143 Days of no Fucks given

143 Days of no Fucks given

{They made ‘real love’ when everyone else was just having sex}

Written {with true love’s ink} by

{Evil. Z. Blunt}

Chapter Zero - Airports & Heartbreaks

1st April 2016

I hate airports. Why? Because they’re assholes. All of them.

Yet, I’m standing at one of them - California Airport.

Where the hell am I going – Australia. Why am I going to Oz? Because it’s crazy to go to Oz & I’m crazy. Why am I crazy? 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’s crazy to go to Australia.

Here’s why. I’m getting buried (married) in 3 days. And I’m freaking out. My father asked me to marry her a month ago. I said ‘ok’. Just like that. I said ok and I asked nothing. I’ve never seen her. Not even a damn photograph. I warned you I’m crazy. But I still haven’t told you why it is crazy to go to Australia.

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

And somewhere in there I fell in love with this girl. She taught me how to fly and pushed me off a building – she took me to places that didn’t exist.

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

I get it it’s stupid to go to Australia. But I wanna do this stupid. I’ve got 3 days of freedom & my heart wants me to return to the place that made me believe in love.

Who the hell am I to argue with heart? So, I’m all set. Ready to roll the clock back.

Whoever the fuck you’re, I’m taking you along. And I’m gonna tell you one hell of a story.

Yeah, before I completely forget to tell you. I believe in miracles. But, I wasn’t always like that.

“If we stopped believing in miracles” she had once said as she pulled me into her. “Then what’s the point of anything anyway.” Then my miracle kissed me the way only she could kiss me.

Chapter 1 - Young & Virgin

I’ll tell you what’s a Tragedy. It’s when you find out you’re the only loser in your family of six who isn’t getting laid. Your sister, brother, mother, father & Holy Jesus - are all ‘breaking beds’. Oh it’s a catastrophé.

In about a month you’re going to be 20. No more a teen & still a fucking-virgin. As a 19-year-old, the greatest purpose of your life is to get rid of the dreaded virgin-curse. When ‘push comes to shove’ you don’t care if the girl weighs 300 pounds for christ’s sake. 

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 dinosaurish as I turned 18.

It’s not like I’m bad looking or scared to talk with girls. I’m alright. I just kept failing at it. My greatest moment of high school came when I made out with my classmate George’s blue-eyed 16-year-old-gorgeous-&-slutty-as-the-Kardashians-sister in the church. But that was the start & end of my second base sporting activities.

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 & tell me 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 longer than what’s socially acceptable all the walls of my confidence had been torn down). And I saw no reason why anyone who looked like her would do it with a virgin like me. But I was wrong; she liked me & asked me to hang out with her friends the next day. We ‘went out’ for three months & those three months resurrected my broken walls. Then I had two more relationships in the next year. All three girls were at least 6 outta 10 (California standards not Gujarat standards mind you). Oh! I didn’t tell you I was born in Surat, India. I’m a Gujarati boy by birth.

My father decided to move country when I was nine. We migrated to Southampton, England. What a shithole place that was. I was skinny & frail - ate fafda & dhokla for lunch. Oh boy I got beat all the time in school. 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 took off like superman. 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 & sin.

Anyway my image got an impressive boost with me dating three girls over 3 semesters. And I was scoring distinctions in all the courses. Oh this lanky Gujju boy had come a long way from getting beaten in the bathroom stalls of Shithampton’s Public School to someone whose name some people knew at Stanford. 

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 don’t have the balls for that sorta audacity.

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 cozy with Veronica. Thick lips & that killer hair. I think she grabbed my butt as we kissed. 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. And after what seemed like years, Kirsten grabbed him without saying anything. Then she said ‘And all this time I thought you were gay.’ 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. I love movie references. No wonder Brad loved this ‘Marilyn Monroe-cuddling-Hitler’ tattooed blonde.

In that moment I realised when mortals like me were having good 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 because 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 holds true for the girls wanting to marry me.

That night I made love with Veronica, in her room. But we weren’t alone. I kept thinking of Brad & Kirsten too. It was a wholesome foursome.

Veronica & I didn’t date. I found out she already had a boyfriend. I mean she told me right after we did it. 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 were destroying my mojo.

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 good 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.

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

I just knew it in that moment that I had to: Apply. But how on earth will I convince my never-do-anything-if-it-doesn’t-benefit-you-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 courses I will study in Australia. In truth, I was only getting half credits. For once my father missed another 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.

47 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 Prisoner-of-War 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 143 days that will change my life.

Chapter 2 – Wanna Snort Cocaine

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 wants to get rid of me so he helps me with the baggage out of the boot. 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, she’s been here a while. I say hello to her via wink-&-nod. I twist-&-turn & 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 X-Z Faulkner. She has two first & middle names – hyphenated. 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 & flashes her left hand in front of my eyes. ‘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 dad loved white people.

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. I try to vision the day I will need her famous hug.

I grab the 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 & do all the dirty stuff.

I open 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 – Chastity. To my right is the kitchen for Chastity residents. I walk straight down & open the screen door leading to the first floor corridor. Mine is the first room to the right. I glance down the corridor. I don’t see a soul. It is dead quiet for a Sunday evening – did David Bowie die – I ponder. Perhaps most kids haven’t returned yet as classes officially do not start until the 15^th. I open my room; run my fingers across the off white concrete walls. My fingers read the history written in them. I dump my stuff in one corner, open the windows & sit with legs dangling dangerously outside. Oh it’s just first floor, I will merely break a ball.

About half hour floats by. 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 is 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 monster 17-inch 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-feet, now leaning against my room’s threshold. She makes an offer.

‘Wanna snort coke?’ Words get frozen in my neck.

She walks in.

‘Or we can just talk,’ she sits on the bed behind me. ‘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’

‘Newbie’ 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 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 revolutionary stuff like mandatory adoption to kill poverty & how pigs would soon outdo dogs as the favorite pets. She told me the residential campus was known as: Halls. Then she boldly predicted that within a decade the US will elect a person even dumber than Bush as the President.

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

‘Frankly, my dear, I haven’t a clue. I don't even snort. It was just a bad pick up line.’

‘Wasn’t too bad’

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

‘Ah’

‘In one semester I hooked up with nine blokes’

‘At once’ we laughed like two-year-olds.

‘I almost broke the long standing record of some girl Sasha. She did eleven.’

‘Sasha. That’s such a stripper name’

‘If I keep at it, Rachel will be a stripper 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 9. 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 Flick’s car.’ She pulls her tongue out. ‘My keys were in it. I don’t wanna wake Trevor.’ She told me Trevor was the Farrer guardian.

‘I can sub-let you my floor till the sun wakes up.’

‘You make me an offer I can’t refuse.’ She said in a cheesy Don Corleone voice. ‘I’ll also borrow some of your clothes’ she added in a regular voice.

‘Alright’

Even the strong coffee couldn’t keep her awake. Ten minutes later she fell asleep on the carpet, 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 diary.

‘A girl with black-&-white lips gave me a free-hug coupon. Likes to be called: tim-tam. Rachel, blonde (color is fake) is sleeping on my carpet, her arms all over the place. Wearing my old clothes. Looking like a moron. I wonder if I look like a moron 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.’

Chapter 3 - When Dreams were Born

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 paralyzed, 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 to the renowned aquarium, the crown casino or the recently built swanky Federation Square. I didn’t care if I never set foot in any of them through my 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 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 & hands suspended. I found that a bit odd. Was she alright? Was she alive? I skipped a beat.

I knocked the door of the room next to mine. A bloke, taller than me opened it & looked at me blankly.

‘Hey, I’m Ray’

He just stared. I could see an exotic girl slouching on the couch behind him.

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

‘Letters: dead. Lennon: dead [pause] Lebanese Prime Minister: dead.

‘When the fuck that happened?’

He didn’t answer my question and said. ‘Mayumi: not dead.’ I later found out Lebanon’s PM was assassinated earlier in the day.

Bizarrely I went for small talk. ‘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 undivided 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 a 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. 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 one, made of many stories. One day, the stories run out. That’s when, life runs out. My stories were just starting to get 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 neighbor was holding two bottles of VB stubbies. I took one. That’s how I got introduced to the worst beer ever.

Silence.

‘You gonna meet a lot of nice people here. Be assured I am not one of ‘em.’

‘You always like this?’

‘You just happened to catch me in a rare awful mood.’ I knew he was fucking with me.

Silence.

‘You don’t like people?’

‘I don’t like people.’

‘No one.’

‘Not yet – but I’ll get there.’ His voice was sure as death.

‘Making friends are we huh, Jack,’ Jacqui’s voice broke the silence & I got to know his name. ‘Looks like someone’s taking their meds’ grinning she entered her room, fresh out of shower she smelled of freshly cut watermelon. I smiled; then suppressed it before it turned into a laugh. Jacqui’s jibe didn’t perturb Jack. We stood in calm silence for a minute; then he nodded & left.

Few minutes passed. I sensed someone at the door. ‘Wanna join Al Qaeda.’ Rachel was back. ‘Be ready to be the suicide bomber tonight.’ She was holding a 24-beer slab. Wearing blue lipstick; naked feet with an anklet on her left foot & a tattoo I will get to know about intimately later. My room phone rang. I picked it. ‘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 17 minutes 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 it’s because, with her, I can be exactly the loser I'm & not be judged for it.

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 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, and I saw the note later’ he said unhappily. ‘She’s a 9, you’re what 4’

‘6’

‘5’

‘But we didn’t do it. We didn’t do anything’

‘Not even make out’

‘Not even a kiss’

He stood motionless for the longest 11 seconds. ‘Oh, you’ve no idea how happy you’ve made me.’ He trembled in happiness.

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

Adil was from Lahore, Pakistan. Been here about 2 years now. He will turn 20 in a month. He was still a virgin. His condition had all but killed him. He hasn’t visited home since moving down under. He can’t. His cousins will destroy him. He can’t even lie as his cousin Haider can sniff virgins like an eagle her prey.

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 a few more people. All with a quirky side.

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

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 (in 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 almost fell to the floor.

Rachel saw me with these wackjobs & joined us. Adil excused himself & disappeared. I think Rachel’s aura 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 = orgasmic.

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

‘My reputation ain’t gonna get any worse.’ Rachel shrugged.

‘You remind me of my sister, Archie’

‘How?’

‘She picks up lots of boys.’ We laughed heartily. ‘And I absolutely adore her’

I told Rachel a ‘famous family dinner’ anecdote. Five years ago when Archie was 17, dad asked her how was her day. Archie ecstatically announced ‘Best day ever, dad.’ ‘Tell us all about it’ asked dad. ‘I finally got laid & we did it like thrice in an hour.’ Archie said so coolly that dad got disorientated and almost put his fork in his eye instead of mouth. My mother encountered instantaneous menopause. My dimwit kid brother laughed so hard he almost choked on his broccoli. And to me Archie catapulted to Erin Brockovich status.

Rachel also shared a funny story. Mine was awesomer. '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, stood 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 trashy food – Slopes. To Howitt's left was Deakin. It had two parts, new & old. Although both sort of looked old. Rachel said it was filled with boring, ping pong playing teetotalers who believed in something vague called - God. Rachel said they should totally rechristen it to Deadkin. To Deakin's left was a fake-grass field. Boys from the sub-continent played cricket & Asian kids played soccer on it. Further up were Roberts & Richardson Halls. Bit further down & across the road was Normanby Hall. Rachel said Normanby was even more boring & dead than Deakin – it smelt like a cemetery after 8pm. All the halls had 2-3 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 also 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 awfully fair girl with jet black hair enter the room across the loo. It was Mayumi, the chic I mistook for dead earlier in the day. While returning I stopped at Jack’s room. His door was open. The exotic chic, with big sensual eyes, was still slouching on his sofa chair. Jack was sitting on his study table writing something in his notebook. He pointed to his mini fridge. I took out a VB stubby. 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. I love shamelessness in girls.

Jack didn’t seem to mind me, 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 with 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 blonde (real blonde) was sitting there on the dining table wearing her night clothes, geeky wayfarer spectacles, fruit tea & reading Norwegian Wood. 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. I noticed she was almost towards the end of it. So, I knew I could say what I wanted to without spoiling it for her. ‘I read this in 9^th grade.’ I blurted taking a sip of water. She looked at me. ‘I love this book as unlike Nicolas Sparks’s rubbish, this one doesn’t even pretend & right on the tenth page it breaks your heart.’ Now she was looking at me intently. ‘Oh, it broke my heart when I didn’t even know it could be broken.’ We both let my rant sink in. ‘This love thing, more often than not, breaks our heart. I don’t understand why we can’t live without it & why we all want it so much.’

‘I don’t think we have a choice.’ Her voice was fragrant like the gentle mountain wind.

‘What if you had a choice?’

‘I wouldn’t take it.’ She answered with the certainty of someone in a relationship.

‘What's his name?’ It was now my turn to look at her intently.

‘Jackson’

‘You’re with Michael Jackson’ I feigned shock-&-awe.

‘Just Jackson’ she smiled & some color brightened her face.

‘How long?’

‘Two years’

‘I wanna ask you what’s the thing that a person in love can do a person not in love can’t.’

‘Daydream’

‘I can daydream all day long.’

‘No way can you daydream like me. It made me lose my drivers’ license for almost running over a pregnant penguin.’

‘Excuse my dutch, but since when the fuck penguins started roaming about the road’

‘My car so wasn’t on the road.’ Holy fuck, I whispered. ‘You should’ve seen the look on the penguin’s face when I hit the emergency brakes.’

Silence. ‘I know you want to say something – let it out’

‘Ten thousand miles – you travel ten thousand miles to sit here in your boyfriend’s T that makes you look like a slob. Drinking fruit tea instead of chugging beer from the keg and carving new memories, making new friends?’

‘Go on.’

‘You're not difficult to look at & everyone under 25 loves blondes. You will attract boys & they’ll ask you out. You can't resist them all. Not all of them look like me, some look like James Dean.’

She nodded & smiled - Clearly amused at my stupidity.

‘You can avoid all that today but sooner or later you’ll get so attracted to one of these James Deans & won’t be able to control yourself. What will you do if you must kiss him?’

‘I'll run.’

‘What if he's a bloody athlete & chases you down’

‘Then I’ll want you to jump between us & save me’

‘Seriously! I don't even know you’

‘Do we really need to know someone to save ‘em?’ Damn this girl was good

‘Why do you even want to be saved from an amazing kiss?’

‘I love Jackson’

‘You people sicken me.’ She smiled again. She really was in love

‘April.’

‘Ray.’

‘Hey, Ray’

‘Hey, April - I love your name.’

‘Are you trying to be nice after totally blasting me?’

‘If I ever have a daughter, I’d name her April. That’s how much I love it.’

‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in Australia.’

‘You’ve been here like a day.’ We smiled.

A minute later, 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?’

‘Rachel’

‘Not Rachel. And I won’t tell you who I’m. You do the same.’ Is someone drunk calling another drunk? ‘Instead tell me how wasted are you?’ ‘Pretty.’ ‘Now, that’s awesome for our moonlight conversation.’

‘Think of me as a dream fairy. Someone who would make any wish you make come true. What is the one thing you’d ask for?’

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

‘Why do you wanna fall in love?’

‘So I can almost run over a pregnant penguin.’

‘I want some of the stuff you’re smoking.’

‘Just crappy beer.’

‘Another victim of VB, huh! – Anyway, you’ll’

‘I’ll what?’

‘Fall in love’

‘You don’t know that’

‘You’ll’ I heard the click & she was gone.

It was a cheap land phone 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 someone. That night I fell in love with someone I didn’t even know existed.