Drunk on Love

Part 1

Oh, darling, don't you see?

You are my spacebar.

No matter what words I use,

my story means nothing without you.

I need you all the time.

Deep inside the heart of even the quietest, simplest, plainest, most morally-culturally-socially-legally-politically-correct good girl hides a mischievous goddess yearning to break free.

Anjali is a good girl. An obedient daughter, loving sister, and a devotee of Lord Krishna. She has quit her home in Vrindavan and stepped into Gurugram with a very unfamiliar feeling of being independent.

She is the first girl in her family to get a job. The first girl to move to a distant city without marriage. It took three days' hunger strike to achieve this feat.

She is looking up at the apartment buildings of a housing society. One tiny apartment in one of those buildings will be her home now. Her new world. Her freedom. And the mischievous goddess in her is already measuring the extent of that freedom and what she can do with it.

Her father is standing on her left. He's also looking at the buildings, but with anxiety in his eyes. His careworn face and sunken eyes contrast sharply with his daughter's fresh youth. He's dressed in brown trousers and a blue shirt that ought to have retired long ago.

Two younger girls stand on Anjali's right. One is barely twelve and the other is no more than fifteen years old. Anjali's freedom has lit up dreams in their eyes too and tickled the mischief they are hiding in their young bosoms.

'Hello,' a voice startles them. 'Which apartment do you want to go to? Need help?' a young man asks. He looks at the girls, then at the luggage at their feet, then back at them.

As soon as they see him, the three sisters step behind their father. Their eyes don't stop examining the stranger though.

He is wearing black shorts and a grey and black T-shirt. His fast breathing and the dark sweat patches on his shirt declare he was running or jogging. He slips his cordless earphones down to his neck and wipes his face with his blue wrist band.

The youngest sister instinctively wipes the sweat off her face too. It's still early April but the sun is hot. And they have been standing and waiting for twenty minutes.

The young man's eyes, meanwhile, have noticed that the girls are pretty. The eldest one is wearing a printed suit, stitched at home or by a neighbourhood tailor. Her dupatta is pinned to her shoulders. But her beauty amply compensates for the glamour her clothes lack. She looks fresh and eager like the morning light, and as promising of life and animation. Her face is charming with the candour of innocence. Her eyes bright with curiosity as she stares at him. But she says nothing and stands respectfully behind her father.

'Anything I can help you with?' the young man asks again. 'I live here. Rajat,' he introduces himself to the girls.

'Anjali, I —' the eldest girl begins.

'We are waiting for someone. He will be here soon,' her father cuts her words. He wants the stranger to disappear. He is uncomfortable leaving his daughter alone in a distant city. An encounter with a handsome young man in shorts and a sweaty T-shirt sticking to his chest is most unwelcome. He also dislikes the light beard surrounding this man's mouth and lining his square jaw. His daughters are admiring it though, along with his short side-swept hair, some strands of which are sticking to his forehead.

'You came early,' a raspy voice reaches them.

'Hare Krishna, Gupta ji. We started from home at 5 am,' Anjali's father replies, turning towards it. The youngest girl yawns at that moment, confirming the early start.

'Okay, okay. Hare Krishna. Come, I'll show you the flat,' the new entrant says. 'It's on the third floor. You won't get such a flat in Gurugram at such cheap rent. But your daughter is my daughter. She will be safe here. My friend Vinod Sharma lives next door. Nice family. Two daughters, both older than Anjali. Mr Sharma's mother stays with them too. I'll tell her to watch over Anjali like her own daughter,' Gupta ji says.

Anjali groans within her at those words. Rajat notices her expression and goes through several contortions of face to swallow his laugh.

As the girls pick up the suitcases, he leans down to lift the rolled-up mattress. 'Let me help you with this,' he says.

'No, no, it's okay. We'll manage,' Anjali's father protests.

'No problem. Happy to help,' Rajat says. He glances at Anjali. She looks down. He smiles and starts walking.

It takes only a few minutes for the whole party to reach Mr Gupta's flat. It's a 1 BHK house, but its bedroom is locked against Anjali.

'My son would return from America after two years. I have moved all his furniture into the bedroom. Anjali can live in the living room comfortably,' says Gupta ji.

So, for a rent that will eat a major chunk of her salary, Anjali has the permission to use the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. The happy satisfaction on her face declares it is more than enough.

Rajat puts the bedroll near a wall. 'If you need anything else, let me know,' he says to Anjali. 'I live in 106, eighth floor. Same building.'

'You'll be fine here, Anjali,' her father says. 'If you need any help, talk to the good people next door.'

Anjali nods. But when Rajat turns to walk out, she follows him.

'Thanks for your help,' she says.

'My pleasure,' he replies. 'You are here for a job?' he asks.

'Yes,' she says, smiling. Her head lifts a little with pride. 'I got a job as a Content Writer.'

'Wow, a writer! Nice.'

'What do you do?'

Rajat halts for a moment. Laughter rises in his eyes as he anticipates her response to his answer. 'I'm a bartender at Z Spirits. Come there some time, I'll get you a special discount.'

Anjali's mouth falls open with shock. She glances back to make sure nobody heard his words.

'I do not go to bars,' she informs him in a low voice. Her eyes stare at him as if examining a curious specimen.

'Anjali, where are you?' her father calls.

She steps inside the house and shuts the door at the thrilling secret she has stumbled upon.

But it doesn't matter, of course. He doesn't matter. She will not be friends with him. Her cravings for freedom do not extend so far as to desire friendship with bartenders.