Will She Be Mine by Subir Banerjee Read Free Book Online

put it this way- I think you’re more qualified than the rest of us. You should have studied homeopathy medicine.” He noted the look of satisfaction on my countenance and continued appreciatively, “ Yaar , you prescribe like a professional doctor. Your medicine works so well! A formal degree can help you set up a roaring practice.”
    I nodded, but didn’t see any point discussing the merits and demerits of my career, irrespective of whether it was medical or something else. Given a choice I’d have preferred pursuing music or painting for a living.
    I changed the topic. “So, are we ready to head back to the girl’s hostel to complete our recruitment? Or has your fall from the staircase frightened you?”
    “Of course not! We’ll go there again. We both believe in diversity, don’t we?”
    “Can’t say about myself, but you’re an absolutely lusty goat who eyes only diversity.”
    “Okay, okay, think whatever you like- but I’m only considering ways to make our magazine more successful. Otherwise, I have the highest regard for girls,” he said with a lurking smile that belied his words.
    We finally managed to rope in a bespectacled girl doing her PhD, who seemed neglected by everyone else including the girls in her own hostel and turned pale whenever anyone looked at her. PS felt we shouldn't overstaff our fledgling team, and firmly ended the hiring with an undergraduate boy from a junior batch.
    One night as we stood in the dormitory discussing the next steps for our newsletter, it started raining.
    “Let’s sit in one of our rooms to carry on the discussion further,” he suggested.
    I nodded. “Before that, I’ll make a trip to the loo.”
    “Me too.”
    So we both headed to the restroom. After relieving ourselves we stood a moment in front of the washbasin’s mirror appraising our looks.
    “Someone forgot his tube of toothpaste,” PS said, pointing to a big tube lying on the washbasin beside the tap. He took a peek outside at the dormitory and returned with a mischievous smile.
    As if on cue, I caught on, and took a peek inside the shower cabins. There was no one. I looked at him in anticipation.
    “Whatever you want to do, go about it quickly,” I prompted in an urgent tone, glancing over my shoulder. He hesitated for a moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep watch,” I prodded.
    I stood in the doorway keeping an eye on the dormitory, and another on his antics. He quickly uncapped the tube of toothpaste and squeezing it merrily, began writing on the big mirror with the gushing paste, with the air of a professor writing with a piece of chalk on the blackboard in L-7. Finished, he turned around with a smug smile.
    “Hey, you didn’t leave any for me,” I said ruefully, eyeing the empty tube, which he capped and kept carefully on the washbasin just as he’d found it.
    “Next time would be your turn. At that time I’ll keep watch,” he promised and we returned from the loo happily.

    He scripted the plan for the newsletter along with me, based on which both of us handpicked articles for it. Along with the two other students in the editorial board, we gathered statistics of gymkhana spend, departmental annual budgets, interviewed visiting professors on the campus and worked our asses off on all aspects of the publication.
    We students did most of the hard work and running around while Dr. Ranadey and Sheila merely got together once in a while to review our articles and approved the readymade material simply because one was a professor and the other a professor's wife.
    "We got ourselves into this," I told PS one evening. "Sheila is okay. She's dumb but beautiful. I try holding her eyes whenever she looks my way. I think she too likes looking my way while talking.”
    “Don’t live in dreams, RK,” he interrupted. “She looks your way, not at you . I’d call it looking through a person absent-mindedly. That’s a big difference. Possibly she also gazes at the playfield visible from the