It should not have been more than ten in the morning when my phone started chiming, quaking against the hard clapboard nightstand next to my bed.
I rubbed my face in exasperation.
My head was weighing the earths even at the unadorned consciousness I had gained at the slightest perusal of my phone's ringing. I could sense my brain ferociously pounding inside my skull in sickening gripes, already coupling with the hefty semblance.
I have been there before –this brash headache and shaky sensation fumbling in me; maybe they'll break the spirits, when I have had a cup of coffee, or may be after a nice swarm of shower; or after a couple of Dosas for my breakfast; or after a batch of hustling hours at work –sigh, I have been there too, in the maybes.
I was still reeling from the aftereffect sleep, and my phone hadn't ceased to rattle me out by its constant ringing.
I rolled on to my right, across the well-swept chill all over the sheets to reach for the phone –it must be Rahul, because this was his conventional time to check up on me, every day, before he left for work.
He was in Singapore, with his wife, Suhasini.
Hunting for the phone and answering the call, I let it lay over my ear, slackly. "Dei, Raghav." My brother called out, his tone uptight.
"Good morning, Bruh," I growled. My brother was not very fond of being addressed as bruh –the fair reason why I said that to him. With an unmanageable hangover already making it hard to handle the morning, I was piqued at his phone call –he was the reason I had steadily, trimmed setting alarms to wake up.
"Do not call me that." He grumbled through his teeth, his voice all irked –giving me what I wanted in first place. My lips curled into a satisfied evil-grin.
And beside him was Suha, my ever so sweet sister-in-law, admonishing him at the rudeness he'd inflicted me with, "Why you being so rude to him, early in the morning, Rahul. If you have nothing nice to say, just pass the phone on, to me. Don't chide him." Headaches and hangovers apart, I had really started to revel in the conversation on the grounds that Suha had headed for my recovery.
Choking on a chuckle at what I'd heard over the phone, I managed to put myself up, placing my head back steadily, at the wall. "Good morning, Kannaa." Suha said her voice slow, soft and warm.
"Not a good morning –not after having your husband retort at me, Suha." I sulked at her in a hyperbola –that way my unmannerly brother would be heaped up on a lecture of how to speak nicely to one's baby brother, hopefully.
I could picture her eyebrows drawing together as she lingered to huddle, daintily –her voice, bluntly, a whisper. "Did you drink, last night?"
Suha was homespun in fathoming me, flat out.
And I was not keeping my drinking routine under wraps from her –that way, I was free of guilt for not fibbing, when she'd probed me if I drink as a routine.
Well, I wouldn't blame her because it also helped me to keep checks on the guilt that accused me for screening my other activities from her. Now, don't ask me, what my other activities count in –that'd make a story for later.
"Uhmm, yes, Suha." I agreed, as she had always treated me like how a boy in his worst hangover would like to be treated, when she learned about my mornings after.
I could hear a quick, acclimated exhale from her. "Brush your teeth and drink ample of water before doing anything. Hydrate yourself and feel better," she was worried, obviously. Before I could say anything to her prompts, she acquainted me. "And you have abused your quota for the month. Not happening again, in this month." It was a mellowed gush, as well.
Suha did not just brush the information aside when she'd known I'd drink.
She did not simply oppose me, either.
She'd allowed me to get drunk once in a month, in which the day was purely my choice. Other than the day, I had no excuse to fabricate justification on my drinking. And for Suha, for the golden heart she had, and all the love she lavished me with like she'd do to her own brother, I'd started settling for an apple juice rather a beer or vodka in parties on my non-drinking days.
"But I did not drink even in millilitres in past couple months." I figured out a reason, and it was a tad fair, hey.
"Well, I did not tell you not to drink" Suha took her time to let that out in a taunting guffaw, and she continued. "Your allowance is one day per month, and it's over for this month."
I had no way but budge to her. "Fine. Next month." Because, again, a boy in hangover equals a girl on her period, and no one would sympathise it, more than Suha did.
"Good boy. Your Anna is back, would you like to talk to him?" and that was an alarm that supposed us not to talk about alcohol anymore.
"Nah, I'd rather keep talking to my Anni."
"In that case, you can call my number. He's about to leave and needs his phone."
"Okay, I'll talk to you later, Suha. But before hanging up, please put it up on speaker," I asked, and she did it immediately. "Bye-Bye, Bruh, have a nice day at work." I jeered from the bottom of my heart.
"You bastard!" he cursed with all of his heart, and I sighed contently at it, before hanging up. If I didn't say it a couple of times in a day, at best –well, not bothering him would bother me. (Please notice taking r from brother would make it bother, nice, isn't it?)
I chucked the phone to my bed and paced across the half-packed, half-unpacked boxes brimming with my stuff taking off in all directions, to the bathroom.
No, I had not shifted to this place anew.
I was packing because I was going to vacate the house –or I had no choice but vacate.
The magnanimous hearted landlord had given me a week's time to find myself a place when he learned about his tenant screwing up with his daughter, Harshita.
And now, I was not thoroughly responsible for what had happened because it was Harshita, who'd asked me out, first. Until that, I was a good boy since I wanted a place to live. Although, her father discovering our furtive meetings and make outs and me, getting punted out of a place to live were the things I'd had foreshadowing of, nothing muzzled me from saying yes to her, anyway.
It only disencumbered me when her father had perused about her relationship with me and had, legitimately, asked me to vacate the house stating that he was going to renovate the portion I was staying in.
This way, by shifting my place, breaking up with her had become easier for me.
I wanted to break up with her –that'd make me an utter jerk, but badly, very badly, yes, I wanted to break up with her.
To reason out simply, she was not my type, I'd say.
And I did. I opened up to Harshita that I was not her type, and it was not going to work between us. She agreed to it gallingly.
My head was still faltering with the ache making my tongue go dry, hinting me at the day that I was going forge ahead. It'd been many months since I pampered myself with such a generous drink, as last night.
There wasn't any appropriate sense; not because, I was going to be homeless in the next seventy two hours.
May be, because, I knew it in beforehand.
Practical enough, so I just simply decided to drown myself in alcohol.
I managed to take a quick shower trying to wrap my head around the troublesome fact that there weren't many hours left, before my time to vacate this place ran out. And I'd not found a new place –not yet. Along with the sharp pain biting at every thought in my head, now there was hunger, joining hands with it.
When I'd come back to my bedroom, my phone started to chime, again.
It was Khushi, my friend, smiling on screen.
"Hey," she said when I picked up immediately. "You up?"
"Yes and you don't seem like you're just up, what you doing so early on a Sunday, Khushi?" I asked managing to hold the phone in my shoulder blade, pressing my ear against it –my hand occupied in singling out a shirt from the shelf.
"It is a Sunday, I know; but it is also the day one of our colleagues is getting married, I hope that clarifies." I caught up on the wedding invite scattered upon the table in my room, only when she'd manifested that and how I'd absolutely failed to remember it.
"Oh! So you're going?" I asked when I'd slipped into a white shirt; as not just probing her but also as a self-debate. For all the reason I have to put up, I was not a fan of weddings.
"Raghav, he's a friend, and he's invited me, personally. Would it be of good manners if I don't go," she bit every word carefully, a little tardily, perhaps, as in for the comprehension to set in, in me.
I closed the wardrobe, clasping my phone in my hand. "Fine, I am coming along."
"Why do you want to come? You hate weddings, anyway," Khushi scoffed, making too much of my reasons. I did not hate weddings –I just did not want have my own, any day –she'd put it in her way, or girls' way.
"Come on, Khushi. What will you do there without me, your best friend? I'll come along."
"Seriously?" she cleared out a surly laughter. "Tell me one reason why do you want to come to the wedding. The guy who's getting married is not even your straight friend."
"He is straight, silly –I remember only seeing a girl's name next to his' in the card." I came up with course of thought.
I heard her exhale a loud sigh, "I am not ready for your PJs right now, Raghav," she reviled.
"All right, come and fetch me when you go, please."
"No." that was abrupt, but I could steer clear of it.
"What? Why?"
"For one, it is no; for two, tell me the guy's name who's getting married?"
"He's Nitish, of course. I have been working with him for quite some together, Khushi. What do you think of me? A moron, who doesn't know the name of his co-worker properly but wants to go to his wedding?"
Khushi laughed and alongside was one more, gruff chuckle coupling with her, she spoke her words stumbling with her laugh, "Dei, his name is Nitin and not Nitish." Oops, now, I made a moron out of myself. Fine!
"Raghav, you should've seen the wedding card to make sure before answering," Dev, her husband, shouted back with the laugh still resounding.
"I was in the kitchen to fetch water." I replied, sipping on the glass of water I'd taken in my hands.
"Fine, be honest." She demanded again, about my reasons.
"Fine, he is not my friend and all but he works with me. I'd say it is not the best day of his life because he's getting married but he thinks it is, and has invited me to it. How can I say no to that?" I argued, not settling.
"Still, a no." she wasn't giving up.
So, I did. "All right, there's free food and I am starving."
"Now, that's like a good boy. Be ready in twenty." She cooed and we hung up.
This woman was the substitute of Suhasini, in the town.
She cared for me –a lot, she made fun of me in every littlest of the chance she got, she cooked for me when I'd called in sick, and she supported me by ordering pizzas when I was broke, she peeved me like I'd do to Rahul, she stood by me when my stand-up comedy did not go well–she was everything, everything that a sibling would be.
I had to give in for the discussion to come to an end. Not just because I was starving, but also, I'd relinquish to Dev and Khushi, any day. They were my people.
And in forty minutes, when she'd pulled up her grey sedan in front of my place, she was nothing like she'd talked to me.
"Hey, what happened? Are you okay?" I asked after hopping in. It was apparently showing on her face. To see Khushi's face deprived of a smile was one of the rarest occasions I'd to happen upon. If I did, she was either PMSing, or skirmishing a migraine or mad at something I'd done –that last one being the chance, most likely to be.
"Why did you fucking give my phone number to your girlfriend, you moron!" She started bawling, swearing at me, when she clearly knew me. Or, I thought so.
"Did you just swear at me?" I asked implausibly watching her open jawed.
"Yes, because you have fucking done something that defiantly deserves to be sworn!" she did it again, her face deadpan.
My brow drew together in indignation, and I yelled. "You're so insensitive, Khushi." She threw her head back in a sour laugh, and muttered to herself, "as if you're very sensitive to everything around."
"What is the problem with you today? Why are you just being rude to me without any reasons?" I shrugged at her, and in response there was a cold glare. This was the first time for her to look at me, ever since I boarded –and it was very icy. Words choked up on my throat, "Fine, maybe there are reasons. May be you should tell them out." I made it even.
"Why did you give my number to your girlfriend?" she asked gritting her teeth, she was, incontestably, infuriated –and it was the version of Khushi, I'd have to tussle the most to win.
"What you saying? I did not..." half way into my pronounced justification, the realisation of what I'd done last night started to ensue.
"Oh my god, don't you dare say her, my girlfriend another time," I screamed and with her umbraged looks, I could tell you, she was not talked into it.
"Some girl is calling me up and starting to call names early in the morning, thinking it is you. To its worst, Dev picked up the call, not me. So, what bloody good excuse you're going to tell Dev and I for this!" she rambled on, well, still reaming at me.
"Why did Dev have to do this?" I probed, feeling not at all happy about how the scene had ended.
Khushi scrunched her eyebrows dubiously, "Why did Dev do what?" she asked, handling the car skilfully.
"Picking up your phone calls," I answered disappointedly that some random girl to whom I'd scorned without exchanging number, had piled it up on Dev –when I thought it'd be Khushi.
Khushi seemed more outraged when I'd said that. "You give my number to a random girl you've fucked and then sulk at me that my husband has picked the call!" she was irritated beyond limits, because she'd not keep using the F word, if not.
I had to make amends, now. "Fine, I am sorry, okay? I met her yesterday in the bar and she was the one to start flirting with me. But within hours, she was just beginning to cling to me, claiming me to be her boyfriend and all. I didn't know how to bail out when she asked for my number –so I gave yours contemplating that you'd just say wrong number, politely. Plus, I was high!" I recited the whole story of how things got messed up –or I did.
"Dev was mad at me saying I was spoiling you, supporting every rubbish thing you do," she was still loud. "Why do you do this to a girl, Raghav?"
With that said, I was irked, and there was no going back without cramming a lengthy spiel. "Hey, it is not like I harassed her or something. I am not a bloody rapist." I squabbled and she threw me a murderous glare –shut your lousy mouth up, you shameless moron, the glare spoke up for her.
I continued, "It was mutual. And she started to stick like glue to me when I clearly wasn't ready for it. But did not know it'll go wrong and Dev will pick your phone, I am sorry." There was no infinitesimal cheer or smile on her face but the fierceness in her expressions had toned down.
"Do not repeat it, any more."
"I will not."
"Apologize to Dev."
"I will do."
"Do it right now, end of the talk." She ordered.
Khushi wanted what she wanted –it was fairly impossible to wheedle her, and when Dev was in it, it was even more dangerous to argue into her. I'd just rather do what she said –for I was blameworthy.
I pulled the mobile phone from my pants' pocket and started texting Dev.
I apologize for what happened, Dev. I have explained it to Khushi. This will not happen again, please don't keep it in mind.
His reply popped up, in nothing flat.
Don't do this again. He'd just replied that way.
"See, Dev has replied." I pushed the phone's display at her sight. She simply glanced at it and straightened back her sight to the road.
Now, I felt guiltier –for having my fellows mad at me.
I steamed out a gush of air in a stretched sigh. "Hey, I said I am sorry. I am going to take care and this is not happening again." I said gingerly.
"Fine, I am sorry, too, for swearing up on you in purpose when I know that you don't like using cuss words." She'd said when we were in the parking of the wedding hall.
Weddings always gave me a sense of reluctance –not in bits but in a rush.
I'd prefer not talking about it at all, rather ranting paragraphs about my dislike towards it –the ultimate reason why I don't even crack jokes about it in my open mic shows.
When Khushi and I were about to enter the wedding hall, I asked her making puppy eyes, "Don't tell this whole drama to Meena, Please!" willing she was vulnerable to it. "What makes you think I wouldn't do that!" She let out a sharp, bitter chuckle.
"I am going to be in Meena's lecture all day and it'll bore the hell out of me."
"You deserve it!" she just judged me, didn't she?
Lighting upon Meena in the middle of the wedding hall, Khushi ambled, pacing up the steps to her.
I tapered off and took a gentle stroll because girls, dude! It'd be a huge sin on my head if I just walked off without even checking out. Also, they might just imagine me and Khushi as a thing, if I had just gone with her. I was available and that needs to be shown.
Meena smacked my head as soon as I reached them –Khushi should've told her everything within the teeny moment I'd stolen to live a little.
"Why would you do that, Raghav?" she demanded righteously.
"I said I'd not repeat," I said in a matter-of-fact tone and Meena's expressions said she was not going to let it as such. Before she could start, I did. "Kick it to curb, if I don't find a place to live within tomorrow, I am going to be homeless," I said making my face as helpless as I could –but the truth being told, I really was. Pointing out at both of them, I added. "One of you must accommodate me, in that case." I said. But both of them weren't even paying attention to me. After their own little discussion, they left me alone to go meet the bride.
I fished for my phone and opened Tinder.
Nice eyes, swipe right.
Braces, still adorable –swipe right.
Could've looked nicer with a smile on that pretty face –swipe left.
Oohh, the lips –swipe right.
"You always wander around with girls, don't you, shameless boy?" the grumpy voice startled me.
I pushed my chin up to Anant sir, senior editor of the magazine I worked for, was looking down at me with a very judgemental frown. And I was riled up at that, "Anant sir, is this how you speak up if there were my own sisters?"
"I did not say anything offensive about them. I was only scoffing at you. Have you ever had a male friend in your life?" he choked on a laugh, giving a slight pat at my back and he flopped down at the nearby chair
"Of course, you're my friend, Anant sir," I winked at him. He let out another coarse laugh, "What are you doing with your phone?" and quizzed, rolling his eyes at me.
"It's tinder, Anant sir."
"Tender ah, what is it?" he asked and I couldn't help but chortle at it. For someone from media, Anant sir was scantily outdated about technology.
"It's tinder, not tender –t-i-n-d-e-r." I spelt out to him. "It is a dating app."
"So, you guys have started seeing people on an app?" he asked, completely amused. "How do you use it?"
I scrunched my eyes at him. "Should I tell aunty that you're learning to use tinder from me?"
"Rascal, I just asked to make sure my son doesn't use it, not for me."
"Free, Anant sir, I'll teach you!"
******
I was probably on my way to hell –I am not a very nice person, you see; by death due to extreme starvation, when Meena and Khushi hadn't returned even after half an hour
What were they doing for thirty minutes with the bride?
Meena picked up the call in the third ring. "What do you think you both are doing? I am bloody famished, if you're not coming, I am going to the dining hall alone."
She broke in, "Fine, I was only talking about your new place to you newest landlord. I am staying in here because the instruments were making the place very noisy there, if you don't want me to negotiate for you, I am coming right away.." she ran off, at her mouth –but in a while, what she ranted seemed to have some meaning in it but stopping her would make some good to me.
"I know you'll forgive me for being an impatient bugger, Meena. You please continue." I'd to do it, I'd to do it.
"Idiot."
"Thank you, Meena. I love you."
