My marriage in two states

5

She came out of the research assistant’s room with her microeconomics quiz

results. She walked past the queued up students toward me. By this time,

everyone on campus knew of her friendship, or as someone would say,

siblingship, with me. She wore denim shorts and a pink T-shirt, drawing extra

long glances from the boys from engineering colleges.

‘B-plus, people say it is a good grade,’ she said, holding up her answer sheet.

‘Your shorts are too short,’ I said.

‘Show me your grade,’ she said, snatching my paper. ‘A minus, wow, you

cracked an A-minus!’

I didn’t react. We walked back towards our dorms.

‘You cannot score more than me in economics, I don’t believe this,’ she said.

‘You are a mechanical engineer. I am a university gold medalist in the subject.’

‘Show the medal to Prof Chatterjee,’ I said in a serious tone.

‘Hey, you OK?’

I kept quiet.

‘Anyway, I owe you a treat. Your numerical saved me. Are you hungry?’

I nodded. People who live in hostels are always hungry.

‘Let’s go to Rambhai,’ she said.

‘You are not coming to Rambhai like this,’ I said.

‘Like what?’

‘Like in these shorts,’ I said.

‘Excuse me. Is it a Delhi thing or a Punjabi thing? Controlling what women

wear?’

‘It is a common sense thing. It is outside campus. People stare,’ I said.

‘Enough people stare within campus. I’m fine, let’s go,’ she said and walked

towards the campus gates.

‘I don’t need a treat. It’s fine,’ I said, turning in the opposite direction towards

my dorm.

‘Are you serious? You are not coming?’ she called from behind.

I shook my head.

‘Up to you.’

I ignored her and continued to walk.

‘Are you going to come for the study session tonight?’

I shrugged to signify ‘whatever’.

‘Any dress code for me?’ she said.

‘You are not my girlfriend. Wear whatever. What do I care?’ I said.

We didn’t talk about the afternoon episode when I came to her room in the

evening. She had changed into black track pants and an oversized full-sleeve

black T-shirt. She was covered up enough to go for a walk in Afghanistan. I kind

of missed her shorts, but I had brought it upon myself. I opened the marketing

case that we had to prepare for the next day.

‘Nirdosh – nicotine-free-cigarettes,’ I read out the title.

‘Who the f**k wants that? I feel like a real smoke,’ she said. I gave her a dirty

look.

‘What? Am I not allowed to use the F words? Or is it that I expressed a desire

to smoke?’

‘What are you trying to prove?’