail the drum fills he had mastered, Arjun rocked on his heels with irritation and declared himself the lead singer.
    It was a useful announcement. He didn’t play any instruments.
     
     
    For the rest of the school day (effecting an intelligent grin while Mr. Nath lectured about “the importance of finishing your class eleven course as soon as possible”), Arjun had flashes of last night—vivid, wondrous, hoary exposures. But what disturbed Arjun were not the flashbacks themselves but the fact that he wanted to imagine his parents, the same way he liked bringing his finger close to the blurred blades of a table-fan on his desk, inches away from understanding pain. This was his arrogance; he didn’t try to forget what he had seen last night—no, he wanted to conjure it up and then defeat it with a vision of his own. If only Aarti would go from being a sexual fantasy to a sexual possibility, one vivid enough to walk with him into the memory-trap of the house, to lay beside him, to drown his parents’ gasps with her own…
    The afternoon bus ride exposed the silliness of his ideas. She wasn’t that sort of girl. She was innocent and cute. She had a slight, adorable waddle to her walk as she came down the aisle of the bus. She had long drooping eyelids and an upturned nose that defied the downward gravity of her face. And what hair! Sexed in every direction! Arjun glanced at the hard knobs of her knees, then followed the spiral of scab linesupward, nodding his head as he finished sipping in the warm sheen of her thighs.
    He thought she was heading for a seat at the back. Then the knees suddenly backtracked: she sat down next to him. Unbelievable.
    “How do you get time to be in a band?” she asked, once the bus had departed. “I have no time for anything. I have the most boring life possible. I’m always studying for FIITJEE.” FIITJEE was a coaching institute for hopeful applicants to the Indian Institute of Technology. “I come home from school in the bus. Then I eat lunch and watch Happy Days in half an hour, using Happy Days ’ ending to time the end of lunch. Sometimes I get time to shower, sometimes not. Then I take an auto to FIITJEE. I sit still for four hours. I take an auto home. The time by now is seven thirty. My physics tutor comes usually at seven forty. So I