Will She Be Mine by Subir Banerjee

treating their parents as babysitters, as use-and-throw objects.”
    I was impressed. He managed to sound quite philosophical at times and definitely artistic in his thoughts. When I mentioned this, he shook his head.
    “I’ve no artistic quality, but I do admire your skills. I like your musical tunes,” he complimented. “It’s a rare ability. I sometimes feel you're wasting your time studying engineering. You should have studied homeopathy or pursued music. Don’t you ever feel like that?”
    “It doesn’t matter what I think. What else could I do?”
    “Why?”
    “I guess I lack the drive to do things independently,” I admitted. “It’s not enough to have talent. Otherwise, I’d have been painting at an embassy long ago. One should be able to present one’s skills to the world convincingly, taking appropriate risks at the right time. Otherwise, you're absolutely right; who wants to study engineering? I always wanted to become a musician. It wasn’t a mere hobby like my other interests.”
    “I love creativity in any form,” he said with unabashed admiration. “Unfortunately, I don't have any special abilities. But I love music.” He looked at me seriously, “RK, if you ever get half a chance in life to sell your music for a living, grab it and just don’t look back. I'm sure you'll not feel disappointed.”
    It was a big compliment from a peer. Was my music really that good? It didn’t sound like he was kidding or pulling my leg. He really loved everything Indian, from desi food and desi clothes, to old style Indian singers like Sehgal, old monuments and traditions.
    “Give me a moment, I’m going to the loo,” he said suddenly. “Will be back in a moment.”
    “Wait, I’ll come along,” I called after him.
    After relieving ourselves, as we stood at the washbasin to wash our hands, he pointed to another tube of toothpaste that someone had forgotten there.
    “Your turn,” he offered generously. “Remember, these instances are becoming too frequent in F-mid,” he said in an undertone, referring to our hostel wing in hall 1 which was for third and fourth year students. “We must avoid further temptations in the future lest we become the prime suspects.”
    I gave a crooked smile as I followed his finger to the tube. Without word, he took a step out of the restroom to watch the dormitory, while I made sure there was no one inside the shower cabins.
    We winked at each other as I uncapped the tube of toothpaste and squeezed it generously all over the big mirror, before placing it back carefully on the washbasin just as I’d found it. With a satisfied laugh we headed back to my room to continue our discussion.
    Inside my room he stopped dramatically at the mirror nailed to the wall with a small platform at its base to hold the comb, shaving kit, tooth brush and other such items.
    “Where’s your toothpaste?” he asked innocently, scrutinizing the small platform.
    I craned my neck over his shoulder to check for myself. Indeed, my tube of toothpaste was missing. I bent down to check the floor beneath, and then looked up as he giggled.
    “What’s the matter?” I asked suspiciously.
    He pointed a thumb in the direction of the restroom, breaking into a full blown laughter. “Didn’t you recognize your tube when you squeezed it so happily, dude?”
    I got up and aimed a punch at him which he dodged.
    “Don’t try the same stunt with my paste,” he warned, tears of laughter streaming down his eyes. “You already had your turn when you crashed my bicycle under the pile in hall 2 last year.”
    I sighed and raised my hands. Life in F-wing of hall 1 was the best of my four years at MSIT Kanpur.

    As our years of graduate study meandered to an end, I was surprised, and felt a little betrayed, when PS promptly gunned for a scholarship to the US upon graduation.
    Most of my other friends too turned out to be more practical and grounded in reality than me. The various scholarships to the US