Someone Like You (2 page)

‘Simran, please. I know you’re very famous there. And I’m not someone people should associate you with.’ I say, and add with a pause, ‘I am ugly. I don’t know how to dress. Or walk. Or talk. I don’t know the difference between kohl and eyeliner and mascara. I can’t walk in high heels. I don’t own a dress. I don’t carry a handbag … I’m your complete opposite.’

‘So? How does that …?’ she starts to ask but I cut her off.

‘Oh, come on. When people look at you, they’re dazzled. If I come there, they would expect me to be a two-year-younger version of you. They always have. I can’t handle that.’

‘Are you kidding me? You don’t have to be
me
.’

‘I can’t be
me
either,’ I reply, disappointed. ‘When you tell your friends that I’m coming, they would probably picture me as …’ I try to explain.

‘I’ve already told my friends that you’re coming. And I’ve told them all about you too. And they like you already.’

‘What did you tell them?’ I suck my breath in.

‘That you are very intelligent and have made us all proud. And that you are the sweetest person on the planet who does not need pretty shoes and shiny lip gloss to look good. That you don’t give a damn what the world thinks of you. I respect you for that.’

I stay silent for a brief moment before asking meekly, ‘Did you really say all that to them?’

‘Yes. Of course I did. And I did so because I truly believe in it. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Why are you suddenly so insecure about yourself?’

‘I’m just … you know, in front of your friends …’ I trail off.

‘The people here don’t even come close to how nice
you
are as a person. Just come. They will love you.’

‘What if I embarrass you?’

‘Shut up. You can never embarrass me. You’re my sister and I love you the most. You’re my best friend. And you know what—even if you were not my sister, you would still be my best friend. That’s how much I love you,’ Simran says.

I smile. I love my sister. She understands my silence.

‘So go now. Pack and come to me,’ she says.

‘I’m coming,’ I say, almost happy.

‘Good. Ask Mom to send those pickles with you. My friends love it.’

‘Sure,’ I say and we hang up.

I return to packing my clothes in a solitary bag that I am taking to Delhi. Only this time I actually pack, instead of just looking around aimlessly and torturing myself with depressing thoughts. What Simran said made me feel good about myself. She’s proud of me. And she thinks that I don’t try to look pretty not because I
can’t
, but because I don’t
need
to. It feels nice to know that Simran actually thinks that way about me. It’s nice that anyone thinks that way about me. I stuff all my things into my bag and make my way to the washroom to get my toothbrush. As I turn to leave, my gaze falls on my reflection in the mirror. I stop to study my face.

Simran got all the good genes from my mother, though I do pride myself on my hair—thick, dark, rich, and long. I have never been noticed otherwise, but whenever I decide to cut my hair short, some people, without fail, come up to me and tell me how they liked my long hair better. Other than that, I have a face which gets lost in the crowd. No one would come forward to gather my things if I dropped my bag and spilled my things on a crowded road. I’ve been given eyes so I can see. Nose so I can breathe. Lips so I can … well, not kiss, for sure. Who would want to kiss me?

But then, there are a few things that I can thank God for. Like, I don’t have a pimples issue. My teeth are straight.
And my breath doesn’t stink. Neither does my body. I’m not like one of those really hairy girls. I do get a wax done on a regular basis, but I am not really a pain for whoever decides to wax me.

I have put on some weight recently, but that is a good thing, as people used to say that I was too thin before. I have never had the propensity to gain weight. It’s a part of God’s plan for me. No matter how much I eat, I never gain enough weight. Just like it’s God’s plan to make me go unnoticed on this planet.

All in all, at five feet five, a decent body type and not-so-good but not-so-bad either facial features, teamed with lustrous, long hair, I think I look okay. My mother says she can see the world in my big brown eyes. But she is my mother and she thinks that I’m a princess without a tiara and treats me so. All said, I believe that not every girl has to be good-looking, anyway. I will do fine, I tell myself.

I just hope I don’t embarrass my sister in Delhi.

Delhi is a big city and it can leave you befuddled if you don’t know anyone here. I remember the first few days Simran had spent here. She had been excited to come to Delhi because she always thought, and we did too, that she was a little too big for a small town like ours. Plus, Delhi was always a few hours away and the lure of a city was too hard to resist for someone like Simran.

But things changed when she landed in Delhi. Her phone calls used to last for hours and she used to feel so homesick that Mom had almost booked a taxi to Delhi to stay with her for a few days. My father and I knew better. Within the next few days, she had made herself at home in Delhi and started to fall in love with the city and its culture. Or the lack of it. Now, she loves the place and says she will settle down here if possible.

My first impression of the city isn’t that bad either. Big, wide roads and tall buildings greet me, even though the summer heat and the leering men on the streets throw me off balance slightly. I have never been stared at, so it feels a little strange.

As soon as I reach Simran’s hostel, I’m greeted by a hurricane of words. At least five different fragrances waft their way into my nose.

Hey, Niharika.

It’s so nice to finally see you.

Simran talks about you all the time.

You look … uh, nice …

Simran’s sister? Umm … okay.

You’ve got such nice hair.

I smile at them. The reactions are more positive than negative. I let out a sigh of relief, as I look at the bunch of girls surrounding me. There are seven of them, all looking at me very curiously. Or maybe it is just my active imagination. Simran introduces me to all of them, and I instantly forget who is who. They all sound like Delhiites and look like Delhiites. I can hardly tell them apart. Pink pyjamas, floppy slippers, straight hair and long eyelashes—they look exactly the same.

I decide to take the trouble of remembering only two of the girls, Prerna and Chaaru. I’ve heard a lot about them from Simran before, and they seem really nice too. They were the ones who had said—
It’s so nice to finally see you.
And—
Simran talks about you all the time.
Unlike the other girls, their eyes look kind behind the eyeliners and mascaras.

After the first five minutes of smiling at everyone and making small talk, Simran notices my discomfort and ushers me to her room from the common room.

‘So? You like it here? It’s not that bad, right?’ Simran asks, looking visibly excited. And exceptionally pretty. Like always.

‘Hmm … I don’t hate it,’ I shrug.

‘What is there to bloody hate?’ she almost screams.

I choose to stay silent. Simran has always been a sort of a rebel. Swearing in every sentence seems to be her most recent way to being so. And unlike other people, it doesn’t sound out of place either.

‘Wait till you get the hang of things here, Niharika. I bet you, you’ll beg me to let you stay for longer. I think you will never want to leave.’

I just look at her in utter disbelief. Doesn’t she see the look on my face? Doesn’t it just shout ‘I wanna run’? Simran’s overconfidence has seldom let her down, but for once, she’s wrong. I’ll never want to stay in this place any longer than absolutely necessary.

It takes me about half an hour to find an empty cubicle in the washroom. And it isn’t like I’ve been lazy or sleeping too long. I went to bed early last night, while my sister stayed up and watched repeats of ‘How I Met Your Mother’. That’s what everyone seemed to be doing in the hostel. Movies. English sitcoms. A few girls were drinking. I wonder if this is what my college life will be all about too.

I woke up early, as Simran had asked me to, gathered my clothes and ran here. Still, I have not been able to find an empty cubicle in an hour. So now, when I see this girl in the green robe come out of a cubicle, I run to it.

After the shower, I go back to Simran’s room to find out that she has already left for her class. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do all day. There’s no one around. Not that I mind. I pick up Simran’s laptop and I am almost shocked at her movie collection. It has every movie I have ever seen or heard of. And more. I jam my earphones deep inside my ears and start watching a movie. I wonder where Simran is, and what she is doing. I somehow doubt that she is attending her class.

Suddenly, I find my phone buzzing again. It is getting kind of creepy now, almost telepathic. Every time I think of Simran, I get a call from her.

‘Hello?’

‘What the hell do you think you are doing? Why can’t you pick up your phone when I call you?’ her shout greets me.

‘What? I was watching a movie!’ I defend myself.

‘I asked you to meet me outside the campus in fifteen minutes. Where the hell are you?’

‘You did not. When did you?’

‘I left a note on the bed and I texted you too,’ she says. And sure enough, there is a piece of paper—a large, A4 size sheet—lying in the middle of the bed. God only knows how I could have possibly missed it. You have to be blind to do so.

‘Oh. Yeah,’ I say.

‘Now do you need me to send you a jet? Come quick. We are all waiting for you.’

‘Okay.’

When I get there, I see that she has company. It is just the kind of a day when I don’t want to meet anyone. But it’s not like I have a choice. There are three people who flank her, two of those faces I am already familiar with. Prerna, Chaaru and a guy. I have never seen the guy before, but the way Simran’s arm is wrapped around his gives me some idea about the kind of relationship they share. I feel a little strange in my stomach because she hasn’t told me about a possible … boyfriend.

‘There she is,’ Simran says, looks my way and smiles weirdly. It looks like she is going to tell me something.

‘Uh, hi,’ I say, looking around, awkward as always.

‘Niharika,’ Simran holds my hand and pulls me into the group, ‘this is Viraat. My boyfriend.’

Then she turns to the guy and her eyes twinkle for a bit as she says, ‘Viraat, this is Niharika, my sister.’ I notice that she is blushing all the while. I have never seen her like this before.

‘Hi, Niharika,’ Viraat says, and thrusts his hand out. He smiles at me and there is a lot of warmth in that smile.

‘Hey,’ I say.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m good.’

‘I heard you’re leaving in just three days? You should have stayed here at least for a week. We had so many plans for you,’ he says and smiles at me disarmingly.

‘Really?’

‘Obviously. We have been waiting to see you. Simran talks about you all time and quite frankly, I feel like I already know you.’

‘Oh shut up, Viraat,’ Simran says. ‘You don’t have to try so hard to impress my sister. I love you anyway.’

We share a laugh, after which we all fall silent. Everyone looks around at everyone else, but no one says anything. I am not to blame for the silence, though. I just got to know that my sister has a boyfriend. I have never heard any mention of him, so it is justified for me to be shocked. I don’t even know for how long they have been dating.

‘Viraat—’ I start meekly, but am cut off by a louder voice.

‘We should probably leave now. We are already getting late,’ Prerna says.

‘Shit, yeah,’ Simran says, ‘we should get going.’ She looks at Viraat.

‘Right,’ he says. ‘It was nice to see you, Niharika. See you tonight.’

‘Tonight?’ I ask.

‘Sure,’ Simran says and ushers me away.

‘Where are we going tonight?’ I ask her.

‘You’ll see.’