I Too Had a Love Story Read Online Free PDF Page B

self-exam. I was about to advance to the next passage when she called.
    ‘Hey, hi …’I said in a depressed tone.
    ‘What is my baby doing?’ she asked. I loved it when she talked that way, when she called me ‘baby’ in her cutest voice. It sounded so caring. As if she had taken over all the responsibility of looking after me.
    ‘RC is screwing up your baby and I’m in a very bad mood.’
    ‘Then talk to me for a while and you’ll be in a good mood again.’
    ‘No dear. I want to start a new passage and score better this time. Only that will change my mood. Can we talk at night … please?’
    ‘Hmm … Ok. See you later. But at least say one good thing before hanging up.’
    There were so many things specific to Khushi, the little things that were important to her. Like this unique idea of listening to one good thing before we hung up. I liked it, most of the time, unless I was too tired to think up something new and good for her.
    ‘Khushi! Please understand. My mind isn’t working. I can’t think of anything good at this moment. I’ll tell you two good things at night. Ok?’
    ‘Ok. You take care.’
    ‘Bye.’
    ‘Bye
nahin
, see you,’ she corrected me again.
    ‘Oh yes. See you,’ and I hung up, still in a bad mood.
    Hardly fifteen minutes had passed when I heard my cellphone ringing again. It was her.
    ‘Now what?’ My voice was a little loud.
    ‘You know why I called you earlier?’
    ‘Oho …! Why?’ I was annoyed.
    ‘Because it’s raining here. And I feel like holding your hands and dancing in the rain.’
    ‘Khushi!’ My voice grew louder.
    ‘Ok
baba
, I’m sorry. See you later,’ she said, innocently.
    She was about to hang up when I felt bad about how I behaved and said, ‘Hey wait. We can talk for a while. I needed a break from this damned RC thing.’
    And she was happy again.
    In a little while, the focus of our conversation changed from rain to our promises and priorities. The things we wanted to accept and the things we wanted to give up, for each other. No boozing until she was comfortable with it, preparing myself for a vegetarian environment (at least at home) and a few others things were on my plate. And talking to me and my family in Punjabi was the most important task I put on her plate. (Her family spoke Hindi and she was brought up in that atmosphere. Whereas, my ears badly wanted to hear the language which I was brought up around.) None of our expectations were forced upon each other, though. It was mutual understanding, an attempt to do the best we could for each other. After all, we were supposed to live together for the rest of our lives.
    That evening, I asked her mischievously, ‘Hey! Do you mind talking in Punjabi? I never heard you fulfilling my expectations. Or are you going to start after our marriage?’
    ‘And if I say I won’t do that even after our marriage, what will you do?’ she teased me and laughed. I imagined her jumping off her bed and running to the window to catch a few raindrops.
    ‘Then I’ll take you back to your home in Faridabad and leave you there.’
    All she said was, ‘Shona …?’I could hear the rain falling on the ground outside her window. I realized what I landed up saying. My attempt at humor had badly failed. I did not know how to react. Before I could say anything, she said, ‘Shona, you carry on with the passage. See you later.’ And she hung up very quietly—something she never did.
    I felt very uncomfortable, recalling the way I had reacted to her teasing. I could neither call her up to tell her that I didn’t mean what she thought I meant, nor could I concentrate on my RC passages. All my answers for the next passage were incorrect.
    Later that evening, around 7 p.m., I rode my bike to the nearest ATM to get some cash for my ticket back to Bhubaneswar. It started drizzling—the first rain of the season. Now I could imagine how she felt when she had called me earlier. I got out of the queue in front of the ATM