WORLDS BEST BOYFRIEND BOOK PDF

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Download The World's Best Boyfriend by Durjoy Datta. If you want to know the answer to it all, read the book. Hold My Hand; When Only Love Remains; World's Best Boyfriend; Our Impossible Love; The Girl of My . The Worlds Best Boyfriend Durjoy Datta - Ebook download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read book online.


Worlds Best Boyfriend Book Pdf

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Download easily and start reading it right away. World's Best Boyfriend is the much-awaited novel by the famous Indian novelist, Durjoy Datta. Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Durjoy Datta was born in New Delhi, India, and completed Want to know our Editors' picks for the best books of the month? Browse Best Books of the Month, featuring our favorite new books in more than a . It is the latest release by durjoy dutta..! Indian_college_love_story (as usual a Delhi thing) Nothing new in the novel.. but when all writers focus on beautiful.

It picks its victim at random. Quite unfair too if you ask me. In our little house. Their hands sweated, but neither of them wanted to let go. From then on, he would hold her hand whenever he got the chance to.

It was them against the world, they had decided, forever and for always. Not because he was a boy and she loved him but because he was the first one who chose to love her. Usually people would go to great lengths to avoid her touch.

Dhruv, too, had been scared but he knew what the word non-contagious meant. However, as it turned out, he was soon to use it against her.

The girl he had fallen in love with, the girl who loved him back, the girl who had promised him a forever, the girl who was supposed to make everything alright simply because she was happy being with him. I Love u Rachu 7 There was pin-drop silence in the room.

On one side of the shiny mahogany table sat the school committee and the teacher who had caught the two of them in the storeroom, and on the other side sat Dhruv and Aranya with their parents. Dhruv stared at his Converse shoes, their laces frayed, the little aluminium rings that had held them ripped away from their place. He pressed his toes down, hoping to crack the earth and descend into Middle Earth, maybe.

Outside the room he could hear people talk about the alleged kiss between Dhruv and Aranya. Her mother was crying and begging in front of the principal, blaming Dhruv. Dhruv trained his eyes on Aranya who had started to cry. The head of the committee spoke. We will have to expel both the kids from our school. We have a zero-tolerance policy. I hope you understand. Her father who had been grumbling in silence got up, grabbed Aranya by her hair and shook her violently. If you expel her, none of the other schools will take her.

Please understand. My hands are tied. What you did? Her ruffled hair stuck to her wet face. Dhruv gripped the paperweight tighter. Aranya wiped the tears off her face, looked straight at the head and spoke fluently, her voice strong, her story precise and straight. He had promised to help me with the course material. I had been struggling since I missed the earlier classes. But once there, he asked me to kiss him. I refused.

They lie. He wanted to say that she was lying but words escaped him. He blacked out for a few seconds, his hand unclenched and the paperweight rolled out of his hands. Your school is vile! The teachers, the principal, everyone! I will sue the entire school! Her face looked like she had been slapped. Aranya nodded. Dhruv looked at Aranya but Aranya was staring at the wall ahead of her. He repeated. His mother tried holding the other but he broke free. Outside, more students had gathered having listened to the commotion inside.

Dhruv got up from his seat and walked towards the door. He started to count until ten in his head. If she looked at him, he would forgive her, or otherwise he would take her down with him. Not because I wanted to kiss her but because I had a bet with all these students standing here. Heaven forbid anyone has to see what I saw today! She belongs to a zoo, not here!

Aranya looked on; Dhruv could see the life drain out of her eyes. And no one believed me. So I decided I would show them by kissing her and remaining the way I am—normal.

All of you are the same, ugly or beautiful. All of you lie. Dad was right. Dhruv walked past everyone. He found the paperweight rolling about, picked it up, and walked out of the school, crying. Dhruv was expelled immediately. He and his father shifted to a cheaper apartment on the outskirts of the city, and Aranya spent the remainder of her school life at the fringes, being known as the ugliest girl ever!

I Love u Rachu 9 Six years later. He could barely suppress the chuckle that threatened to escape any moment. No words had been exchanged for the last twenty minutes. We did it here. In the bedrooms. On the balcony.

I never intended to. But I hope you understand what position I am in. What could be worse for an Indian mother than knowing that her eighteen-year-old daughter had had premartial sex on the kitchen slab and enjoyed it?

Dhruv chose his words carefully to make himself the victim. I really loved Satvika, Sir. If I had thought she would leave me I would have never done it. Nor in the bedrooms. Nor on the balcony, or on the kitchen slab. I really thought she was serious about me. God knows I was. He should try theatre sometime. Dhruv had narrated the length of his rather sexual relationship with Satvika in as much detail as her parents could digest, without them wanting to set Satvika, and then themselves, on fire.

He told her parents they had been dating for the past two months, right from the time Satvika had taken admission at a local institute to prepare for the engineering entrance examinations.

They say, the day you fall in love changes your life, but they are wrong. Dhruv sounded genuine in his shame. Tears flowed out abundantly and ceaselessly from his sorry eyes, erasing any doubt, firmly planting the belief that their daughter was some kind of depraved girl, a pervert who used their bedroom and their kitchen for her misdemeanours.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but not by much. Satvika was called to the drawing room. She stood by the side of her mother, teary-eyed, her hair a mess, and her skin pale like a corpse.

Dhruv smiled, seeing her pained and defeated, staring at a shackled life.

You deserve it, bitch! You should have thought about this before you let Karan take my place. Satvika had no answer to give them because nothing of what Dhruv had said was untrue.

But slowly and predictably, distance had crept in and Dhruv, in anger, had told her to fuck off from his life. She did, quite literally, and decided to go out for a harmless movie date with a below-average boy, Karan. Dhruv would have probably forgiven her for this slight had she not lied about it.

She had lied and for that she needed to be punished, abandoned and tortured for life. Dhruv was asked to leave. You said you loved me! I loved you and you fucking lied to me. And we had broken up, Dhruv! Her eyes still searched for an answer, and Dhruv being the gentleman he was, responded by waving his middle finger, and drove away.

I Love u Rachu 10 No matter how strong she was, how many books on feminism she had read, she still felt the need to be desired, missed, loved, talked, objectified, fantasized about and masturbated to, and she hated herself for it. Not that anyone would want to see her body. Saying she was fat was an understatement. She weighed 73kg and was barely 5'3" and it constantly weighed on her head. For years she had been battling with her issues with weight. Sameer, the boy on the other side of the video call, had first met her in an interschool debating competition about five years back.

Switch on the lights. My parents are outside. Make do with this. A kiss! The night just got very interesting! I think I just got turned on. The boy teased Aranya a little, gyrating and thrusting his pelvis into the camera like an octogenarian on his first yoga class. Slowly, the guy took off his shirt, and then slipped out of his trackpants. His torso was sufficiently ripped and shaved but his legs were siteian-level hairy.

He asked Aranya if she wanted him to take his briefs off and before Aranya could type, he started. He slipped them off slowly. Not that the suspense was killing Aranya really. Aranya squinted as Sameer proudly took his semi-hard king-prawn-like member in his palm and started flapping it around, stroking it, pointing it towards the web camera.

It was hilarious. Sameer kept stroking it till it was hard. Then he took his hands off it, placed them behind his head, and moved his penis back and forth like it was a party trick. By this time, Aranya was disgusted enough to change tabs. She watched a compilation of cute puppy videos on YouTube, and realized how easy life is for little puppies. And though the moving images of a crooked dick on her laptop made her feel sick and queasy, she felt desirable for a change.

At least someone in the world would give her a second look, want her, in whichever way it might be. She then told him that her parents were knocking on the door. She signed out. She closed her laptop and gently tapped her head on it, cursing herself, almost in tears. Why does she do this? And if she had a face worth a second look, probably twenty likes on a selfie would have sufficed her need for acceptance as well.

Aranya stood in front of the mirror, turned her head from side to side, inspected herself, found herself crying and with the same schizophrenic, selfpitying argument running in her head again. Why do you do this? Look at me! Look at the other girls from school, their thin, shapely legs, and their perfect complexions.

They are the ones who get stared at, not me, no matter what I do. Look at my skin! No one will ever look beyond that. Shut up. No one can touch you there. Why do you think I was leading that guy on to strip? Wanting to know if I can turn him on? Wanting to know if I can turn anyone on? Because it makes me feel good, it makes me feel wanted. So do you feel better now? I might. There will be someone. Do you want me to remind you what happened the last time there was someone?

He called me the ugliest girl in the world. Forget him. Feels like yesterday. She deleted Sameer from her Skype list and texted him that her parents got to know about their little escapade and they would get him jailed if he ever tried to contact her again.

The boy she loved. The boy named Dhruv. She bore no guilt about what had happened years ago, about the lie she said to save herself from her parents and a life full of misery. It was a desperate attempt of a young ostracized girl at selfpreservation.

What could she have done? Dhruv should have got that. Instead he hit back like a coward and single-handedly wrecked her life. He was the first one to tell the world she was ugly, unwanted, repulsive. It was he who had sown the seeds of self-doubt that had torn her apart for years now.

Book Review:- WORLD’S BEST BOYFRIEND by Durjoy Datta

He snatched away what little normalcy she had hoped for from life. She wished he were dead now, or at least as unhappy as she was with her life. She hated him with all her might. Still about fifty kilometres to go, the rotting piece of shit had broken down twice. He stepped into a dhaba while the mechanic refilled the coolant. Earlier, Dhruv had filled his shaker with three scoops of per cent whey protein, two scoops of glutamine, three scoops Amino and two scoops of BCAAs, topped it with water and shook it till a little bit of the froth had dribbled out.

It smelled like shit but it was essential for rapid muscle growth, and to help him break out of the plateau he had hit with the overhead and the bench press. A couple of houseflies started to hover around the dirty bandage on his right hand. He needed a new dressing for that wound.

People needed to be punished and left with scars that would remain for a lifetime. Dhruv still thought he let him off easy. A serving boy came with the tea. It was the sweetest fucking thing he had ever tasted and he spat it out. Dhruv gargled with the tea instead, not wanting any extra calories in his bloodstream, and spat it out, making sure the cashier noticed it. A small round steel plate with the bill reached his table. Dhruv got up from his chair, picked his tattered backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

He walked to his bike, paid the mechanic, and kick-started it to life. Dhruv was gone. She burped. Everything bathed in oil, sprinkled with cheese, dipped in sugar syrup tasted good to her. She caught the bus that would take her to DTU, her home for the next four years away from her tyrannical parents. It would be a new start for her and she would not be ignored and taken lightly there, she had decided.

Unlike school, she would rule the college with an iron fist. The bus dropped her off at the gate of her new college, from where she walked to her hostel, her home for the next four years.

She signed the register, submitted photocopies of her existence and shifted into her barren, prison-like room. Before long she unpacked, changed, threw her clothes inside the cupboard, arranged her books, put bedspreads, and flopped on the bed, thinking about her first day in engineering college—where she would be the cause of disappointment to a lot of expectant guys.

She was dreaming soon. She woke up with a start. Ten minutes later, she was standing with fellow students from the first year in front of a motley group of seniors, boys, uncles pretending to be boys, and a smattering of girls. Things had changed quite a lot for Aranya since primary school. No one mentioned the story of the naked, diseased girl any more but the repulsion towards her disease remained. Her condition was always a looming shadow over her associations with people.

The girls started to rattle off their names, the name of the schools they were from, and some went as far as to tell them their hobbies which were as boring as their faces. Aranya could almost feel the insults flying at her. Obviously, she would be picked out and ridiculed and shamed for her weight and how she looked, but she was ready for it.

My seniors sit around in boxer shorts and harass their juniors, shame them for their body and their face. None of the seniors will ever help you. You screwed with the wrong person. Why do you think none of your friends here are backing you up? Triple scholar gown holder in school. AIEEE rank 13, with the highest in mathematics and physics.

You were saying that none of the seniors would help me? What makes you think I would need their help? Victorious, she walked away. I Love u Rachu 13 Dhruv had been in a little fight last night. The seniors had come knocking at his door and he had asked them to fuck off. They had to rush the senior to the hospital. Groggily and with one eye barely open he looked at the timetable on his phone.

He was already late for the first class—advanced physics. It took him another twenty minutes to get out of bed, brush, and find the motivation to reach his first class at DTU, the college he had always thought of as giving him the metaphorical freedom from the house he had grown up in. Still in his shorts and flip-flops, his right palm bandaged, and with a deep gash on his forehead from last night which had needed medical attention, he walked through the corridors looking for his class.

Mr Tripathi, fifty-three, dressed in brown trousers, a faded white shirt and chappals, was teaching the first-year electrical engineering students. In a desperate bid to leave a good first impression, their eyes were glued to the old man, nodding furiously like bobbleheads, pens whirling on paper, writing every word like it was holy.

Dhruv knocked at the door. The class turned to look at him. It was a class full of hopeful and hopeless, virgin young men, and predominantly average-looking women, who would drag themselves unquestioningly through four years of engineering to get one of those million little enviable cubicles where their life energies will be slowly sucked out of them.

Tripathi asked the class. The students shook their heads. So I thought it was better I dressed up for the occasion. I picked these shorts carefully. And hi! The professor started to teach them about fusion. Dhruv sat there, looking at the five girls in the class, calculating the number of beers he would need to find the urge to sleep with them.

The first three were identical. Skinny, dark, spectacled, flat hair tied tightly into a pony, four beer stuff. One of them was fair and being the racist bastard he was, he pegged her at two beers and sufficiently dim lighting. The last one was a little hard to place in the heirarchy.

She had her back towards him. She was furiously scribbling notes, unmindful of boys nearby, or him, or even the professor. From where he was sitting he could see her head strictly followed the chalk like she was controlling it, telekinesis-type strange shit. I feel scared and petrified. The horror in the eyes of people who died in front of me comes rushing back to me. Every time there was a blast in Delhi, Mumbai or Hyderabad, I used to look at the news and think it cannot happen to me, or the people around me.

Suddenly, everything changed. I am mortified. What if the car we are in has a bomb? I shift in my place uncomfortably. I suspect everything now. When it happens to you, its very unsettling. Yes, I am fine. Its just hurting a little, I say. I do not want to share my fears with her. I know she is scared too. Had I died yesterday, it would not have been me who would have suffered.

It would have been her, my parents and my friends. I am scared for Avantika. We enter our flat and suddenly, I do not ever want to leave. Neither do I want Avantika to spend a minute out of my sight.

I am being paranoid. I understand now why my parents used to call me fifty times every ten minutes after ten in the night to make sure that I am okay. I understand why they always want to make sure that I call them after I reach office.

They must have seen a lot of people dying. So, they must be living in constant fear. Avantika switches on the television for me before going to the kitchen. She starts peeling oranges for me and I switch to the News channels.

I never do that usually, but today is no usual day. A few meters here or there, and I would be on the news dead. All channels are brimming with just one topic the blast. There are politicians who condemn the attack, angry people, crying people and the junta venting out their anger on the government. Everyone is blaming the other for what happened.

No one has come out to take the blame. I switch it off. I cannot watch it. The memories of dead people and cut limbs are too much for me to take. I do not need the real images to add to the haunting mental images. I can do without the torture. Is something wrong? She must have noticed the dead, worried expression on my face. How many people died? Eighty nine. I told you. I could have been one of them, I say and she looks at me. Immediately, she has tears in her eyes. I know that she has been thinking about this over the last two days.

She comes over to me, looks at me with love in her eyes and hugs me. I feel wanted. Please dont say that, she whispers. I said nothing wrong; I could have been one of them. Had I not forgotten my wallet in the car, I would have been tantalizingly close to the scooter in which the bomb had been placed and blown to tiny bits.

I had been lucky. I could have been dead or worse still, maimed. I can feel the tiny goose bumps on my hands as Avantika snuggles up to me. I am sure she is thinking the same. I hold her close and try not to think about any of it. However, its really difficult not to. I shudder to think what would have happened to her had I died. For all her strength and confidence, she is just a baby. My baby. Had I died Time passes and she drifts off to sleep in my arms.

I wish to wrap my hands around her and never let anything harm her. The world is a cruel place and I have seen that from close now. I switch on the television and flip through the channels. Thats all they show. A little later, there is a special report on the spirit of Delhi.

They show how the people of Delhi are affected by the Chandni Chowk blast. The news correspondent tells us that the people of Delhi have come together in this time of need, that they fighting the tragedy and getting over it together.

Getting over it? Its more like forgetting all about it. We, as responsible citizens, are more interested in doctored, naked pictures of a wannabe actress than people dying on the streets. We dont care about blood as much as we do about flesh. We dont have time for all that. Who would have cared had something happened to me yesterday?

Who else? No one cares about what happens to anyone! It is all just a bloody facade. Every time there is a blast, they talk about the spirit of Mumbai or the spirit of Delhi and how the city never sleeps or stops. They harp about how the city moves on. The truth is that life stops for people who had been in the blast. For others they just do not care. I do not blame them.

I was on their side until yesterday. I was an uncaring Delhite. I am not really sad about that. I am just irritated. Today is just another day. And I could have been dead? That is so unfair, right? One minute, I have all my limbs, and in the next, I could have lost them? The mere thought makes me sick in the stomach. I look at Avantika, who is now sleeping in my arms. I slowly shift her into a more comfortable position and push the strands of her hair away from her radiant face.

Somehow, in the last five years that we have been dating, I am yet to pick a single instant when she doesnt look pretty. She is breathtakingly beautiful. Its almost surreal. All the things that I used to say to score with my ex girlfriends had come true when I had met Avantika. She is a dream.

Even better; you wouldnt even dream of something so perfect. Plastic surgeons still cant rival God. She is so hard to describe.

Those limpid, constantly wet black eyes scream to be loved. There is nothing better than a melancholic beautiful face. She has eyes of a month old child big and screaming for attention. A perfectly drafted nose, flawless bright pink lips and a milky white complexion that can put Photoshop to shame. Oh hell, she is way out of my league. She is a goddamn goddess. The first time I met her, I just couldnt look beyond her face.

It was strange, as it had never happened that way. Usually, it was always the cup-size that mattered. I turn the volume low and switch back to news channels. The news shows censored images. There are just bloodied clothes and wailing men and women.

There are no severed limbs, people crying out in pain or bleeding to death and no one is shown collecting burnt IDs of people. I am sure people would have spent Durjoy Datta Nikita Singh Page 10 If Its Not Forever a lot more time away from their daily soaps and looked at the news if they showed all the pain that people went through.

But I dont blame them. I am no different. Mumbai blasts, Delhi blasts they were all the same to me. RIP, blast victims a status update on a social networking site, a little prayer in my heart for those who lost their loved ones and I used to get back to whatever I used to do. This time, it is different. I never thought it would happen to me. I was never in crowded places. She would come to see him every week, and then every alternate week, and then once a month.

Mom would switch off the television and he would snatch the remote from her. And when Dad returned, it would end with a verbal duel between his parents about who had been the worse parent. Mom would leave behind a toy, a hand-held video game, a CD player which Dad would smash and throw out with the trash. Dhruv did not mind. Sometimes Dhruv and his father would break those toys together. Dhruv had to leave school. So Dhruv was put back in the school, no fee charged.

The first day was horrendous. Dhruv put up with the sniggering without breaking down. He walked the corridors like nothing had happened. His mother, now freshly married, looked more beautiful than before, even younger.

She was made the vice principal of the school.

The World's Best Boyfriend by Durjoy Datta

Dhruv would never leave his class. Sometimes his mother would keep lunch wrapped in an aluminium foil on his desk. Dhruv looked up to see the girl from his colony, the dalmatian, the one with the spotted skin, looking at him. Dhruv was hungry. His father would not wake up in time to help him get ready for school, or prepare lunch, or even drop him to the bus stop. He would, though, kiss him on his forehead every day at least once as they rushed to get dressed. But Dhruv wanted a lunch box and a clean uniform, too.

I sit here and wait for her to leave. She waits and she takes it back.

Dhruv went back to taking the pen apart. If you were in the US, you would be in the majority. Divorce rates are AMD 1. He only watches porn. Do you have Wolfestien on it? Sometimes, my mother adds water to those glasses. No one can tell the difference. They should talk about something else.

He would protect her from the world. They would always share their lunches. He had vowed he would never let her shirt stain with ink spots. And the day he grows up to be a senior, he would hunt every last student in the school who had hurt Aranya and punch them in the nose.

To twelve-year-old Dhruv, she was the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world and he would love her fiercely till the end of time. By now Dhruv had learned to make his lunch—four slices of bread generously spread with pineapple jam. They would sit on the last bench the entire day and write little messages for each other on the desk. The class called them the weird couple.

They ignored them. Dhruv would draw her with big hands and big eyes, and she would draw him with big ears. Together, they would draw little hearts at the edges. They would also draw a little house they would live in when they grew up. It would have a lot of big windows and two computers. It smelled really bad so I mopped it up. Aranya and Dhruv read it together.

When people download a new flat and they have to break a wall or two, redo the plumbing and the wiring, they call my father. He lost the thumb of his left hand. She shook her head. It picks its victim at random. Quite unfair too if you ask me. In our little house. Their hands sweated, but neither of them wanted to let go.

From then on, he would hold her hand whenever he got the chance to. It was them against the world, they had decided, forever and for always. Not because he was a boy and she loved him but because he was the first one who chose to love her. Usually people would go to great lengths to avoid her touch. Dhruv, too, had been scared but he knew what the word non-contagious meant. However, as it turned out, he was soon to use it against her.

The girl he had fallen in love with, the girl who loved him back, the girl who had promised him a forever, the girl who was supposed to make everything alright simply because she was happy being with him. I Love u Rachu 7 There was pin-drop silence in the room. On one side of the shiny mahogany table sat the school committee and the teacher who had caught the two of them in the storeroom, and on the other side sat Dhruv and Aranya with their parents.

Dhruv stared at his Converse shoes, their laces frayed, the little aluminium rings that had held them ripped away from their place. He pressed his toes down, hoping to crack the earth and descend into Middle Earth, maybe.

Outside the room he could hear people talk about the alleged kiss between Dhruv and Aranya. Her mother was crying and begging in front of the principal, blaming Dhruv. Dhruv trained his eyes on Aranya who had started to cry.

The head of the committee spoke. We will have to expel both the kids from our school. We have a zero-tolerance policy. I hope you understand. Her father who had been grumbling in silence got up, grabbed Aranya by her hair and shook her violently. If you expel her, none of the other schools will take her. Please understand. My hands are tied. What you did? Her ruffled hair stuck to her wet face. Dhruv gripped the paperweight tighter. Aranya wiped the tears off her face, looked straight at the head and spoke fluently, her voice strong, her story precise and straight.

He had promised to help me with the course material. I had been struggling since I missed the earlier classes. But once there, he asked me to kiss him. I refused. They lie. He wanted to say that she was lying but words escaped him. He blacked out for a few seconds, his hand unclenched and the paperweight rolled out of his hands. Your school is vile! The teachers, the principal, everyone! I will sue the entire school! Her face looked like she had been slapped.

Aranya nodded. Dhruv looked at Aranya but Aranya was staring at the wall ahead of her. He repeated. His mother tried holding the other but he broke free. Outside, more students had gathered having listened to the commotion inside. Dhruv got up from his seat and walked towards the door. He started to count until ten in his head. If she looked at him, he would forgive her, or otherwise he would take her down with him.

Not because I wanted to kiss her but because I had a bet with all these students standing here. Heaven forbid anyone has to see what I saw today! She belongs to a zoo, not here! Aranya looked on; Dhruv could see the life drain out of her eyes. And no one believed me. So I decided I would show them by kissing her and remaining the way I am—normal. All of you are the same, ugly or beautiful. All of you lie. Dad was right. Dhruv walked past everyone. He found the paperweight rolling about, picked it up, and walked out of the school, crying.

Dhruv was expelled immediately. He and his father shifted to a cheaper apartment on the outskirts of the city, and Aranya spent the remainder of her school life at the fringes, being known as the ugliest girl ever!

I Love u Rachu 9 Six years later. He could barely suppress the chuckle that threatened to escape any moment. No words had been exchanged for the last twenty minutes.

We did it here. In the bedrooms. On the balcony. I never intended to. But I hope you understand what position I am in. What could be worse for an Indian mother than knowing that her eighteen-year-old daughter had had premartial sex on the kitchen slab and enjoyed it? Dhruv chose his words carefully to make himself the victim. I really loved Satvika, Sir.

If I had thought she would leave me I would have never done it. Nor in the bedrooms. Nor on the balcony, or on the kitchen slab. I really thought she was serious about me. God knows I was.

He should try theatre sometime. Dhruv had narrated the length of his rather sexual relationship with Satvika in as much detail as her parents could digest, without them wanting to set Satvika, and then themselves, on fire.

He told her parents they had been dating for the past two months, right from the time Satvika had taken admission at a local institute to prepare for the engineering entrance examinations.

They say, the day you fall in love changes your life, but they are wrong. Dhruv sounded genuine in his shame. Tears flowed out abundantly and ceaselessly from his sorry eyes, erasing any doubt, firmly planting the belief that their daughter was some kind of depraved girl, a pervert who used their bedroom and their kitchen for her misdemeanours. Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but not by much. Satvika was called to the drawing room. She stood by the side of her mother, teary-eyed, her hair a mess, and her skin pale like a corpse.

Dhruv smiled, seeing her pained and defeated, staring at a shackled life. You deserve it, bitch! You should have thought about this before you let Karan take my place. Satvika had no answer to give them because nothing of what Dhruv had said was untrue. But slowly and predictably, distance had crept in and Dhruv, in anger, had told her to fuck off from his life.

She did, quite literally, and decided to go out for a harmless movie date with a below-average boy, Karan. Dhruv would have probably forgiven her for this slight had she not lied about it.

She had lied and for that she needed to be punished, abandoned and tortured for life. Dhruv was asked to leave.

You said you loved me! I loved you and you fucking lied to me. And we had broken up, Dhruv! Her eyes still searched for an answer, and Dhruv being the gentleman he was, responded by waving his middle finger, and drove away.

I Love u Rachu 10 No matter how strong she was, how many books on feminism she had read, she still felt the need to be desired, missed, loved, talked, objectified, fantasized about and masturbated to, and she hated herself for it. Not that anyone would want to see her body. Saying she was fat was an understatement. She weighed 73kg and was barely 5'3" and it constantly weighed on her head.

For years she had been battling with her issues with weight. Sameer, the boy on the other side of the video call, had first met her in an interschool debating competition about five years back.

Switch on the lights. My parents are outside. Make do with this.: A kiss! The night just got very interesting! I think I just got turned on. The boy teased Aranya a little, gyrating and thrusting his pelvis into the camera like an octogenarian on his first yoga class. Slowly, the guy took off his shirt, and then slipped out of his trackpants. His torso was sufficiently ripped and shaved but his legs were siteian-level hairy. He asked Aranya if she wanted him to take his briefs off and before Aranya could type, he started.

He slipped them off slowly. Not that the suspense was killing Aranya really. Aranya squinted as Sameer proudly took his semi-hard king-prawn-like member in his palm and started flapping it around, stroking it, pointing it towards the web camera. It was hilarious. Sameer kept stroking it till it was hard. Then he took his hands off it, placed them behind his head, and moved his penis back and forth like it was a party trick.

By this time, Aranya was disgusted enough to change tabs. She watched a compilation of cute puppy videos on YouTube, and realized how easy life is for little puppies. And though the moving images of a crooked dick on her laptop made her feel sick and queasy, she felt desirable for a change. At least someone in the world would give her a second look, want her, in whichever way it might be.

She then told him that her parents were knocking on the door. She signed out. She closed her laptop and gently tapped her head on it, cursing herself, almost in tears. Why does she do this? And if she had a face worth a second look, probably twenty likes on a selfie would have sufficed her need for acceptance as well. Aranya stood in front of the mirror, turned her head from side to side, inspected herself, found herself crying and with the same schizophrenic, selfpitying argument running in her head again.

Why do you do this? Look at me!

Look at the other girls from school, their thin, shapely legs, and their perfect complexions. They are the ones who get stared at, not me, no matter what I do. Look at my skin!

No one will ever look beyond that. Shut up. No one can touch you there. Why do you think I was leading that guy on to strip? Wanting to know if I can turn him on? Wanting to know if I can turn anyone on?

Because it makes me feel good, it makes me feel wanted. So do you feel better now? I might. There will be someone. Do you want me to remind you what happened the last time there was someone?

He called me the ugliest girl in the world. Forget him. Feels like yesterday. She deleted Sameer from her Skype list and texted him that her parents got to know about their little escapade and they would get him jailed if he ever tried to contact her again. The boy she loved. The boy named Dhruv. She bore no guilt about what had happened years ago, about the lie she said to save herself from her parents and a life full of misery.

It was a desperate attempt of a young ostracized girl at selfpreservation. What could she have done? Dhruv should have got that. Instead he hit back like a coward and single-handedly wrecked her life. He was the first one to tell the world she was ugly, unwanted, repulsive.

It was he who had sown the seeds of self-doubt that had torn her apart for years now. He snatched away what little normalcy she had hoped for from life. She wished he were dead now, or at least as unhappy as she was with her life. She hated him with all her might.

Still about fifty kilometres to go, the rotting piece of shit had broken down twice. He stepped into a dhaba while the mechanic refilled the coolant. Earlier, Dhruv had filled his shaker with three scoops of per cent whey protein, two scoops of glutamine, three scoops Amino and two scoops of BCAAs, topped it with water and shook it till a little bit of the froth had dribbled out.

It smelled like shit but it was essential for rapid muscle growth, and to help him break out of the plateau he had hit with the overhead and the bench press. A couple of houseflies started to hover around the dirty bandage on his right hand.

He needed a new dressing for that wound. People needed to be punished and left with scars that would remain for a lifetime. Dhruv still thought he let him off easy. A serving boy came with the tea. It was the sweetest fucking thing he had ever tasted and he spat it out. Dhruv gargled with the tea instead, not wanting any extra calories in his bloodstream, and spat it out, making sure the cashier noticed it.

A small round steel plate with the bill reached his table. Dhruv got up from his chair, picked his tattered backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

He walked to his bike, paid the mechanic, and kick-started it to life. Dhruv was gone. She burped. Everything bathed in oil, sprinkled with cheese, dipped in sugar syrup tasted good to her. She caught the bus that would take her to DTU, her home for the next four years away from her tyrannical parents.

It would be a new start for her and she would not be ignored and taken lightly there, she had decided. Unlike school, she would rule the college with an iron fist. The bus dropped her off at the gate of her new college, from where she walked to her hostel, her home for the next four years.

She signed the register, submitted photocopies of her existence and shifted into her barren, prison-like room. Before long she unpacked, changed, threw her clothes inside the cupboard, arranged her books, put bedspreads, and flopped on the bed, thinking about her first day in engineering college—where she would be the cause of disappointment to a lot of expectant guys. She was dreaming soon. She woke up with a start. Ten minutes later, she was standing with fellow students from the first year in front of a motley group of seniors, boys, uncles pretending to be boys, and a smattering of girls.

Things had changed quite a lot for Aranya since primary school. No one mentioned the story of the naked, diseased girl any more but the repulsion towards her disease remained. Her condition was always a looming shadow over her associations with people. The girls started to rattle off their names, the name of the schools they were from, and some went as far as to tell them their hobbies which were as boring as their faces.

Aranya could almost feel the insults flying at her. Obviously, she would be picked out and ridiculed and shamed for her weight and how she looked, but she was ready for it. My seniors sit around in boxer shorts and harass their juniors, shame them for their body and their face.

None of the seniors will ever help you. You screwed with the wrong person. Why do you think none of your friends here are backing you up? Triple scholar gown holder in school. AIEEE rank 13, with the highest in mathematics and physics. You were saying that none of the seniors would help me? What makes you think I would need their help? Victorious, she walked away. I Love u Rachu 13 Dhruv had been in a little fight last night.

The seniors had come knocking at his door and he had asked them to fuck off. They had to rush the senior to the hospital.

Groggily and with one eye barely open he looked at the timetable on his phone. He was already late for the first class—advanced physics. It took him another twenty minutes to get out of bed, brush, and find the motivation to reach his first class at DTU, the college he had always thought of as giving him the metaphorical freedom from the house he had grown up in.

Still in his shorts and flip-flops, his right palm bandaged, and with a deep gash on his forehead from last night which had needed medical attention, he walked through the corridors looking for his class.

Mr Tripathi, fifty-three, dressed in brown trousers, a faded white shirt and chappals, was teaching the first-year electrical engineering students. In a desperate bid to leave a good first impression, their eyes were glued to the old man, nodding furiously like bobbleheads, pens whirling on paper, writing every word like it was holy.

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Dhruv knocked at the door. The class turned to look at him. It was a class full of hopeful and hopeless, virgin young men, and predominantly average-looking women, who would drag themselves unquestioningly through four years of engineering to get one of those million little enviable cubicles where their life energies will be slowly sucked out of them.

Tripathi asked the class. The students shook their heads. So I thought it was better I dressed up for the occasion. I picked these shorts carefully. And hi! The professor started to teach them about fusion.

Dhruv sat there, looking at the five girls in the class, calculating the number of beers he would need to find the urge to sleep with them.

The first three were identical. Skinny, dark, spectacled, flat hair tied tightly into a pony, four beer stuff. One of them was fair and being the racist bastard he was, he pegged her at two beers and sufficiently dim lighting. The last one was a little hard to place in the heirarchy.

She had her back towards him. She was furiously scribbling notes, unmindful of boys nearby, or him, or even the professor. From where he was sitting he could see her head strictly followed the chalk like she was controlling it, telekinesis-type strange shit.

If she turned out to be fair he would forgive her plumpness and give her a good beer rating. But then she turned. The girl had patchy skin, white and brown at places, and she immediately reminded him of someone. She had seen him too. For the rest of the period, she kept stealing glances at him, and he played his little game of catching her mid-glance, holding the stare.

And then it struck him. It was her. I Love u Rachu 14 Aranya wrote furiously in her register, the nib of her pen making an angry noise against the paper, to avoid looking at the gorgeous boy. She had noticed his roving, sleepy eyes over the occupants of the first two benches, evaluating them, and then turning towards her. She found herself thinking why the face looked so familiar and, more importantly, why did she feel an inherent hatred towards it.

She reminded herself of the task at hand —be a pet student of every professor, secure the scholarships, get a project under the famed Dr Raghuvir, get a plush, overpaying job abroad, and have a great fucking life. Possibly a liposuction as well. Or is it four? She had noticed the mistake right when Mr Tripathi made it. But she waited for a perfectly timed moment to point it out, her voice modulated to make her sound like a curious, dedicated, unsure student.

Tripathi noticed the mistake. At least someone is paying attention. Mutual admiration was the first step towards a healthy and fruitful relationship. The professor continued to teach nuclear physics to a bored class till the clock struck nine-thirty.

Tripathi dictated the names of a few reference books and the serial numbers of the questions they had to finish before the next class. Many hands went up. I will be a good student and will always be by your side. You can trust me. In moments of despair when you feel like your best days as a college professor are over, I will stand up and tell you how you changed my life as a professor.

Aranya could have said this but she gingerly raised her hand and kept her mouth shut. Aranya offered to help the professor carry his books back to the staffroom.

He turned her down nicely. The seniors can be quite a handful. Tripathi left and Aranya revelled in her newfound power over the other students. The students had started filtering out. Awkward first conversations had grown into fulsome banters and groups of students made their way to the canteen, forging new friendships and enmities.

Aranya did not move out. Instead, she corrected her notes, underlining important equations, dog-earing pages in her books before she forgot. The boy was still in the class, picking at the wound in his palm, looking in her direction. Why was he looking? Was he mocking her? Was he disgusted? By the time she finished colour coding her notes, the class was empty. The boy was still there, feet propped up on the desk, playing on his phone, little beeps filling the space around him, a murderous smirk on his face.

He looked up from his game. He was playing Temple Run with his phone held sideways. You lied to get that position. Or maybe the professor just pitied you for the way you look.

I just wanted to point it out. Also, I heard about the little incident you had with the senior last evening. Were you making up for this? His eyes felt like spiders on her skin. Her ears burned. The bastard was smiling. It was tougher than she had imagined it would be and it was making her restless, even angry. How could she not be better than him? She took little breaks to wipe the sweat off her palms, the tears off her face, and then breathed slowly and calmed herself down, and tried again.

Two more hours passed by.Sanchit followed closely. He would, though, kiss him on his forehead every day at least once as they rushed to get dressed. My room is on the first floor and you can come over. I have seen guys like you talk a big game and then crumble to dust. It was too embarrassing. The boy laughed some more and ran away.

Check his phone.