6. Danish Roy

There was no celebration or a casual gathering of people in my house in honour of my graduation though my parents did whip up a meal more extravagant than usual. They had bought my lie hook, line and sinker. For the first time, they were talking about my career, how I should be very careful while making my choices and playing my cards from here on.

  Late one night, I saw my father working out a list of places he could get me a job in, and that's when the possibility of my lie being caught hit me squarely on the face.

  Like a true boy transitioning into a responsible man, I told my father I wouldn't accept any job if it required his help to get it.

  My father took off his spectacles, a little dramatically, and said, 'I'm proud of you.' Luckily, he didn't cry or I would have felt like shit for lying to him.

  'So are you looking for opportunities?' asked my father.

  'Yes, I am,' I said, looking into my phone, planning my exit strategy from the room, which primarily comprised answering in monosyllables.

  'Where?'

  'Still looking.'

  'Do I get a list?' asked my father, his kind demeanour quickly morphing into the taskmaster he always has been.

  'Soon.'

  'How soon? Date?'

  'Next Thursday.'

  'Thursday,' he said and marked it in his organizer.

  'Do well. We have told all our relatives about your graduation. They are expecting great things out of you. Don't disappoint us,' he said, his words thorny but coated with a smile.

  Why did they have to have any expectations from me? The only thing I share with them is a strand of DNA, which I share with another million people who don't care.

  'I won't.'

  Satisfied, he picked up the newspaper and started reading. I slunk out of the room, the thought of the impending Thursday tightening around my neck like a noose.

  It was three in the morning, my search for jobs having led me nowhere, when there was a knock on my door.

  'What?' I asked.

  The knocking persisted. I opened the door and Ankit stumbled in, drunk out of his wits, looking like shit. He stumbled across the bedroom to the bathroom where he spilt out his guts into the toilet and a fair bit outside.

  'Fuck. Why would you do that?'

  He was too busy having an epileptic fit to answer. I walked outside and closed all the windows and deleted the browser history for you can never be too sure. Fifteen minutes later, he walked out and slumped on the bed like a log.

  'Social drinking will kill me some day,' he murmured.

  'That doesn't seem like a fair explanation for why you just wrecked my bathroom.'

  'There's a girl in my room. I needed to keep that bathroom clean.'

  'But—'

  'Mom and Dad are too zonked out on their sleeping pills. I came through the back door,' he said and lay flat out on the bed. Then he changed the topic. 'What's happening with your job search? You'd better find one before Dad does.'

  I looked at him blankly.

  'C'mon. I know you failed. It's okay.'

  'H . . . how?'

  'I had your roll number. I checked it online,' he said.

  'You knew it all this while?' I asked, shocked, my heart in my mouth.

  'Of course I did,' he said getting up slightly and looking at me. 'It's not a big deal! Degre 

es never got anyone anywhere.' He smiled his charming smile at me. The one that gets him all the investments (of course his massive brain helps) and gets him laid all the time. 'You will get a job, don't worry.' His confidence in my non-existent abilities was quite heart-breaking, like I was the only subject the brainiac couldn't solve. I was Bella to his Edward in a parallel creepy universe.

  Next morning, the bathroom was all cleaned up and my brother had left a note, 'Sorry for the mess. Best of luck. Mailed you the contacts of a few firms that are looking for psychology grads. Go for it!'