On board IndiGo flight 6E766 HYD-DEL

'Faster your seatbelts, please. We are passing through turbulence,' the flight attendant announced.

Eyes shut, I fumbled to find the belt. I couldn't.

'Fasten your seatbelts, sir' the flight attendant personally reminded me. She looked at me like I was one of those dumb passengers who couldn't follow simple instructions.

'Sorry, sorry ', I said. Where was the other end of my belt, anyway? My head hurt from a lack of sleep.

I had spent the whole day in Hyderabad at an education conference and was on the last midnight flight back to Delhi.

Damn, where the hell was my buckle?

'You are sitting on your belt,' the person next to me said.

'Oh, stupid me!' I said, finally clicking my belt shut. My eyes still refused to open.

'Tough flight, isn't it?' he said.

'Tell me about it', I said. 'I need a coffee'.

'No service at the moment --- because of the turbulence,' he said. 'Going for an event?'

'Returning from one,' I said, somewhat surprised. How did he know?

'Sorry, I saw your boarding pass. Chetan Bhagat. The author, right?'

'Right now a zombie.'

He laughed.

'Hi, I am Keshav Rajpurohit.'

An awkward side-by-side handshake followed.

We passed through angry clouds. They didn't like this hand metal object disturbing them. The aircraft ratted like a pebble in a tin. I clutched the armrest, a futile search for stability at thirty-eight thousand feet.

'Nasty, eh?' Keshav said.

I breathed deeply thought my mouth and shook my head. Relax, it's going to be okay, I told myself.

'Isn't it amazing? We are in the big metal box floating in the sky. We have absolutely no control over the weather. A strong gust of wind could rip this plane apart,' he said in a calm voice.

'That's comforting, keshav,' I said.

He laughed again.

Half an hour later, the weather had calmed down. The flight attendants resumed cabin service. I ordered two cups of coffee for myself.

'Would you like one, too?' I said.

'No coffee. Do you have plain milk?' he said to the flight attendant.

'No, sir. Just tea, coffee and soft drinks,' the flight attendant said.

Where did he think he was? A dairy farm? And how old was he? Twelve?

'Tea, then,' he said, 'with extra milk sachets.'

I gulped down my first cup of coffee. I felt like a phone with low battery that had finally met a charger. I rebooted, at least for a few minutes. I noticed the nightsky outside, the stars sprayed across it.

'You look better now', keshav commented.

I turned at an angle to look at him properly.

A handsome face with striking eyes, deep and brown. They looked like they had seen more life that a man his age, which I guessed was around mid-twenties. Even in the dark, his eyeballs gleamed.

'I am addicted to this stuff,' I said, pointing to the cup. 'Not good.'

'Worse things to be addicted to, keshav said.

'Cigarettes? Alcohol?' I said.

'Even worse.'

'Drugs?' I whispered.

'Even worse.'

'Whst?' I said.

'Love.' This time he whispered.

I laughed so hard, coffee spilled out of my nose.

'Deep,' I said and patted the back of his hand on the armrest. 'That's deep, buddy. I guess coffee isn't so bad then.'

He ran a hand thought his hair --- which he wore short, in a military crew - cut ---- and touched the gold stud that glinted in his left ear.

'What do you do for a living, keshav?' i said.

'I teach.'

'Oh, nice. What do you...'

'I am from your college.'

'Really?'

'IIT Delhi. Class of 2013.'

'You just reminded me how old I am,' I said. Both of us laughed.

'Actually, I might have a story for you,' he said.

'Oh no, not again,' I blurted out, and then kicked myself mentally for being so blunt. Exhaustion had made me forget my manners.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude,' I said.

'It's fine,' he said and rubbed his hands together. 'Wrong of me to presume you would want to listen to it. I'm sure people come up to you all the time.'

'Sometimes they do. But I didn't have to be obnoxious. Sorry.'

'It's okay,' he said. He stared at the seat in front of him.

'I'm tired. Mind if I rest?' I said. He didn't respond.

I shut my eyes. I wanted to sleep, but couldn't. The overdose of caffeine and guilt prevented me from dozing off.

I opened my eyes after twenty minutes. keshav was still staring at the seat in front of him.

'Maybe I can hear your story in short,' I said.

'Don't feel obligated,' he said, still looking in front.

Of course, I feel obligated, dude. Especially if you sulk and don't make eye contact.

'Listen,' I said, 'here's the thing. You said addicted to love. So, it's probably a love story. I am tired of love stories. Really, another Chetan Bhagat love story? Such a cliché now. I want to write something else. Not just about two people pining away. Who does that these days, anyway? Nowadays, people don't fall in love. They swipe left and right...'

'It's not a love story,' he said, interrupting my blabber.

'Really?' I said, one eyebrow up. 'And can you please look at me when you talk?'

He turned to face me.

'It is about an ex-lover. But it is not a love story,' he said.

'Ex-lover? You guys broke up?'

'Yes.'

'Let me guess. She broke up. And you still loved her? Wanted to get back?'

'Yeah,' he said, his lips tight.

'And did you?'

He shook his head.

'I couldn't,' he said.

'Why?'

'Leave it. You don't have to listen to me.'

'I am just asking.'

'I am tired. Mind if I rest?' he said. He leaned back on his seat and down came his eyelids. He actually went off to sleep. Damn, you never do that to a writer. You don't make him take late flights, pump him up with coffee, start telling a story, and the. snooze off at a cliffhanger.

I had to shake him by his shoulder.

'What?' he said, startled.

'What happened between you and her?'

'Who? Me and Zara?'

'Is that her name? Zara? Zara what?'

'Zara Lone,' he said.

'So, tell me what happened.'

keshav started to laugh.

'What?' I said, surprised.

'For that I have to tell you the full story, Chetan.'

'So, tell me. Maybe I will write it too '

'You don't have to. Ad I told you, this is not really a love story. You can always write another cute boy -- cute girl romance. Half or quarter girlfriend types.'

I ignored his sarcasm.

'Just tell me the story. I want to know what happened between you and Zara Lone.' I said.

Six months ago

'Stop, my bhai, stop,' Saurabh said, snatching away my whisky glass.

'I am not drunk,' I said. We were in a corner of the drawing room, near the makeshift bar. The rest of the coaching class faculty had gathered around Arora sir. They would never miss a chance to suck up to him.

We had come to the Malviya Nagar house of Chandan Arora, owner of Chandan Classes, and our boss.

'You swore on me you wouldn't have more than two drinks,' Saurabh said.

I smiled at him.

'But did I quantity the size of the drinks? How much whisky per drink? Half a bottle?' My words slurred. I was finding it hard to balance myself.

'You need fresh air. Let's go to the balcony,' Saurabh said.

'I need fresh whisky,' I said.

Saurabh dragged me to the balcony by my arm. When had this fatso become so strong?

'It is freezing here,' I said, shivering. I rubbed my hands together to keep myself warm.

'You can't drink so much, bhai.'

'It's New Year's Eve. You know what that does to me.'

'It's history. Four years ago. It's going to be 2018.'

'Feels like four seconds ago,' I said.

I took out a cigarette packet, which Saurabh promptly grabbed and hid in the pocket. I pulled out my phone. I opened the contact details of my next intoxicant, Zara.

'What did she say that night?' I said, staring at Zara's WhatsApp profile picture. 'We are done, that's what she said. What did she mean done? How can she say we? I am not done.'

'Leave the phone alone, bhai. You may accidentally call her,' Saurabh said. He lunged for my phone. I dodged to avoid him.

'Look at her,' I said, turning the screen towards Saurabh. She had put up a selfie as her DP ---- pouting, hand on waist, the black sari a dramatic contrast to her fair, almost pink, face.

She didn't always have her picture as her DP. Often, she would put up quotes. The 'let life not hold you back' kinds, statements that sound profound but actually mean nothing.

Her WhatsApp display picture was the only connect I had left with her. It was how I know what was happening in her life.

'Who wears black saris? She doesn't look that great,' Saurabh said. He always did his best to help me get over her. I love Saurabh --- my best friend, colleague, and fellow - misfit in this crazy drive called life. He's from Jaipur, not far from my hometown of Alwar. His father works as a junior engineer in the PWD. Like me, he too didn't get placed after campus. Both of us worked our asses off at Chandan Classes, even as we hoped to go out of there ASAP.

'It's Zara. She always looks great,' I put it plainly.

Saurabh shrugged.

'That's part of the tragedy.'

'You think I am mad about her because of her looks?'

'I think you should shut your phone.'

'More than three years, dude. Three crazy, crazy years.'

'I know, bhai. If you promise not to drink anymore, we can go back in. It is cold here.'

'What do you know?'

'That you dated Zara for three years. Want dinner?'

'Screw dinner. More than three. Three years, two months and three weeks to be precise.'

'You told me. Rendezvous 2010 to New Year's Eve 2014.'

'Yes, Rendezvous. That's when we met. Did I tell you how we met?' I said. My feet were finding it harder to find the floor. Saurabh held me tight to prevent me from falling.

'Yes, you have told me. Fifty times,' Saurabh muttered.

'There was a debating competition. She was in the finals.'

'Bhai, you have told this story a zillion times,' he said. I didn't care. He could hear it a zillion times plus one.

A little over seven years ago

Clash of the Titans, debate finals

Rendezvous Fest, IIT Delhi

October 2010

She stood on the left podium. Her upright posture made her look taller than her five feet three inches. She wore a white salwar kameez, and a fuchsia dupatta with silver piping. I should have focused on her debating skills rather than her attire. However, even her debate opponent paused for a few seconds to make in Zara's stunning, model - like looks.

The Seminar Hall stage had a banner with the debate topic: Should public display of religion be banned?

Zara Lone was debating against Inder Das, the reigning champion from Hindu College. Both had reached the finals of Clash of the Titans.

The packed hall was waiting for the duo to make their final rebuttals.

Inder, with his looks kurta, curly hair and rimless glasses, looked like he had walked out of a Bengali art film, one of those where everyone waits for five seconds before the next dialogue.

'Last I heard, we are a free country,' Inder said. 'Our Preamble uses the word "secular". The state will not discriminate or meddle in the profession of any religion. Article 25 through to 28 in our Constitution guarantees freedom of religion.'

Damn, people know the articles of the Constitution? I didn't even know the Constitution had something called articles. I had no view on either side of the debate. I only wanted Zara to win. I wanted to see her smile.

Zara raised her hand to object. However, she had to wait her turn as Inder wouldn't stop.

'Article 25 says, and I quote,' Inder said and paused, fumbling through his notes.

When people say 'I quote' and pause, they come across as scary - level intellectuals . Let's face it, nobody wants to mess with the 'I quote' types.

Inder spoke again, or rather quoted.

'All persons are equally entitled to freedom of conscience and the right to freely profess, practise, and propagation religion.' He paused again for us to digest that. 'Miss Zara Lone, you are arguing not only against our culture, but also against the Constitution. You not only want to take away our Diwali celebrations, you want to break the law, too.'

He finished his speech and tossed his notes aside in disgust; I could smell his pomposity from where I sat. Inder shook his head, as if to say, Why are we even debating this?

The crowd broke into applause. I had a sinking feeling. Would Zara lose?

All eyes turned to Zara. She waited for the applause to die down before she spoke.

'My opponent seems to have a good knowledge of the Constitution. I compliment him for that,' Zara said. Inder smiled.

'However, ladies and gentlemen, we are here to discuss the right thing to do, not just quote Construction clauses we can Google in two seconds.'

The audience sat up straight. This petite fireball was not going to give up so easily.

She continued, 'The Constitutional is the foundation of our republic, but it can be changed. Have we not made Constitution amendments?'

Zero decibel silence in the hall.

'So the issue here is not what is written, but what needs to be written,' she said.

'Yes, superb! Shabash,' I blurted out alone. My voice echoed in the silent hall. Damn, I had thought more people would applaud. The entire audience, including Zara Lone, looked at me.

'Thank you.' She smiled at me.'But save it for later.'

The five hundred - odd audience burst into laughter. The serious vibe thawed a little, even as I went stiff. I wanted a power cut, absolute darkness and complete invisibility so I could run out of the hall. Zara went back to her argument.

'My friend only quoted Article 25 partially. Article 25 does say that all persons are equally entitled to freedom of conscience and the right to freely profess, practise, and propagation religion, but it also says, "subject to public order, morality and healthy". How did my esteemed opponent miss out on that?'

'So, if it bothers others', Inder said, interrupting Zara, 'as a Muslim, would you stop the azaan from being called on loudspeakers five times a day?'

'Yes, I would'.

The audience let out a collective gasp. A Muslim girl saying this on stage had everyone's attention. Unfazed, Zara continued. 'You can still pray five times a day. Maybe have an app to remind you on your phone. Listen to the prayers on headphones. But don't impose them on the whole neighborhood. And I would appreciate it if you didn't say things like "as a Muslim". I am not here as a Muslim, I am here as a finalist in the Clash of the Titans debate competition'.

The applause was deafening. A few minutes later, one of the faculty members from the judging panel went up to the podium to announce the results.

'The debates were excellent today. However, to argue for restricting displays of religion is difficult all over the world, let alone India. You had the harder side, Miss Zara, and you defended it with logic and poise. Hence, the winner for this year is Miss Zara Lone.'

A standing ovation followed. Zara came to accept the trophy. I clapped like a maniac. A fellow hostel - mate egged me to whistle. Did I tell you I had the loudest whistle in IIT Delhi? I put my right thumb to my index finger in an 'O' shape and brought it to my mouth.

Tweeeet! My whistle, loud and shrill, suited a football stadium More than a debating contest. Many intellectual types turned to me again, wondering why such a crass person has been allowed in here.

My whistle cought Zara's attention. She looked at me, trophy in hand, and smiled. I pulled out my fingers from my mouth.

'Dude, easy. She is your girlfriend or what?' a guy next to me said

No, she isn't, but she will be, I wanted to say. After all, the universe had already decided it.

I stepped out of the hall and walked towards the food stalls.

'Thanks for the cheering.' I froze on hearing her voice.

'Zara?' I said, turning around.

'Yeah. Nice college. Are you from here?'

'Delhi College of Engineering. Missed IIT by a few marks. Not smart enough.'

'You demolished him in there. You are definitely smarter than me.'

We walked out on to the main road, which was down with food kiosks due to the festival.