When Only Love Remains (13 page)

Avanti doesn’t care if she loses her job today. She’s in the washroom of the aircraft and she’s still on the phone.

‘I don’t think this phone call is worth your job,’ remarks Devrat.

‘You have no idea what it’s worth,’ whispers Avanti.

‘I have never flown.’

‘Never?’

‘Never.’

‘Are you scared of it?’ asks Avanti.

‘Air travel is for people in a hurry to get somewhere. I’m never short on time as you would have noticed by now.’

‘You should fly with me now.’

‘I could be highly claustrophobic.’

‘That’s what I would be there for,’ offers Avanti. There’s a knock on the door and the senior flight attendant wants her to come out. Avanti grumbles audibly. ‘Terrible stomach-ache. I think it’s food poisoning,’ says Avanti.

‘Oh I’m sorry, take your time,’ comes the reply from outside.

‘So food poisoning, eh?’ asks Devrat.

‘See, what all you are making me do?’

‘It’s your own free will.’

‘You sure do know how to make someone feel like a pile-on, don’t you?’ growls Avanti.

There’s an announcement on-board that tells the captain and the other flight attendants that boarding has been completed.

‘Damn. We are about to take off,’ wails Avanti. ‘I will call you later. If that’s okay with you?’

‘Sure.’

‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’

Avanti’s fingers linger around the ‘CANCEL’ button for a little while before she taps on it.

‘I miss you,’ she says after the phone’s disconnected.

Soon she will be thousands of miles away, pining for him, and he will be back to his old life, maybe remembering last night as an adventure to be talked about at dinners with strangers. It makes Avanti feel a little dizzy. She can’t get Devrat’s gorgeous face and puppy-like eyes out of her head.

‘Are you okay?’ asks the senior flight attendant when Avanti comes out of the lavatory.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You can rest if you want to for a little while.’

‘I would rather work to distract myself.’

Her trick clearly doesn’t work. The magazines all lie—burying yourself in work doesn’t help when trying to forget a pretty, lost boy with a broken yet brilliant voice. She looks at her phone and wonders if Devrat’s leaving her texts and Whatsapps and Facebook messages and Twitter favourites while she’s flying. She frowns at her desperation to be around him. But she reasons that he has been her longest standing obsession.

‘Hey.’

‘Yes, Avanti?’ asks the flight attendant.

‘Suppose? Just imagine you meet someone on a layover and the boy really likes you. Would he wait for you to be in his city next month? Or would he do something more?’

The flight attendant thinks for a while. ‘He wouldn’t wait for a month.’

Avanti frowns. She feels like a bit of a failure now that she knows Devrat may not wait for a month to see her again. Maybe she didn’t make the cut. Maybe Devrat didn’t like her as much.
But why?
She was always the prettiest in class, she was never really dumb (she was good at geography and history), and she could tell the last five Presidents and Prime Ministers along with the length of their terms. Maybe she should have told him that. Maybe that would have impressed him. After all, Bengalis from Kolkata are raging fans of politics and afternoon naps.

‘What do you know about Varahgiri Venkata Giri?’ asks Avanti, a little angry at herself.

The flight attendant frowns. ‘Who’s that?’

‘He was the fourth President of India, 1969–74.’

‘So? You’re dating his grandson or what?’ winks the flight attendant. ‘Didn’t know you were into south Indian men. I mean they are hot but I’m not a big fan of moustaches.’

Avanti ignores that and gets back to work reimagining situations from last night, thinking what she could have done different to make Devrat fall in love with her. Would dropping the towel have helped? Would not calling him have helped? Would not texting him so much have helped?

The aircraft is now cruising at 35,000 ft. To Avanti it seems like a crushingly slow speed. ‘Get me to Delhi quickly!’ Avanti wants to shout out. She’s wishing the aircraft blows an engine and they have to turn back to Kolkata! And she wishes there’s a terrorist threat and they close the Kolkata airport forever.

She’s reading the texts they had exchanged and she is cursing herself for she could have written different, wittier things. Annoyed with herself, she almost deletes the string of texts but somehow keeps herself from doing so.

She Googles ‘how to be interesting when texting boyfriends’ but realizes that she’s in a flight and there’s no network.

The call bells start to ring. The last thing Avanti needs now is to tend to someone’s kids’ ear popping, or someone needing a newspaper. The other attendants do the needful when Avanti frowns and they assume it’s still her stomach.

‘There’s a petulant kid at 21A who’s pressing the bell as if he has bought the aircraft and every one of us! He’s already pressed it twenty times!’ complains a flight attendant to the senior one.

‘Jerk.’

The bell rings. ‘Here he goes again. Can we not go?’

The senior flight attendant tells them that they have to.

Avanti’s colleague attends to the irritating passenger, comes back and slumps next to her, fuming. ‘I’m not going again. He wanted a pencil. Now is it my job to get him a pencil? My job is to fucking get him to land safely. Asshole.’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Avanti. ‘Let me go the next time.’

‘Is your stomach okay?’

‘What if it’s not? As unlady-like as it may sound, I might end up farting there.’

‘Ew!’ the other flight attendant says. Avanti manages a little smile even though her heart’s sinking imagining Devrat hundreds of miles away.

The bell rings again. Avanti and her colleague look up. It’s 21A again.

‘Pervert,’ the flight attendant mutters.

‘Your wish is answered,’ growls Avanti’s colleague.

Avanti gets up, suitably irritated. As she walks through the aisle she’s trying to frame her words into well-veiled insults. She’s hoping to get into an argument which would distract her from Devrat.

18 . . . 19 . . . 20 . . .

‘Excuse me, you may have bought. . .’ Avanti’s words trail off.

‘I’m sorry to bother you again,’ the boy says in his raspy voice, ‘I just started to feel a little claustrophobic and I thought only a pretty flight attendant could help me out.’

Avanti struggles to find words. ‘Umm . . . You could have just called me.’ Looking at the pretty boy in front of her, she feels all her anger melt away slowly and it’s replaced by a little, silly smile.

‘I tried.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ says Avanti. Only she knows how hard she’s trying not to burst into tears and hurl herself at Devrat who’s smiling as if him being on the aircraft is nothing more than a little prank.

‘Excuse me,’ says Avanti to the two men sitting next to Devrat. ‘Will you allow us to shift you to the business class seats at the front of the aircraft? I know you’re being inconvenienced by this strange, but gorgeous passenger sitting at 21A. Please allow us to help you.’

The two men are more than happy to do so and they huddle to the front of the aircraft, smiling, thanking Avanti.

‘What are you doing here?’ asks Avanti in a loud whisper, trying not to draw too much attention.
Oh my God! He’s here!

‘You asked me to fly with you and it was an offer I couldn’t refuse.’

‘I don’t know what to do now.’

‘Huh?’

‘You’re seriously here, right?’ asks Avanti. She touches him. ‘Shit. You’re here.’

‘Yes, I think so, too,’ answers Devrat with an impish smile on his face.

‘This is so screwed up. Oh. God. I’m panicking. Oh. My. God. But why? How?’

‘Sit. Sit.’

‘I can’t! This is my aircraft! I’m supposed to be attending to people and not sitting next to you! YOU!’

The people sitting in rows around Avanti look at her palpitating and slowly losing it.

‘Shhh,’ says Devrat.

Avanti sits next to Devrat and holds her head.

‘The fact that you’re over-reacting is cute.’

‘I spent the last twenty minutes freaking out wondering if you have already forgotten me. I was trying to come to terms with that and here you are! Why? You’re purposely screwing with my head, aren’t you? Are you sure you’re still here?’

‘Yes, I am. And couldn’t it be that I, too, was freaking out that you would fly to Delhi and not come back until next month?’

‘Why couldn’t you just come with me? I wouldn’t have wallowed in self-pity for the last hour.’

‘I wanted it to be a surprise. And had I told you I would have missed out on this reaction!’

‘I hate surprises,’ grumbles Avanti. There’s an awkward silence and she’s debating mentally if this is the beginning of something, whether him spontaneously jumping on a flight to Delhi means something more than an interesting story to be told over dinner.

‘Is everything okay here?’ asks the senior flight attendant looking at Avanti and Devrat.

‘Yes, it is,’ answers Avanti. ‘He’s a friend.’

The flight attendant smiles knowingly and walks from there.

‘Does this mean something, Devrat? Because I’m kind of freaking out here.’

‘I would like to think so. And I think I’m a little freaked out as well. In a good way though,’ answers Devrat. His words make her feel warm and fuzzy.

‘You’re really here, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Dr Rajendra Prasad was the only President to serve two terms in India.’

‘Huh?’ Devrat looks on, confused.

‘Just in case.’

Devrat boards the bus meant for the passengers and Avanti gets on the car that takes the flight attendants to the terminal.

‘Will see you inside!’ shouts Avanti from the car, beaming, waving like a madwoman. To think that he’s the reason behind Avanti’s happiness is strangely comforting and uplifting. Devrat’s phone is ringing continuously while he waits for Avanti outside the airport, still trying to wrap his head around his spontaneous trip.

‘Hi, Sumit.’

‘Where on earth are you?’ bellows Sumit. ‘I have been calling you for the past two hours, Devrat. A college in Durgapur has asked for you and I’m quoting fifteen thousand for a two-hour performance. It’s day after tomorrow and you better be there.’

‘Confirm the event. I will need the tickets to be booked from New Delhi.’

‘Delhi? What Delhi? What are you doing there? Don’t tell me you picked another manager. I will kill you—’

‘Stop over-reacting! I’m here to meet a friend. Send me the ticket and any special requirements that the college has,’ says Devrat.

‘You don’t have to teach me that. Tell me something? Who’s the friend? It’s a girl, right? Who’s it? Don’t tell me it’s Karthika! No, man. She’s hideous.’

‘She’s not THAT bad-looking. And it’s not her anyway.’

‘Whatever. Just tell me who the girl is and I want details,’ probes Sumit.

‘Shut up, Sumit. I will call you later,’ says Devrat and disconnects the line.

Avanti’s walking towards him and she has a shy, goofy smile on her face. ‘I still can’t believe you’re here. Are you? You are, right? I am not crazy and talking to thin air, right?’ asks Avanti.

‘Well, I am here. And you should stop saying that.’

Avanti shuts up, embarrassed.

‘It’s okay,’ whispers Devrat. ‘Even I don’t believe I’m here. So that makes two of us.’

They get into a cab. Devrat’s thinking of how to break it to Avanti that he has about two thousand rupees and two days to spend in Delhi before he flies off to Durgapur and gets paid again. For all he knows Avanti will take him to an expensive hotel and get him to check in there. Though he loves hotels and he loves to see Avanti in hotel towels more.

‘Where are we going?’ asks Devrat.

‘Home?’

‘Home? What home?’

‘My home. You need a place to stay, right? So stay at my place. I talked to my grandmother and she said you can stay over.’

‘You spoke to your grandmother about me? What did you say? How did she allow you? She stays with you? Didn’t you say you live with your father?’

‘Too many questions,’ snickers Avanti. ‘She lives in Dehradun and I told her that you need a place to stay. She’s pretty chilled out. She will talk to Dad and tell him.’

‘She didn’t say a thing?’

‘I would be lying if I said she didn’t. She threw a big tantrum but then calmed down after I threw a bigger tantrum and blamed her for sending me to Delhi and not loving me enough! So she allowed me. She loves me a lot and it always works in my favour,’ Avanti chuckles.

‘Can’t I stay somewhere else?’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘Because I’ve known you only for a day and it will be mighty awkward to face your dad?’

‘Join the club. Even I feel awkward in front of my dad.’

‘But still! I’m very awkward around older people. I have nothing to say. Every conversation with my own relatives feels like a terrorist investigation.’

Avanti laughs at that. ‘It will be okay. My dad doesn’t talk a lot. He spends hours inside his room working on some mathematics theorems and stuff. He won’t ask you anything.’

‘It still is very awkward.’ Avanti starts to laugh and Devrat asks her what happened. ‘You’re cute, Devrat. Like a pug or beagle! I could just keep you in my handbag and keep playing with you.’

‘Okay, now you’re emasculating me. Stop comparing me with puppies. Should I start doing deadlifts and pull-ups?’

Avanti smiles.

‘Now what!’ snaps Devrat.

‘I just imagined a puppy doing pull-ups!’

‘Uffo!’

They both smile. The cab is stuck in traffic and Devrat’s quite happy about it. Meeting anyone’s parents hasn’t been his strongest point. Both Karishma’s and Arundhati’s parents had looked at him like he was a parasite, a rat, a pest control problem their daughters should get rid of.

Devrat’s now thinking of the last time he met his parents. It’s been a couple of months already and he misses them. He thinks of how different life would have been without all the pressure he has put on himself to succeed in something it’s very hard to succeed in. He could have been an engineering student, slogging every day, got himself a job, given his parents the pleasure of looking for a girl for him. And every time he thinks of them, he thinks he has been selfish to not give them that pleasure.

‘I’m a pile of nerves. I can die right now,’ says Devrat when they reach her apartment building.

‘You will be gone before my father even manages to string a single sentence. He’s conversationally challenged,’ assures Avanti.

They trudge up the stairs, and Avanti jimmies a key into the lock and opens the door. Devrat’s thinking of whether he should greet Avanti’s father with a ‘Hello’ or go with a more acceptable ‘Namaste’. He’s quite nervous because strangely enough he cares what Avanti’s father thinks of him.

‘Where’s he?’ whispers Devrat.

‘I don’t know. He’s like a jack-in-the-box. You think he’s not there but then he pops out from his room with ink-spot stains on his shirt and face.’

‘Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing? That’s quite a cute definition for any dad.’

Avanti doesn’t respond and is surprised to realize that it’s actually true. She shrugs it off. ‘Let me get you to your room.’

‘Aren’t we rushing into this too soon? My own room? Have you strewn flower petals all over the bed as well?’ Devrat winks.

‘Very funny.’

The guest room is spanking clean but it smells of abandonment. It’s sparsely furnished but it’s much better than what Devrat would have got in the money he has. And that Avanti would be in the adjoining room was a big bonus.

‘You can change,’ says Avanti. ‘I will be back in ten?’

‘Sure,’ says Devrat and tries not to imagine Avanti, too, changing.

Devrat lies on the bed for a few minutes, closes his eyes. For a moment he’s thinking of what to wear and that’s when it hits him that he doesn’t have clothes and he has been in the same T-shirt for over forty-eight hours now. He sniffs his armpits and a part of him dies. He smells rotten.

The washroom has a new shaving kit, packed toothbrush, a tiny tube of toothpaste, shower gel and a clean towel. He bathes thoroughly to beat the ungodly smell of his T-shirt. He’s drying himself when he hears music and running water from the other side of the wall. A little later, he hears Avanti humming the songs as well.
God! She can sing!
Devrat foams his two-day-old stubble, slowly and deliberately, trying hard not to imagine Avanti in a bathtub, or shower, naked. She does look like a bathtub person, like a movie star, pretty even without make-up and with wet, clumpy hair. Devrat stands there, betting against himself, whether she’s in a bathtub or a shower, and the Devrat who’s betting on the bathtub is winning. And then just like that, he says out aloud, ‘I can hear you from here.’

There’s silence from the other side. The music stops.

‘Umm . . . hi!’

‘Hi,’ says Devrat. And just to make sure the conversation is not about whether she’s in a bathtub or a shower, he adds, ‘I don’t have a clean T-shirt to wear. Think we should go shopping after this?’

‘Sure,’ says Avanti. ‘Or I will get your one of my father’s T-shirts if he has one in his cupboard. Though I’m not promising you anything. I have only seen him in dull oversized shirts.’

All of this is not weird at all, Devrat tells himself. It’s a natural progression in a story where a girl meets a boy in a bar in Kolkata, they spend the night in a hotel room, and find themselves in the girl’s house in a different city where the boy is wearing the girl’s father’s T-shirt.

‘Sure,’ mumbles Devrat as if wearing her father’s T-shirts is perfectly ordinary.

Devrat can’t help but think of her in the bathtub, lined with lit candles, her body submerged in foamy water, her legs propped up on the edges. In the image, he’s there, sitting on the toilet seat with the lid down, talking to her. Just to push that image out of his head, he says, ‘I’m done. I will see you outside.’

There’s no answer from the other side of the wall for a few seconds. Devrat wonders if he should barge in through her door with the excuse that he thought she might be drowning.

‘Sure. You could have come over and we could have talked but as with most things, I’m sure this will sound flirtatious and you will come and expect something and be disappointed when nothing happens,’ rues Avanti.

‘Why do you think I would come over thinking that something would happen? I’m a perfectly decent boy. And I didn’t imagine you in a bathtub at all,’ says Devrat.

‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ chuckles Avanti. There’s silence again, after which, Avanti says, in a voice softer than usual. ‘Come over.’

‘Okay,’ says Devrat. ‘But only if you promise not to flash or try to do anything dirty with me.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Give me a minute.’

He leaves the washroom, already sweating and nervous. What if she’s looking absolutely devastatingly hot? What if he’s staring at all the wrong places? What if it affects him physiologically? What if she notices?

Devrat psyches himself up, tells himself that she will be covered in foam from head to toe, and that’s equivalent to a girl in a burqa or something. And also it’s totally harmless; people do this all the time!

Devrat tells himself that and enters Avanti’s room, which seems to have undergone a little explosion of clothes and make-up stuff. Devrat’s palms are sweaty and the bathroom door is slightly ajar. A part of him, a huge chunk, doesn’t want to enter, rather wants to stay out, run to his own room and later tell Avanti he got caught up. She’s going to be naked. Like naked. Not even a towel. But naked!
Stop saying that word!

Devrat walks in and tries not to look directly at her, instead looks around the bathroom and into his phone.

‘You can sit there,’ says Avanti and points to a small stool that’s a little too pretty to be in a washroom. The washroom, itself, is too pretty to be a washroom.

Avanti’s covered in foam alright, just like he had imagined. He can see two little bumps that are her knees. But he’s imagining much more. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken up on the offer. This is torture.

‘You look pretty,’ says Devrat. ‘Fresh.’

Avanti blushes. The mirror in the bathroom has fogged up and the room is perfectly warm.

‘I have this thing of bathing in very hot water. I heard somewhere it’s good for the skin,’ says Avanti.

‘If that’s true, you must have been born in a hot water spring,’ says Devrat, his tongue failing him a little. ‘Sorry for that cheesy line. I couldn’t come up with anything better.’

He can’t help but notice the wet strands of hair that are stuck to her skin, and every time she moves her legs inside the water, something flutters inside him. He stares at his phone, locks and unlocks it.

‘When does your father come in? I mean I don’t want him to walk in on us and see us like this. That wouldn’t be so great, I am thinking?’ asks Devrat.

‘He won’t. And why are you so concerned about my father. He barely talks, Devrat.’

‘I think I’m just little nervous. I just want him to like me.’