whom, including me, didn’t open up easily to
strangers. But all of us were wits, and she the sharpest of all. I
made no secret of my admiration for her but didn’t foresee losing
my heart. Had someone prophesied her loving me—the butt of most of
her jokes—I would have laughed out loud (LOL is a word I learned
from her when we became email lovers) but secretly I would have
been flattered.
It was a while
before she lowered her guard among us and I realized she was also a
fun-loving person. All five of us were from outside the city and in
our spare time we used to tramp about exploring Delhi’s markets and
heritage. One day in October, we were out pass-hunting for a
cultural festival in Mehrauli. After getting our passes we visited
Red Fort. I was uneasy about travelling with two girls in a lawless
Blueline bus, but those two were perfectly in their element and
even secured seats for all of us.
Although she
mostly wore western clothes, that day she was dressed in a red
kurta with tiny golden dots printed on it and a white salwar.
Outside the fort, she saw fake bushy beards for sale and bought
one. I was speechless when she put it on in public and insisted
that I click a picture. She looked crazy with that thing on and was
laughing so loudly that other tourists turned to look at her.
Seeing them she became very self-conscious and froze for a second.
Then she tore off the beard and started walking towards the road
red with embarrassment. Maybe that was the moment I fell in love
with her. I wanted to wrap my arm around her shoulder and tell her
it was all right.
But she brightened
up again on the bus and laughed at herself and apologized to all of
us for spoiling the visit. In Mehrauli, we had a merry time again,
putting on the beard by turns and clicking pictures in the
colonnade ringing Adham Khan’s Tomb.
I wanted to leave
early at night because of the girls but she insisted on staying on
till she had seen all the dances, and then walked to the main road
humming the different folk tunes she had heard. I stayed behind her
and watched her erratic, playful step. She was a merry person
inside that private fortress she dwelt in.
When I bought a
bike a few months later, I gave rides to all my friends, but she
was afraid to sit astride. She had never sat on a bicycle even, she
said. I asked her to ride side-saddle but she laughed away the idea
saying she didn’t want to look like a village belle. All the same,
I kept after her and one evening, after study hours at the
institute, she agreed to try it once our classmates had left. I
brought the bike alongside a high pavement, and gripping my
shoulders as though her survival depended on it, she swung her
right leg over the saddle, letting out a whelp of surprise on
finding out it was so easy. We rode to the library deep inside the
campus but couldn’t find another high pavement there and I had to
twist around and hold her under the left arm to help her off. Her
cheeks were flushed after the ride and there was a touch of
embarrassment in her laugh, perhaps because we were alone, away
from the others, on a dimly lit street, or was it the unaccustomed
physical closeness? I felt very awkward myself and hoped she
wouldn’t notice.
I had feared it
would be our last ride together but she liked it so much that we
started riding around the campus more often, whenever she had some
work or I an excuse. One day, I asked the others if they were game
for a trip to Tughlaqabad Fort, a sprawling ruin with a bad
reputation on the city’s outskirts. I really wanted to see it
because its walls have a rugged appeal that Purana Qila matches to
an extent but Red Fort lacks entirely. By then, they had grown
bored of monuments and only one agreed to go. She.
I picked her from
her hostel in the morning. It must have been early February, I
think, because there was no fog yet both of us were wearing thick
jackets. She didn’t crack a joke on seeing me and patted a small
bag she had slung across.
strangers. But all of us were wits, and she the sharpest of all. I
made no secret of my admiration for her but didn’t foresee losing
my heart. Had someone prophesied her loving me—the butt of most of
her jokes—I would have laughed out loud (LOL is a word I learned
from her when we became email lovers) but secretly I would have
been flattered.
It was a while
before she lowered her guard among us and I realized she was also a
fun-loving person. All five of us were from outside the city and in
our spare time we used to tramp about exploring Delhi’s markets and
heritage. One day in October, we were out pass-hunting for a
cultural festival in Mehrauli. After getting our passes we visited
Red Fort. I was uneasy about travelling with two girls in a lawless
Blueline bus, but those two were perfectly in their element and
even secured seats for all of us.
Although she
mostly wore western clothes, that day she was dressed in a red
kurta with tiny golden dots printed on it and a white salwar.
Outside the fort, she saw fake bushy beards for sale and bought
one. I was speechless when she put it on in public and insisted
that I click a picture. She looked crazy with that thing on and was
laughing so loudly that other tourists turned to look at her.
Seeing them she became very self-conscious and froze for a second.
Then she tore off the beard and started walking towards the road
red with embarrassment. Maybe that was the moment I fell in love
with her. I wanted to wrap my arm around her shoulder and tell her
it was all right.
But she brightened
up again on the bus and laughed at herself and apologized to all of
us for spoiling the visit. In Mehrauli, we had a merry time again,
putting on the beard by turns and clicking pictures in the
colonnade ringing Adham Khan’s Tomb.
I wanted to leave
early at night because of the girls but she insisted on staying on
till she had seen all the dances, and then walked to the main road
humming the different folk tunes she had heard. I stayed behind her
and watched her erratic, playful step. She was a merry person
inside that private fortress she dwelt in.
When I bought a
bike a few months later, I gave rides to all my friends, but she
was afraid to sit astride. She had never sat on a bicycle even, she
said. I asked her to ride side-saddle but she laughed away the idea
saying she didn’t want to look like a village belle. All the same,
I kept after her and one evening, after study hours at the
institute, she agreed to try it once our classmates had left. I
brought the bike alongside a high pavement, and gripping my
shoulders as though her survival depended on it, she swung her
right leg over the saddle, letting out a whelp of surprise on
finding out it was so easy. We rode to the library deep inside the
campus but couldn’t find another high pavement there and I had to
twist around and hold her under the left arm to help her off. Her
cheeks were flushed after the ride and there was a touch of
embarrassment in her laugh, perhaps because we were alone, away
from the others, on a dimly lit street, or was it the unaccustomed
physical closeness? I felt very awkward myself and hoped she
wouldn’t notice.
I had feared it
would be our last ride together but she liked it so much that we
started riding around the campus more often, whenever she had some
work or I an excuse. One day, I asked the others if they were game
for a trip to Tughlaqabad Fort, a sprawling ruin with a bad
reputation on the city’s outskirts. I really wanted to see it
because its walls have a rugged appeal that Purana Qila matches to
an extent but Red Fort lacks entirely. By then, they had grown
bored of monuments and only one agreed to go. She.
I picked her from
her hostel in the morning. It must have been early February, I
think, because there was no fog yet both of us were wearing thick
jackets. She didn’t crack a joke on seeing me and patted a small
bag she had slung across.
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