15 April 2023
Avani
Cute chaddis.
I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing on the bedside table. Even in that half-sleep state, I hoped it was a text from Aman, but it was better than that—it was a call.
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you,’ were the first words I heard.
Hmmm. Not a bad way to start the day.
I was about to tell him I had that effect on people, hoping to get a laugh out of him so his dimples would make a comeback—in my mind if not before my eyes—but he continued with, ‘Have lunch with me today.’
My eyebrows crawled closer to each other even as my lips pressed together in a smile. ‘We had dinner last night …’
‘I have dinner every night. Don’t you?’
‘I do.’
‘Eat with me this afternoon.’
‘You’re asking me out on a date within twelve hours of our last date?’
‘Yes.’
What could one say to something like that? He was honest and straightforward, and he did not beat around the bush. In fact, there was no bush. It was tall, scanty grass at best, well mowed and smelling like summer.
Avani!
I’m thinking of a meadow, not pubes, you pervert.
‘Is that a no?’ he said, bringing me back to the conversation.
‘Let’s have coffee first?’ I replied instinctively.
I had no reason to turn down Aman’s offer, to be honest. But I couldn’t find an excuse to agree immediately. I mean two dates in twelve hours was … quick, no?
I pictured Martin, Rhea and Maya collectively rolling their eyes even as I had the thought.
I have to admit my guard was always up around new people, no matter who they were.
Perhaps it was because I’d grown up with no siblings and dysfunctional parents, and I’d had to look out for myself all along.
It’s not like my parents fought or made home unpleasant for me, but the fact that they were incompatible was obvious.
On most days, they were well-rounded individuals, a perfect couple.
That was perhaps what stayed with me the most, years after I’d moved out of their home and into my grandmother’s after their separation.
I sometimes wondered if I would have handled my parents’ marriage falling apart better had they fought and screamed like other unhappy couples.
Instead, they went through life looking tranquil and content until one day Mamma packed her bags and left.
I was with Aaji then, in Pune for a vacation, and was told about her leaving over a casual phone call from Baba.
I couldn’t remember now what my immediate response had been.
I’d thought it best to push the news into the deep recesses of my mind and treat it like a film I’d once vaguely watched.
I switched Aman’s call to speakerphone as I swung my feet over the side of the bed and made my way to the kitchen. My brain was screaming for coffee. Setting the phone down on the counter, I put some water on the gas to boil.
‘Tell me about your friends,’ I said, nonchalantly changing the topic. He hadn’t responded to my counter-proposition for a coffee date.
‘Well, I don’t seem to be very good at making them,’ he replied, his tone quieter now.
‘What’s that mean?’ I said sleepily.
‘I mean, I can’t get them to have a meal with me, so having them console me when I’m crying over a bad day seems quite a distant scenario.’
‘I see … So do you call all your friends “baby”? That must get exhausting. Yo, baby! Wanna grab a few beers?’ I barked in a fake gruff voice, trying to imitate a man’s. ‘Wanna watch the game at mine, baby? We can call all our other babies. Yo! My babies and I are going to Goa, wanna join us?’
A hearty laugh came from the other end of the line. I was getting used to the sound of that. ‘Yeah, something like that,’ he said. ‘However, your idea of what boys do when they hang out isn’t stereotypical at all, I see.’
‘What do you mean? It’s accurate,’ I replied, sensing sarcasm in his tone.
‘It’s as accurate as you getting into pillow fights with your girlfriends every time they stay over and then painting each other’s nails pink.’ He chuckled.
‘That’s exactly what we do. And then we give each other orgasms with our favourite vibrators,’ I replied plainly, stirring my coffee in and moving to the sofa to settle in there.
‘Fuck my friends, I want to know more about yours now.’
‘Shut up.’ I laughed. ‘Now tell me about them.’
‘Come over … meet them.’
‘There’s a party, is it, and they’ll all be there? What’s the occasion?’
‘Oh … er … one of them is moving to London later next week, so there’s a farewell party at my place … tonight. It’s not many people. Just a few special ones. And one that’s very special.’
‘Do I finally get to meet the wife you’ve been hiding all this time?’ I teased.
‘Nope.’
‘Then?’ I asked playfully.
‘ They do.’
I wish I’d taken a sip of my coffee right before he said that so I would have something to choke on for effect.
This guy didn’t hold back on anything, did he? It was almost like a conveyor belt transported his thoughts from his mind straight to his mouth without going through any sort of filter in between.
It was refreshing, but also nerve-wracking.
I could never tell what was going on in that gorgeous head of his, but then every time I started to wonder, he told me what it was, voluntarily.
I was silent for a while, as was he. Then I asked, ‘So, then, instead of lunch or coffee, we have a party! Great! What time?’
‘Tonight, 9 p.m., my place. I’ll text you the address. And bring the others along too. It’ll be fun for everyone to meet.’
‘I’ll see you then.’ I smiled into the phone.
‘See you, baby.’
Click.
I immediately opened our group chat and texted the gang about the party they were invited to.
Me: He either really likes me or really hates me if he’s making our second date a meet-the-friends situation.
Rhea’s response popped up almost immediately.
Rhea: How does that mean he hates you?
Me: Maybe he’s setting up his friends to scare me off … that way he won’t have to do it himself.
Maya: Wow, we didn’t wake up cynical at all this morning.
Martin: Did he finally realize that the ONE in your name stands for the number of meetings it takes to realize that you’re boring? A-one-eee.
Me: Sooo clever.
Martin: Maybe he just wants to see you again without making it awkward.
Me: In his house. With his friends. And mine.
Martin: It’s a party. Not an orgy. Unless it is. Then I’m in for sure.
Me: Shut up. And yes. You’re all going to be there.
Maya: Can’t, babe. Got dinner with the fam tonight.
Rhea: Yeah, me neither. I have movie plans.
Me: Get Dhruv!!
Rhea: Who said anything about him?
Martin: It’s cute how sly you think you are.
Me: Fine, whatever. Martin, I’ll see you in the lobby of Aman’s building at 8.50?
Martin: Not unless you want to go arrange the silverware. Meet me at 10.
Me: Party is at 9.
Martin: Exactly. Text me the address. Wear cute chaddis.
Me: Yuck.
Rhea: Yuck.
Aman
What am I, twelve?
Right, so now I have a party to plan.
The last time I’d lied about a party was to my parents when I was thirteen. I told them Gagan and I were going to watch a classical music performance with Gagan’s then girlfriend’s parents, but we went straight to a club with our other friends.
That was the night I had my first drink and decided that alcohol wasn’t for me. Now, eighteen years later, I’m a full-grown adult who’s just lied to the girl he likes about another fake party, for no reason whatsoever.
And now I’d have to call my friends— some of whose messages about previous parties I’d chosen to ignore—and get them to come over to my place tonight and pretend that one of them was leaving the country for good.
Great going, Raina. Great going.
I checked the clock. I had about ten hours to put this thing together. First things first, I opened my boys’ group chat.
Wolfpack
(Lame? I know … We made this group when we were in junior college would be my excuse.)
Me: Guys, drinks and dinner, my place, tonight. Tell me you’re all in town.
Jogi: What’s the occasion?
Me: You’re moving to London later next week and I’m throwing you a farewell gig.
Jogi: Lol. Who’s she?
Mahi: Our man’s met a girl? Spill, dude.
Me: Just help me get this party together and I’ll tell you everything when we see each other.
Mahi: I’m in Delhi, bhai. But I need details.
Jogi: I can make it. How many people do you need?
Me: Enough so it looks like a legit party, but not so many that it gets out of hand.
Jogi: Consider it done. See you in a bit.
Nikhil: Wohoooo! Count me in. Getting my girl along.
Jogi: Dude, ask your girl to get her girl along too. The short-haired one.
Nikhil: She has a name, asshole. Mishti. Yeah, fine, I’ll check.
Me: Guys, I need this girl to like me, okay? Behave.
Mahi: Chick’s got him all wound up and shit. Too bad I’m missing this. Have fun, fuckers!
I knew I could always count on this lot.
We’d attended junior college together and then Jogi and I had gone to the same university for our postgrads in marketing and business studies, respectively.
Jogi’s family owned a hotel chain with branches across Himachal and Punjab, but, unlike me, he had no intention of taking over the family business.
He’d spent most of his free time after college with my parents and me at our Mussoorie home.
Even today, Jogi visits my parents there more often than I do.
And they love him.
By the time I was ready to leave for a meeting at a hotel close by, I had made a call to Sheryl to inform her about the party, and rattled off a list of to-dos while I was away—get the house cleaned, order enough food to feed anywhere between four and forty people, and arrange for a bartender and waiting staff.
On a whim, I called our company’s event manager, Meghna, and asked her to spruce up my balcony with sofas and mist fans so it could be used as an outdoor lounge.
She fell silent for a moment when I said I would have guests walking in within hours, but recovered quickly and promised it would all be done in time.
I made one final call to an old college friend who had an acoustic band to check if he was in the city. He was, and free to perform live that evening. I had no idea what kind of music Avani liked, but I was hoping I couldn’t go wrong with acoustic covers.
Checklist ticked off, for the moment at least, I slipped on my shoes, adjusted my jacket, called Ashok to bring the car to the entrance and stepped out of my apartment. The day ahead was packed with work.
Avani
Let’s not read too much into this.
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from the hundreds of romance novels I’ve read over the past few years, it’s how to romanticize and build up regular situations in my head and then freak out when things don’t happen that way in real life.
For instance, I remember the day I moved into my apartment and thought, ‘Can’t wait to have a cute guy for a neighbour who’ll come knocking on my door asking for milk, and then fall in love with me.’ Consequently, I spent the first four days of my life in the building stressing over what to wear and how much make-up to apply so I didn’t look like I had an Only Fans account, only to find that my neighbour was Mhatre Kaka, who spent most of his day on his balcony—right next to mine—in his vest and blue striped pyjamas, talking loudly to his cat.
Or when I took that trip to Mahabaleshwar with members of a book club I rarely participated in and packed everything cute I owned in anticipation of spending time with a boy I’d spotted at the last meet—only to have to borrow and wear said boy’s sister’s oversized tee and shorts because my conditioner bottle exploded in my backpack and turned all my clothes into lookalikes of papier-maché artefacts.
Or the time I had just finished thanking the gods for having a dashing co-passenger seated next to me on a flight from Pune to Delhi for an intercollegiate moot court competition, only to discover he had the strongest opinions on how plant protein had become more popular than whey protein because everyone in Los Angeles was turning vegan after meditation had gone viral on TikTok—
which he continued to share with me incessantly in a squeaky undertone.
I swear his biceps deflated an inch with every stupid, judgy comment that came out of his mouth.
Anyway, point being … I didn’t want to work myself up too much after my phone call with Aman. The anticipation of meeting him later that evening did give me mini butterflies, but I decided I wouldn’t let that dominate my entire day.
I had a life.