There are very few things in life as purely terrifying as calling a 13-year-old girl on the telephone. Especially, a really cute 13-year-old girl. A 13 year old who is one of the most sought after in SPHS Grades 7-10. She was in the same grade. A different Section. We had a lot of sections in South Point. Sometimes they joined for a particular class. I'll never forget that day. Mrs. “don’t remember her name” let us sit next to each other in the Sanskrit Class.
Well Sanskrit was no entertainment and the teacher made it even worse. She was right out of Adams Family – Aunt Fester! Now, at the time, I'd just gotten over this whole thing with Nayana, so I didn't really know if I was ready for love. I just knew that I'd lost all interest in the emotional space program. Jayeeta Sen (Name Changed) was the kind of girl you dreamed about but who would probably never even know your name. She was the kind when she passes by you, you feel like summer rain. But then it happened. She looked at me - did you see that? She looked right at me! I don't know how to explain it ... ... except to say that when you're 13 and a girl like that looks at you like that, even for an instant, everything else gets blasted out of your mind and into the upper atmosphere. That was no "I'm-glad-we're-in-the-same-cl
So now I was a man with a mission of my own. I had to find out if she liked me. This called for desperate measures. But I was a desperate man. The only problem was I didn't really know Jayeeta all that well. Oh, let's face it; I'd never actually heard her speak. Maybe the easiest thing would be to just call her on the phone. Now calling on the phone was slowly becoming popular….and safe. The person on the other end of the line would not know you, which is a safety measure for unforeseen events. On the other hand, maybe the easiest thing would be to just bump into Jayeeta somewhere. Casually. Accidentally. Strategically. So I spent the next three weeks tracking her every movement. Who she is with? Where does she walk during break timings? What does she buy from the canteen? How she folds her socks?
Well I was not perceived the typical lover boy those days; this made matters good and bad. Good, that I can do my surveillance, plan my strategy without being noticed. Bad, I might still get unnoticed. Those days, a boy's popularity was based on his soccer abilities, hand cricket competency, and how many imported toys he had. For the same boy to acquire a comparable level of popularity in junior high school, he's gonna need a girl. This “getting a girl” ceremony rarely strays from tradition. Fully unprepared for his destiny the certain someone to be surrounded by three giggling friends, Boy grows thirsty and proceeds to drink. He will continue to drink until the gaggle disperses or his stomach explodes--whichever comes first. Girl, acutely aware of boy's presence, warns her friends that she will in fact die if they abandon her. To no avail. She is forsaken. This was the time. Boy prepares for final approach. He takes one last breath and lunges forward. And they engage in small talk. Feeling the full weight of the moment, boy realizes that those three gallons of water have just funneled directly to his palms, armpits, and feet. Boy decides that the time has come to quote-unquote "pop the big one." Can I have your telephone number? Girl Smiles and says Sure. And just like that, the ceremony is complete leaving the newly-formed couple with absolutely nothing left to say to each other except an imaginary piano playing Love Story theme song in the Boy’s head.
My friends were moving in pairs those days Hirak-Mayuri, Anondo-Anindita, x-y, a-b, well almost everybody. I was seriously worried at my singular disposition. I had visions of spending my old age alone without wife and kids. So I had to make my move. At eleven twenty one and fifteen seconds on Tuesday the eighth I made my move. My plan was foolproof. I could already see it happening. I'd look at her, she'd look at me, I'd say "Oh, pardon me; I didn't expect to bump into you here". She'd say "Just my lucky day, I guess". One thing would lead to another. I'd suggest we talk about it over an ice cream float and a plate of churmur (To be procured across the school walls). I realized right then there were special things a man says to a woman. I also realized that I had no idea what those things were. I was officially a goner. And so began the great intermediary fiasco. Torn between the forces of torturous love and the fear of horrible humiliation, agreed on the sworn promise that not a word would ever be mentioned directly to Jayeeta. To have Romit ask Debaleena whether or not Jayeeta liked me. After all, Debaleena was in the same section as hers and did know everything about Jayeeta. Well the whole thing bombed.
After the great intermediary fiasco had fiascoed, it was clear I could never be seen by Jayeeta again. There were certain places I felt I was unlikely to bump into her. Suddenly I realized what I had to do. I had to take that brave leap into the unknown. I had to pick up the phone and call her... Well, I had a challenge of my own. I would call Jayeeta by eight o'clock on Wednesday, or die trying. Wednesday was the “Chitrahaar” day. The city came to a standstill at 8.00PM. This was my chance. The phone would be free. And I took it. But Oh Hell Dad was on it. Yapping away about some file. Didn’t he realize, this is not time for files. Well thankfully he finished but stood there reading some letter. I was about to explode. But a squeal came out – “Aren’t you going to watch Chitrahaar?” He looked at me and nodded and stood. “Um, dad I was just going to use the phone” “So use it.” He blurted “Well, I was kind of hoping for a little privacy” “What do you need privacy for?” As he looked at me, I knew we both sensed the cycle of family history poignantly repeating itself and left quietly. Then as I was about to call. The phone rang. “May I speak to Dr. Banerjee?” Arrrgh! One of my mom’s patients! This would go on till the next century. I had to think fast. “Oh! May I know who is calling? She’s in the washroom. I can take a message.” I lied. Well, I still had one minute before eight o'clock. T minus nineteen and counting. I could just pick up that phone and call her anytime now. Well, something deep inside me said it wasn't the way every muscle in my body tightened, although it did. And it wasn't because every nerve ending in my body tingled, although it was. No, it was because the way every piece of food I had eaten for dinner suddenly went into the spin-cycle in my stomach. I felt like I had to take action. To...make a stand - to do something. But I had no idea what. Fortunately, my sub-conscience had a plan. If I had a shred of manhood in me I would call her now.
And suddenly I got this funny feeling. Maybe I was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. I mean, Jayeeta wasn't going to laugh at me. And anyway, what if she did? Did it really matter? And that's when I knew what I had to do. I just had to pick up the phone and call her. Finally I did. “Jayeeta!” “Hi this is Deepanjan from 8F”. “Yeah, right, the thin crazy guy” “Do you have the Sanskrit notes” “Yes” “Oh! Thanks”. That was it. Next day I had assumed my standard position, drooling in the general direction of Jayeeta. But today, things were different between her and me. You see, the night before we'd spent very close to two complete minutes talking to each other on the telephone. Our relationship was entering the fast lane of the eigth grade social scene and it was up to me to keep the ball rolling. All I had to do was plot my next move. I saw her brushing her hair as she walked by. The best smelling head of hair in the 8th grade. We were again in the same class. I was within striking distance. The time was right for the most intimate form of communication known to 13-year-old man - inter-classroom note writing. In a note you could say anything you wanted to. Lines I would have choked on under the glare of fluorescent lights were coming out like poetry with the venetian blinds drawn. It was time to throw caution to the wind. She was replying. Hello World! I have arrived. Little did I know that the problem is excess. We keep pushing, pushing and it always ends up by us going one step too far. What was I thinking? I mean, one lousy phone call, a couple of notes and suddenly I'm asking her for an ice cream?
It was all happening too quickly. I wanted that note back. Then again, why stop when you're on a roll? It was all so perfect. With one flick of the wrist I'd opened up an entirely new and exciting chapter in my life as an adolescent. Jayeeta Sen was mine to have and to hold, for better or for worse, till death do us part. I’d ask her out. And then it happened. Arindam Bose (Name Changed). She told me she was seeing him. She looked at me. I'd seen that look before, in 1986 when my mother put my aunt’s cocker spaniel to sleep. And that's when she said it. The word I was to hear from beautiful girls, like Jayeeta Sen, time and time again. The word that struck a chord so violent in me that I wanted to strangle guys like Arindam Bose with my bare hands. My world was crashing. Maybe it was the buzz of the cafeteria, maybe it was the sting from Jayeeta, I felt a splinter burning within me. It was all too much to take. But I had no Jeanie in a lamp. Women were proving to be the bane of my existence. I was too complicated to be pried open like that. I had my dignity.
Sitting alone outside the school, I kept wondering what it would be like if she had said yes? Had I meant anything at all to her? Well 20 years later Jayeeta still looks as gorgeous as before, and I as insignificant as ever. Well, you can’t blame a guy for dreaming. And so we all had our one slow dance after all. But things wouldn't be the same with all of us. We were getting older. And whether we wanted it or not, the Jayeeta Sens were changing us by the minute. All we could do was close our eyes and wish that the slow song would never end.
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