Half Torn Hearts Read online

  ‘Are you sad about anything?’ Nirmaan probed.

  Raisa nodded.

  ‘Here,’ he said leaning towards her. ‘Ma says that when someone is sad we should give them our shoulder to lean on. It helps them feel better.’

  Raisa put her head on his shoulder. Aunty is right. It does feel good, she thought.

  VOICE NOTE 7

  Mrs and Mr Bose were frantic when they found neither of the kids in their beds in the morning. They frenziedly looked for them all over the housing campus. Mrs Barua joined the search party as well. It was only when they asked the security guard to check all the terraces that he found the children, fast asleep. Mrs Bose who rushed up, paused for a moment to look at the two kids lying side by side, hands clasped, an open umbrella by their side, the morning sunshine warm on their faces. They resembled two innocuous petals of a freshly flowered bud. When Mrs Barua joined Mrs Bose, they couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘Now, one by one, bathe and get ready. We’ll go to the Kamakhya Temple today,’ said Mrs Bose as soon as she brought the truants home.

  ‘But I don’t have a change of clothes,’ Raisa protested.

  ‘That’s okay, dear. Wear Nirmaan’s clothes today. As soon as we get back, I’ll take you home. In fact, Raisa, you bathe first.’

  Nirmaan saw Raisa go into the bathroom but come out immediately.

  ‘Listen, lock the bedroom from outside,’ she instructed him, ‘I’ll knock when I’m dressed, and you can let me out.’

  ‘Okay,’ Nirmaan agreed.

  ‘But where are my clothes?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll ask Ma.’

  ‘Put them on the bed.’ Raisa stepped into the en-suite bathroom and locked herself in.

  When Nirmaan asked his mother about fresh clothes for Raisa, she told him to take his pick from his closet because all of them were clean and pressed. Nirmaan carefully extracted a T-shirt and a pair of shorts without disturbing the tidy pile of clothes in the cupboard. He placed it on the bed and was about to walk out, when he paused by the door, a naughty smile on his face. I’ll surprise Raisa, he thought.

  Nirmaan shut the door and quickly hid himself under the bed. Minutes later, Raisa came out. He could see her feet. He could tell that she was wearing his shorts. It was when she was going towards the door that Nirmaan emerged from under the bed and bounded upon her, yelling a monstrous ‘hu-hu-ha-ha!’ In pure reflex, she snatched up a jar of talcum powder from the dressing table and hit him on the head. Everything happened in a flash. Holding his head, Nirmaan collapsed on the floor. A second later blood oozed out of his head and tears out of her eyes.

  Although it wasn’t a major injury, the doctor asked Nirmaan to rest for a couple of days. He missed his school. Raisa visited him with her mother, but a furious Nirmaan refused to see her. When Raisa narrated the whole incident to her mother, she understood why her daughter had reacted like that: abhorred a man’s touch . . .

  On the one hand, Raisa was filled with remorse for the hurt she had caused, and on the other, she felt that Nirmaan ought not to have scared her that way in the first place; and that he too ought to be as repentant as she was. The two mothers did their best to patch things up between their children, but the cold war continued.

  One day, a couple of months later, Mrs Bose visited Mrs Barua.

  ‘I’ve come to tell you that Nirmaan’s father has been given a promotion. We’re moving to Calcutta,’ she said. ‘Everything happened so quickly that I couldn’t tell you before.’

  ‘Oh! Why don’t you all come home for dinner before you leave?’ Mrs Barua asked.

  ‘Thank you very much, but there’s so much packing still to be done. And we’re leaving the day after tomorrow.’

  When Mrs Barua broke the news to Raisa, she skipped dinner claiming she had a stomach ache. The next day, she watched as all of Nirmaan’s household items were loaded into a huge truck. The following day, a car arrived to take Nirmaan and his parents to the airport. As she leaned out of her balcony, Nirmaan got into the car. That was when Raisa realized that it didn’t really matter who apologized first or who was at fault. Nothing mattered except the fact that she would miss her best friend if he left her.

  Raisa ran to the main door of her flat, opened it and jumped down the stairs in her bare feet. By the time she came out of her building, the car was at the main gate, waiting for the security guard to open it. She ran towards the vehicle, shouting Nirmaan’s name but stumbled and fell. She stood up again, ignoring her injury and ran as fast as she could to catch up. The car sped through the gate and on to the road. Reaching the main gate, panting, Raisa could only hope that Nirmaan had glanced back at least once and that he knew she had been there. With moist eyes, she put her hand into her pocket and withdrew a photograph in which they were dressed as Radha and Krishna.

  VOICE NOTE 8

  Hi Shanay,

  I’m sure you’re wondering who Raisa and Nirmaan are and how this matters to you. I could have jumped directly to the point without telling you anything about Raisa and Nirmaan’s backstory but that would not have served the purpose. I’ve told you about their beginnings because if you don’t understand that, you will not be equipped to make a valid choice by the end of this story.

  The good thing for Raisa and Nirmaan at the time when the latter left Guwahati was that they were both young and neither carried the burden of a heavy past. All they carried with them was their friendship; their feelings for each other were instinctive, impulsive and visceral. It is important for you to know that whatever they shared at that time, therefore, was pure and beyond anyone’s manipulation.

  Let me continue the story from the next note onwards.

  BOOK TWO

  VOICE NOTE 9

  Raisa and Afsana,

  Kolkata, 2002.

  It was the first day of school after summer vacation. Nirmaan excused himself from class after the first period and was heading for the boys’ toilet when a paper ball hit him between the shoulder blades. He spun around to see who had thrown it but couldn’t figure out the culprit from among the students in the corridor on their way to their classes. He casually picked up the paper ball and, unfolding it, found a single word inscribed in bold black letters with a sketch pen: MORON. He was sure it was one of the boys from his own class playing a silly prank.

  When the physics teacher asked him to bring all the students’ files from the laboratory, Nirmaan got pelted again; this time, just as he had stepped on to the landing of the floor where his class was. He turned around in a flash and glimpsed someone in a skirt scurrying out of sight in the stairwell. However, the pile of files in his arms obscured his line of vision; he couldn’t get a proper look. He placed the files on the floor and picked up the paper ball. This time it had the word: DOGGY.

  When the bell rang, signifying the end of the recess, he trooped into his class with everyone else. He saw a word chalked in bold letters on his bag: LOSER. It infuriated him. He asked around to find out if anyone had seen who had done it. Nobody had.

  After school, he boarded the school bus with his friends and was soon having a good time chatting in the last seat, when another paper ball hit him. This time the word was PIGGY.

  Nirmaan spotted a girl in the front seat turning away. She was so quick that he couldn’t register her face. He decided to confront her. As he drew nearer, he saw that the girl’s face was hidden behind a Nancy Drew novel.

  Nirmaan cleared his throat and said: ‘Excuse me?’

  The girl lowered her novel. He gaped at her.

  ‘Remember me, or do I need to tell you my name, numbnuts?’ Raisa asked. They were seeing each other after six years.

  VOICE NOTE 10

  Nirmaan and Raisa were standing in the aisle of the school bus.

  ‘When did you take admission to St Peter’s High?’ Nirmaan was still shocked. Was it the same Raisa who had panicked so badly when he had played a childish prank on her; with whom he had sat on a terrace on a rainy night; the girl who had given him
the most succulent mango he had ever had by way of introduction; the girl who had taught him to ride a bicycle? He looked at her as she talked. Her long hair was tied with a red hairband into a ponytail; she had pearl studs in her ears; and her skin seemed unusually soft. There was a tiny mole on her chin, which hadn’t been there before. It made her look even sweeter.

  ‘Two months ago, Deuta got transferred here,’ she said, grabbing the strap overhead when the bus jerked as it set off. ‘But we got our flat in the RBI quarters only yesterday. We were staying in a hotel when I took the admission test for this school.’

  ‘Did you know that I was studying here?’ Nirmaan asked.

  ‘No, dumbo. But Deuta said that most of the kids from our RBI quarters study here, so I hoped to find you here. If not, I’d have found you in the quarters.’

  For a little more than a moment, they silently gazed into each other’s eyes. Raisa shrugged.

  ‘God, I still can’t believe it!’ Nirmaan exclaimed.

  Raisa raised her free hand and pinched his cheek hard.

  ‘Now, do you?’

  Nirmaan cupped his cheek, shocked and embarrassed, and quickly looked around to see if his friends had noticed.

  The long-lost friends disembarked from the bus by the Ultadanga footbridge. They weaved through the crowds at the bus stop and headed towards the RBI officers’ quarters adjacent to the Bidhan Nagar railway station. Forced to walk in a single file due to the milling crowd, they found it difficult to make conversation. At times Raisa would be ahead of Nirmaan and sometimes, he.

  ‘You forgot me, didn’t you, Nirmaan?’ she accused.

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Yeah,’ she scoffed nastily, ‘that’s why there were no letters.’

  ‘You didn’t write either!’ Nirmaan retorted, literally running to keep up with her.

  ‘Idiot! Did you give me your address? You simply went away in that stupid car. I chased after it, but you didn’t turn around even once or even say goodbye.’

  ‘Did you follow the car?’

  ‘Yes, duffer!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Raisa, for whatever it is that I need to be sorry about.’

  Through the crowd, Raisa shot him a smile. Nirmaan caught up with her a moment later.

  ‘But you don’t know how happy I am to see you again,’ he realized that Raisa was again ahead of him. He called out to her, ‘Raisa!’

  She stopped, turned around, and walked back towards Nirmaan.

  ‘Screw you!’ she scowled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hug me, stupid.’

  Nirmaan immediately enfolded her in his arms.

  ‘Ki hochche eta [What’s going on here]?’ an old geezer sneered in Bengali, seeing two youngsters embrace in public.

  Raisa broke the hug, looked at the sanctimonious old-timer, flicked him off rudely and said, ‘Dadu, this is for you.’ Grabbing Nirmaan’s hand, she ran laughing into their housing campus.

  The first thing that Nirmaan told his mother when he went home was that Raisa was in town. After quickly freshening up, he accompanied his mother to Raisa’s apartment.

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you after so many years,’ Mrs Barua beamed at Mrs Bose and Nirmaan. ‘How have you been? And how big our little Nirmaan has become,’ she added, ruffling his hair.

  ‘We’re all good. How have you been? You’re looking well,’ Mrs Bose replied, genuinely happy to see a fresh-looking Mrs Barua.

  Raisa emerged from an inner room and joined her mother. She greeted Mrs Bose, gave a high-five to Nirmaan and took him inside.

  As they entered her room, Nirmaan looked around slowly and scowled in exasperation, his arms akimbo.

  There were four wooden crates firmly nailed shut; several planks of wood that, he could tell, were actually components of Raisa’s bed waiting to be reassembled; a tall, rectangular box covered with gunny sacking that had to be an almirah; an iron chest, also wrapped in

  jute gunny; and suitcases of various sizes piled higgledy-piggledy. An old photograph had been glued to the

  door panel of one of the built-in wardrobes. He went closer to peer at it and realized it was their fancy-dress picture.

  ‘How stupid we look!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘You definitely look stupid. Not me!’ she rebutted.

  ‘I need to have a copy of this.’

  ‘You will, but now help me out,’ she said, gesturing at the cartons.

  ‘What’s all this?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t have time to unpack,’ she shrugged. ‘You have to help me set up my room.’

  ‘Oh!’ Nirmaan’s eyes widened. ‘But I have maths tuition in half an hour.’

  ‘You were my best friend, Nirmaan. Act like you still are.’

  It took them exactly four hours to unpack everything and set up the room precisely the way Raisa desired.

  The next day, they boarded the school bus together. As soon as they stowed their bags away in their respective classrooms in school—Nirmaan in section B, Raisa in section D—they met in the badminton court behind the main school building. Although Nirmaan asked Raisa to stay with the girls of her section, she stuck to him like glue. She found it difficult to talk to someone new.

  ‘Unless you talk to them, how will you get to know anybody?’ Nirmaan argued.

  ‘I don’t know. Just stay with me until I get a friend here, okay?’

  Nirmaan’s batch mates were seeing him with a girl during school hours for the first time, which he knew would raise unnecessary comment. Ever since they had graduated to Class IX, Nirmaan had noticed that whenever a girl and a boy were seen hanging out together, everybody immediately assumed that they were dating.

  During recess, Raisa took her lunchbox and went to Nirmaan’s classroom and gestured him to come out.

  ‘Now what?’ he asked.

  ‘What “now what”? Aren’t you going to share your lunch with me?’

  ‘I’m discussing an important assignment with my friends. I won’t have lunch today.’

  ‘But I’m starving. I promise I won’t take long. I can’t eat alone, especially knowing that you’re around.’

  ‘Oh, all right!’ Nirmaan gave in, terminating whatever desire he had to counter her. He could sense the tittering and sniggering among his group in the background.

  The duo quickly made their way to the edge of the sports field and sat down on a small patch of grass in the shade of a tree.

  ‘Time for some good food,’ Raisa said as she opened her lunchbox. A dead cockroach and the tail of a lizard lay inside.

  VOICE NOTE 11

  Upon Nirmaan’s suggestion, Raisa promptly complained to her class teacher, who told the students to stop harassing the new student and threatened them with dire consequences if any further bullying was reported. That day, the last period was music class. When Raisa excused herself to the washroom, three other girls excused themselves one after the other and followed her out.

  Raisa washed her hands in the washbasin when she emerged from the toilet cubicle and as she approached the restroom door, she noticed a tall, stout girl standing beside it. She recognized her as one of the girls in her section.

  ‘Hello, teacher’s pet,’ the girl said nastily.

  Raisa heard sniggering behind her and turned to see two more of her classmates.

  ‘What happened?’ Raisa asked, feeling her throat go dry. The tall girl shot a glance at the ones behind Raisa. They pounced on her and in a flash, had her pinned down on the filthy, damp floor; one pinioned her arms while the other clamped her hand over Raisa’s mouth. Raisa struggled in vain. The tall girl crouched down to lean close to her and smiled at the naked fear in Raisa’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t you mess with us by being a teacher’s pet, okay?’ she grated. ‘The next time we see you complaining about a cockroach in your lunchbox, we’ll make you eat a live one. Got it?’

  Raisa could only glare at the bully. She stopped squirming when she saw the tall girl fish out something from the pocket of her skir
t.

  ‘Got it?’ she growled, pressing hard with the sharp end of a compass into Raisa’s forearm until it drew blood. Raisa nodded in terror and agony. The bully smirked and removed the compass. A knock on the washroom door interrupted the proceedings. The tall girl slipped the compass back into her pocket and gestured the others, who immediately let go of their victim and got to their feet. Raisa was left on the floor. One of the bully’s henchwomen unbolted the washroom door and the three girls trooped out. The girl who had knocked, yet another fellow student in Raisa’s section, entered the washroom. She barely threw Raisa a cursory glance before vanishing into a cubicle. Raisa knew her skirt would have a wet patch.

  She washed the gash that was bleeding. She wrapped her handkerchief around the wound and was about to leave the loo when she heard the other girl speak aloud from inside the toilet:

  ‘The first-aid room is to the left of the staffroom.’

  Although Raisa didn’t know her classmate’s name yet, she was grateful for the stranger’s help.

  ‘Thanks,’ Raisa said aloud and limped out of the washroom.

  After Raisa got her forearm bandaged by the school nurse, she ran into the girl who had directed her there.

  ‘It’s good that I got you here. Here, let me dry your skirt,’ the girl said.

  She took out a small, battery-operated hair-dryer and knelt down to dry Raisa’s skirt.

  ‘You brought your dryer to school?’ Raisa asked.

  ‘I bring a lot of things to school. But this I brought for a different reason.’

  Raisa stood patiently till the dark patch on her skirt lightened considerably.

  ‘I’m Raisa Barua. Can we be friends?’ Raisa asked. It would be good to have someone in class to have her back.

  ‘Can you meet me tomorrow morning outside the washroom adjacent to the chemistry lab?’

  ‘Isn’t that locked?’ Raisa clearly remembered seeing a large, rusty padlock on the door when she had exited the lab the previous day.