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You Were My Crush! till you said you love me! book. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. “What do you do when the person yo. partner is, than reading this book on a Friday night, curled up in your bed with no before you got to know her, you were my friend before you became her boyfriend. me have a crush on someone as ugly as I was, someone with freckles and. Hey Dear, Gone are the days,where you had to read the book's pdf. Today You were my crush: 2. Then you have to download me a novel of my choice. DEAL?.
And I'm Bengali. The MC- Yeah, Benoy is incredibly annoying and he talks like a 12 year old boy who is "misunderstood". I swear I really wanted to punch him when he would get into his self-obsessed monologues. Also, how can a 20 year old be THAT immature?! I was sighing while reading some parts. Exhibit A: Why would anyone love them?
They only make you feel stupid and inadequate all the time. Because he is. I could almost see tears in her eyes. I pumped my fist. Take that, bitch. Bitchy Lizard.
They would come back, I told myself. I was sure that they would be sorry someday Everything will be all right, I said to myself. Make him suffer! He sees a girl cry because a tragedy has befallen her family and all he can think of is how beautiful she is and how great it would be to spend the rest of his life just looking at her face.
Horrible Grammatical Errors: I cannot believe this book had such a huge amount of spelling and grammatical errors. Oh yes, I can give proof. Also, random swearing does not make one sound cool, MC. I didn't make the typos. There were many more, but I didn't have the patience to type them all. Didn't do a lot for me. Unnecessary melodrama is not my thing. Also the love story was slightly disturbing to me. Also somewhat crude. The Excessive Use of the word 'Like': You know, like, every sentence had, like, multiple usages of the word 'like' in it, like, isn't that, like, super annoying?
It is. The Delights: Short Read: I would have DNF'd this sucker had it been a few pages longer. Some Funny Moments: There were a few funny dialogues here and there. But too little, too late. Overall, this book was only okay. I couldn't find many positives from it. Would definitely not have tried any other Durjoy Datta book had I not had copies sitting on my desk. So I need to continue this self-inflicted torture. View all 27 comments. Sep 19, Madiha rated it liked it Shelves: Rating 2.
But i think i'll settle with a 2. Oh and falls in L-O-V-E but the girl is confused on whether she shud be with him. But it does get better thankfully. Durjoy Datta mentions that Benoy was very distraught on his mother passing away.
I felt the character's other than Shaina and maybe Eshaan were not at all described well, thereby failing in not being able to connect with them. Thus being the reason i gave this a 2. I dont usually go for indian authors and had heard that Durjoy Datta's previous book Ohh Yes I Am Single sucked, made me apprehensive but i decided to go ahead. And it turned out to be not that bad. You might actually enjoy reading the book.
So want to read something to pass the time? View all 3 comments. May 08, Sonam Puri rated it liked it. I am fond of reading novels but was not into reading Indian novelist Chetan Bhagat could not impress me much since his writing never make me think that I'm part of it. I was impressed but there was no hangover of the book as usually the case is w I am fond of reading novels but was not into reading Indian novelist I was impressed but there was no hangover of the book as usually the case is with me.
The characters of the book stay with me for days until I start reading the next book. Finally Durjoy is able to give me the hangover Benoy Roy I loved his description about the girl.
Flashy and confused Shaina, as teenagers are, makes are real. Diya and Eshaan Crazy love of Deb and Avantika in picture now and then leaves to wanting more of it. I called my mom when I read the part where Benoy describes his relationship with his mom and how he misses her: And of course you can't afford to lose it to anyone!! Happy reading friends. Apr 09, Priyanka rated it did not like it. Why do these new-age simple-language-writing, chetan-bhagat-inspired Indian writers create highly fickle characters with loose stories which have no meaning or purpose?
He will never fall for the character. Well, since none of the characters are well defined, it doesn't seem possible. Durjoy Dutta is off my reading list forever. Predictable is bad enough. Laborious is acceptable if the labor produces fruit. But with painfully bad writing, all one can do is grab a hatchet, slice off its head, and bury it.
I don't even know why I read it. It's probably because I was pressurized by every girl in the ninth grade who was buried into one of Durjoy Dutta's books. Evidently, all the romantics in my grade were prey to lousy books about love where this one guy gets a completely new outlook on life after meeting- 'the one'. Its so pathetic, I almost don't want to review it. Firstly, even though its none of my beeswax, why would any author in all his sanity dedicate a love-story, especially a gross intimate porno-type love story to his brother?
And name the protagonist after his 15 year old sibling. That is just down-right wrong and very creepy. Durjoy Dutta clearly does not know how to describe a Porsche. Which is why he steals the lyrics of Nelly's famous 'Hey Porsche'. The lyrics couldn't have been copied any better, I was singing the song whilst reading this good-forsaken crap. Talk about precision. Moreover, Shaina- the girl who he falls in love with lacks to a great extent the power needed to express her thoughts.
She is portrayed as a puppet who willingly lets the so-called supreme male dominate her actions. And I never got why her family had such an iron-grip on her life. They're like possessive love-sick retards when described by the protagonist, Benoy. More than the book, I hate the author, he has a lot of people reading his books and he should use his fame and apparently magnetic plots to influence people for the greater good of our Country.
To actually empower women and give them independent roles in his books. I detested this book. I recommend it to people who don't value their time and who don't mind reading the works of an author lacking the capability to express rage in any other way than by using profanity like he just stumbled upon it; I furthermore recommend it to all the stupid girls in my grade who really think their lives will be incomplete unless they are loved by a man.
Sep 13, Kiran Kumili rated it liked it. A typical Durjoy Datta novel, with a mixture of flings, crushes, girls, affairs, lust and love by the modern youth from Delhi University. As like most of his writings, this story starts with the flings of a young adult called Benoy Roy, the only son of a rich business tycoon in Delhi.
Naturally, he has beautiful girls of his college and surroundings flocking him to gain access to his lavish life in big cars. Just when his life was going on smooth, he comes across a beautiful girl Shaina , who ha A typical Durjoy Datta novel, with a mixture of flings, crushes, girls, affairs, lust and love by the modern youth from Delhi University. Just when his life was going on smooth, he comes across a beautiful girl Shaina , who happens to be the sister of his classmate cum only enemy-turned friend, Diya.
He falls in deep love with Shaina but will not be able to win her over like other girls as she was already in a relationship with someone else since five years and moreover she thinks that Benoy is of the playboy types. Despite his many honest trials, Benoy is rejected by Shaina not because of lack of love towards him, but due to fear of her middle class family.
Finally, the story comes to a happy ending when Diya meets with a major accident and her paralytic recovery is bailed out by Benoy and his dad. This book is one of the most hilarious of all from this author which I read, till now. I wonder if pure love is still hanging around in the air or it is the ever eternal infatuation that shall rule the young minds forever. How will they handle the situation when their married partner gets to know of their sexual encounters before marriage?
Probably, the main reason why the divorce rate, depression deaths and unfaithful marriages are increasing day by day even in India, thanks to the so-called Western culture.
My rating is 3 out of Oct 22, Sruthi rated it did not like it Shelves: Its difficult to loose some of your brain cells just to read and understand a crappy book. Why the hell did I read it? Honestly , I found Diya-Benoy more appropriate.
This is gross. View 1 comment. Feb 16, Rikky Bhartia rated it really liked it. A Durjoy Daata book but still something with less of lust Sex and those things for which he is known, atleast the level he uses. Though it could had been with Diya falling for Deb and vice versa, maybe even just for doing something and then leading to complexities but thankfully nothing such happened.
And they just remained enemies converted into friends and then best friends. And Diya becoming the connector to A Durjoy Daata book but still something with less of lust Sex and those things for which he is known, atleast the level he uses. And Diya becoming the connector to make Deb meet his love, her sister Shaina. The story is very well quived and it flows very smoothly throughout. Starting with Deb a rich man son driving an audi living in big house.
A bro closer than friend, dead mom and hated father, living lonely life considering himself ugly finding himself sleeping in his bedroom with cute Palak. U ll think she is the lead but not. His only help and friend Eshaan is studious and does everything for him. And there he meets Diya.
A studious scholar aiming girl who. Deb and Diya hate each other and screw each other only to become best friends and like each others company. Jayanti had bulldozed her way into the book and wrecked the Shreyasi Daman had thought of. The Shreyasi in the book was a far cry from the cracked, lunatic, lovely, peculiar girl he had painstakingly created. His pale-faced Shreyasi was a mathematics major, a gold medallist no less, working with a start-up that made algorithms for search engines.
She filled her time reading thick books on organic chemistry and ancient history and dead religions. She liked museums, caffeine, fire, multiple orgasms, Daman the character , occasional BDSM and knock-knock jokes. Coy and polite, she was an English major, an intern at an online news portal. She was all parts boring and bullshit. This is what will work. This is what sells. After numerous delays and skipped deadlines, Daman had given in.
Daman drank through the rest of the evening. Slowly everyone left. Jayanti was the last to leave. She told Daman he could stay if he wanted to. After she left, Daman sunk back into the couch and ordered for numerous refills. Things became muddy thereafter. He started to read the book. The sentences Jayanti had written floated outside the book, coiled around his neck and squeezed it. His chest tightened. Before long he tossed it away. He ordered another drink.
He passed out soon after and dreamt of angry readers burning his books in large piles. He woke up to a waiter staring at his face and asking him to leave. He stumbled out of Olive with an unfinished bottle of champagne and walked to his car. He put the bottle to his lips. He sat in the car and closed his eyes. He fumbled for his phone to call himself a cab but couldnt find it.
He imagined ripping Jayantis throat out. He passed out. Hi, says the girl. Are you for real? Show me your face, he slurs. He sees the girl smile. I will remember your face, he says. I hope you do, he hears the girl say. He mumbles a few words, smiles stupidly and drifts off.
He wakes up and finds himself in the back seat. Where are we going? Are you Shreyasi? No one answers. His head swims. The world spins violently around him. In the drivers seat he sees the girl again.
Dark hair, white skin, deep dark eyes, violently red lips, as if she has stepped out of his book, The Girl of My Dreams. Shes Shreyasi. Hes sure of it. He smiles in a drunken stupor. No, I am dreaming, Jayanti killed you, he says in disbelief. She destroyed you, he continues. I am dreaming, its the pills and the alcohol, he says to himself.
I shouldnt have had the last bottle. Sleep, youre drunk, baby, he hears the girl say. And like a child, he sleeps again. He wakes up. The car is parked in a deserted area. Theres silence. He tries to help himself up but loses balance. Falling forward he cuts his lower lip and bleeds. The girl is reading his book, The Girl of My Dreams.
She turns towards him. The kindness has drained out of her face. She is glowering. She pulls out a spanner and keeps it on the passenger seat. Then she takes out a lipstick and darkens her lips in the rear-view mirror. Putting the lipstick back in, she raises the spanner as if to smash his face with it. This is not me, he hears the girl say. The book, the fucking book! He woke up with a jerk. He tried to feel his face; he wasnt hurt but he was bleeding from a small cut on his lip.
He was in the drivers seat of his car. It was parked outside his apartment building. He stumbled out of the door on all fours and promptly vomited. He belched and retched and vomited till there was nothing but air inside him. He slumped against the front tyre. Sitting there he drifted in and out of sleep, sweating under the beating sun. It wasnt until noon that he was wide awake. He found himself inside the car with the air conditioner on full blast. He turned the AC down.
Sitting inside the car, he cursed himself for having drunk so much and strained to think what happened the night before. The motorcyclist. The party. The book. The waiter. The dream. The girl? Another fucking dream. He rummaged through the glovebox for his phone. There were twenty missed calls from Avni and a few from his parents. He called Avni first. What the hell is happening, Daman? I have been calling you since forever. I was so scared!
I just got drunk last night, he said. I only just got home. I called Olive and you had left when they closed. Where were you? Yes, yes. I drove back home and passed out in the car. I just woke up, he said. He pressed his hand against his head which was bursting with pain. He needed a Crocin. You drove back home drunk? What is wrong with you, Daman? And what was that text you sent me? What text? I didnt send you anything. Avni read out the text.
You dont deserve him. I didnt send that, he said. He added after a pause. I must have been trying to send it to Jayanti. Why her? The book, Avni. I got the author copies and its. I will talk to you in the evening. I feel like Im dying right now Do you want me to come over? No, I will manage. See you in the evening? I will talk to you in a bit, he said and disconnected the call. He found the text he had sent Avni in the Sent folder. He was glad he didnt end up sending it to Jayanti.
But he wondered why he referred to himself in the third person. I should stop drinking. He looked around for the books in the car. He checked the glove compartment, the boot of the car, even below the seats. He couldnt find them. He figured he must have left them at the restaurant. Disappointed, he stepped out of the car to call Jayanti and ask for more copies. He had just dialled her number when he noticed what he thought was the burnt jacket of his book a couple of yards away from the car.
He disconnected the call. Is it the book? He walked closer to inspect. He bent over the smouldering heap of ashes. All that was left of the five author copies of The Girl of My Dreams was blackened paper and ash. He picked out one half-burnt jacket which had miraculously escaped the flames. When did I do this?
He texted Jayanti asking her to courier him more copies of the books. Daman trudged back to his apartment thinking of the book. The opening line that described Shreyasi written by Jayanti came rushing to his headBorn in , fair-skinned Shreyasi was every boys dream; nice and soft- spoken, she was a bundle of joy and kindness. Damans stomach churned.
Jayantis words ran in Damans head. He grabbed her by the hair and rammed her head repeatedly against the glass walls of her cabin till the cracked glass dribbled with blood and brains.
Her body slumped to the ground, her fingers twitching, her legs trembling. Daman stomped on her smashed skull till she was unrecognizable. A fitting punishment for changing his book to a hunk of shit. He snapped out of his reverie. He was staring at the cracked glass walls of Jayantis cabin. Jayanti sat smiling in her chair, waiting for Daman to speak. Why does this room smell like shit? Can we come to the point? You answered Jayanti.
You said everyone will love this new Shreyasi. They fucking hate her, grumbled Daman. You have no idea what youre talking about, Daman.
Stop pacing around first and sit down. Youre freaking me out, said Jayanti leaning forward in her chair, hands crossed over the proofs of the book that was due for printing. Three cups of black coffee lay empty on her table. Hundreds of paperback and hardback books lay stacked in teetering towers around her table. Millions of words by authors known and unknown were scattered all around her.
Jayanti looked at Avni. Ask him to calm down a little, will you? Avni tugged at Damans arm. Daman sat down. He spoke, Are you kidding me, Jayanti?
People dont like my book. Go, check the reviews online. They hate the Shreyasi in the book, the Shreyasi you created, the Shreyasi you wrote out. Shes just someone whom the protagonist loves and fucks. She needed to be more than that. And Im goddam tired of answering the question if the main guy in the book is me. I told you we should have given the guy a different name than mine.
We are NOT having this conversation again. Because we used your name, people think its a true story and readers lap up true stories like anything. You should know that, right? Even movies do that all the time. Do you really think those movies are based on true events? Daman had feebly protested about the edits and rewrites till the day before the book went into print but there was no winning against the cunning of Jayanti who predicted doomsday for the book if they didnt do that.
I will just read the reviews out. She read them out. The book is a classic romance. Loved the ending. In love with Shreyasi I cried so much in the book. Heart emoji. Crying emoji.
I totally heart emoji heart emoji the story. What are you talking about? Most of the reviews are good. She turned her MacBook around. Daman rolled his eyes. Avni pulled the laptop close and perused the reviews. They were overwhelmingly positive. But these werent the only reviews online.
Especially those where Shreyasi had been called a spineless, stereotypical, weak damsel in distress, and the ones where Daman had been called a failure of a writer, his story old wine in a new well-marketed bottle. The most scathing reviews were from people who had read Damans short pieces of fiction on Facebook before he had signed the deal and had come to fall in love with the old Shreyasi.
They called him a sell-out. He blamed it all on Jayantis overbearing editing. If only Daman had known that behind that beautifully elongated body, those kind, tired eyes of Jayanti, there was a manipulative, control-freak shrew.
Avni had borne most of the brunt of Damans anger, being the only one who could keep him from self- destruction. Jayanti continued, Look, Daman I dont know what kind of acceptance youre looking for but selling 15, copies of a debut book in the first three weeks constitutes a resounding success. You need to stop thinking what a few people think about your lead girl character.
Look at the bigger picture. The book is a hit! Its even on the Bharatstan Times Bestseller list. Why dont you tape it to your head and strut around then? I dont know what youre complaining about, Daman. Other debut authors would kill to be in your position right now. She has a point, said Avni. Daman threw Avni a murderous look. He said, Should I clap for you, Jayanti? He mocked her. People out there are calling me another Karthik Iyer, the lowest fucking denominator.
Listen, Daman. You were writing notes on Facebook when I spotted you and gave you this book deal. Dare you make it sound like I wrecked your career! I gave you a career if you look at it closely.
You spotted me, remember? You came to me. You offered me a book deal because you thought the book would work. It wasnt charity. You knew I had an audience online that would download the book. You knew my book had potential. Jayanti laughed throatily. Like really? Followers on Twitter and Facebook dont mean anything, Daman.
It doesnt cost money to like or share something. It takes a good relatable book, a marketing plan, a smart editor, a smart publicist to sell a book.
People share videos of poor people dying all day with sad smileys and complain about how wretched the world is but wont part with a rupee for them. How would you have made them spend on you?
They already did. Data isnt free, Jayanti. Big joke, Daman. Youre so funny. Why dont you put that in your next book, haan? Avni looked at the two of them volleying verbal insults like a spectator at a tennis match.
Avni had been in this cabin once before. It was the day Daman had signed the contract for his book which was supposed to change his life.
That day she had noticed the massive cloth board behind Jayanti Raghunaths heavily cushioned chair.
See a Problem?
It had been covered with jackets of all the bestsellers Jayanti had edited in her decade-long career. Some thirty-odd books in ten years. The probability of success had made Avni nauseated. What if Damans book doesnt go up there? But today the board was covered completely with a white chart paper.
Im getting something done here, Jayanti had offered as an explanation. It wasnt the only thing that had changed in the cabin. The desk looked new. Even the printer and the laptop and carpet looked largely unused.
The glass wall was cracked and splintered. And the room smelt strange. Like it was heavily perfumed to cover up a rotting corpse. Avni stole glances at her watch as they continued to argue. Her meeting at Avalon Consulting would start in another half an hour. If she were to get stuck in traffic there was no way she would make it on time. I want to stay but I have to get to work. She wanted to say, For your and for my sake. Look around you, Daman. So many authors.
And only a few names have made it to that board of hers. The money from your advance is already running out. If only you hadnt bought the car. I have to work so you can write. Jayanti and Daman both looked at her. She pointed at her watch. Daman nodded knowingly. Avni got up and hugged him. She whispered in his ear, Stay calm, and took his leave. Jayanti said after Avni left, You are good writer, no doubt about it, but you still have a lot to learn. Do you know why you finally agreed to all my changes, Daman?
It was because you were scared. You were scared the book wouldnt work. Thats why you fought with me, but didnt fight enough, thats why you dissented, but not enough. Because in those moments of doubt you trusted your editor who has been in this industry for far longer than you have.
Yes, it was wrong to trust you. You fleeced me. I left my job and moved out of my parents house because of your deal. And what did you offer me? A shitty royalty percentage and an editor like you? No one forced you to sign the deal. You could have fought harder for Shreyasi. But you didnt.
And you got enough money and a bestselling book if I may add. Maybe you wouldnt be so angry if you hadnt spent all the money downloading that car of yours. Oh, so now youre my financial advisor? What next? You will dictate what I should eat? Enough, Daman. I dont take nonsense from my authors, especially first-time authors, and you would be off my roster if you werent talented Daman ignored her aggressive tone and interrupted her. Whatever, Jayanti. The fact of the matter is that there will be a book with my name on it with a character thats as shitty as Shreyasi.
Nothing you say will ever change that. Jayanti shrugged. You know what wont change? That you can be a writer. That you can sell books for a long time if you let me tweak a few things. You wont have to go back to your engineering job any more.
And that would mean a lot to a whole lot of people, said Jayanti. You know how many authors in India can claim to earn a living out of just writing? A handful! If you cant be grateful I think youre being short-sighted. Listen I have been doing this a long time. Fixing books, thats what I do and I do it well. Just then, the door was knocked on by the office boy and Jayanti was summoned for a meeting.
She looked at Daman and spoke, I need to go now. When you go back home, think about what this book can do for you. Also when you realize I am talking for your own good, start writing your second book and we can proceed with signing the deal for it. Daman scoffed. No way. We all need to earn, Daman. I know you have burnt through the advance money from the first book.
You did this to me Let me finish. Youre refusing to do any book launches for The Girl of My Dreams. How long do you think the book can sustain without any publicity? So think rationally and stop acting like a brat. Do a couple of book launches for this book and then start work on the next one. We make a great team, Daman. Never forget that.
We are all working for you. You stand to gain the most out of it. I like you, Daman. You have passion and I like that but you need to take things easy. I got to go now, she said and got up.
I will wait for your decision. She stretched out her hand to shake his. Without another word Daman strode out of the room, leaving Jayantis hand hanging mid-air. Jayanti watched him go. The reason why she liked Daman was also the one why she hated him. He was passionate, almost a little mad, teetering on the edge of insanity, and she could see that in his neurotic and chaotic writing. Of course, it was her responsibility to tone down the madness of his book.
She was terrified for a second; it felt like he would smash the wine bottle against her face. Thankfully he hadnt and the evening had run smoothly. It was only that coy little girlfriend of his who could keep him grounded.
Jayanti hoped she would knock some sense into him.
She looked around and sighed. Someone had broken into her cabin a week ago. If it was anything like that, it was going perfectly for me. Now, I just hoped he wanted money, and not me.
That would have been weird. That he called me was an honour in itself. I wondered if he was being sarcastic. I knew the look in his eyes. It was greed. It seemed he did not want the money. He wanted something more. After ten minutes, during which I totally lost any respect for the professor, I walked out of the room.
I checked my phone and it had thirteen missed calls from Eshaan. He was tenser about the entire situation than I was. Eshaan always thought of me as a lost soul, and maybe after what happened in the first year, I was. Since I did not have any real friends in college, he always took it upon himself to see to it that I was not bored or feeling out of place there.
I cried a little, begged him to score me, and then he said he would give me the average marks for the exam. I told you! I did not tell him what really happened. After I cut the call, I did what I hated doing the most— calling up Dad. These calls were important and I could not run away from them.
These paid for my life. How are you? I was right. Bedroom mattresses stuffed with money. Eshaan was wrong. My father could download everything.
Aunty had lived her life for only two purposes. The first was to get Deb fat. She had been trying to do that since forever. She had almost succeeded when Deb touched eighty-five kilograms when he was in college, but he had lost all that weight now.
The second was to get him married to a Bengali girl in true Bengali style. However, Deb had crushed her dreams when he told his parents he would be marrying Avantika, a Punjabi girl. Her mom had reacted as if someone had died. She is still in shock. My foot! Anyway, Benoy, which coaching classes are you joining? For what? I really did not like where the conversation was heading.
I thought it was because she wanted me to feel that I was cared for, and loved. He hardly studied for it. I often wondered if his brother, my dad, would be like him, too. Not even a wedding.
I could see that Deb did not like the conversation. Avantika and Deb were not seeing each other any more. However, they were still very much in love. Avantika and Deb had had a strange relationship over the years. They were the ideal couple for very many years until the time they entered college at MDI, Gurgaon, and things started to go downhill.
Deb, drunk and out of his senses, cheated on Avantika, and Avantika had walked out. After the break-up, Deb had spent months in Mumbai, without a job, trying to convince her to come back. Avantika did not budge. Deb had never discussed his problems with Avantika with us. His eyes were stuck to the television, and it was apparent that he did not want to talk about her. Wedding plans will do! She smiled her widest and I was happy that I had said that. Soon, after that, his parents left. Never bring up Avantika in front of Mom.
Or kissed! I was just a little curious. I wanted to know if something had happened and whether I should call her and apologize. She was pretty after all and I had been single for too long. I had been a fool to ask you to drop her! Avantika had advised against it. I should have listened to her. Avantika thinks you sleep around! Sleep around? I had not dated anyone in more than a year now. I was too involved with Mom, and the last girl I had dated was in school and we broke up when she shifted to Australia for her graduation.
I had had crushes on girls, but things had not worked out. I had been too preoccupied. I remembered, when I was fifteen, Deb used to tell me stories about all his flings and relationships. All this was before Avantika came around and straightened everything out. Avantika was an incredibly beautiful female. I still have the text Deb had first sent me when I asked him about Avantika after their first meeting. She is so hard to describe, Benoy.
Those limpid, wet, black eyes screamed for love. There is nothing better than a melancholic beautiful face. The moonlight that reflected off her perfectly sculpted face seemed the only light illuminating the place. Somebody was standing with a blower nearby to get her streaked hair to cover her face so that she could look sexier managing it. She had the big eyes of a month-old child, big and screaming for attention.
A perfectly crafted nose, flawless bright-pink lips and a milky-white complexion that would put Photoshop to shame. Oh hell, she is way out of my league. She is a goddamn goddess. I just could not look beyond her face. I think I am in love. He has been in love ever since. I envied him. Deep down, I wanted something like what he shared with Avantika.
Deb was the one who had exposed me to relationships, make-outs and flings, and he was often surprised at my non-existent love life. He often thought that I was lying. Since he had slept around back in his day, he thought I had done that, too. Deb often said that if he had my kind of money, cars and everything else, he would be dating Deepika Padukone. But then again, I was not that rich. I did not own an airline. Or have a British accent.
I had picked him up from his house that day. He had called me more than twelve times that morning so it had to be important. He was tense and his face was red. He was a director at some management college before this, so he is extraordinarily strict. He divided us into groups and assigned us project work. I am in your group, right?
Diya, the group leader, sent the list to sir without adding your name. We have the presentations today, and all the other groups are full. Anyway, one of the groups had to have one extra member, right? If not, we will talk to sir. We reached college and headed directly for our class. It had been really long since I had last gone there. She was sixth on it. It was a terrible tragedy. Ever since she had joined college, she had had a one-point agenda.
She was the geek queen and she looked like it—dull clothes, big spectacles and her curly hair all over the place, the perfect picture of a full-scholarship student. These guys did not even know I was a part of their class. I could have asked Dad to get me through this class as well, but I wanted to avoid calling him again at any darned cost. People in her group nodded obediently.
For the first time I saw Eshaan a little off his game. She stared directly at the two of us, like a witch, and we were scared as shit. I have never felt at home with intelligent and confident women; they have never found me funny or smart. Why would anyone love them? They only make you feel stupid and inadequate all the time.
I checked and we were seven students in the group already. I mailed the work division to all the members. In the back of my mind, I was already feeling terrible because it seemed I would have to ask my dad to download this professor too.
I was proving to be a very expensive kid. We will tell him that we forgot to put my name in. What about that? Benoy, right? Little Miss Perfect. Let Eshaan be the leader then. She looked angry now, her nostrils were flaring and her eyes were bloodshot. I guessed she had burst a nerve or two inside. I wanted to step back a little. Just in case. I will not put the whole group at risk just for you.
I did not know what to say. It looked like she would throw her laptop at my face. Thankfully, she did not. I did not want my face to get any uglier. I walked away. As I strode outside the class, I could hear Diya shout at Eshaan and tell him what a horrible guy I was. I did not care. Never seen him in class! Her nostrils still looked like caves and the big eyes behind those spectacles looked at me as if they were trying to blow me up. She had a striking resemblance to the lizard on the ceiling that watched me just as she did.
He was younger and he definitely looked sharper than the other professors who taught us. I have never understood these students. Why do they have to go ahead and remind teachers that they had to screw us?
How do you guys think you did in your projects? The answers ranged from okay to good to could-have-been-better. I looked at Diya with a cold stare although her eyes were stuck on the professor.
Freaking nerd girl. Just pathetic!
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I had always considered that my ears were impervious to any nonsense from teachers and professors, but this professor was loud. Windows shattered, guys pissed in their pants and people broke out of their daydreams. I cannot believe this is the state of affairs at one the most prestigious graduate colleges in India. No wonder you guys never make it to management colleges and those students from engineering colleges do.
No commerce student wanted to be compared to an engineering student and be told that he or she was less intelligent or brainy. All you did was copy-paste from websites. Only numbers! Where was the analysis? I asked for a study. What did you think your numbers meant? Who all were in the group with you? Everyone in the group stood up, and I stood up too. I wanted to make it worse for her. I wanted to stomp on her. Bloody lizard. The professor looked at all of us.
He counted. The veins in his eyes had turned red and thick in anger. You were the group leader, right? Do you even come to college? Are you a part of this group or not? I could almost see tears in her eyes. I pumped my fist. Take that, bitch. Bitchy Lizard. Look at the two of you.
What do you think this is? First grade? Everyone in the class will repeat their projects. You will choose new topics and I will send you the guidelines this time. And you two, yes, you will form a new group and only you two will work on the project. He is irresponsible and brash.
Her desperation was extreme. Life is so fair. She was now stuck with a lazy, incompetent guy! That will not happen. Do you get it? Life is so unfair. Later, he added he could ask either of us to present and we would be marked as a group. Therefore, if I were to screw up, Diya would get a zero, too. It was a foolproof plan to screw us up. He said he would ensure the external examiners did not score our final papers. For the rest of the period, he kept harping on about how disciplined and intelligent students are in IIT Delhi, the college from where he graduated.
He was pissing off everybody in the class. Up your ass, I wanted to say. I should have been worried but I was happy that the arrogant girl got screwed with me as well; her shoulders had drooped and her face had lost its colour.
As soon as the class ended, Diya started to look for me. I hid behind a big group of students and left the class with them. Fuck her, but yes, I was scared too. I was just indifferent. It was one of those unpleasant days. Every month, I had to sign a few papers, agree to a few deals and some other nonsense. I waited for fifteen minutes in the conference room for him to turn up with three of his lawyers like he always did.
Finally, he came and, as usual, he was sharply dressed in a grey suit that fit him snugly and a thin, black tie that looked smart on him. There were no signs of a middle-age paunch. He hardly looked like a father of a twenty-year-old. He was almost as tall as I was. Black hair peppered with white, a hint of stubble, dark brown eyes and exactly my complexion.
I could bet my money he looked better than I did. Secretly, I had always felt good when relatives said that I looked exactly like my dad. Like every big business person in Delhi, he had never been to college. He took three attempts to clear school. He started as a minor steel trader in Sadar Bazaar, but slowly and steadily, he rose to become one of the biggest manufacturers of heavy machinery in India. He did it for the big industries, the government and the army—the people that mattered.
My mom, a double doctorate in contemporary literature, told me that she was dejected because the man she was getting married to did not even understand the language she spent so many years studying. Things had changed now, though. As his business grew, he had to deal with high-profile clients and so he had mastered the language. He had spent a major chunk of the last three years in his London office. He had come back with a hint of a British accent. Seeing him today, it is very hard to believe that he almost did not make it through school.
I always thought the real reason why these meetings were so painful was because I felt drawn to his charm. And whenever that happened I felt guilty about it since he had made my mom go through a lot. But when he stood in front of me, with an apologetic look on his face, and used compelling words, I had a tendency to forgive him from the inside.
In those moments, I felt like I had betrayed Mom. I did not need to read those papers. He could not have possibly bought my forgiveness through them. I finished signing those papers, and the lawyers left. I tried not to look at him. I knew he always kept tabs on me, tracked me wherever I went and knew whatever I did. I always thought he had someone following me at all times. Do you like the subjects? I wanted to tell him that it was too late to ask. And I was wondering if you would like to do your internship at my office in your summer vacations?
He even knew that I had been looking for an internship. It was something that we had to do after our first year. Usually, nobody took it seriously and everyone sourced fake certificates. But, I had spent months sitting at home or at hospitals and I thought the internship would be a welcome change. I had to be around people again! Life had sucked for quite some time. Things had changed a lot from my schooldays.
My school life was awesome! But now … every friend had got busy, moved out and settled in their college life. I was the one left out. It had been more than a year since I had any social life. Anyway, I had given a few interviews and had met with no success. At some levels, I always thought my dad was sabotaging my interviews with various companies. His office was definitely much bigger than the offices where I had given my interviews. The only concern was whether I would be okay working with him.
The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that I should work with him. After all, he was my father. Yet, my insides were tearing apart. I am too young to have to take these decisions, I thought. Probably the most boring subject ever made. I have heard lawyers earn a lot.He fumbled for his phone to call himself a cab but couldnt find it. I have to work so you can write. Daman pulled a face and sulked. Pieces of glass and tissue and teeth stay suspended mid-air, unmoving.
Mar 15, Er rated it it was ok. I used to feel embarrassed when Mom used to hug me in public.