Chapter 1: Act 1
She stood two places ahead of me in the lunch line at the IIMA mess. I checked her out from the corner of my eye, wondering what the big fuss about this South Indian girl was.
Her waist-length hair rippled as she tapped the steel plate with her fingers like a famished refugee. I noticed three black threads on the back of her fair neck. Someone had decided to accessorise in the most academically-oriented B-school in the country.
Ananya Swaminathan-best girl in the fresher batch, seniors had already ahointed her on the dorm board. We had only twenty girls in a batch of two hundred. Good-looking ones were rare; girls don't get selected to IIM for their looks. They get in because they can solve mathematical problems faster than 99.9% of India's population and crack the CAT. Most IIM girls are above shallow things like make-up, fitting clothes, contact lenses, removal of facial hair, body odour and feminine charm. Girls like Ananya, if and when they arrive by freak chance, become instant pin-ups
in our testosterone-charged, estrogen-starved campus. I imagined Ms Swaminathan had received more male attention in the last week than she had in her entire life. Thus, I assumed she'd be obnoxious and decided to ignore her.
The students inched forward on auto-pilot. The bored kitchen staff couldn't care if they were serving prisoners or future CEOs. They tossed one ladle of yellow stuff after another into plates. Of course, Ms Best Girl needed the spotlight.
'That's not rasam. Whatever it is, it's definitely not rasam. And what's that, the dark yellow stuff?"
'Sambhar," the mess worker growled.
'Eew, looks disgusting! How did you make it?' she asked. "You want or not?" the mess worker said, more interested in wrapping up lunch than discussing recipes.
While our lady decided, the two boys between us banged their plate on the counter. They took the food without editorials about it and lef I came up right behind her. I stole a sideways glance-definitely abo e Armally well above average. In fact, outlier by IIMA standard She had perfect features, with her eyes, nose, lips and ears the right si and in right places. That is all it takes to make people beautiful-norma body parts-yet why does nature mess it up so many times? Her ti bloc bindi matched her sky-blue and white salwar kameez. She looked like Sridevi's smarter cousin, if there is such a possibility.
The mess worker dumped a yellow lump on my plate. "Excuse me, I'm before him,' she said to the mess worker, pinning him down with her large, confident eyes.
"What you want?" the mess worker said in a heavy South Indian accent. "You calling rasam not rasam. You make face when you see my sambhar. I feed hundred people. They no complain.'
And that is why you don't improve. Maybe they should complain.
she said.
The mess worker dropped the ladle in the sambhar vessel and threw up his hands. "You want complain? Go to mess manager and complain... see what student coming to these days, the mess worker turned to me,
seeking sympathy. I almost nodded. She looked at me. 'Can you eat this stuff?' she wanted to know. "Try
I took a spoonful of sambhar. Warm and salty, not gourmet stuff, but edible in a no-choice kind of way. I could eat it for lunch; I had stayed in a hostel for four years.
However, I saw her face, now prettier with a hint of pink. I compared her to the fifty-year-old mess worker. He wore a lungi and had visible gro hair on his chest. When in doubt, the pretty girl is always right. 'It's disgusting, I said.
"See,' she said with childlike glee. The mess worker glared at me.
"But I can develop a taste for it, I added in a lame attempt to soothe
him.
The mes worker grunted and tossed a mound of rice on my plate.
Pick something you like, I said to her, avoiding eye contact. The whole
campas had stared at her in the past few days. I had to appear different. Give me the rasgullas,' she pointed to the dessert.
That is after you finish meal, the mess worker said. Who are you? My mother? I am finished. Give me two rasgullas,
she insisted. Only one per student,' he said as he placed a katori with one sweet
on her plate. "Oh, come on, there are no limits on this disgusting sambhar but only one of what is edible," she said. The line grew behind us. The boys in line didn't mind. They had a chance to legitimately stare at the best looking girl of the batch. 'Give mine to her, I said and regretted it immediately. She'll never
date you, it is a rasgulla down the drain, I scolded myself.
I give to you, the mess worker said virtuously as he placed the
dessert on my plate.
I passed my katori to her. She took the two rasgullas and moved out
of the line.
OK buddy, pretty girl goes her way, rasgulla-less loser goes another. Find a corner to sit, I said to myself.
She turned to me. She didn't ask me to sit with her, but she looked like she wouldn't mind if I did. She pointed to a table with a little finger where we sat down opposite each other. The entire mess stared at us, wondering what I had done to merit sitting with her. I have made a huge sacrifice-my dessert-I wanted to tell them.
I'm Krish. I said, doodling in the sambhar with my spoon. Tim Ananya. Yuk, isn't it?' she said as I grimaced at the food's taste.
I'm used to hostel food. I shrugged. I've had worse. 'Hard to imagine worse,' she said.
I coughed as I bit on a green chilli. She had a water jug next to her. She lifted the jug, leaned forward and poured water for me. A collective sigh ran through the mess. We had become everyone's matince show.
She finished her two desserts in four bites. I'm still hungry. I didn't even have breakfast.
Hanger or rasteless food, hostel life is about whatever is easier t deal with. I said. You want to go out? I'm sure this city has decent restaurants, sh
Now?" We had a class in one hour. But Ms Best Girl had asked me our, even though for her own stomach. And as everyone knows, femal classmates always come before class. Don't tell me you are dying to attend the lecture,' she said
ap, daring me.
I spooned in some rice.
She stamped a foot. "Leave that disgusting stuff. Four hundred eyes followed us as I walked out of the mess with M Ananya Swaminathan, rated the best girl by popular vote in IIMA.
Do you like chicken?" The menu rested on her nose as she spoke. We
had come to Topaz, a basic, soulless but air-conditioned restaurant
half a kilometre from campus. Like all mid-range Indian restaurants, it
played boring instrumental versions of old Hindi songs and served little
marinated onions on the table.
"I thought Ahmedabad was vegetarian,' I said. Please, I'd die here then.' She turned to the waiter and ordered half a tandoori chicken with roomali rotis.
'Do you have beer?' she asked the waiter.
The waiter shook his head in horror and left. "We are in Gujarat, there is prohibition here,' I said.
"Why?"
'Gandhiji's birthplace," I said.
But Gandhiji won us freedom,' she said, playing with the little "What's the point of getting people free only to put restrictions on them? 'Point, I said. "So, you are an expert on rasam and sambhar. Are you
onions
South Indian?'
Tamilian, please be precise. In fact, Tamil Brahmin, which is way different from Tamilians. Never forget that.' She leaned back as the waiter served our meal. She tore a chicken leg with her teeth. And how exactly are Tamil Brahmins different?
"Well, for one thing, no mear and no drinking," she said as she gestured a cross with the chicken leg
Absolutely, I said.
She laughed. I didn't say I am a practising Tam Brahm. But you should know that I am born into the purest of pure upper caste communities ever created. What about you, commoner?
I am a Punjabi, though I never lived in Punjab. I grew up in Delhi. And I have no idea about my caste, but we do eat chicken. And I can digest bad sambhar better than Tamil Brahmins,' I said.
"You are funny,' she said, tapping my hand. I liked the tap. So where did you stay in hostel before?" she said. "Please don't say
IIT, you are doing pretty well so far." "What's wrong with IIT?'
"Nothing, are you from there? She sipped water. "Yes, from IIT Delhi. Is that a problem?"
"No," she smiled, 'not yet.'
"Excuse me?" I said. Her
'Nothing,' she said.
We stayed quiet.
smugness had reached irritating levels.
"What's the deal? Someone from IIT broke your heart?
She laughed. 'No, on the contrary. I seem to have broken some, for
no fault of my own."
*Care to explain?
'Don't tell anyone, but in the past one week that I've been here, I've had ten proposals. All from IITians." I mentally kicked myself. My guess was right; she was getting a lot
of attention. I only wished it wasn't from my own people. "Proposals for what?"
The usual, to go out, be friends and stuff. Oh, and one guy from IIT Chennai proposed marriage!"
'Serious?"
"Yes, he said this past week has been momentous for him. He joined
IIMA, and now he has found his wife in me. I may be wrong, but I think he had some jewellery on him.'
Ismacked my forehead. No, my collegemates can't be doing this, whatever the deprivation So, you understand my concern about you being from IIT, she said,
picking up a chicken breast next.
Oh, so it is a natural reaction. If I am from IIT, I have to propose
to you within ten minutes!
I didn't say that
"You implied that."
T'm sorry."
"It's OK. I expected you to be like this. Let me guess-only child, rich parents! Wrong, wrong. I have a younger brother. And my father works in
Bank of Baroda in Chennai. Sorry, you expected me to be like what?" Some girls cannot handle attention. Two days of popularity and every guy in college should bow to you." "That's not true. Didn't I come out with you?" She neatly transferred
the bare bones of the chicken on to another plate. "Oh, that's huge. Coming out with a commoner like me. How much is the bill? I'll pay my share and leave." I stood up.
'Hey,' she said. What?
I'm sorry. Please sit down."
I had lost interest in the conversation anyway. If there is nothing as
attractive as a pretty girl, there's nothing as repulsive as a cocky chick. I sat back and focussed on the food and the irritating instrumental music for the next ten minutes. I ignored the Brahmin who stereotyped
my collegemates.
Are we OK now?" she smiled hesitantly. "Why did you come out with me? To take your score to eleven?
"You really want to know?" 'Yes'
I need some friends here. And you seemed like a safe-zone guy. Like the kind of guy who could just be friends with a girl, right?"
Absolutely not, I thought. Why would any guy want to be only friends with a girl? It's like agreeing to be near a chocolate cake and never eat it. It's like sitting in a racing car but not driving it. Only wimps do that.
I'm not so sure,' I said.
You can handle it. I told you about the proposals because you can see how stupid they are.
"They are not stupid. They are IITians. They just don't know how to talk to women yet.' I said. 'Whatever. But you do. And I'd like to be friends with you. Just
friends, OK?" She extended her hand. I gave her a limp handshake.
'Let's share, sixty each,' she said as the bill arrived. That's right, "just friends' share bills. I didn't want to be just friends with her. And I didn't want to be the eleventh martyr.
I paid my share and came back to campus. I had no interest in meeting
my just friend anytime again soon.
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