American Born Indian - Part 9
Chapter 38
Paper Planes
It’s now a few days before the fourteenth of February—Valentine’s Day. Nobody here exactly celebrates it—students start preparing for the finals during this time. But it’s not like a few people don’t have plans.
Currently, it’s chemistry class. We’re supposed to be doing a worksheet on balancing equations as Madhura Ma’am grades our notebooks. In reality, though, my classmates are goofing off and have totally forgotten about it. The shifting atmosphere is unnoticed, until someone flings a paper plane and hits our class cupboard, next to Ma’am.
“Hello! What is this, rocket science? Who threw this?” She yells.
Funny enough, no one answers. No one tells on anyone, either. We all saw the paper plane—but not the person who set it in the air.
Ma’am huffs. “Fine. I will find out myself.” She picks the plane, then her brow furrows. “Ruchi?”
Ruchi looks up from her worksheet, startled. “Ma’am! I didn’t throw it.”
“Then why is your name written on this?”
Ruchi shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“There’s a heart next to it too. Actually, many hearts.”
The class giggles. Ruchi’s cheeks pink.
Ma’am surveys the classroom. “Boys, I know that Valentine’s Day is coming soon, but don’t get any ideas!”
The class erupts into laughter, and even Ruchi cracks a smile. When the guffaws die down, I hear Ojaswi saying something to Delakshi, who’s still laughing.
“It’s probably Aravind who gave her that note. Nerd!”
I whip my head to glare at her. Aravind, next to me, chuckles softly.
“Relax, no one believes her anyway,” he says.
“No, not him, Ojaswi.” We look at Ma’am, her eyebrow raised upward. “I hear he’s already dating someone anyway.”
Aravind blushes a cherry red, and I start coughing, loudly. I know Ma’am’s one of those teachers who have their finger on the pulse of student gossip, but this is next-level creepy.
Ma’am hands Ruchi the plane and tells her it’s her wish to deposit it in the dustbin or her bag. Ruchi just leaves it on the table, but I can see the glint in her eyes—even if she doesn’t like admitting it, she wants to know who her secret admirer is.
As Ma’am walks back to her desk, she grabs my shoulder and whispers, “If you break that sweet boy’s heart, I will kill you.”
“Won’t happen, I promise,” I say, voice strangled.
“Good.” She nods, then smiles at Aravind, who returns it cheerfully.
Once class ends, Ruchi joins us at our table.
“I can’t believe she knows about you two,” she says. “But it’s good to know she has a pretty strong gay rights stance.”
It’s true. Ma’am has been open about discussing the LGBTQ+ community in class quite often—something that wasn’t a common occurrence in Amelia Middle. It’s probably why she’s one of my favourite teachers, aside from her dry wit and humour with her marvellous Kannadiga accent.
“We’ve got bigger matters to discuss,” I say. “Starting with that letter.”
She grins and takes the paper plane out of her pocket. “Even if it’s romance, I love a good mystery.”
The three of us look over as Ruchi unfolds the note. But what looks like a note turns out to be a beautiful drawing of an anime girl, with a little heart next to it.
My jaw drops. “Holy crap!”
Ruchi blinks, flustered. “I think it’s supposed to be me.”
Aravind studies the picture intently, then nods.
“You’re right. Look at the hair and the eyes. And that’s the dress you wore on your birthday. This is you.”
“Is it from Rahil?” I ask her.
She blushes. “He is a good artist, and his specialty is pencil sketching.”
“But he does realistic portraits. What’s with the anime style?” Aravind asks.
We look at Rahil, who’s talking to Gautam and Ajith Jasvir about shows I’ve only heard Trace talk about with some kids back at Amelia.
“I mean.” Ruchi shrugs. “He’s really into Jujutsu Kaisen. And Naruto. And Spy X Family. And a few others I’ve forgotten.”
Aravind and I raise and
She throws up her hands. “Hey, he talks to me about it too!”
Aravind looks at the drawing again. “There’s some writing on it.”
We peer closely at it. There are some lines written: all I can say is I was enchanted to meet you / I'm in a field of dandelions, wishin' on every one that you'd be mine / All I wanna be, yeah all I ever wanna be, yeah, yeah, is somebody to you / Shower you with all my attention, yeah, these are my only intentions and a few more.
I frown. “They’re lyrics. From love songs.”
Aravind chuckles. “Cute.”
I rub my chin in the investigator-professor way, and ceremoniously proclaim, “There’s only one way to confirm who it is.”
“We just check the handwriting from everyone’s books and match it with the letter to see who it is?” Ruchi asks flatly.
I scowl. “Way to steal my thunder.”
She shrugs. “It was obvious. But hey, let’s figure it out later. Besides,” she adds with a smirk, “good mysteries always take time.”
Chapter 39
The Invaluable Gift Khana
Maybe Ruchi’s getting heartfelt paper planes with cute drawings in them, but I have a much bigger dilemma on my hands. I know that Aravind’s going to gift me something on February 14, and I have absolutely no idea what to give him in return. So, I decide to seek Nani’s help.
We set to emptying the top-most shelf of our almirah in the dining room. There are various goods that appear—a piggy bank, stationery kits, a BlueTooth speaker, and many picture frames.
I empty everything on the table and sigh. “Nothing’s even remotely romantic. What do I even give him?”
Nani sits on a chair. “Well, think of his interests. What he likes. Give him something based on that.”
I place my chin in my hands, and close my eyes, trying to recall everything related to Aravind. Volleyball. Making music. How he’s good at studies. But most important of all—his family. His friends.
A flashback appears: I’m looking at the photo wall in his room. All those pictures, of everyone in his life—except for me.
I pull out my phone and scroll through enough photos until I find what I’m looking for—the picture of the two of us that Ruchi had taken, on her birthday. It’s perfect.
I pick the most decent frame of the lot—a plain white one, with rounded edges.
“But it’s plain,” I find myself saying out loud.
“Oh?” Nani asks.
I turn it over in my hands, and snap my fingers. “I’ve got an idea.”
Late at night, I’m touching up my gift when my phone pings. It’s Aravind, who’s sent me a video. I open it. He’s smiling in front of the camera, and—get this—he’s holding Gagan’s guitar. Like he’s about to play it!
“Hey, Jay. This video is my Valentine’s Day gift to you. I’ve sent it a day ahead so that it doesn’t feel too late when you watch it. My dad tried to teach me the guitar—at least, the chords for this song. It’s my first time—“ here he half-laughs—“so it may not be the best. But I hope you like it.”
He looks down at the guitar and starts playing. It’s not a very complex tune, but something in my heart flutters to life when I hear him play, as he sings:
“Picture perfect, you don't need no filter
Gorgeous, make 'em drop dead, you a killer
Shower you with all my attention
Yeah, these are my only intentions
Stay in the kitchen cookin' up, got your own bread
Heart full of equity, you're an asset
Make sure that you don't need no mentions
Yeah, these are my only intentions…”
I hum along. Now this is what I call romantic. And only Aravind can come up with something like this.
Shout-out to your mom and dad for makin' you
Standin' ovation, they did a great job raisin' you
When I create, you're my muse
That kind of smile that makes the news
Can't nobody throw shade on your name in these streets
Triple threat, you a boss, you a bae, you a beast
You make it easy to choose
You got a mean touch, I can't refuse, mmm
Picture perfect, you don't need no filter
Gorgeous, make 'em drop dead, you a killer
Shower you with all my attention
Yeah, these are my only intentions
Stay in the kitchen cookin' up, got your own bread
Heart full of equity, you're an asset
Make sure that you don't need no mentions
Yeah, these are my only intentions…”
He strums the last note, and he smiles at the camera, his eyes twinkling. “Happy Valentine’s.”
My grin stretches wider. I lean back in my chair and the warm fuzzy feeling envelops me like a blanket.
I text him:
Happy Valentine’s in advance
it’s so so so perfect <3
and ill teach you how 2 play the guitar next time. It’ll be awesome
Now I hope my gift is satisfying enough.
Chapter 40
Confessions Galore
I skip to class feeling lighthearted. Today’s the day! I’ve kept the gift in a white paper bag, which sticks close to me as possible. I don’t want anyone to notice what it is.
Ruchi enters the class after me. “Excited. Huh?”
“Ya bet!” I grin. “And I know you are too. Let’s find out who your secret sender is.”
We drop pour bags and make our way to the class cupboard. Ruchi pulls out the stack of English literature notebooks, and starts sifting through the pile, checking everyone’s handwriting with the one in the letter. I stack back the books.
Aravind comes in moments later. “What are you guys doing?”
I leap across the room and hug him. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
He laughs and squeezes me back. “Same to you.” Pulling away, he smiles and blushes. “I hope you liked the video.”
“It was the best. But I’ve got something for you too.” I run over to get my present.
“Arey, you didn’t need to,” he says.
I hand it to him. “But I did. Because I’ve never had a boyfriend to treat on a romantic holiday. Now, I do!”
He sets his bags down and pulls out my gift—a photo frame hand-painted to make it look like the colours of the Pride flag, with the photo of the two of us. He looks at me, eyes shining. He knows how and why I thought of it, and he hugs me again. “Thank you,” he whispers.
“Aww.”
We release each other and turn to look at Ruchi, who has her hands under her chin, grinning goofily. “So lovely. I hate to interrupt fluffy moments of my favourite couple ever, but we have a problem.”
“What is it?” I rush over.
“All the notebooks are here but one.” She sighs. “I don’t think anyone has forgotten to submit. Vijayanthi Ma’am has been hounding everyone for them.”
Suddenly, Rahil enters. We turn to look at Ruchi, who’s blushing and turning away to search for the book.
Aravind and I glance at each other and we smirk. I decide to help Ruchi out. She’s been our pro-shipper, now it’s time for us to do the same.
“Say, Rahil,” I begin. “Did you submit your English literature notebook?”
He glances up at me as he puts his bag down. “Oh, I did, a long time back. Vijayanthi Ma’am gave my book back early.”
Ruchi’s staring at me now, in a what the heck are you doing? way.
“Can I borrow it?” I ask. “I think I have one question-answer left, and I better finish that.”
He shrugs, handing me his book. “Sure.”
Ruchi secretly slips my notebook from the pile. I go to my desk and pretend to write something in my book as I open Rahil’s. I stare at his handwriting carefully.
Ruchi jostles me over and checks the handwriting. She gasps.
I sit up. “What?”
Aravind rushes over. “It’s a match.”
“For real?” I leap up.
Ruchi is holding her head in her hands. “Of all the people—“
Aravind and I are cheering, and I’m dancing a little jig. I tug at Ruchi’s sleeve.
“You should go and confess.”
Ruchi frowns. “I don’t know… what if I got the wrong idea?”
“You won’t know if you don’t try.” Aravind smiles at me and takes my hand. “Didn’t you tell me that?”
Ruchi sighs. Then, she thumps her fists on the table and gets up. “Okay. I’m gonna do it.”
She calls Rahil, and they both go to the back of the classroom. They’re speaking softly, and I can’t make out the words. But it’s Ruchi who shows him the note, praising him. He smiles and ducks his head, embarrassed. Then, she says something more, and he looks up. And she’s the one looking away now.
Rahil exhales, then laughs softly. Ruchi says something more, and they’re both laughing. Then, they reach out and hold each other’s hands.
“Yes!” I whisper. Aravind grins at my excited expression.
Ruchi comes back to the table, now very flustered. “Good grief. If confessions go like this, I hope to only do it once.”
“Don’t worry. I have a feeling it’s only going to be once forever.” I put an arm around her shoulders. “You’re now somebody’s darling!”
Ruchi snorts. “Please.”
Aravind slings another arm on my shoulders, and we jump and squeal and laugh loudly. And we don’t care if people are watching, and they think we’re weird because we want to know what love—even if it seems so juvenile and teenage—that love feels like, and it doesn’t even matter whether I’m in India or America, this feeling is universal and breaks all boundaries of every sort, in the best way possible.
Chapter 41
An Akka With A Note
Shalini Ma’am is lecturing about the properties of quadrilaterals in a drab monotone, or so it seems to be the rest of the class. But no one can ever dare to doze off because one minute, she’d be explaining something while you’re daydreaming in la-la-land, and the next, you’re standing up blank-brained to answer one of her impossible on-the-go questions.
“As you know, in a square, all the sides and angles are equal, and all the angles are 90 degrees, and what else? The diagonals—“ Shalini Ma’am says, but just then the door opens, and an akka—one of the female support staff—arrives with a note in hand. Usually, there’s a missed homework assignment or lunchbag arriving with the note. Occasionally, it’s a from the parents. Regardless, the sight is rare, and we all sit up, wondering what it’s about and who it’s for.
Shalini Ma’am takes the note from the akka and silently reads it. Her face goes from stern to pale, almost ashen.
“Jay,” she says. Her voice is high-pitched and trembling. “Please come here.”
I slowly get up and make my way to the front. Somehow, my footsteps feel heavy, and a bowling ball has lodged itself in my stomach. My hands are cold, and I can tell it isn’t from the weather.
Ma’am gives me the note. I read it. As soon as I reach those words, all the blood feels like it drains from my face.
“Jay, I’m truly sorry,” she says in a low voice.
My hands are starting to shake. My chest closes up. I can’t breathe. One thought rages through my brain, and it’s panicky—but not for me.
I need to leave.
“Jay, are you fine?” Ma’am’s hand is on my shoulder. It’s supposed to be comforting, and it doesn’t feel wrong. But my brain can’t process it. It’s an invasion, a last straw.
Suddenly, I dash outside the classroom and into the corridor, running for the stairs.
Shalini Ma’am is furious. “Jay Sharma, come back here this instant! You cannot leave class without permission!”
The heck with that now.
I bolt down the stairs, and I make it to the second floor before I hear the voice of a girl above. Footsteps charge down the way I came. There’s another pair—lighter, but equally quick—following the first.
“Jay!” It’s Ruchi.
I look up. She’s running fast, trying to catch up with me.
“Jay, what’s going on?” And there’s Aravind, too.
I turn away. They can’t see me like this.
I run all the way to the first floor, but Ruchi manages to catch up with me, grabbing me by the shoulder.
“Jay, you need to tell us. Something’s really wrong. You wouldn’t just leave like that—“
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I snarl, wrenching away.
Aravind’s reached me, too. He steps in front of me, takes my shoulders gently.
“Jay, whatever it is, we’ll face it together. Like always. But don’t leave us in the dark, we—we just want you to be okay…“
His voice fades to white noise in my ears. My head feels like a raging storm. Somehow, my vision turns absolutely red. Anger rages through my brain.
I don’t want them here.
I don’t want them to know.
I don’t want them to comfort me—or do anything to make me feel better.
They need to leave.
The thought engulfs me. Takes over like someone violently snatching the reins controlling my emotions. And I snap.
“Shut up, Aravind!” I yell.
I push him, and he cries out and stumbles back, hitting his head against the wall. Hard. I exhale rapid, heavy breaths.
Someone grabs my arm and the next minute, thwack! My face is on fire. I blink away stars. My vision clears, the red disappears.
Ruchi is standing in front of me, her arm half-raised, palm facing me, fingers spread. Her expression is furious—madder than she’s ever been.
“Jay,” she says in a low, threatening voice, almost a snarl. “What is wrong with you?”
“I—“ I look around for the first time. And I see Aravind. He rubs the back of his head and hisses a bit. And I swear I see little drops of blood on his fingertips from where he hit the metal edge of the bulletin board framing the stairs. He looks at me, and it’s the first time I see… fear.
He’s afraid of me. He doesn’t recognise me anymore.
My cheek stings, and I touch it gingerly. I look up at Ruchi, and she stares at me that way too.
I process everything. I pushed Aravind. I hurt him. And Ruchi slapped me. Because I indirectly hurt her too.
I sit down on the floor, and I stare at it blankly. I should cry, but my eyes feel devoid of water. Shock has turned me into an immobile statue, cut out of stone.
What have I done?
It’s Ruchi who bursts into tears first. One loud sob, before it subsides to quiet crying. Aravind grabs her by the arm and looks at me, wounded.
“What was in that paper, Jay? What’s made you like… like this?”
Ruchi sniffles. “It’s not like you.”
My mouth half-opens. No sound comes out. I can’t speak, not after what happened. Wordlessly, I hand her the note, which became crumpled through the ordeal.
“Look at it all you want.” My voice cracks hard, like I haven’t used it in twenty-four hours.
Aravind studies me intently. Then, he crawls forward and does the last thing I expect: he gingerly touches my stinging cheek.
“She hit you here,” he whispers.
I stare into his deep brown eyes, full of concern. His hands cup my face.
“This would’ve been nice—“ here he laughs softly—“if the circumstances weren’t so bad.”
Him joking around even when everything seems so bleak is unlikely. It’s what I would’ve done. What I don’t think I can do anymore.
Now it’s my turn to cry. Big heaving sobs that leaks the tears from my eyes, streaming down my face.
Aravind’s arms are around me, and I bury my head in his shoulder.
“Shh, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine now.”
“I’m so sorry,” I wail. “I’m so, so, sorry.”
When I pull back, I see the crimson drops of blood dotting the white marble. “Aravind, you’re bleeding.”
He shrugs and touches the back of his head, then pulls his hand away. “It’s dried. It was only a scratch.”
Over his shoulder, I see Ruchi, who’s face is pale, her mouth a tight line. She holds up the note.
“Tell me this isn’t real,” she says.
Aravind turns to face her. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s real,” I say darkly.
Aravind’s eyes travel back and forth, from me to her. “What is?”
Ruchi shakes her head, and her tears start again. “I can’t say it.”
I get up. Turn to face the bottom of the stairs. If I have to regain my composure, I’d best do it without looking at either of them and feeling like I’m about to break.
“Mom called from the hospital,” I say. “It’s Nani. She’s had a heart attack.”
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