PART 1






I don’t like to talk about myself. Actually, there is nothing much to tell. Apart from my name and my education. What more I can say? I am still a student, trying to get a PhD in botany. Not in any relationship. No passionate hobbies etc, but I will say what one can always safely say in their resume- Reading and listening to music. 

My mother keeps sending my bio-data everywhere for the match making. This document includes my horoscope, my education details and short summary of my house-hold skills. A really short summary as I am not very good or keen on managing a home. I cannot become a home-maker. In a typical Indian arrange marriage, the boy should be from our caste, he should be well-educated, and of course, should earn more than me. Anyways, I just earn my stipend, so income clause is no good. The education part has become trickier. Nobody wants a scholarly wife. 

If the truth be told, I am simply not interested in these so-called marriageable guys. Don’t get me wrong, I am not against marriage. I would like to get married some day. Not now. Marriage is just a convenience. I have had my share of love and heart break. That’s enough for a lifetime. Let’s not go there just now. So what was I saying? Oh, yes. I am into old Hindi songs. Even now, when I am writing on my PC, “Mai Piya Teri Tu Mane ya Na Mane” is playing, Lata has such a divine yet playful voice. Now, for the reading part, I read mostly scientific journals and books. Hey! I am a nerdy girl. Apart from those very technical books, I prefer reading fantasy fiction. Real life is very boring, cannot read again in the books about it. I am huge fan of Harry potter- The books of course!Not those pathetic movies- Please! Ok! This was all about me. There is nothing more to tell. 

Still, I am writing this. I don’t know why. Why am I telling about myself? I do not have an answer to this question. Actually, I do not have answers to many questions. Yet, I want to tell something. I believe that everyone has a story, but it is never his or her story. The story belongs to every character from that story. I might be writing my story from my perspective. Nevertheless, this story also belongs to Jadoo, Aftab, My mother, father, Kedar and Nidhi... even Martin also. 

Let me tell you about all these people.



My love for the old hindi movies and songs is a gift from Jadoo. That’s not his real name. I am the only one in this entire universe can call him Jadoo.. Once, Aftab called him Jadoo- but he strictly forbade him. “Only Swapnil can call me Jadoo” he said in his affectionate yet stern voice. Jadoo has a great collection of music. Some of these songs are very rare. He transferred his father’s (or grandfather’s!) collection from records to cassettes, and then converted them digitally into CDs. He has a youtube channel where he has uploaded most of his collection. He also blogs about music of bygone era. He does not only listen to the music, but know the story of the song as well. Discussing old Hindi movies with him is just a delight for me. He is more interested in the lyrics of the song. I love his recital of Urdu poetry. I learnt Urdu from him. Okay! He tried to teach me Urdu, but somehow I could never learn it. The script was very difficult for me. Still, I will be always grateful to Jadoo! Countless nights I have spent listening to Lata and Rafi! 

Aftab introduced me to the world of books. I am not a very reader kind of person. Yet, during the most testing time of my life, the books have given me solace. Aftab is a voracious reader. When he was young, he used to read a book per day. He would tell me what he had read and what he liked or not and then I tried to read what he has read so that I could argue with him. Our affair ended on a very sad note, but the love for books continued. 

My name is Swapnil Gauri Yatin. Not an official name, but this is my social media name. I don’t use my surname, it is dreadfully long and hard to pronounce. Typical Marathi surname! My first name is very boyish. In fact, most people think that Swapnil can be only boy’s name. During pregnancy, doctors had advised my mother that she won’t be able to carry another pregnancy. So, I am an only child. My mother wanted a son. She had me. Don’t think that my mother was disappointed and all that. She was happy. She loves me a lot. I am an apple of her eye. 



I was a fragile baby. When I was a toddler, I was hospitalised twice and there was no guarantee of pulling it through. Once, I had a very high fever and it went in my brain or something. The doctor said this might affect my aptitude. Thankfully, my mother took it very seriously. Very seriously! I was never pressurised for my studies. My mother had given a strict warning to my every subject teacher about my frail health and hence no homework for me. No tuitions either. My mother used to teach me every day. She always thought that after completion of my school, I will go for easy courses like Arts. I might do a degree like BA. Having a BA does not guarantee you any jobs or career, but it ensures good place in marriage market. 

My mother came to know that I have a very good intellect after my SSC exam. I scored more than 85 % (Actually its 85.4%!!) in my board exam. I knew that I can score as much I aim. Why bother to enter in a rat-race in your fifth-sixth standard? As a typical Indian kid, my study included writing assignments, mugging up the answers and write exactly word-to-word in the exam. That’s how you score well in exams. I always aimed for the get minimum percentage. Things changed when Aftab and I started studying together. Rather than mugging up the answers and writing in the exams, he taught me how to understand the concept. 

My mother never taught me any household work either. It was understood that after completing my graduation, I will marry in a wealthy family. I will have servants and cooks. Now, heating my dinner in the microwave and then washing my dishes in my apartment, I laugh at this. I was raised in a good family. My father Yatin Bhau is a local politician, owner of two supermarkets, a restaurant and some other business. My father is a very rich man. He was a tough guy in his younger days. After marrying my mum at the age of 21, he became more calm- or so they say. I have never known him as a hooligan, I remember him since my childhood as a very gentle and caring person. Still, some traits are never gone. That’s why I hate my father. I hate him because he was disloyal to my mother. Whenever I remember about him and his affair, my blood starts to boil. So let’s not talk about him now. 

Jadoo always tells me that one should not hate so viciously. Well, he can advise me the way he want. He is a saint; it is possible for him not to hate anybody. He has the capacity to forgive Noori. He forgave me. He begged me to forgive Aftab and move ahead in the life. I just could not do it that time, Can I do it now… Can I go back in the time and get back with Aftab? I still wonder sometimes. But probably, no. I would like to not to change a single moment in my life. This is not a perfect life, still it is my life. 

Enough of this philosophical stuff! Let’s start with the flashback. We can shuffle the calendar pages like any Manmohan Desai film. 



I grew up in a very small coastal town of Maharashtra. Being a single child, I had everything. Though, my father had his shops in the market, our home was in the outskirts. It was a newly developed area of the town. It was a little bit away from the main city, but it was a nice neighborhood. 



The plot in front of our home was vacant; the municipal corporation planned a garden on this plant. The garden is still in the blueprints for the past twenty years. My mother has taken a voluntary responsibility to keep this plot cwell-kept. Twice a year, she pays some workers to cut the grass and clean it. The children from the colony used to play here. I was the youngest child in this colony. Also, my mother was over protective about me, seldom she sent me for outside playing. 

I was in eighth standard. Our neighbours, Mr. Shastri sold his bungalow to some property agent in Mumbai. Mrs. Shastri has passed away few months back and Sanket, Mr. Shastri’s son was settled in US. He took his father with him. The bungalow was in a great condition and fetched him good money. Baba was furious with Sanket, he would have liked to buy the bungalow by himself. Baba contacted Mumbai agent, but as it turned out, that person had already sold the bungalow to a Pune family immediately. So our new neighbors were Punekars. God bless us all. 

After a month, some laborars came and did some repairing work in and around the bungalow. 

One day, my mother told me, “Good thing somebody will be staying in this home. After Mrs. Shastri, I don’t have anybody to speak as such. Kulkarnis are out of the station most of the time. Mrs Kazi is always busy with her bank work, she will just say hi and bye!” 

I had zero interest in her gossip. I was more interested in the tasty upma made by Mum and Ducktales on TV. Let me give you piece of advice here to all the teenagers. If you want to get yummy snacks after school/college every day and enjoy it without any reprimand, pretend you are listening to your mother. Otherwise, next day your plate might have a chapatti and jam along with a warning to start the homework in the next ten minutes. “Shastri kaki was a great company for me. You go to school all day. Yatin is never home, I get bored.” Mum continued with her chitchat. 

Next day, there was another piece of news. The family will be coming from Pune within two-three days, and it was a Muslim family. 

“So?” I asked mum without taking my eyes off TV. 

“I do not have any problem with that. We already have Kazi and Akhtar family in the neighborhood. But, our kitchen windows are just bang opposite to each other. They will be cooking non-veg.” My mother is a staunch vegetarian. 

“Baba cooks non-veg in our kitchen.” 

“He just cooks eggs and chicken, that too only on Sunday. Muslims eat non-vegetarian food every day. Anyways, I should not worry too much about it. It’s not like they will be eating at our place.” 

My mother should have been a fortune teller. I told this exact sentence Jadoo after many years. He laughed. I wish he hadn’t. I felt awful after telling him, he was having lunch at my home every day. 



The transport truck brought tonnes of boxes and furniture. Looking at the stuff, I thought at least ten people were going to stay in this bungalow. That was not a problem. This was the biggest home in our colony with six bedrooms on the ground floor and four spacious rooms on the first floor. Mum had already visited the new family in the afternoon when I was in the school.

After returning from school she gave me all the update. “Poor lady! She has three children, eldest is working somewhere in Saudi, and other two are studying. She lost her husband recently. Last stage cancer! After he passed away, her brother-in-law wanted the family home for himself. It was becoming very difficult to live in a joint family for her. She spent most of her husband’s pension money and shifted to here. She is originally from this town. After marriage she went to Pune. All her relatives are here in this town.”

“Hm!” Eyes glued to the TV. Pretend that you are listening. Whenever sentence is finished, react non-verbally. 

“I met them in the afternoon. Some of her relatives have sent lunch for them. Still, home is not properly arranged. They can’t cook also, as gas regulator will be transferred in three-four days. I have already made some Pohe for them. Can you please give it to them?” I actually didn’t want to go. Aladdin is my favourite cartoon, but my mum can be very persistent. After listening to the same tape again for the third time I yielded. 

“Ok! I will go once the cartoon is over.” 

“You can go in between the commercial break” 

Some pohe is an underestimate. Mum must have cooked at least one kilogram of those rice flakes. After I looked at her apprehensively, she clarified. “It is a huge family. Everyone should get plenty.” 

The vessel was very heavy. I went to their entrance gate, but it was closed. I called out. As I didn’t know anybody’s name, I started saying “Hello, Chachi! Anybody home?”. The home was very quiet. After some time, a boy came out of the entrance. “Who is there?”

“Swapnil. I am your next door neighbour. My mum has sent me” Now the door was completely open and he came out. He was roughly around seventeen –eighteen years old. “What is this?”

“My mum has given some pohe. You might be tired after unpacking so she has sent snacks.” 

“Whoa! This much!!!”


“Please open the gate”. My hand was paining due to this extra heavy vessel. We can do the question answer round afterwards, now please open the gate! 

He opened the gate and I tried to give vessel in his hand. He said “Come in” and turned and even before he could see the vessel which I was trying to give in his hands. Thadd!!! The vessel was on the ground. All this happened within a fraction of a second. How would I know that he will tell me to come inside! I just wanted to give this vessel to him and run towards my home. Aladdin was waiting for me at the end of a commercial break. 

“Arif!” The voice came from inside. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” He picked up the vessel from the ground. Luckily, as the vessel fell down in straight way, very few pohe were spilled on the ground. 

“We have to throw it away. I will tell mum to cook something else.” I said glumly. 

“Why? The spilled pohe will be eaten by birds and insects.”

“But the vessel was on the ground. Not hygienic.”


“This place is clean enough, and the pohe were inside the vessel when they hit the ground. They didn’t touch the ground directly. So, no harm done! We should never waste the food. Come inside.” 

This house was always clean and spotless when Mrs. Shastri was alive. Now, this place should have been called a railway waiting room. Everywhere boxes and bundles. A woman was sitting on a box, “You are Gauri’s daughter?” she asked me. I nodded. Arif kept that Pohe vessel on another box. Then I realized that, it’s a table, not a box. 

“So much?” Chachi exclaimed and Arif sniggered. 

“Don’t Know! Mum has sent me,” 

“Allah!” Chachi said, “She came to visit us in the afternoon, all my other relatives were here at that time. I just introduced them to her, and she probably thought that all of them will be staying here. My relatives just came to help me in unloading and unpacking. Now they all have gone back to their homes. What to do with this much pohe? Only three of us will be staying here.” 

“Ma, the quantity was actually more than that. Swapnil was considerate enough to give some pohe to the birds and insects!” He said very solemnly and I could not stop my giggle. 

Arif had this very awful habit. He would crack some stupid jokes with a deadpan face. I would burst laughing, yet his face would be straight. 

“What is your name? Which grade?” Chachi enquired. 

“My name is Swapnil. I am in eighth” 

“Swapnil,” Chachi said affectionately. “A lovely name! I never knew that it can be given to a girl also. This is my second son, Arif. He has just appeared for his HSC exam. Youngest is Aftab. He is also in eighth standard only. Eldest is Azar. He is an engineer, works abroad.” Well, Chachi and my mum would definitely become best friends. I had absolutely no need for this information about her children and still, she was telling me everything about them.. “Aftab has been enrolled in Saint Joseph’s. You are in which school?”

“The same. But I am in girls section.” Saint Joseph’s had two sections. The convent first started only girls’ school in the last century. Then, they started co-ed section few years back. The school authorities must have realized that girls and boys can study in one shared classroom. “Both schools are in the same premises.” 

Arif came out of the kitchen and gave me a chocolate bar. I took it and said thanks. 

Chachi continued. “Aftab has gone to his Mamu’s place. He will be coming here tomorrow. You both can go to school together.” 

Oh! My! God! Chachi surely cannot think that I will walk to the school with a boy, that too from Co-ed section. The schools might have same name and nearby buildings, but there was a keen rivalry between co-ed section and girls’ section. We never ever spoke to the co-ed students and vice-versa. Also, what will my friends say if I started coming to school with some weird boy. I had yet not even met this Aftab, but I knew that all boys are weird. 

“When your exams will be over?” She asked.

“Next week” 

“Aftab finished his exams this week, and then we shifted here. This year so many things were happening in our house, my boys just could not concentrate on the studies. Let’s hope that new place will give both of them some good opportunities.” I just nodded my head and got up. 

After coming back to my home, I narrated the entire incident to my mother. I also handed over her the chocolates given by Arif. Sorry, but there are certain things I could never eat. Mangoes and any sweets made out of milk- Kheer, Basundi, or even Shrikhand… Same with chocolate, I can’t even eat anything with chocolate flavor. Aftab always teased me about it!! He always brought a chocolate bouquet for me, and then finished it of all by himself unless of course I had my PMS. 





+++++++++





I learnt to ride a gearless motorbike when I was in eighth standard. This is strictly illegal, but my father was the law in our town. Dad had an old model of Scooty Pep which he rarely used. I learnt to ride it all by myself. I knew how to ride a bicycle since I was in primary school. Though my over protective mother never allowed me to go to school on a bicycle. Most of the time Dad dropped me to school on his way to work, and while returning I came by an auto-rickshaw. My annual exam was just finished so I was enjoying my vacation by watching TV, playing computer games or visiting my friends on this bike. 

Our new neighbours were very quiet. I have not seen Chachi or Aftab in this last week. I was busy with my exams and studies. I had seen Arif twice in their backyard. He just waved at me. 

The exams were finally over and I was trying my best to become a couch potato. I was a chubby girl, with complexion like my mother and features like my father. I was watching Andaj Apna Apna on the CD player. April was almost over and the heat was unbearable. I had kept the front door open. 

Suddenly somebody entered - A boy. He was skinny, Black hair, honey-colored eyes and taller than me. I tried to sit somewhat like a lady on my couch. 



“Are you Swapnil?” No hi, hello. No introductions. “You are also in ninth grade?” he demanded. 

I just disliked this boy immediately. He looked like Chachi, same features, same eyes but there was no warmth. He spoke in a very high-handed, irritating manner. He adjusted his glasses by his both hands. Just like a typical nerd, but not because he had specs. Even I had specs since last two years and nobody in their right state of my mind would call me a nerd- at that time. However, the boy in front me was the living definition of a nerd. His next sentence just proved it to me. 

“School is over and I am bored. So, I needed some help” Great! Without even telling you my name, I will just come to the point. “I wanted old textbooks for ninth grade. Also, wanted to know about good coaching classes” 


“What? You will get textbooks from the school at the start of the term.” 

“Yes” He interjected. “That will be in June! If I can get a second-hand set now, I can study during vacation. If I start a coaching class then I can cover the syllabus in the first term itself and start studying for tenth board exam in the second term.” 

Give me a break! Such people really do exist? He wanted to start studying for the board exam two years early. 

“Mum, he needs some information” I had absolutely no idea about coaching classes and syllabus for ninth grade. My mum will never think about sending me to a coaching class, you know I am a weak student and should not be pressurized too much etc etc. She always told me no matter how many marks I score, I should not take any stress related to studies. I religiously followed her advice. I was done with my annual exam and will not even read daily newspapers. 

“Would you like to have some tea?” my mum asked him. 

“I don’t drink tea” he answered again very high-handedly. 

“Give him some bournvita” I taunted him.

“No, thanks! I just had a glass of milk. No sugar and no bournvita” he mocked me back. Yuck!! Even the idea of plain milk is so disgusting for me. “I just wanted to enquire about coaching classes” 

“I don’t think any batches for ninth grade has started. Most of the school exams are not over yet.” My mum answered him. “I will ask somebody about the books from my friends. But it will take at least a week, as exams for ninth grade are still going on.”

“Oh! This is very sad. I should have got old textbooks from Pune. They are easily available there throughout the year. Anyways, I have already started a membership in City Library. I just hope they have a decent collection of books. At least I can do some extra reading in the vacations” He said unhappily.

My mother was surely impressed by this super-bookish boy. Tell me who isn’t? Apart from me, of course! 

“Aftab, Yasmin told me that you are fond of reading very much. Suggest some books for Swapnil as well. She spends too much of her time watching TV. Whenever you go to the library, take Swapnil also with you.”

I just rolled my eyes. What is wrong with her? She has recently bought some children books for me. Maya Kaki has also sent me a set of some books from Mumbai. I have not even touched them and now my mother wants me to go to the library with this book-worm. 

“Yupp” he answered and left. Thankfully, he never asked me to come with him to the library. My mum always pestered me to read some books. I wrapped these books and kept them on the highest shelf as my mark of disapproval. 





This is how we met. Me and Aftab. Nobody introduced us formally. Needless to say, I immediately disliked this nerdy boy. And at that time, I had absolutely no idea this guy will become love of my life and also cause me the greatest pain.


(TO BE CONTINUED....) 
PART 2 

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PART 2