143 Days - Holy Fuck (Vol.1), 2, 3 & finally 4

1st April, 2014

I’m sitting at the California airport. I hate airports. All of them.

Where the hell am I going. To Australia. Why am I going to Oz. Because it is crazy to go to Oz & I’m crazy. Why are you crazy. Because I’ve lied to everyone in my family. They all think I’m in Washington D.C., in court. I’m a goddamn lawyer you see. And a bloody good one. But that’s not the point. And that’s not why it is crazy to fly to Australia.

Here’s why. I’m getting buried (married) in 3 days. And I’m freaking out. My dictator father asked me to marry her a month ago. I said “ok”. Just like that. I said ok and I asked nothing. Not even a damn photograph. I warned ya I’m crazy. But I still haven’t told ya why it is crazy to go to Australia.

Nine-goddamn-years-ago I was there. At Monash University. Lived at Farrer Hall, on campus. I was there for 143 days. In those 143 days I lived my life. I didn’t know it then. I know now.

In those 143 days I came alive.

And somewhere in there I fell in love with this girl. And bloody hell she killed me {in a good way}. She gave me wings. She taught me to fly. She……………made me come alive.

Yes, you guessed it right. We aren’t together anymore. Hell, I haven’t a clue where she is. Certainly not in Australia.

I know it makes absolutely no sense to fly to Oz. But hey!............I’ve got 3 days of freedom & my heart wants me to return to the place that made me believe in love.

And who the hell am I to argue with Heart. So, I’m all set. Ready to roll the clock back.

Hey! What on earth are you waiting for. I’m taking you along. And I’m gonna tell ya one hell of a story.

Yeah, before I completely forget to tell ya. I believe in miracles.

“If we stopped believing in miracles” she had once said pulling me closer. “Then what’s the point anyway”. Then she kissed me.

143 days - The Return of the Curse (Vol. 2)

You know what’s the greatest tragedy in a 19-year-old teenage boy’s life? Ya! I know what you sons of bitches are thinking: Being gay (god hate homos), divorced parents, bitch-of-a-step-mom, girlfriend hooking up with best friend & all that crap. That shit’s nothing.  

I’ll tell ya the real tragedy. The real fucking tragedy. Is when you find out you’re the only loser in your family of 6 who isn’t getting laid. Your sister, brother, mother, father & holy jesus, everybody is getting laid. Oh it’s a catastrophé. To add insult to injury you’ve taken the longest to get laid & still a virgin. Holy cow! 

In about a month you’re gonna be 20. No more a teen & still a fucking-virgin (spot the oxymoron). My dire condition gave me nightmares. My bed, the nights scared the living daylights outta me. Oh you don’t wanna know unless you’ve suffered like I’ve then you’d know it already. Hurts.

When you’re a teenager the greatest agenda of your life is to get rid of the dreaded virgin-curse & get laid. When push comes to shove you don’t even care if the girl weighs 300 pounds for christ’s sake. 

There was a time when I was younger I didn’t think much about it. I knew it will happen eventually. When I turned 17 I got my first flicker of doubt. Once that doubt crept in, it grew bigger & bigger as I grew nearer to age 18.

It’s not like I’m bad looking or scared & shit at talking with girls. I’m alright. I just kept failing at the final hurdle. My greatest moment of high school was when I made out with my classmate George’s blue-eyed 16-year-old-gorgeous-&-slutty-as-Cinderella-sister in the gym room. But that was the start & end of my escapades. There just aren’t enough slutty girls anymore. Excuses.

Before I knew it I was in College. And no ordinary college. The goddamn Stanford Law School, California & moved in to live on Campus. Another year passed & I still had nothing to show for.

When all hope had died ……..it happened. Her name was Hope. Wow, right. I thought when Hope would wake up she’d realize what a terrible mistake she had made & say the only reason she slept with me was because she had had way too many cheap beers at the frat party (I tell you after being virgin for way too long than what’s socially acceptable all my confidence had been flushed out). And I saw no reason why anyone who looked like her would hook-up with a virgin like me. But I was wrong; she actually liked me & asked me to hang out with her friends the next day. We went out for three months & those three months resurrected the broken walls of my confidence with the girls. Then I had two more relationships in the next year. So now I have had sex (a lot times) with 3 girls. All of whom were at least 6 outta 10 (California standards not Gujarat standards mind you). Oh! I didn’t tell ya I was born in Surat, India. I’m a gujarati boy by birth.

My father decided to move country when I was 9-years-old. We migrated to Southampton, England. What a shithole place that was & I got beat up in school a lot. I was tall, skinny & frail. Ate fafda & dhokla for lunch. Oh boy I got beat a lot. But I had the heart of Rocky Balboa. I stood through it all like a warrior. Fucking bones still hurt. Those four years in the crappy, old & underage-criminals-filled town of Shithampton made me tough. When daddy informed us that we’re moving to the United States I jumped so high I almost hit the roof. I’ve been in California for the past 8 years & I love it. And that’s why it was so much more painful to be a virgin till almost 21 in a city filled to the walls with beautiful girls & widespread debauchery.

Anyway my sex life & public image got an impressive boost with me dating three good looking desirable women within 3 semesters. In addition to that I was scoring impressively in all the big semester exams. Oh this little Gujju boy had come a long way from getting beaten in the bathroom stalls of Shithampton’s Public School to being the Most-wanted (well, almost) boy of Stanford University. I liked it.

For the record I never cheated on any of my 3 girlfriends. Not because they were hot & I was loyal & all that bullcrap. Truth is I didn’t wanna get caught cheating & beaten in public by the girlfriend. I don’t have the prerequisite guts for cheating.

Anyway one day I was sitting doing some reading in my room & I got invited to this party downstairs. During the party I got a little too cosy with Veronica. Thick lips & that killer smile. I think she grabbed my derriere as we made out. I like that in girls. Adventure.

And as we were about to take our adventure to the room: mine or hers. Doesn’t really matter does it. Something happened that actually mattered.

My classmate Brad proposed Kirsten, his girlfriend of 4 months, to marry him. Stunned silence followed. Anticipation, oh this was like the movies. And after what seemed like years, tears poured outta Kirsten’s green eyes. She grabbed him without saying anything. Then she said “of course I will marry you, Brad. I’d marry you right now if I could.” Brad bent, grabbed her by the thighs & lifted her into the air; tears rolled out her eyes & sprinkled on Brad’s face.

Brad then pulled out a ring, still holding her upright (bloody gymnasts), & slipped it into her damn wedding finger. The whole room filled with shrieks, shrills, woo hoos, rooting, whistling & clapping. ‘Well, now that you’ve asked me to marry you I’ll cancel my plans to kill you with the ice-pick tonight’ Kirsten said laughing madly. Movie reference, I love movie references, that too Basic Instinct. No wonder Brad loved this Madonna-tattooed blonde girl.

I had seen stuff like that in movies & I’ve even cried in some of them. Yep judge me I cry in movies. But this was happening right in front of me. It gave me the chills.

In that moment I realised when mortals like me were having a good time, having awesome sex there were some who were falling in love. That thought gave me another electric round of shivers. I think Veronica, who was holding me, felt it too. Brad & Kirsten had raised the bar for me.

I mean I’ve said I love you to all three of my girlfriends but that’s the decent thing to do right. But I never felt like asking any woman on earth to marry me. I’m damn bloody sure the same goes for the girls wanting to marry me. Fuck no!  

That night I hooked up with Veronica, in her room. She was real good. But we weren’t alone. I kept thinking of Brad & Kirsten too. It was a bloody foursome. It was awkward, like funny awkward.

Veronica & I didn’t date. I found out she already had a boyfriend. I mean she told me the very next morning. When I didn’t get any threat calls by the alleged boyfriend or got beat up in the next month or so I knew I was in the clear.

In the next 5 months I made out with three more girls but didn’t make the move to take it to the next level (read: my room or hers). What the fuck was happening to me. Damn Brad-&-Kirsten syndrome.

I did sleep with one girl in that period. But that was because ‘she’ made the move. And everybody knows you don’t say no to a girl. There’s rules bro, I don’t want to go to hell.

Did you notice my puzzling transformation? From a loser who’d agree to first degree murder so he could get laid with a 250-pound girl was now passing on opportunities of great sex with girls way above his grade because he didn’t feel anything when he made out with them. I swear to jesus I’m so going to hell anyway.

A month & a half ago as I was walking back from University I saw this half-torn flyer stuck on the notice board. It read: Want to go to Australia as exchange student: Apply NOW.

I just knew it in that moment that I had to: Apply. But how on earth will I convince my pain-in-the-buttocks-never-do-anything-if-it-doesn’t-benefit-financially father. But that’s when I caught a break. My father who was having a truly busy season with his garments business (clichéd huh!) was clearly distracted. He didn’t read the paperwork like he’d always do & made the vital mistake of trusting me when I told him I will get full credits for the units I will study in Australia. Of course I was only getting half credits. For once my father missed this glaring flaw that nobody goes to study on exchange programs & Okayed my one semester transfer to the land of kangaroos.

I’ve been sitting for the past 17, 18, 19 or whatever hours squeezed between these two wildly obese ladies. ‘When the hell will I land in the land of Kangaroos’ I want to yell at the hostess but I’m too timid to yell at people.

I hate airplanes, the economy class. I avoid them like boys avoid fat girls. Oh I’m shallow. Kiss my ass, will you. The day someone falls in love with a fat ugly chic then come back & bitchslap me till it hurts. Until then zip it.

Hey I think I’m there. Yes, I’m definitely there.

21 minutes later.

I’m sticking my head outta this yellow cab completely ignoring the Al Pacino look-alike driver’s stern advice to keep my head in. I can’t control myself. I’ve never lived anywhere with my family not within the radius of 25 kms. Now I’m 13000 kms away from my fafda eating family. I feel like a POW out on parole for 5 months. And I’m making this solemn oath to this crisp aussie wind that I will make the best of it.

It is 13th February 2005. It is the beginning of the rest of my life. 

143 Days - Wanna Make Out (Vol.3)

I roll out of the cab through the window. Al Pacino is thinking if he should’ve dropped me at the mental institute instead. He helps me with the baggage out of the boot. He wants to get rid of me. He zooms off as soon as the last bag is out.

I’m standing under this old tree. Tree’s eyes have seen it all, he’s been here a while. I say hello to him via wink-&-nod. I rotate & suck in the surroundings. I take a deep breath & make some weird throaty noise. ‘So this is what freedom smells like.’ I whisper to myself. I’m usually not so frenzied. I tell you there’s something in this wind.

When I’m normal I lift my hand bag & head towards the block that reads: Monash Residential Services. As I enter the room I notice the girl sitting behind the desk. Her name plate reads Tamika-Holly S Faulkner. She has two official first names, hyphenated, plus middle initial. And Al Pacino thought I was crazy.

‘I’m here to pick my keys’ I say clearly distracted by the holistic duality about this girl. I’m not sure if she heard or noticed me. She continues to paint her nails. Suddenly looks up & raises her left hand in front of me. ‘What do you think?’

‘Purple,’ I say in reflex. ‘I like purple’ she smiles goofily. She’s wearing green paint on her other hand. Her open hair is streaked blood-red & powder-blue. Her lips are black-&-white. Silver eye lashes & hazel kohled eyes.

‘Do ya think I’m lesbian?’ she looks lesbian.

‘Are you?’

I don’t know; haven’t figured out yet.’ She scrunches. ‘What’s the name?’

‘Rowan Shaw’ my name got mutated into this from Rohan Shah as my dad believed in integration. Fuck yeah.

She punches my name into the computer. ‘Farrer Hall, room no. 133’ she looks up. ‘From California, Rowan’

‘Yep, and you can call me Ray’ I don’t like Rowan, it feels fake. I like Ray.

‘Like a Ray of hope’ I nodded. ‘And you can call me Tim-Tam’

‘Tim-Tam, like the legendary biscuits’

She nodded. ‘You got any gal-pal waiting for ya back home’ she looked at me; her head tilted, brows curled. I nodded in negative. ‘That’s what I was hoping for’ she tosses the keys over.

I catch in reflex. ‘Thank you’ I smile, turn around & start to walk off.

‘Ray’ her raspy voice stops me at the door.

‘If you ever need a hug, don’t you be shy to come over’ her gray eyes squinted, lips crunched. ‘I’m famous for my hugs, they bring people back from the dead’. Fucking wow!

‘I’ll’ I say; I'm frighteningly mesmerized by this girl. Though I couldn’t imagine a situation where I will come asking for one.

I grab rest of my baggage from under the vintage tree & take a walk towards Farrer Hall. My abode for the next 5 months. ‘Why Farrer?’ I had asked when Derek, the serial traveller & ex-exchange resident, had recommended me Farrer. ‘Hot girls’ he had retorted.

I love hot girls. What’s not to love about them. They’re fancy stuff like Ferrari, with whom you can talk, laugh, embrace, kiss & all the dirty stuff.

I opened the main doors to farrer using my dog tag key. I take two flights of stairs & I’m there in the lobby. If you take a U to your right, it’ll take you to the additional residential wing named Chastity. To my right is the kitchen, for chastity residents. I walk straight down & open the door leading to the first floor corridor. Mine is the first room to the right. I look down the corridor. I don’t see a soul. It’s dead quiet for a Sunday evening. Perhaps most kids haven’t returned yet as classes officially do not start until the 16th. I open my room; run my fingers across the white concrete walls. My fingers read the history written in them. I dump my stuff in one corner, open the windows & sit legs dangling dangerous outside. Oh it’s just first floor, I will merely break a ball. 

About half hour passes. I climb back into my room. Open my Melbourne guide & find the nearest supermarket & how to get there. Coles supermarket, 2 kms out, bus no. 703. Frequency terrible on Sunday. I decide to take a walk. I buy tons of frozen & other junk stuff. Take the bus back to campus.

Technically my kitchen should be the first floor kitchen. But it’s all the way down & around the corridor. A 37-second walk. And chastity kitchen is a sober 4-second walk. I decide chastity is my kitchen.

I dump perishables in the kitchen fridge. Now I don’t feel like cooking, not even noodles. So I make my favorite: breakfast-for-dinner: cornflakes, raisins & lotsa cold milk, in a ceramic bowl.

I hop back to my room. Kick up my laptop. Relish my cornflakes over the greatest show about nothing, Seinfeld. I leave my door wide open. I never close my door. It's my thing. I never closed my door at Stanford either. Even at night I merely shut it, never lock. Of course I shut & lock my door at home at all times. I got nosy gujarati parents.

It’s almost midnight & I’ve watched way too much Seinfeld. I’m laughed-out. The door to my corridor opens; a girl walks past my room. She returns a minute later. She’s tall, dressed in a sparkling blue party dress, bare-feat, now leaning against my room’s threshold. She makes an offer no man has ever refused.

‘Wanna make out.’ Movies, movies, movies. All over again. Words get frozen in my neck. 

She’s now walked in.

‘Or we can just talk,’ she sits on the bed. ‘I’m Rachel’

‘Ray’ I turn my chair enough to see her.

‘I’m totally wasted, Ray’ she smiles like a drunk person. ‘But I swear I won’t throw up on you,’ she stops to think, lips pouted, eyes narrowed, ‘hope not’. She smiles. I have to say I got a bit scared of getting vomited over. No matter how you spin it, it’s never fun.

‘Looks like you just came in’ my unpacked baggage, bare shelves & walls gave away my secret.

‘I’m a few hours old in this country’

‘Newbee’ she slides up, her back now resting on the wall. ‘My head hurts’

‘Coffee?’

‘Black & strong’ she slaps herself & jumps off the bed. ‘Let’s go, Ray’

We rush to the chastity kitchen. She opens a cupboard, then another. She finds what she was looking for. As we’re cooking coffee we talk a little about some nonsense stuff about how people should travel wearing roller blades to save fuel & how pigs would make wonderful pets. She told me the residential campus was known as: Halls. She boldly predicted next US President will be black, muslim & gay.

‘Why did you wanna make out with me?’ I couldn't resist asking.

‘Frankly, my dear, coz your door was open’ we both laughed. Moral: Always leave the damn door open.

‘Good enough for me’ we laugh a little more. I don’t even fake pride.

‘Anyway, before you hear it from others, which you’ll, let me tell you I’m known to be loose around these shores.’

‘Ah’

‘In one semester I hooked up with eleven blokes’

‘That’s a lot’

‘It’s the official record across Monash’ Wow, somebody kept record books. ‘I broke the long standing record of some girl named Sasha. She did nine.’

‘Sasha. That’s such a striper name’ she laughs.

‘If I keep at it Rachel will become a slutty name.’ she winks at me. ‘Gotta pee, be right back’

I’ve been bit dazed since Rachel showed up at my door. Because frankly my dear, Rachel is picture perfect, with the body of a supermodel. 9 on 10, any day of the year. I’ve never been friends with a nine. I’m not Brad Pitt. There is something instantaneously likeable about her. And it has got nothing to do with how she looks.

Rachel is back. ‘Crap, I left my bag in Nick’s car.’ She pulls her tongue out. ‘My keys, now I can’t get into my room’

‘Sleep at mine’

‘Ok’ she said right away. ‘I’ll also borrow some of your clothes’

‘Sure’

‘And I take the floor’

‘Deal’

Even the strong coffee couldn’t keep her awake. Half hour later she fell asleep on floor, wearing my ill-fitting shorts & worn Lakers T. I placed a pillow under her head.

I had decided to write a diary. I had even bought one of those fancy papyrus leather-bound antiquated notebooks with strings. I knew I won’t be writing anything. I’ve never written anything ever even after promising myself year after year. I was about to break the deadlock.

I turned off the lights & turned on the lamp. I wrote the first page of my vintage diary.

“A girl with black-&-white lips gave me a free-hug coupon. Likes to be called: tim-tam. Rachel, blonde (I think color is fake) is sleeping on my carpet, her arms littered all over the place. Wearing my old clothes. Looking like a clown. I wonder if I look like a clown in them. What am I gonna dream tonight in this stranger country with a stranger under my bed. I just looked at Rachel, she does look stupid. And I love stupid people, they look just like me.”

143 Days - When Dreams were Born {Vol. 4}

My eyes woke first, brain was still asleep. Dream or reality, I hadn’t established yet. Birds, leaves, wind & the young humans made the music. I stayed paralysed, staring at the newest ceiling of my life.

Few moments down my brain woke up. Reality it was. I turned over to my left & found the floor barren. The color was missing. Rachel was missing.

I climbed off the bed, drank half litre water. I looked around for a note from Rachel. I didn’t find any. I grabbed my mug & instant coffee jar. A girl in an over-sized (boyfriend’s) Boston college sweatshirt, shorts & running shoes was standing next to the kettle in the Chastity (my) kitchen. I waited my turn. Once she was done, she said “all yours”. American accent. Exchange student. I smiled & thanked her. She left; I was alone now. I made my black coffee & drank it looking outside through the open windows.

There are windows & there are walls. Walls hold us in, windows set us free.

I took a train to the city an hour later. I didn’t want to go the renowned aquarium, the grand casino or the recently built swanky federation square. I didn’t care if I never set foot in any of them across my five month stay.

I wanted to breathe the city & become a part of it. Not of the part that attracted the tourists, but of the part that gave birth to it.

For hours I roamed about the streets with no purpose or sense of direction. I looked at everything with the amazement reminiscent of the eyes of a baby. I saw the lights turn green, amber & then red, a butterfly sitting still in the middle of the road unafraid, an underage girl & a boy sharing a smoke then a kiss. A slutty looking pigeon noticed me noticing her; we shared a moment of harmless flirting, a little bit of unconditional romance.

When I returned at almost 7 in the evening, the cemetery-like silence of the campus had been replaced by the buzz of a flea market.  

A note from Rachel was pasted on my door & my T-shirt and shorts hung on my door knob. Note read: here’s your clothes, I washed them. You were awesome last night.

A pamphlet lay on my room floor. An invitation to the Valentine’s day party in the common area of the Farrer Hall. 9pm onwards, $10 cover charge. Unlimited Beer till you pass out.

I changed into comfortable clothing. As I was washing my face in the basin of the open area in the washroom I noticed the door of the room across the corridor was open, lights out, someone was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. Outline of the body indicated it was a girl. Head flung back. I found that a bit odd. Was she alright? Was she alive?

I knocked the door of the room next to mine. I boy, taller than me opened it & looked at me unpleased at being disturbed.

‘Hey, I’m Ray’

‘What do you want?’

‘I’m worried for the girl who lives across the washr-----------’

‘She isn’t dead.’

‘She isn’t?’

‘Anything else?’

‘I moved in next door’ He didn’t respond, just stared coolly, making me uncomfortable. ‘Alright, nice meeting you….too.’ I smiled & got the hell out of there. I heard the door close behind me.

Back in my room I played my classics playlist, kicking off with Springsteen’s “Brilliant Disguise” & started decorating my room. I had bought small posters of hot girls. I started pasting them along with some of my favorite pictures of my favorite people on the walls. An hour later the corridor door opened, an athletic girl, all soiled & sweaty entered. When all girls were getting dressed for their Valentine’s date, she was getting dirty.

She pulled out her keys & opened the door across mine. Her door faced mine. As my door was open I could see her enter her room. She didn’t shut her door. Sat on the chair & started untying her studs. She had my complete attention. I have this thing for girls who’re into contact sport.

When she looked up, our eyes met. ‘Hey’ she said. ‘Hey’ I did too. She got up & moved in my direction. ‘Jacqui’. She wiped her hand & held it out. ‘Ray’. I shook it right away. She looked at the posters & the pictures.

‘Which one’s your girlfriend’

‘Three,’ I pointed at them. ‘All ex now. I like seeing their faces. Makes me happy’ I smiled.

She looked at the pictures again. Then she looked at me for few seconds. She wanted to say something but I think she said something else, with a smile. ‘I stink. I’m gonna hit the shower. It was nice meeting you, Ray’

‘Nice meeting you too, Jacqui.’ This time I said it for real not out of fear.

Jacqui’s eyes had layers. If one looked closer, deeper, many stories floated beneath.

Life is a book, a really long book, made of many stories. One day, the stories run out. That’s when, life runs out. My stories were just getting written.

I got back to fixing my stuff & prettifying my room. Some time passed. I heard a tap on the door as Simon & Garfunkel’s “Sounds of Silence” played in the background.

The rude neighbour was holding two bottles of VB stubbies. I took one as peace offering.

‘I know I was an asshole to you before but that’s who I’m,’ he said. ‘An honest, anti-social basterd.’

Silence.

‘My honesty will get me killed one day. Till then I want to be alive.’

We gulped our beer at one go.

I always look into people’s eyes when they speak. Eyes are where the real meaning of their words resides. Jack’s eyes were sure like death. I knew he was broken. I knew he was the kind of man who’ll stand up for you when all else have gone home.

‘Making friends are we huh, Jack,’ Jacqui’s voice broke the silence. ‘Looks like someone’s taking their meds’ grinning she entered her room, fresh out of shower she smelled of bergamot. I smiled; then suppressed it before it turned into a laugh. Jack nodded & left. He didn’t seem to mind Jacqui’s jibe. The boy had heart.

Few minutes passed. I sensed someone at the door. ‘Wanna make out.’ Rachel was back. ‘Be ready to be totally wasted tonight.’ She was holding a 24-beer slab. Wearing blue lipstick; naked feet with an anklet on her left foot. My room phone rang. ‘Whatzup, bitchface, did ya get laid already or what.’ Archie screamed into the phone. ‘Sister’ I whispered to Rachel. ‘See ya downstairs, bitchface’ she winked & left. I held the receiver for the next half hour as Archie spoke without pause or inhibition; with extreme bitchiness & profanity.

In my family I either dislike people or am indifferent to them. Archie is the exception. She’s a super bitch. She’s my favorite person in the world. If you ask me the one darn reason why she’s my favorite is because I never have to pretend when I’m with her.

I reached downstairs a bit after 9pm. I grabbed a beer from the table & looked around for a familiar face. Then I saw a face, Indian-looking face, looking in my direction. Then this face started moving in my direction. Damn, I felt a little scared. Indian people scare me. My fears weren’t unfounded. This tall, strong lad was now standing next to me.

‘You are brown, shorter than me, I got better muscles, better hair, exotic accent,’ he paused to sulk ‘How do you do it, bro’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I saw Rachel coming outta your room, eight in the morning, wearing your clothes,’ he said painfully. ‘She’s a 9, you’re what 4’

‘6’

‘5’

‘I’ll take it,’ I said. ‘But we didn’t do it. We didn’t do anything’

‘Not even a kiss’

I nodded.

‘Oh, you’ve no idea how happy you’ve made me.’ He looked terribly happy.

The whole thing made sense to me eventually when he told me his harrowing story. A tearjerker that took me back to my dark days.

Adil was from Lahore, Pakistan. Been here about 3 years now. He will turn 21 in three months. He was still a virgin. His condition had all but killed him. He hasn’t visited home since moving down under. He can’t go back a virgin. His cousins will destroy him. He can’t even lie as his cousin Haider can sniff virgins like an eagle her prey.

Over the years Adil had done everything he could but he keeps falling short. A combination of tough luck, won’t-sleep-with-anyone-under-6, won’t-sleep-with-anyone-drunk (bloody morals), and plain outright stupidity had brought his downfall over the years.

Then we stopped discussing his “condition”, it was depressing us. He introduced me to few more people. All with a quirky side.

Chris, Chastity’s RA, liked taking random pictures of people with his fat SLR camera when they weren’t looking & then give them the prints.

Chuck told us ‘My chic comes to my room at five in the morning & wants to bang, every frickin day. When the hell am I gonna sleep. I need my beauty sleep. I wanted to do it with her hot sister, but I got stuck with the non-hot, sex maniac. I want my life back.’ He pulled down his 5^th beer. ‘All I have left in life to achieve is a threesome; then I will call it a day.’

Kyle held the All Time Record for getting laid: 23 girls in 3 semesters. Now he was taking it easy. One day he hopes to become Pope. He wants to write an Autobiography (2 Parts): Part 1: From Playboy to Pope. Part 2: Fucker to Father.

Jesus (yep, his name was Jesus) said slowly, like an enlightened man ‘I never believed in God. It all changed last Christmas. I realised there is meaning. There is purpose to life’ intentional pause. ‘Then I fucked this celebrity & fulfilled mine.’ I fell to the floor.

Rachel saw me with these wackjobs & rescued me of sorts. Adil excused himself & disappeared. I think Rachel’s obvious beauty gave him the chills.

We grabbed a beer & stood in a corner. Rachel was popular. Lots of boys & girls stopped to say hello. Rachel was gracious enough to introduce me as a “friend”.

She asked me about my family. I kept it as brief as possible. We leaned on the wall, drinking in silence for about a minute, dreaming. Silence + new friends + alcohol = bliss.

‘That note you put on my door. People would think we’re doing it’

‘I already have a bad reputation. And it ain’t getting any worse.’ Rachel shrugged.

‘You remind me of my sister, Archie’

‘How?’

‘She’s promiscuous’ We laughed heartily. ‘And she’s audacious. I absolutely adore her’

I told Rachel about a “famous family dinner” anecdote. Five years ago when Archie was 17, dad asked her how was her day. Archie ecstatically announced ‘Spectacular. Best day Ever, dad.’ ‘Tell us all about it’ asked dad. ‘I got laid’ Archie said so coolly that I saw my dad’s jaw drop to the floor. My mother fainted. My nerd kid brother continued reading-&-eating and to me Archie catapulted to God status.

Rachel also shared a funny story. Mine was funnier. 'Have ya been around Halls?' I told her I haven't. She grabbed a six-pack & took me on a tour.

Our Hall, Farrer had three floors plus the ground, renowned for best-ever parties. It was U-shaped. On the opening of the U was the tall monster, Howitt. It had a whopping eleven floors. The only Hall with lifts. To Howitt's left was the cafeteria known for its shitty food was called Slopes. To Howitt's left was Deakin. It had two parts, new & old. Although both sort of looked alike. Rachel said it was filled with boring, teetotalers. To Deakin's left was a fake-grass field. Boys from the sub-continent played cricket on it. Asian kids played soccer. Further up were Roberts & Richardson Halls. Bit further down & across the road was Normanby Hall. Rachel said Normanby was perhaps even more boring & dull than Deakin. All the halls had same number of floors barring the giant Howitt. Every hall had a common room with a projector room. Howitt's common room was in the basement. Common rooms were primarily used for drinking parties. Deakin had a sound proof music room. And either Roberts or Richardson had a boxing room. Deakin had a loft with kitchen attached to it. I loved it. Rachel already loved it.  

At about midnight I left for my room. Jacqui was playing Eric Clapton’s “Signe” on her guitar. Now I was getting really impressed with this girl. I went to pee for the fifth time & saw an extremely fair girl with extremely dark hair enter the room across the loo. It was the same chic I mistook for dead earlier in the day. While returning I stopped at Jack’s room. His door was surprisingly open. An exotic-looking chic was slouching on his sofa chair. She had big sensual eyes. Jack was sitting on his study table writing something in his notebook. He pointed to his mini fridge. I took out a beer. I spoke to Jack about something for about 3-4 minutes. The girl didn’t say anything; she kept staring at me with those seductive eyes; shamelessly. You gotta love shamelessness in girls. It increases your chances of getting laid manifold.

Jack seemed to like me alright, but clearly small talk wasn’t his thing. As soon as the beer finished I said goodnight to him & left wondering if the girl was his girlfriend & happy that she seemed intrigued by me for whatever twisted reason.

I was feeling drunk & sleepy now. I picked up my water bottle & went to the kitchen to fill it. A girl was sitting there on the dining table wearing her night clothes, wayfarer spectacles, fruit tea & reading Great Gatsby. She didn’t look up at me. I ran the tap & placed my bottle under it. I realised it was the American girl I had seen in the kitchen in the morning.

‘Great Gatsby is a shit book’ I blurted taking a sip of water. She looked up. ‘It’s shallow & bombastic.’ The girl looked at me intently. I don’t know if she thought I was saying those things because I was tipsy. I really did believe Great Gatsby was shit.

‘I’m April.’

‘Ray.’

‘Hey, Ray’

‘Hey, April’

‘I’m reading it for the second time. I get it why you dislike it,’ she clutched the book. ‘In my life it holds a special place.’ She reminisced.

I looked at her, didn’t say anything in response. I smiled awkwardly. She told me she’s from Boston. She’s been in a relationship for four years. The whole relationship reeked of “seriousness”.

‘I don’t get it,’ I said peeved. ‘You fly down million miles; sit here in your boyfriend’s clothes reading a trash book when all are drinking & making new friends. You’re sitting here sober as a saint, drinking some fruit tea for Christ’s sake. I don’t get why even bother coming here if you can’t do what your heart wants.’ April stoically withstood my unwarranted vicious attack. The sight of Great Gatsby brings out the worst in me. I was about to apologize profusely but April beat me to it.

‘I got selected for the Australian Open juniors when I was 15. Two weeks before I was about to fly I dislocated my shoulder. My tennis star dreams got crashed & burned. All the anxiety of it made my skin break out. Suddenly I was this unlucky girl with zits all over my face with a broken shoulder & dreams.

‘One day I was sitting in a corner eating my tasteless salad reading guess what. Great Gatsby. Nathan walks up to me & asks me if I will go to the prom with him. That happy-confused me because the prom was like two years away. It was the nicest thing anyone had said to me & I laughed for the first time that month. I swear I looked a wreck that month. He showed me no matter how much life can bring you down, there’s always someone who will bring you back.’ Waters of love formed in her eyes. I just looked at her in awe. ‘I missed him so much today. Great Gatsby takes me back to that beautiful day.’ April said dreamily.

‘You should totally slap me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I totally deserve it.’ I did.

She told me it wasn’t a fruit tea, it was chamomile; for relaxation. ‘I drink it every night before I hit the bed.’

I offered her again to slap me. I think she contemplated hitting me but she was too nice to hit a puny person like me. I would have, totally.

I said goodnight to her & returned to my room, tucked myself into the sheets. Right when I was about to enter the dream world my extension rang.

‘Did I wake you from your wet dream?’ What the fuck. Someone is drunk calling. ‘Just messing with ya. Ok, don’t tell me who you’re & don’t ask who am I,’ I didn’t. ‘Think of me as a dream fairy. Someone who would make any wish you make come true. What would you ask for, stranger.’

‘To fall in love.’ I can’t believe I said that to a drunken caller.

‘You want it, you got it.’ She was gone.

It was a cheap landphone with no display screen or any way of knowing who called. What a day, Ray. What a day. ‘To fall in love.’ Sweet Jesus. Could you be any more creepy? That night I dreamt of my dream fairy. That night I fell in love with someone I hadn’t even seen.