24. Aisha Paul

I walked towards my house as a new woman.

  My practice date was great, and if dating was this easy, I should write a book about it and fleece millions of unsuspecting girls.

  I used my key to let myself in. My brother was on the couch watching Masterchef India. Without meeting my eye, he asked, 'Where were you?'

  'Nothing. Nowhere. Why? I went nowhere.'

  'I saw that teacher dropping you home,' he said.

  'Oh.'

  'Where were you?'

  My brain never processed information and situations fast enough to come up with a believable lie. And even if it did, my face would contort and twitch and no one would believe me.

  'It was a guidance session,' I said.

  'What guidance session?'

  'He's not a teacher. He's a guidance counsellor. I was appointed one after I misbehaved in class. Mom knows. And if you don't believe me, he has mailed Mom too about today's session. I needed to ask him a few things.'

  He nodded and his eyebrows settled. I went and sat next to him.

  'Thank you,' I said.

  'For?'

  'For asking where I was. And for the birthday party next week.'

  'You have thanked me before,' he said, his tone still angry as if I had done something wrong. I sat there and watched Masterchef with him.

  'Is something wrong?' he asked.

  'No.'

  'You can tell—'

  'Why are you throwing this party for me?' I asked, pointblank, almost like a cop.

  'It's your eighteenth birthday, Aisha. You will be a grown up after this. You deserve it.'

  It only made me angrier. All these years, I needed my brother and he was nowhere to be seen, and now he was planning to get away with it with just a party. Despite my irritation I wouldn't do anything to jeopardise the party though. It was the best thing to have ever happened to me!

  'You don't talk to me, bhaiya. And then you throw this party? Why?' I asked.

  'There's nothing to talk about,' he said and increased the volume of the television. I took the remote from him and switched it off.

  'I'm talking to you, bhaiya.'

  'And I answered you.'

  He snatched the remote from me. I snatched it back and threw it on the table. The Sellotape holding the remote ripped off and the batteries spilled out.

  'What the hell is your problem?' growled my brother and stormed off.

  *

  Later that evening, Namrata came over and my brother had to open the door. We shared the room so whoever had a better reason to occupy the room would have it to himself or herself.

  'No, Aunty, we are good,' Namrata implored, and waved to tell my mother she didn't need another sandwich. Despite my mother's condition, she always took it on herself to make sure everyone who entered our house was full till half-digested food bubbled up at the back of their throats.

  The good thing about being friends with a nerd (I mean that in a good way) are:

  They the most genuine people. They are so worried about their marks and about learning that they don't think about playing games in relationships. Nerds rock.

  They make you learn things. Once a non-nerd makes friends with a nerd, the nerd makes you learn everything they know. Well, at first they are a little shocked to see how dumb you are.

  The world would be a better place if every mean, dumb person was paired up with a book-devouring, number-crunching, equation-solving nerd. They love you unconditionally. Unless you lose their notes—then they don't.

  Right now, Namrata was making me read all her favourite books. We started with Enid Blyton, then Roald Dahl and Ruskin Bond, and then we worked through John Grisham and David Baldacci, before moving on to Arundhati Roy, Manu Joseph and J.M. Coetzee. We also sprinkled quite a few young adult authors in our reading list. She made me read widely and deeply.

  But that day we weren't having a conversation about books, we were having a conversation about blowjobs. Namrata's parents were leaving for Panipat for a day and she was sneaking Norbu in.

  'Norbu asked for one?' I almost exclaimed.

  'No. He just mentioned it in some context a few times. So I guessed—'

  'You don't know how to give a blowjob, do you?'

  'I think I can. Like I used to think it's gross but right now I'm a little confused. Of all the boys you have dated, you haven't given it anyone?'

  I blushed. The old Aisha would have lied, but not the new one. The new Aisha doesn't lie to her friend. Friendship should mean not having to lie.

  'I haven't dated a single boy yet.'

  She laughed.

  She saw me not react and her laughter trailed off. 'What? You? Aisha? Not one? None?'

  No. And then I started to cry for no reason whatsoever. She didn't know what to do so I just crawled up to her and put my head on her lap and cried. She patted my head, not knowing what to make of it.

  'Why are you crying?'

  'I don't know.'

  'What do you mean, you don't know? Stop making a habit of crying. You give us girls a bad name,' she chuckled.

  'Sorry, sorry.'

  'Stop crying!'

  'Fine.'

  'You're beautiful, Aisha! If someone doesn't date you, it's their fault not yours.'

  'It's so unfair. I don't have a problem with not dating anyone. But it sucks when everyone thinks you are and you aren't!'

  'Yeah, tell me about it. I didn't strip for a boy and people thought I did. Wonder how that happened?'

  'I'm sorry again.'

  'It's okay, I was just kidding,' said Namrata.

  'See, you're smart and funny and adorable and understanding, and you have this cute face I could kiss all day. No wonder Norbu loves you! Why would anyone love me? I'm just big breasts.'

  'Girls would kill for that,' she said.

  'And a face full of pimples!'

  'Not completely full,' said Namrata and laughed. She hugged me. 'You will find someone truly deserving of you who will love you as much as you want, Aisha.'

  I smiled and sat up. I wiped my face on her sleeve and said, 'Vibhor is taking me out on a date.'

  'Uff! Why are you such a drama queen? Why were you crying right now then? What's wrong with you?' she said excitedly.

  'Hehe. I think I forgot that with all our blowjob talk.'

  'Hmmm . . . I'm thinking of not giving one now.'

  'Why?'

  'Men always have it a little too easy. Blowjobs shouldn't be doled out just like that. Norbu will need to work for it. He won't win so easily.'

  'Blowjobs mean the man is winning?' I asked.

  'Ummm . . . If I don't feel like it, then I think it's him who's winning.'

  'And sex too shouldn't be about men winning, right? We should make a poster out of that,' I said.

  'I'm not sure if I want to be counselled like you,' Namrata winked at me.

  'You would love to be counselled by Danish.'

  'Wait? Why are you smiling? Do you have a crush on him?'

  'No. I don't. I have a date with Vibhor,' I said.

  She didn't believe me. We spent the rest of the night arguing who out of David Nichols and Nick Hornby is a better writer, and it was so much better 

a conversation than talking about other people's lives and clothes, and gossiping. I loved the woman I was becoming. Also, I learnt an important lesson. As she slept, I thought about how men pumped their fists after having sex for the first time, while the girls shied away, ashamed.

  And so I Googled the entire night about sexuality, virginity, and learned of how sex—supposedly a spectacular thing to do with one's body—was often an instrument of oppression for women. Like it wasn't fun any more, it was something dirty, something to be gossiped about, some taboo, to be snatched, or stolen, or cheated for. Why would they do that to poor sex?

  So I decided that sex shouldn't be about men winning. Sex should be like chess, a sport where gender is irrelevant. Winners should be based on who performed better regardless of gender.

  They should make a poster out of this. Sex is chess.