Chapter One: An Ordinary Girl

“Darling, I have something really important to discuss with you. Meet me at Sunny’s Café, at seven sharp. Okay? Love you. XOXO

Love, Bae”

I quickly took in the message and stuffed the phone back in my bag before anyone could see me. My teachers didn’t approve of using cell-phones between class hours and more so if I’m practising my violin. Unlike Mohit, I happen to have a life and it revolves around music. I wonder where he’s wandering about right now, and I sighed on the prospect of a whole evening of practice lost because of whatever he wanted to tell me. He was actually jobless, to be honest. To my slight annoyance, my dear ‘love of my life’ believed that music is a stupid career and that musicians can never make it big in the world. Music is much more than playing random strings on a violin; it is an art to be perfect and savoured. How could he not get this? Don’t even let me get started on what he plans to do for a living for I don’t think that he knows it himself. We make such a contrasting couple, don’t we?

He’s a pathetic son of a... middle-class parents who didn’t teach him better.

“Gisella, music can be your passion all right, but you can’t really expect to make a living from it. Why couldn’t you have pursued something much more conventional like medicine, for example? Or maybe, law?” Deep down in my heart, I could see that Mohit made sense, but I had my dream to achieve – the dream of becoming a violinist. Playing the violin gives me a joy and satisfaction that most well-paid professions didn’t, and I had no interest in them anyway. I know that I had a tough road ahead of me, which is why I planned on completing my Master’s degree in Music, and I have to work really, really hard for it. He didn’t really understand the pressure, and I don’t frankly expect him to. However the least I could expect him to be helpful and supportive. After all, I don’t say anything when he wastes most of his weekend on his couch, watching ‘Friends’ over beer and chips with his equal good-for-nothing roommate, Kenny. I often wonder how they survive in this glitzy and expensive city called New Delhi, for you need money to buy food and pay your bills.

My friends had been beyond traumatised when they found out that we were in a relationship, and that it had fortunately continued for two years. It was quite a funny incident, though. As far as I can remember, it was actually something of a dare that later blossomed into a relationship. Mohit, the golden boy was challenged to ask me out, the most unattractive and simple-minded girl of the college (I had braces all throughout my first year, and was suffering from a particularly bad case of pimples). Not to be defeated, he actually asked me out on a date by smuggling in love notes through Disha and I had hesitantly accepted. Of course, when I had found out later that it was all part of a dare, I was mad with fury. With his good looks and charming words, he eventually cooled down and told me that he had truly developed feelings for me in spite of me being what I was – a music-a-holic nerd. I managed to keep a calm expression on my face, but inside I was hesitant, and secretly, thrilled. I had caught a guy’s attention at last, and who should it be but Mohit! Could my luck get any better?

Unfortunately, love fades away with time and becomes more of a habit.

Sometimes, I myself don’t know myself why I am in a relationship for the past two years with no signs of a future and when he can’t even respect my love for music. It’s true that he had been one of the most popular guys at school, and liked me for my unassuming, quiet and bookish personality. I looked nothing like the girl with an ivory-white peaches-and-cream complexion, lustrous dark hair and glittering eyes. Instead, I was petite, blessed with golden-brown skin (what a fright must that have been for my mother), dark wavy hair, a pair of bright grey eyes, a nose stud and a tendency for developing acne at certain times of the month. Sometimes, I once seriously considered birth control to control my pimples but I didn’t want to mess up with my hormones and trigger a major health issue. Girls at college would be crushing on Mohit every time he walked down the corridors, even though he wasn’t particularly intelligent nor was he particularly liked by his teachers for his I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. He used to play the guitar, as far as I remember. Contrary to what you might think, he wasn’t really rolling around in bags of money. He had dropped out of college in the second year and was now working as a mechanic and worked as a part-time job as a graphic designer just enough to pay his rent and food. My mother and friends would constantly warn me against him – but I guess when you’re in love for the first time, you tend out to miss out the practicalities of life. I guess it happens to everyone else, and I’m only a twenty-year-old wannabe musician. Let me rephrase that, I’m only human.

Honestly, why was I with him again? I am a sincere and rational young violinist hanging out with a worthless, aimless fellow. What was I doing with my life? Have I become that careless with my relationships? Sometimes, I considered breaking up with him but was a little scared of his reaction. Would he get over me, would I get over him?

I decided to grab a bite on the way to my hostel – yeah, it gets tough at times, but it’s great fun when you’ve got an awesome roommate like Disha. Honestly, I love her. She’s caring and sweet, but she knows where to stop in case I’m being unreasonably unreasonable. We share a sharp tongue that sometimes becomes the cause of our pretty frequent fights, but we always manage to make up with lots of hugs and our favourite choco-chip ice cream. Disha was totally my girl, for we also share a love for the Harry Potter series, and music (wasn’t it expected, me being a violinist?). She had a beautiful voice like a nightingale, and I liked to listen to her humming her favourite Bollywood song as she made coffee in the morning.

Music was my life and soul, something that gave me solace and comfort from all the troubles that I occasionally had to face at home. I’ll tell you a bit about my parents – my parents had started dating a few weeks after college – unfortunately, their love story wasn’t nearly quite as dramatic as mine. My father was a shy young man and he was instantly attracted to my mother, who was the heartthrob of the college with her breathtaking mountain beauty and happy-go-lucky nature. Conversations started over tea and biscuits, and my parents went on to become fast friends and soon fell in love. My grandparents were completely against marrying off their children to different castes (my father belonged to a high-caste Marwari business family while my mother was the pampered daughter of a middle-class Nepalese Catholic government officer). Taking the easier way out, they eloped in the middle of the night and got married in a temple. Of course, they returned to my paternal grandparents’ house when Mummy discovered that she was expecting us, but it ended in tragedy.

Eight months later, Gauri and I were born on a freezing winter’s day in early November – sassy Scorpio babies. You’ll later get to know why I had to relate all of this to you.

I called my mother that night.

“How are you?” was my first question. Mom lived with Gauri and a maidservant to help her around with the household chores. She was a schoolteacher by day and took private classes by evening, and that left her with almost no time to cook and clean. My twin was nearly never at home, and she wasn’t very interested in housework anyway. In fact, she has planned to keep a cook in case she needs to move out of town for work. We have pretty much been raised by Mummy, by the age of twelve.

“I’m doing well, lots of pressure as always. Are you eating well? What did you have for dinner?”

“The same boring old food, ma; what were you expecting?”

“God knows what you’re eating there, all by yourself. Just come home fast, my baccha. I’ll make your favourite kheer (milk pudding) for you, complete with apples and cashew nuts. Here, want to talk to Gauri?”

Gauri took the phone, knowing perfectly well what I was about to ask her. Unlike me who couldn’t choose between two dresses, she had a passion for fashion designing and had enrolled at a local fashion institute. A dreamer like me, she aspired to make it big in the fashion world one day and wanted to visit Paris, the city of fashion. Unfortunately, we both knew that Mummy wouldn’t be able to afford the expensive fees as she already would spend too much on us – I wanted to explore the world beyond Simla, and Delhi was the best choice. Mummy had tried to contact her family after we were financially stable, but nobody seemed interested in her whereabouts anymore. I remember how Mummy had once taken us to her hometown somewhere in Nepal, but things didn’t go very well there either. My maternal grandparents were very open-minded in general, but they couldn’t digest the fact that their beloved daughter had married on her own and had now returned home with two daughters in tow and no husband.

“Has Dad called?”

“Not yet.”

“It’s been ten whole years, how long are they going to drag this on? Why don’t they just get divorced and be done with it?”

“Only God knows.”

When I put down the phone, it was pouring outside and it’s wise to not venture outside in the Delhi rains. I tried to call Mohit, and tell him that he better tell me what he needed on the phone itself. The phone line came busy, and I shrugged and lay down on the bed.

Life was strange.

Nearly half-an-hour had gone by, and I didn’t get a call back from Mohit. What was he doing for so long on the phone? Was he waiting for me at the café already? Should I go check him out at his flat?

Without wasting another minute, I changed back into my jeans and a light jacket and took my umbrella with me. Why wasn’t he picking up my calls? Did he have something really important to discuss with me? Was he in trouble?

I left a behind a hastily-written note for Disha, telling her where I had gone. She would be furious with me for going out in the rains alone (and possibly bypassing the curfew time), but this was my choice. I had to know what has happened to Mohit, even if it means fighting against the crazy Delhi showers.