Someone Like You (5 page)

I can’t have that. It’s sad, I know. But that’s how it’s going to be. There’s just no other way to it. As I pack my bags, which are bursting at the seams because of all the new clothes I have bought, my thoughts are still on Simran and Viraat, and more importantly—the loving bond that they share. It’s like I have a crush on their relationship and I badly want it for myself.

‘Are you done?’ Simran asks.

‘Almost,’ I say and stuff the last of my clothes into the bag and zip it. ‘Done.’

‘Alright. We should leave for the station now. Else you’ll—’

‘Simran,’ I interrupt her. I just
have
to ask her this. ‘Do you think I will find ever someone like Viraat?’

‘Why Viraat? You will find someone even better,’ she says.
Yeah, right.

‘Hmm. I wish I could stay a little longer,’ I say softly.

‘So that you could find a Viraat for yourself?’ she smirks playfully.

‘Whatever,’ I say and pick up my bag. Simran really bugs me sometimes. I’m all sad and serious here, and she’s mocking me.

As I make my way to the door, Simran holds my elbow to stop me. She hugs me and tells me that it was the best three days she has spent in the longest time and she wishes I would never leave. She sees me still distracted and asks me what’s wrong.

‘I just see you and Viraat together … and I feel sad for myself. I’m happy for you. I am just thinking—what if it never happens to me? Am I being very needy? This is so pathetic. I feel sorry for myself,’ I say as soon as I hear myself.

‘It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen, Niharika. You can’t do anything to
make
it happen.’

‘But … what if it
doesn’t
?’ I ask in a low voice, again cursing myself for what I am doing to myself.

‘It will. There’s someone for everyone, trust me,’ she says this with such conviction, that I have no option other than to believe her.

‘What if he passes me by and I don’t recognize him?’

‘You will. Just know that you really will find him one day. Wait for him.’

‘So I just … look for him in everyone I see from now?’ I joke, trying to feel better about my needy, pathetic self.

‘Not a bad idea, actually,’ she laughs. ‘It’s not too much of an effort, anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

‘I mean, it’s not like it takes a lot of time to decide if the guy is dateable. Maximum, what? Three minutes?’

‘Three minutes?’ I ask, really taken aback. I had been expecting a more three-months type of an answer, because that’s what it took Viraat and her. After all, how is a girl supposed to know a guy in a mere three minutes’ time?

‘Yeah,’ she answers simply. ‘Oh, try it. You’ll see. Within three minutes, you’ll definitely get to know if you can go out with the guy or not. If the answer is yes, latch on to the guy and never leave him.’

‘Really?’ I ask.

‘Really.’

Though it seemed unbelievable at first, now I totally understand what Simran meant. Three minutes is all it takes. If the first three minutes make you feel something about the guy whom you meet for the first time, you should hang on to that feeling. The first minute is usually devoted to how the person looks, the second one is how the person behaves with other people (you!) and the third one is what the person makes you feel about yourself. So, while Viraat had lost out a little on the first one minute, he had definitely made up in the last two and quite substantially so.

It’s been a week since I’ve been back at home—Jaipur. On my way back, I had been thinking about what Simran had said. And I believed her. I mean, of course, I would find my guy one day, it’s just that if I wanted that
one day
to be soon, I would have to keep my eyes open. And as Simran said—it’s not too much of an effort.

I don’t think it’s intentional, but I have started looking for my Viraat and it’s almost like a boy hunt. The first day I spent in Jaipur, I found myself texting every guy in my friends’ list, wondering if I had missed my Viraat in one of them. By the end of the day, I was sure they were all creeps and I hadn’t missed out on anything that would make my life blissful.

I’m really not reaching for the stars here. But it’s been a week, and I am nowhere. It seems he is just one of a kind and he is taken. I have never looked for a guy to date or to even talk to, but I realize now how difficult it is to find a decent guy to date these days. When I got back home, I had
high expectations. I started to look at every guy in a different way. With a question in my mind—
can I date him?

And you would be amazed at the number of guys I mentally rejected. After the makeover Simran and her friends had given me back in Delhi, I came back to Jaipur looking somewhat hot. I had been transformed in a week. So even though I can’t go ahead and win a beauty pageant or anything, I like to believe that I will not be thrown off in the very first round either.

‘It’s not really about what you are blessed with. It’s about how you present what you are blessed with,’ Chaaru had said. ‘It’s about accentuating your best features and downplaying your worst. It helps that you have more good than bad.’ (That last sentence had boosted my self-esteem a lot.)

Three minutes is all it takes! I can’t get over this. That is all the time you need to find out if the guy is the one you’re looking for. Mostly because he is bound to make at least one horrible, unforgivable mistake in three minutes. Especially if you’ve set yourself some really,
really
high standards, but I have not. I’m looking for
regular
. I know I’m average and I’m looking for an average guy. I’m not expecting him to be better than me, but he should at least be as good as I am.

Other than this, I’m looking for the basic things. No bad breath. No body odour. Non-smoker. Someone who can say all the right things, do things that make me happy, understand my silences, get what I don’t say and understand when I am lying. Someone whom I can talk to and who makes me feel tomorrow will be even better than yesterday.

I am looking for a guy who knows what true love really is and is capable of it. I just want someone I can love, and someone who will love me back selflessly. And I swear, if I find a guy like this, I promise you, I’ll love him. And I’ll love him with all my heart. If I find a guy like this, I’ll devote every fibre of my being to his love. I’ll combust spontaneously and lose myself in him. All in three minutes.

‘Really? I wonder how you look,’ Navroz says over the phone.

‘I look … I don’t know. I’m still the same,’ I reply, checking my reflection in the mirror and thinking what a blatant lie it was.

‘But I’m sure you must look better without the glasses.’

‘Hmm. Simran says losing the specs was a good idea. She says I have nice eyes.’

‘I won’t know about it. I never noticed!’ Navroz laughs.

‘I think you’re gay. For two years, you saw me every day, for hours on end. And you didn’t notice my eyes?’

Navroz really amazes me sometimes. I know him so well, that I can describe each and every feature of his face in perfect detail and he can’t even tell how my eyes look? I don’t blame him though, as he never really looked at me like a guy should. We first met when we accidentally sat next to each other in the first physics class at Bansal’s and we ended up sharing an auto back to our paying-guest accommodations.

He liked physics and I liked organic chemistry; both of us hated maths with a vengeance but managed to score all right. The healthy competition, the problem-solving sessions and the late night chats about how it would be at IIT made us
the best of friends. If I had to choose between the two of us, I would have wished him to go to IIT. His father, who owned a small business in Burla, Orissa, had spent all his savings to send Navroz to Bansal’s. I still remember the look of immense happiness and pride on his dad’s face, when he told him that he was going to IIT Delhi to study textile engineering.

‘Your glasses were too thick for me to notice,’ he says.

‘You’re mean …’

‘I just never lie.’

‘You should probably learn to. Else you won’t ever find a girl,’ I say.

‘Oh, never mind. I don’t
want
a girl. I’ll just go to Delhi and fool around. What makes you think I even
want
a relationship?’

‘Right.’

Navroz has just broken up with his girlfriend, after a seven-year-long relationship. Even though I had always thought that long-distance relationships were difficult to maintain, Navroz had led me to believe otherwise. Navroz and Priya used to talk through the night, send each other letters and talk lovingly about their near-perfect relationship. But things changed. Studies, the hectic schedule and the pressure to get through IIT took its toll. The spark vanished into thin air.

Ultimately, after seven long years, there was nothing romantic left in the relationship that could have saved it. They knew each other too well. The break-up was mutual and no tears were shed, at least in public.

‘Anyway,’ Navroz says, ‘what are your plans? Excited for ICE, Nagpur?’

‘Look who’s talking. You’re the one going to IIT, Delhi. Your life is going to change.’

‘It’s going to suck. I will be stuck with all these brilliant people with nothing else to do but study. It’s going to be four long years. I wish you were there too.’

‘Don’t make me feel bad now. Anyway, I still have some shopping to do. I will get that done today, I guess,’ I say, more to myself.

‘Oh, yeah. Just a week, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Carry on then. Call me if you need help lingerie-shopping,’ Navroz says.

‘Sure,’ I roll my eyes and hang up.

I have spent the last three hours shopping and I am glad that I didn’t get anyone to come with me. Over the last three hours, I have constantly been talking to Simran and telling her about every piece of clothing that catches my fancy. Before I left home, my mother had given me her debit card and had asked me not to worry about how much I spent. What she doesn’t know yet is that I have changed over the last week. Now, I know how to shop and about the joys of splurging.

‘You found no one else in the whole of Jaipur to take you around shopping?’ Simran asks, sounding almost tired after the three-hour-long phone call.

‘There is no one I can trust with my clothes now; you have spoilt me. Plus, I really don’t have friends here,’ I say, almost dejected.

‘Never mind, you will have a new life when you get to college. Pick your friends wisely,’ she says.

I have about twenty shopping bags in my hands and I find it tough juggling them and the phone, which has remained glued to my ear all this while. Occasionally, I shift the bags from one hand to another to make it easier. It’s a Sunday and the roads are jammed with traffic. Just as I try to cross the road with the phone still glued to my ears, a loud honk blasts my ears and I freeze. I look around to see
a Tata Safari screeching to a sudden stop inches away from me.
Inches
, really. Like four inches. I had been so lost in my phone call that I hadn’t noticed the big black beast of a car coming towards me. The phone drops from my hand and the battery falls out. I stand there and my mind is blank. The traffic piles up behind the car, and I can hear people shouting all around me.

I quickly gather up my shopping bags, pick up the remaining parts of the phone and cross the road without looking anywhere. As I reach the pavement, I see people come out of the SUV, I see their angry faces and I see their mouths move, but I don’t register what they are saying. I am numb. My senses have stopped working. I look around to see a crowd gather around the car to see what happened. I slowly force my legs to move and get away from the bunch of onlookers. I cross the road and see a door right in front of me. I look up at the board and see that it’s a Barista.

Suddenly, my throat feels parched. I need to drink something. I go in and ask the waiter to get me a glass of water. As I gulp down the water, I feel my breathing become more regular. I sit there, dazed, thinking about what had happened. What if I had died? I put the battery back in and call Simran to let her know that everything is fine. Just imagining what would have happened if the car had not stopped in time brings tears to my eyes. I quickly brush the thought away and try to concentrate on the menu card the waiter has placed on my table instead.

‘Excuse me?’ a voice calls from behind. I tear my eyes off the menu. I don’t know for how long I have been staring at it.

‘Yes?’ I say and look at the owner of the voice.

‘Are you alright?’ he asks.

‘I guess.’

‘I am really sorry. You came out of nowhere so suddenly. I apologize for that. Is your phone okay? You dropped it, right?’

‘Huh? Do I know you …?’ I ask, now confused.

‘Oh. You don’t recognize me? I was driving the car you decided to get run over by. The car you just jumped in front of?’

‘Oh,’ I say, not knowing how to react. He had almost killed me, so I should be angry at him. But it wasn’t really his fault. I finally add, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘I know, but I scared the shit out of you. I am sorry for that.’

‘That you did,’ I say and smile shyly, embarrassed by what had happened.

‘Let me get you something and we will call it even?’ he says.

Is he flirting with me or is he just being nice?
I nod my head in affirmation. As he picks up the menu card, I look at him properly for the first time. He’s good-looking in a
very-nice-guy
sort of a way. Everything is in place and he looks exactly like he behaves—very polite and measured. His hair is cut short—yet is incredibly shiny and makes me want to run my fingers through it—and is neatly combed, shirt smartly tucked into his neither-too-formal-nor-too-casual trousers, and a pair of nice brown shoes. Pretty neat, I think to myself. Just the kind of guy you would feel safe with.

‘Coffee?’ he asks, as the waiter comes to take our order.

‘Oh, no. I don’t drink coffee,’ I say.

‘Tea?’

‘Tea neither.’

‘Really?’ he asks.

‘Really. All my caffeine is only from Coke.’

‘Coke, then, for her and a cappuccino for me, with garlic bread,’ he says to the waiter.

When the waiter leaves, we turn to look at each other. Suddenly, we have nothing to talk about. He looks at me with a glint in his eye and I start regretting my decision to let him apologize. I should have shouted and stormed off.
Not knowing what to do, I take out my cell phone and start pressing random buttons on it, to look busy.

‘Is everything okay?’ he asks. I look up to see him looking at me with concern in his eyes.

‘Other than the fact that you almost killed me moments ago, I think I am just fine,’ I say, contriving to be funny.

‘Oh, yes, it was my fault. I am sure you had better things to think of, than looking at the stupid road while crossing,’ he laughs.

‘I was just completing my shopping. I have to leave for my college in a few days’ time,’ I respond flatly.

‘Oh, great. Which year are you in?’

‘First year. Just joining college this year,’ I say, as the waiter returns with our order.

‘Which college?’

‘Indian College of Engineering, Nagpur. Heard of it?’

‘Come on. You’ve got to be kidding me!’ he says, disbelief etched across his face.

‘No. Why? Do I have a reason to lie?’

‘No, it’s just that I go there a lot.’

‘You are a student there too?’ I ask, wondering if he is playing with me.

‘No, I don’t study there. I just know a lot of people there. A few of my very close friends study there. In fact, my best friend is doing his PhD from there. I meet him every second month. And my business takes me there often too, so instead of staying in a hotel, I stay at his quarters. It’s great fun. Such a coincidence. Great,’ he says, still shaking his head in disbelief.

‘Seriously?’ I ask, still not believing him.

‘Seriously,’ he says.

We start talking about him and what he does. He tells me that his father has a textile factory up-north and they make clothes and fabrics for all major brands in India. He points
to my bags of clothes and says that he may have supplied fabrics for those too. I probe him about his education and he tells me about his time in London—where he did his undergraduate studies in economics and got himself a degree in business.

Slowly, I realize that he is stinking rich. He doesn’t mention anything, but I ask him a lot of questions about his education and business and it becomes quite obvious that he was born into money. I mentally calculate his age and guess that he must be around twenty-four. Though he doesn’t look his age. He could have passed off as a sensible, sophisticated—maybe a little too much so—twenty-year-old too. That’s not too bad, I tell myself. He is just a few years older than me.

Just as I start to really enjoy myself in his company, my phone starts ringing.
Mom calling
. It’s well past seven and that’s past my allowed time. I have to get home. I answer her call and assure her that I’ll get back in fifteen minutes.

‘I have to go,’ I say to him.

‘Oh, sure,’ he says and asks for the bill. When the waiter gets it, he settles it with his fancy American Express card. ‘It was nice meeting you,’ he says and gets up. ‘Do you want me drop you back home?’

‘No, I think I can manage,’ I say, unconvincingly. ‘It’s hardly ten minutes from here.’

He doesn’t put me in a spot by insisting. Just as he holds open the door of Barista for me, he asks, ‘Er … can we, uh, meet some time? For a movie or something?’

I look at him. In the after-shock of what had happened, I’d totally forgotten to put him through the Three-Minute Test. I remember the first three minutes. He’s a definite
yes
. He is good-looking, charming, considerate—since he took the trouble of inquiring how I was despite my fault—and seemed very agreeable.

‘Sure,’ I say.

‘Superb,’ he smiles with boyish charm. He asks for my number and I give it to him. ‘It would be kind of weird if I save it as the-pretty-girl-with-the-big-brown-eyes, won’t it?’

‘I’m Niharika,’ I hold out my hand.

‘Akshat Verma, the guy who almost killed you today,’ he smiles warmly at me and shakes my hand.

As I climb into an auto to get home, I see him get into his car. I am pretty sure it’s different from the one that I almost got under an hour back. As the car whizzes past me, I notice it’s an Audi.

This guy is perfect, I tell myself.