If It s Not Forever , livre ebook

Durjoy Datta and Nikita Singh

IF IT S NOT FOREVER
It s Not Love
Contents
About the Author
Also by Durjoy Datta
Dedication
I Was Almost Dead
What If
I Am Still Awake
The Diary
It Gets Interesting!
We re Not Taking Her!
Haridwar
Piyush Makhija
To Gandhinagar
Nivedita
The Next Trip
The Phone Number
Bangalore
Where s Ragini?
Ritam?
Everyday Life
The Shock
Author s Note
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright Page
PENGUIN METRO READS
IF IT S NOT FOREVER
DURJOY DATTA was born and brought up in New Delhi. He completed a degree in engineering and business management before embarking on a writing career. His first book, Of Course I Love You , was published when he was twenty-one years old and was an instant bestseller. His successive novels- Now That You re Rich , She Broke Up, I Didn t! , Oh Yes, I m Single! , If It s Not Forever , Someone Like You -have also found prominence on various bestseller lists, making him one of the highest-selling authors in India. Durjoy lives in New Delhi, loves dogs and is an active CrossFitter.
For more updates, you can follow him on Facebook ( www.facebook.com/durjoydatta1 ) or Twitter (@durjoydatta).
NIKITA SINGH was born in Patna and grew up in Indore. She graduated in pharmacy and is the author of six bestselling novels, including Love @ Facebook , Accidentally in Love and The Promise . She has co-authored (with Durjoy Datta) Someone Like You and contributed to the books in The Backbenchers series.
Nikita received a Live India Young Achievers Award in 2013. She works as an editor at a leading publishing house.
Also by Durjoy Datta
Hold My Hand
She Broke Up, I Didn t!
I Just Kissed Someone Else!
Till the Last Breath
Of Course I Love You
Till I Find Someone Better
(With Maanvi Ahuja)
Oh Yes, I m Single!
And So Is My Girlfriend!
(With Neeti Rustagi)
Now That You re Rich
Let s Fall in Love!
(With Maanvi Ahuja)
Someone Like You
(With Nikita Singh)
You Were My Crush
Till You Said You Love Me!
(With Orvana Ghai)
To all the lives lost in the Delhi High Court blast (7 September 2011)
I was Almost Dead
I have seen dead people before.
I have seen them on television, on the news, on their deathbeds, with their loved ones carrying them to the cemetery. But I have never seen dead people like this. Mutilated, maimed and lying in pools of blood. I have never seen anyone die in front of me, say their last words, cry out for help, look at me with horror in their eyes, choke on their own blood, breathe their last, and die. Never.
But right now, they are all around me. Wherever I look, I see them. It s a gory sight. My head buzzes and I cry out for their pain and out of my own. My ears ring from the noise of the blast, my nose bleeds and I have vomited twice. I look around to see chaos all around. The images are blurred. All I can make out is red. Blood. Or black, from the ashes of what s burnt now-men, women, children.
There is blood everywhere. On the ground, on the bodies of people, on their lost body parts on me. It s mine and it s theirs. My skin singes and burns from the heat. It is red and slowly turns black and peels off.
I lean against a wall and struggle to maintain coherence. I can hear sirens blaring in the distance, people running, crying and howling. There is commotion everywhere, cars burn in the background, the fumes of burning tyres fill up the air, and people are running all over. Some of them are carrying people in their arms. I struggle to keep my eyes open but they burn. I am covered in ashes and my head bursts as I look for my car. I cannot spot it. Not in the heap of mangled and charred remains of metal that lie in front of me. It is still hot and I can feel the radiation in my face. My neck hurts. I touch the nape of my neck-it is wet. There is blood on my fingers. I don t know whether it s mine or someone else s. My entire body aches and burns.
ARE YOU OKAY? someone shouts in my ear.
I feel like someone has put a hot iron rod in my ear. I stumble across some people-stilled people, people writhing and moaning, dead people, people bleeding on the ground. I see bloodied faces all around, gravely injured, and they are shouting, screaming and pleading for help. I stumble over them and walk away from the site of the blast. I am helpless.
Where is Avantika?
Home, I guess. Where am I? I take out my phone and call her.
Hello, she says. Deb, where are you? I ve been calling you There s been a blast in Chandni Chowk today, where-
I am fine, I say and disconnect the call.
Things blur a little more. I pass out. The world becomes cold and dark. There is no pain. Am I dead?
What If
My breathing is ragged and strained. Every breath I take and release hurts a little more. I feel choked and my throat burns. My head hurts. I try to open my eyes but a bandage wrapped around my head obstructs them. I adjust the bandage to open my eyes. My whole body is broken and it pains as if it has been put into a blender and ground.
I take some time to gather where I am. Why does everything hurt so much? Is this a bad dream? I slowly open my eyes partially and look at the ceiling above. It s not familiar. Then it strikes me. The Chandni Chowk blast .
It all comes back to me. The noise, the people, the blood, the severed limbs, the mangled remains of people, cars and buildings. It is a lot harder this time. I can think more clearly. I could ve been among the dead.
Deb? a female voice says. Are you okay?
I look at her and my eyes light up. She is like a shot of morphine that takes every bit of pain away. I feel alive.
Yes, I say feebly.
I look at her and I am mortified. She has tears in her eyes and it looks like she has been crying for a long time. Did something happen to me? I force my aching neck to move a little and look at the bed I lie on. I try to move my hands and legs. I am not maimed or paralysed. I have just a few cuts and burns here and there. I have been lucky.
What happened? I ask.
There was a terrible blast in Chandni Chowk, she says. Eighty-nine people are dead so far.
She sits on the bed, hugs me, and starts crying. I feel a few? teardrops percolate through my hospital robe and wet my skin. A few tears find their way into my eyes too. I don t know if it s because she s crying or because of what I saw this morning. People had died, lost their arms, their legs and their loved ones right in front of my eyes. It was like a nightmare. Only, a lot worse. It happened for real. The animal cries of people, the blood and the limbs that had gone flying all around me-it had all happened. All those people are actually dead. Eighty-nine of them. I am not. I am still in one piece and have my girlfriend hugging me.
Why? I ask myself as I see her cry with her head on my chest. I think about all the people who lost their lives this morning or have been crippled. What would their loved ones be doing? If I were dead, what would Avantika be doing? I shudder to think about it. I was almost dead. Or maimed. I feel grateful.
Do Mom and Dad know? I ask her. She shakes her head. They called you?
Yes, she says, still crying. I told them you were in office.
I smile at her. She knows me and my parents so well. My parents live in Muscat, Oman, and they find it very uneasy to live away from me. They miss me a lot, but Dad has work there. Even though I am a big guy now, they are as protective about me as they were when I was a school-going kid. I still remember the fifteen-minute sermon I used to get from Mom and Dad whenever I would go out. Look at both sides when you cross the road, Don t talk to anyone, Don t eat anything that anyone offers. You get the drift. It continued way into my late teens.
Had they heard about this, they would have come rushing to Delhi and never gone back. I don t want that to happen. Avantika and I have been secretly engaged for the past year or so and life is perfect. My parents don t know that. Nor do they know that we live together. They would flip; it is still socially unacceptable. Avantika and I love the thrill of doing something people warn us against. Our judgement and good sense are often clouded by the love in our hearts.
Thank you, I say to her. She smiles back at me. You should rest, she says and I see a nurse enter the room.
The nurse plunges a syringe in the tube attached to my hand and I feel a little sleepy almost instantly. Sedatives, I guess. It lessens the pain, in one s body but not in one s head.
Deb
Yes, baby? I murmur, already half-asleep.
I love you, I hear her meek whisper before dozing off. I love her too, more than she will ever know. She is my world. I open my mouth but I drift off before the words can escape my lips. I love you . As I say these words, I hope that it s not the last time.
When I wake up, I find that the pain has lessened to an extent. I see bloodstained bandages on my head, my arms and my legs. I make my way-with a little help-towards the chambers of the doctor to get a few checks done before they can release me. On my way, I see many people around with far worse injuries than mine, with thicker bandages, smiling and laughing despite all that pain. Some of them are missing a limb or two. It is hard very depressing. Given the present scenario, it is even more so. I cannot wait to get out of here and go home. The walk to the doctor s chambers is really long and I try not to look around me.
Inside the chambers, they carry out some final tests on me, ask me if I m feeling all right, and let me go.
Are you okay? Avantika asks.
It has been an hour since we ve been sitting in the car and I haven t said anything. I ve been looking out of the window and staring blankly at the Delhi flyovers, the bustling markets, the busy streets. My head still resonates from the noise of the blast, the howls of the women, the painful cries of the men. I look and think-which place is next? The Metro station next to my house, the grocery