I'm an Average Looking Boy… Will You Be My Girlfriend?

By Roopesh Kumar

Once upon a time, there was an intelligent boy called Vidoy. And there was a beautiful girl called Dibisha. They met under the Virgin tree. He was not her cup of tea. But very soon they became close friends. He fell in love with her. But he could never say. And she never thought about him in that way. For her, he was just an average looking boy. She can do all nonsense before him. She doesn' t feel odd. He can hold her hand while crossing the road. But they are “ just friends.” Will he ever tell her what he feels for her? If he does, will she ever accept him? Well, Dibisha is a fun-loving girl, but why does she need to see a shrink? And what are those strange myths about that Virgin tree? A witty tale of friendship, love and romance, this book will not only make you believe in true love, but will assure you that if you love someone with all your heart, they will always find their way to you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fingerprint Publishing
• Release date: Oct 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9789386538123

Book preview

The alarm kept ringing. I kept pressing the snooze button.

My mobile kept rumbling, I kept pulling up the blanket, hiding myself under it.

Suddenly, my head blew apart and heartbeats increased rapidly. I felt as if an earthquake had rocked the world. I half opened my eyes.

‘Dibi . . . Dibi . . .’ a voice, an obnoxious voice, echoed in my room. It hurt my ears. I realized someone was banging on the door. Not only banging, but also trying to break in. It was my mom. And this was the only way I woke up those days. Indeed.

I opened my eyes, peeping from under the warmth of my blanket, and felt like closing them again, not getting up, staying in bed for some more time and enjoying the pleasure of stretching my body. But I couldn’t do that.

‘What’s wrong with you, Mom?’ I clenched my fists and mumbled from under the blanket.

Anyway, I somehow managed to bring my neck out and looked at the watch dangling on the wall. My eyes instantly opened wide, ‘Oh! Shitttttt! Fuck myself . . . Fuck! It got fucked again. I will be late now.’

It was my daily reaction though.

It was 8:00 a.m. Though eight was too early to be off the bed, yet I was late. Sunlight filtered through the window, flashing all over my room. Birds twittered in very low murmurs. I sat on my bed, lazily stretching my body and yawning.

It was the first day of my college and I had to do many things. Given that, I had to get up by six. I had set three alarms, but none of them could wake me up. Well, the only one that did was my permanent alarm, my mom.

Mother is the most precious alarm in anyone’s life.

Well, I threw my blanket away and jumped out of my bed.

‘Good morning, Mumma,’ I opened the door and greeted her.

‘Good morning is okay, but have you got the time?’ she said, glaring at me with a disgusted expression on her face. She had a rolling pin in her hand, messed with dough. It seemed she had rushed from the kitchen directly to wake me up. I was scared that she might hit me on my head with that rolling pin.

‘Yup, I saw, I woke up early today,’ I chuckled.

‘Don’t laugh. Just get ready. I’m preparing the breakfast. Come fast. Your dad is waiting,’ she mumbled and left.

I was enormously excited for the day as I was going to enter a new world. And it was going to be one of the most memorable days of my life.

‘Life is going to be awesome. I won’t have to worry about the early morning wake-ups. No fucking dress code, I would wear whatever I want. New friends, new life, and boys . . .’ I murmured to myself, surging my fists in air, beaming with excitement, and almost dancing. A hell lot of things scampered through my mind. However, I was also a little nervous.

Well, I decided to get ready and went to take a shower.

‘Dibi . . . what are you doing? Your dad is getting late. He has to drop you and then go to office as well,’ Mom shouted from the kitchen, all in a single breath.

My mother speaks louder and faster than EMINEM raps. Fast and furious.

‘Just five minutes,’ I shouted back from the bathroom, stroking the bathing soap against my skin.

That day, I took unusually long in the bathroom. Reason—it was the first day of my college, and I had to scrub my body, clean up my face, and do some other girly stuff. I had to look beautiful . . . the most beautiful girl on earth. Isn’t that something every girl wishes on the first day of her college?

I came out, wrapped in a towel, and went to meet my best friend as I always did. And my best friend was my mirror. I think mirror is one of the best friends in every girl’s life. Difficult to imagine a girl’s life without a mirror, like a man’s life without a woman.

Now, the biggest challenge was to decide my clothes for the day.

The door flung wide open and Mom walked in. And suddenly she screamed, ‘What? You’re still in your towel?’

‘What, Mumma? You scared me! You shouted as if I’m here in a towel with a guy,’ I shouted back.

She raised her brows at me. We were very frank with each other, just like best friends. I shared almost everything with her and kept cracking nonsense jokes.

‘Sorry! Anyway, I’m very confused as to what to wear . . . How is this?’ I asked, holding my favourite pink miniskirt in my hand.

‘I think you look better in this suit.’ She brought out a set of Punjabi suit.

‘I’m not going for a ladies sangeet, Mumma. It’s the first day of my college. I have to look the hottest, sexiest, and the most gorgeous girl today, so that some of the boys might just jump from the college building or maybe faint after looking at me,’ I said, giggling.

She raised her left eyebrow—it looked like a little mountain—and glared at me. ‘It’s not good to keep joking all the time, huh,’ she said wrathfully.

‘Sorry! Well, Mumma, how many boys had fainted seeing you on the first day of your college? I believe many must have . . .’ I started laughing like nuts and fell on my bed, holding the towel in place.

She turned back to leave, smiling and shying away, and murmured, ‘Tu nahi sudhregi.’ Now get ready and come fast. Your dad will shout at me otherwise.’

Mom’s life revolved around us; taking care of my younger brother and me. He was in eighth standard at that time. We were four in our family. My father was a general manager in a private bank. Mom was a homemaker and our home was her world.

Finally, I got ready. While deciding my clothes for the day, first I tried a low-waist denim but then changed to shorts and then changed them too. This process went on, and I must have tried more than twenty dresses. Finally, I picked the blue skirt I had chosen to wear, the one which ended four inches above my knees, and a white top with blue-coloured prints, which was a perfect match with the skirt.

‘Good morning, Dad.’

‘Good morning! You ready?’

‘Yup, Dad.’ I hugged him.

‘Okay, you can finish your father-daughter chit-chat later. Finish your breakfast first,’ Mom shouted; jealously, I guessed.

‘Breakfast?’ I asked myself. Though we Punjabis also call the morning meal as breakfast, afternoon meal as lunch, and night meal as dinner, there isn’t much difference between these meals. Every time we eat, we must fill our stomach. Whether, it’s breakfast or dinner.

Anyway, so now I had to think about that seriously. Very seriously. It could affect my curves otherwise.

‘Mumma, I can’t have this paratha. This is too oily. I don’t want to become fat like him,’ I said pointing towards my brother. A cup of tea along with parathas greased with extra butter was a part of our morning meal.

My brother, Ankit, was very fat at that time. It was the result of my mother’s love towards him that he had successfully gained eighty kilograms, almost. Therefore, that was a solid reason I wanted my mother to reduce her love and care for me now.

‘Mom, I will kill her,’ screamed Ankit, crying and pushing a big piece of paratha in his mouth at the same time.

Mom raised her eyes at me. ‘Dibi?’

‘I know you can kill me as you’re double of me,’ I giggled.

Annoyed, he stood up and ran after me as if he was firm on his decision of killing me. I hid myself behind my father, making fun of him, and ending up saying sorry. I always loved fighting with him though.

He pardoned me as he was sweet but also warned me, ‘No one will save you if you call me fat again.’

‘It’s so sweet of you, my sweet and fatty bro,’ I pinched him one more time, took my notebooks, and signalled Dad to leave. Ankit was left behind, crying!

‘Where is she now? Call her fast. We’re already late,’ Dad yelled as he was getting late for work. He opened the car door and put his office bag on the back seat while grumbling about Ananya.

Ananya Jayan was a fair South Indian girl. One of my best friends. She was amongst the tallest girls in our college. I stood 5’7 and she was three inches above me, 5’10. Blessed with huge assets, people often whispered about her huge butt.

She lived alone on the first floor in the building next to ours. She had been living there for last one year, almost. Since then, we had been best friends. It took us a very short time to gel that well. She was one of the reasons I took admission in Hindu College. Though she was senior to me, unluckily, last year, she couldn’t clear her exams. So now, we both were in the first year. But she was in Economics (H) and I was in B.Com (H).

I dialled her number but she didn’t pick my call. Dad looked at his watch after every ten seconds. I shouted out her name, ‘ANANYA . . .’

‘Two minutes,’ she shouted back.

‘I don’t know why are we waiting? She could have gone on her own as she used to,’ Dad said in a frustrated voice.

‘Dad, don’t panic. She is just coming.’

‘I don’t know why you decided to get into the same college? You could have got in some other better college, too,’ he grumbled, sitting in the car. I remained outside.

Dad did not like her much. He was as strict as an army man. On the other hand, Ananya kept doing some shit or the other, which he never liked. Moreover, she had failed in her exams. And my father was like a soldier who had never tasted defeat in his whole life. Since then, Ananya’s appearance had only annoyed him. So, of course, he didn’t like waiting for her.

I kept messaging her. Finally, I saw her coming down the stairs, half running and half falling.

‘Sorry, sorry! I’m sorry. I woke up late, so . . .’ she said, wheezing, and continued, ‘so, where is Mr. Hitler?’ She wasn’t aware that Dad was sitting inside the car.

You are going to pee in your tight pants after knowing that he is in the car, I thought. And before I could say anything, suddenly, she shouted, ‘By the way, you’re looking VOLUPTUOUSLY HOTTT . . . damn hot and SEXY in your WAXED LEGS, ahan!’

It happened in a fraction of a second and I couldn’t even stop her. She was so loud that not just my father but everyone in the neighbourhood must have come to know that I had waxed my legs and was looking hot and sexy.

‘What the hell are you doing? Dad is sitting in the car,’ I whispered. But Ananya was Ananya. She did not notice what I said and was still busy exploring me.

‘Skirt looks awesome. But don’t you think it’s too long? It should finish by your butt line, shouldn’t it? However, the top is perfect. It gives a perfect shape to your perky breasts . . .’

Before she spewed more shit, I stamped on her right leg to shut her up and said, ‘Damn, Dad is sitting in the car.’

I actually wanted to kick her ass, but swallowed my anger. And so did my father. She was a girl who could have spitted a shit anywhere anytime. And she always loved doing that. Dad already didn’t like her. And she had messed up again. What could be worse for an Indian father than hearing that his daughter was voluptuous and looked hot and sexy in her waxed legs? Absurd!

I felt tongue-tied for a moment and didn’t know how to react and what to say.

‘Did Dad hear that? Would he refuse to take Ananya with us? Or would he shout at her?’ I did some self-talk and felt like thrashing on her face as soon as I regained my consciousness.

She squinted at my father from the car window. He was already glaring at her with a disgusted facial expression. I imagined him getting down of the car and pummelling her by pulling her hair unkindly. But he didn’t.

They looked at each other for a few moments. ‘Good morning, uncle,’ she said slowly, chomping her tongue beneath her teeth.

‘Nonsense girl! Common sense is not very common in the common people,’ Dad threw his favourite punch line. In addition, he confirmed that he had heard everything.

‘Dibi, come and sit . . . I’m getting late,’ he said.

‘Dad, what will happen if you reach office late today? After all, it’s the first day of my college,’ I said, sitting and acting as if nothing had happened.

He didn’t respond. I wondered what if he denied taking Ananya with us. But, he didn’t say anything. Ananya adjusted herself on the back seat. Dad drove off and we headed towards the college in silence.

Bitch!!! Cudnt u let me know Hitler was there? she texted me.

You nerd! I would have had you been ready to hear me. I wrote back.

In reply, she forwarded me a text, which I had sent her last night: Hey I hv waxed ol waxable parts of my body. Hehehe. And 2moro im gonna wear a short skirt. So, I need the first compliment from u . . . c yaa in the mrng . . . gud nyt swt swt drms.

Read it twice u asshole. She sent me another text before I could reply.

But I hadn’t asked u to tell Dad as well as the whole colony, huh! I replied, defending myself.

For the next few minutes, we all acted as if we were dumb and gave our little contribution to trim down the sound pollution on earth. We were midway to our destination. I switched on the car FM and kept on changing channels, as I had nothing to do or say.

‘As we already know that South Indians are always intelligent. So, without doubt, the contest is won by the South team. So I, RJ Raunak, dedicate a beautiful song to all my South Indian fans,’ uttered the RJ, and I waited for that beautiful song.

But all of a sudden, Ananya shouted as she was the only South Indian there. ‘Look, Dibi, what he is saying.’ I looked back at her. She was jumping on the back seat. Then, she looked at my dad and sat back.

The car stopped at a red light.

‘Yes, South Indians are intelligent but I’m sure you are an exception as we saw the last year’s results,’ Dad said in a sarcastic dig at her.

‘Uncle, I wasn’t well. It wasn’t my fault,’ she squawked. Fuming, she wrote me a text again. That was the only thing she could do to release her frustration at the time.

Why did u force me 2 cm wid u? I had bttr go alone. It’s last time im coming wid Mr. Hitler.

Hahaha, btw thnx 4 coming. I wrote back.

‘Actually, an unsuccessful person always finds someone or something to blame for his own failures,’ my father fired another bullet at her. It was as if he wanted to yell—how come you uttered before me that my daughter appears voluptuous, hot, and sexy and has perky breasts?

I looked back at her, trying to hide my chuckles. She looked at me and then looked in another direction. I felt bad for her.

I kept silent and they were both on vibration mode until we reached near the college.

‘Stop, stop, stop here, Dad,’ I shouted as we reached the Faculty of Law.

‘What happened? College is about one kilometre from here,’ He raised his brows.

‘Dad, let us get down here. Ananya has to buy some books.’

‘Then she should get down. Why you?’

‘Dad . . . what’s this? I also have to buy a notebook. Now okay?’

I got down when Ananya had already released herself from that temporary jail.

‘Bye, Dad.’ We had begun walking towards the college when I heard Dad calling her name.

‘What, uncle?’ she turned and asked, sounding worried.

‘Work hard this year and get maximum marks. And take care of her . . . and yourself too.’ This time Dad sounded sweet to her, something we had never expected, not for the day at least.

‘Thanks, uncle. Anyway, don’t worry. Here, I’m with her,’ she said innocently.

‘Innocent girl! That’s the main problem for him, that you’re with me,’ I murmured to myself.

I looked at her face and it seemed that had Dad said anything more that sweetly, she would have started crying, sitting on the road.

Dad left and we turned towards the college.

* * *

‘You, going to cry?’

‘You, shut up! It was all your fault. Why did you force me to come with you when you already knew about your haughty father? Why didn’t you tell me he was hiding in the car? Why did you tell him that I failed in my exams?’ she puked her frustration against her exploitation by my father.

‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry. All my mistake. Okay?’ I tried to put ice on her anger.

‘He isn’t that bad, but sometimes rude, reminds me of my father.’

‘The reason you were crying?’

‘Who the hell was crying? Ananya never cries, she makes people cry,’ she said proudly like a man. As if making people cry was the world’s most respectable job.

Although she kept doing bullshits, freaked out at anything, anywhere, anytime, changed her boyfriends, used abusive language, talked about sex, even kept judging the figure of other girls (I was also included in the list of other girls sometimes), yet she was the best. Best like nothing I had ever seen. Of course, she was ugly, nuts, lunatic, etc. However, she was my best friend. No one could have hated her except her boyfriends—who got dumped before sleeping with her. And, of course, my dad never hated her.

Anyway, we walked towards the college while talking, mocking, and laughing at each other. As we reached the college gate, a feeling of nervousness swelled near my heart with every step I took further.

How would the seniors react? How am I looking? Would anyone do ragging with me? If everyone is noticing my new top and rebounding in my hair or not? Hundreds of useless thoughts hit my head. But Ananya’s presence was working as a confidence pill for me. Well, as we entered the college, seniors gave a warm welcome to every junior. That reduced my nervousness. Ananya introduced me to some of her friends, and kept pointing at boys and asking me if I was interested in any of them—as if that was the only thing I had come for. However, I was much more interested in exploring the campus.

‘This is the Virgin Tree,’ said Ananya, pointing at the tree beneath which we were standing. Her teeth were about to jump out of her mouth as she giggled endlessly.

I saw that the tree was decorated with heart-shaped balloons, flowers, and condoms. Yes, condoms! I was surprised—anyone would be, seeing a tree wear this many condoms.

‘VIRGIN . . .? VIRGIN TREE? CONDOMS? Is this . . .?’ I mumbled, looking up at the tree and then at her face.

First, she laughed looking at my face and then said, ‘Yes, condoms. You know, this tree is very famous in our college. The name of the tree is Virgin Tree because there is a belief . . .’ she started telling me something about the tree but before she could complete, someone came up to us and interrupted.

‘Excuse me,’ said that someone.

‘Yes?’ asked Ananya.

‘Hello, I’m Vidoy,’ he said, avoiding eye contact. He extended his hand straight towards me. He didn’t offer his hand to Ananya.

We shook hands and looked at each other. That was the first eye contact, but merely for a nanosecond as he looked away, stealing the eye contact again. He looked a little shy.

That was the first time I met Vidoy.

He looked like an average looking boy who could be found in any crowd, tiptoeing on the road. But he was tall—five feet eleven inches; had a long neck, long legs, and long arms with broad shoulders, not gym type though. He, too, had two eyes, two ears, and one nose, all at perfect places as every other human, yet he was an average looking boy. His complexion wasn’t dark, but it wasn’t fair either. He wore a loose-fitting, black, printed T-shirt, and filthy jeans. However, some blue spots on the jeans gave an idea that it must have been blue once. Whatever, he wore a pair of Sparx sandals. Notebooks were missing.

‘Do you know me?’ asked Ananya.

‘No,’ he replied, and stood silently. Then he circled his neck around, here and there, pulled out the specs from his back pocket and wore them. I saw the glasses were too small for his eyes. He looked funny in them. I wanted to laugh. But I didn’t.

Ananya and I looked at each other. My eyes asked, Who’s this? What does he want? Her eyes replied ingenuously, Even I don’t know. I swear.

‘You want to say something?’ asked Ananya.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked hesitantly, looking at me. He ignored Ananya’s presence.

‘I’m Dibisha,’ I said.

‘What’s the matter? What do you want?’ Ananya poked her nose again in the conversation.

‘Nothing, I want to talk to Dibisha,’ he sidelined her.

‘Actually, Dibisha . . .’ he took a pause and continued, ‘I want to tell you that you’re the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. I have brought a rose for you,’ and then he stretched out his hand with a rose.

My face became colourless in astonishment. That sudden and strange thing embarrassed me. The rose smelt good though. However, I thought, maybe I was looking that beautiful. Or my skirt worked well. And it isn’t bad to be praised. Is it?

‘Okay, thanks,’ I took the rose and faked a smile as any so-called baba does while listening to his innocent devotees.

I saw him murmuring something to himself so slowly that we couldn’t hear and understand.

He had a perplexed look to his face and was staring at the ground. It was turning awkward with every passing moment. I eyed Ananya to leave.

‘Something is wrong with this guy,’ mumbled Ananya. As we took a step to leave, he shouted.

‘Dibisha? You look damn cute and I want to say some lines for you,’ he urged. And before I could respond he was done with his wish.

He recited:

‘How can you be too cute like a teddy bear?

Your eyes, your smile, your hair,

It’s not fair,

My world can be awesome if you walk with me there.’

He recited these lines as if he was reciting the national anthem. He hung his head down.

My mouth was left wide open, and words denied to come out. I stood there quietly, trying to understand what was going on. I saw students around staring at us. He stood there timidly, as if he had walked to us to make fun of himself.

‘Is there anything wrong with you? Or you’re trying to rag us? For your kind information, Mister, we are not fuchas (freshers). And I haven’t seen you on the campus before?’ Ananya shouted at him, showing her seniority proudly, broadening her chest.

He didn’t respond. He still stood dumbly, as if he was standing on a red light, waiting for the light to turn green. He looked both naïve and insane.

‘I hope you’re done with your poetry. Thanks for wasting your time. Now you should take leave,’ yelled Ananya. I kept shut as if I was also one of those students who were staring at us.

‘Actually, I need a promise from Dibisha.’

‘Promise? What promise?’ I spoke this time. I wasn’t supposed to speak in between but it suddenly slipped out of my mouth as I heard the word promise.

‘I want you to take part with me in the next Damdami Mai Puja on Valentine’s day.’

Ananya instantly shouted, screwing up her face, ‘WHAT?’