2012, New Delhi. I was invited to my friend's party at his aunt's terrace. Others from the Doon batch of 2009-10 were invited too. Others included the prettiest girl of our class, Rashmi Rathore, Welham Girls. We used to date while at school. Like many other couples, we broke apart too, by the time we were in the first year of our college, in different cities. My name is Kunal Vohra, and I am not going to lie to myself on this page. Understandably, because of my striking capacities in football, I was quite a rave, especially amongst the girls. Hidden in the hills, our hostels were the best days of our lives, and I can safely say a 'we' because I know I am correct. Rashmi would be there. We would be doing a sleep-over. Anupam Bose was the creative genius in my class, a sweet, lovable, nice chap. He is now a graduate in Fashion from one of the top institutes of the country. His elder sister, cousin, used to study in Welhams too. Mallika Bose was seven years older to us and I know so much about her because she brought us boys a lot of food in her annual visit to the town. Exotic bengali dishes -- Chital Machher Muittha, Thor'er Chop, Dim'er Devil and the absolutely baffling Malaai Chingri. A bag of blessings would unravel from her as she fed the group. Mallika, in her smile that melted my heart faster than the chingri in my mouth. I always kept it to myself but I developed a thing for her and harboured it rather preciously through the school years.
Anupam hinted that I would have a room to myself, indicating if I would like to use it to revive the Rashmi-relationship. Little did he know all I went to the party for was because of his cousin, Mallika. I was on time, relatively well-dressed and mingling soon with his family and our friends. Rashmi looked dazzling in her tight jeans and an elegant, flimsy top. The New Delhi winter was respected only by a flimsier shawl, draped around her neckline. I smiled at her and thought of our woody kisses in the overcrowded town, carefully trying to avoid attention. But where was Mallika? I was disturbed to not find her. People were noticing my drift. I excused myself from Anupam into the kitchen to fetch myself some ice. And there she was.
Mallika appeared as if she never aged. Gracious in her smile, and sensational skirt which did not fail to cover the slit, she looked as comfortable as the aura about her. Her halter neck top made me go bonkers. Her shoulders were visible beyond the Welham scarf. The hair was loosely tied. She looked at me, 'Kunal?', and walked up to hug me. Warm, as ever. Hot, as ever. She was irresistable. I was weak. After the hug, I managed a weak 'Hey', and smiled nervously at her.
'Look at how tall you have grown!' The Bengali exaggeration. I was still shorter to her by a good two inches.
'Malaai Chingri? Like the old days?' I asked.
'Yes. And some more delicacies. Here, taste this.' She handed me a fry of something that looked chilli-shaped. It was gorgeous, befitting of the occasion.
'Are you staying over too?' she asked.
If I could, I would tell you, just for you. 'Yes. The boys plan to drink barrels tonight.'
'Of course! I will join in too. You must. Now, take this to the terrace, will you please?' She handed me a big plate full of those chilli-shaped fries. I took it in a manner which touched her hands, slightly.
I wondered if she deliberately overlooked the immediate sensations which set my being into fire.
We drank. A lot. All of us. Anupam, me, Ritesh, Rashmi, Nikita, Satwik, Priyam, Sebastian, Charlie and Neha. The uncles and the aunts. The younger kids. And, Mallika. At midnight we all screamed looking at the sky and hugged each other, intoxicated with the alcohol and the fireworks. The bonfire dance was a joyous riot. I could not see her. Looking for an escape, I went to the loo. I went looking for her. And there she was, on the phone, lying on the sofa. Her slit moving upwards the knee, her fingers circling the glass. She looked ethereal in those soft lights inside the room. I went up to her. She saw me and finished her phone call. 'Happy New Year, Kunal. Where are the others? What are you doing here?'
'Hey Mallika. Which should I answer first?' I was aware I was speaking more than I do with her. She looked oblivious -- like a seasoned drinker would behave with others new to it. I sat beside her. She sat up. I took the glass off her hand and laughed as she fought to have it back. And then, softly, I asked her. 'Would you like to have a cigarette?'
'Sure. But not here. Come.' And we walked out to one of the balconies. The fireworks were still on. She pushed the door behind her shut and asked for a light. 'So? What did you study?'
'Fuck, Mallika. Have a great year.' And I kissed her. On her lips. If she was shocked, she did not let me feel it. The sky lit up even brighter as we kissed deep. Years of fantasizing came alive that night when she sneaked up to my room later. Mallika Bose in my arms, Mallika Bose of my dreams, Mallika Bose is mine. That was the best night of my life. Hell, it was going to be a tremendous year.
***
2015, Kolkata. All through the evening I eyed Kunal. People say older women cannot have boys. Kunal was devastatingly seductive and I don't know how I survived his charm. He went to his room with Rashmi that night. That sleazy, chic chick. Good choice, Kunal. But I could give you more. You should have known. At least she can never give you such diary entries.
That night never happened.
Mallika.
Anupam hinted that I would have a room to myself, indicating if I would like to use it to revive the Rashmi-relationship. Little did he know all I went to the party for was because of his cousin, Mallika. I was on time, relatively well-dressed and mingling soon with his family and our friends. Rashmi looked dazzling in her tight jeans and an elegant, flimsy top. The New Delhi winter was respected only by a flimsier shawl, draped around her neckline. I smiled at her and thought of our woody kisses in the overcrowded town, carefully trying to avoid attention. But where was Mallika? I was disturbed to not find her. People were noticing my drift. I excused myself from Anupam into the kitchen to fetch myself some ice. And there she was.
Mallika appeared as if she never aged. Gracious in her smile, and sensational skirt which did not fail to cover the slit, she looked as comfortable as the aura about her. Her halter neck top made me go bonkers. Her shoulders were visible beyond the Welham scarf. The hair was loosely tied. She looked at me, 'Kunal?', and walked up to hug me. Warm, as ever. Hot, as ever. She was irresistable. I was weak. After the hug, I managed a weak 'Hey', and smiled nervously at her.
'Look at how tall you have grown!' The Bengali exaggeration. I was still shorter to her by a good two inches.
'Malaai Chingri? Like the old days?' I asked.
'Yes. And some more delicacies. Here, taste this.' She handed me a fry of something that looked chilli-shaped. It was gorgeous, befitting of the occasion.
'Are you staying over too?' she asked.
If I could, I would tell you, just for you. 'Yes. The boys plan to drink barrels tonight.'
'Of course! I will join in too. You must. Now, take this to the terrace, will you please?' She handed me a big plate full of those chilli-shaped fries. I took it in a manner which touched her hands, slightly.
I wondered if she deliberately overlooked the immediate sensations which set my being into fire.
We drank. A lot. All of us. Anupam, me, Ritesh, Rashmi, Nikita, Satwik, Priyam, Sebastian, Charlie and Neha. The uncles and the aunts. The younger kids. And, Mallika. At midnight we all screamed looking at the sky and hugged each other, intoxicated with the alcohol and the fireworks. The bonfire dance was a joyous riot. I could not see her. Looking for an escape, I went to the loo. I went looking for her. And there she was, on the phone, lying on the sofa. Her slit moving upwards the knee, her fingers circling the glass. She looked ethereal in those soft lights inside the room. I went up to her. She saw me and finished her phone call. 'Happy New Year, Kunal. Where are the others? What are you doing here?'
'Hey Mallika. Which should I answer first?' I was aware I was speaking more than I do with her. She looked oblivious -- like a seasoned drinker would behave with others new to it. I sat beside her. She sat up. I took the glass off her hand and laughed as she fought to have it back. And then, softly, I asked her. 'Would you like to have a cigarette?'
'Sure. But not here. Come.' And we walked out to one of the balconies. The fireworks were still on. She pushed the door behind her shut and asked for a light. 'So? What did you study?'
'Fuck, Mallika. Have a great year.' And I kissed her. On her lips. If she was shocked, she did not let me feel it. The sky lit up even brighter as we kissed deep. Years of fantasizing came alive that night when she sneaked up to my room later. Mallika Bose in my arms, Mallika Bose of my dreams, Mallika Bose is mine. That was the best night of my life. Hell, it was going to be a tremendous year.
***
2015, Kolkata. All through the evening I eyed Kunal. People say older women cannot have boys. Kunal was devastatingly seductive and I don't know how I survived his charm. He went to his room with Rashmi that night. That sleazy, chic chick. Good choice, Kunal. But I could give you more. You should have known. At least she can never give you such diary entries.
That night never happened.
Mallika.
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