I Am afraid of heights of all kinds—valleys, mountains, rivers, railway station bridges and

even relationships make me sick. And today I am going to experience all of them.

‘Krishna, come fast, we will miss the train!’ Mom shouts, breaking my train of thought.

‘I would be glad if I could,’ I mutter, putting on my dark brown blazer.

One more addition to my Hate List is this goddamned winter season. I am very sensitiveto getting a bad cough in this season and I cannot bear the chill. So I have put as manywoollens in my bag as on my body.

Here comes the auto rickshaw.

‘Come, come, everyone get inside,’ Dad says.

‘What the hell, Krishna! How many clothes have you stuffed in your bag? It is way too

heavy!’ screams Anoop, my brother.

‘Don’t worry, I will take my luggage myself. You don’t have to bother about it.’

I immediately regret the sentence after saying it. It is heavy! Uff!

Soon we are in front of a big—no, actually a monstrously huge—railway bridge.

‘Okay, I can do this.’

I try to be a brave girl. I am not going to look down. But the combination of loudly

hooting trains and my immense fear of heights makes the situation more horrific. When itcomes to heights, I can be a total freak.‘Here are our seat numbers,’ says Mom when we board the train.

I take my laptop and climb on to the upper berth. As it is an all-night journey, everybody

will be asleep soon and I am going to watch the Korean movie My Little Bride. I love

romantic Korean movies.

By the time it’s 3 a.m. I feel sleepy. But first I have go to the loo, so I just wait for the

train to stop at any station. That’s one more addition to my list of phobias—I cannot go to

the loo when the train is moving. Now you must be getting a clearer idea of my freakishness.

I doze off later. Then suddenly it’s raining and I’m all drenched; a wave of water comes

to drown me and I’m awake!

‘Holy shit, Anoop! Are you ******* out of your mind!’ It turns out to be part of a dream,

and Anoop was trying to wake me up by pouring water on my face.

He laughed stupidly and said, ‘We are almost about to reach Ambala.’

Yes, we are going to our village which is located in Ambala. It’s always been very

exciting for me to go there but this time it’s a little different. I am going to face my fear of

relationships.

We are going to meet D.S. Sharma Uncle and his family. And I am sure of the real reason

we are meeting the family—they want me to marry Sharma Uncle’s one and only son who

lives with them in their farmhouse. Their family is very affluent but I never wanted a manwho lives in a remote area and is a farmer. I think he must be barely a graduate—a narrow-minded control freak. Men in villages want housewives, not working girls.

The train arrives at the station. Coolies are competing to get into the train. Everybody

rushes out of the train except me. I am struggling with my bag and suddenly I tumble on tothe platform, head over heels. Shit! I just fell from the train. God! Can I do this any better?

****, ****, **** …

Before I can manage to get up myself, a hand comes through the crush of bodies to my

rescue. Without looking at who it was who offered to help me get up, I grab that hand andpull myself up. Having stood up, I immediately start brushing my clothes. Then I look up tothank the man who helped me … I’m struck dumb. He is dangerously handsome.

‘Thank you.’ This is all I manage to say.

He is wearing a white kurta–pyjama. The top buttons of his kurta are unbuttoned. His

perfectly trimmed muscles can be seen; his biceps give the perfect shape to his arms. Is henot feeling cold? May be he is already too hot.

Suddenly his voice breaks the spell, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, thank you again,’ I say, hesitant and embarrassed.

‘How many times I have to tell you to be careful!’ chides Mom.

My brother is laughing as usual. Now he has got my ‘new train scandal’ to talk about for

at least this month.

I then realize that Sharma Uncle’s family has been there all this time. And the handsome

man is none other than his one and only son. I still don’t know his name. Now this is more

embarrassing.

‘Please give me your bag,’ he says softly.

‘No, I can manage,’ I muttered.

‘Yes, I have seen that already,’ he grins as he almost snatches my bag from me.

Soon we are in their car—an Endeavor. It is cozy inside. He is driving the car and I can

feel butterflies in my stomach. I still don’t know his name.

Finally we have arrived at the farmhouse. It is beautiful, completely surrounded by

nature. The entrance gate is covered with some kind of flowering creeper. There is a

nameplate: SHARMA’S RESIDENCE. The building itself is breathtakingly gorgeous. Couldthere be anything else that one can want in life?

We are in our separate rooms now. I am feeling very sleepy so I just snuggle under my

quilt and sleep.

When I wake up, it’s dark outside. Looking out the window, I’m trying to recollect my

thoughts and then I realize that this is not my room. I get up and go downstairs to the main

hall.

Everybody is there having dinner. Crap … I realize I slept all day.

‘Come, dear, have dinner,’ said Aunty.

Mrs Sharma is a beautiful lady and anybody can see where her son gets his good looks

from.

Mr Perfect is also there, sitting beside my mom and talking about his work. Huh, what

attitude … He didn’t even notice me? As if I care …After dinner, we return to our rooms. Now everybody is going to sleep when I’m wideawake …

Thank God I have my laptop with me.

Somebody knocks at the door. ‘May I come in?’

Somebody knocks at the door. ‘May I come in?’

‘Yes,’ I answer,

And here he is—Mr Perfect.

‘Mom has asked if you need anything.’

‘No, thank you,’ I say, smiling.

He is about to leave when he suddenly turns and asks, ‘What are you doing on your

laptop?’

‘Nothing, just watching a movie.’

‘Can I join you?’

‘Oh! Okay,’ I say. I’m surprised, especially after how he totally ignored me at the dinner

table.

‘Korean movie, haan … That too romantic?’ he says, grinning.

‘I like romantic Korean movies,’ I say abruptly.

‘Don’t you have horror movies?’

Okay, I got you. You are trying to flirt with me. Although, I think, he has succeeded to

some extent. I am impressed.

‘Yes, I have them, but it would be better if you don’t watch it with me. I scream while

watching horror movies although I don’t even watch most part of the movie. I cover my eyes all the time so that if any thing shitty happens I can close my eyes immediately.’

‘Okay, then let’s watch your romantic Korean movie,’ he says, grinning again.

‘By the way, what is your name?’ I ask.

‘You don’t know my name?’ Now he does not seem very pleased.

‘We didn’t have a moment to get properly introduced before,’ I explain.

‘Hmm … Okay … My name is Daksh,’ he says, stretching out his hand towards me.

‘And I am Krishna,’ I say, reaching out to shake his hand. As I touch his hand, a quiver runs through my body. His hand is warm, in sharp contrast to my cold hand.

It is always risky to watch romantic movies with parents or with a hot guy like him.

Suddenly, the hero and heroine are getting closer on the screen, and I begin to feel very

conscious, even embarrassed. I try to move so that I can fast forward the movie, but I just

cannot. Now they are kissing each other ferociously. The hero unzips the heroine’s skirt and moves his hands all over her thighs. The heroine then helps the hero to unbutton his jeans, after which the hero mounts her, and is then inside her. And after both of them are fully exhausted, they fall into bed and hug each other tightly. The hero kisses the heroine gently on her forehead. Oh … this forehead-kissing scene is my favourite. And thus the movie goes on.

Slyly, I try to peek at Mr Perfect’s face. He is calm but I can see his facial muscles

clenching as he tries to hide his smile.

The movie finishes at 1 a.m. He gets up to leave.

‘Goodnight, Krishna.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Perr … err … Daksh.’

Narrowing his eyes, he leaves the room.

The next morning I get out of my room, brush my teeth, pick up my sneakers and head out

to the fields. It is a very cold, foggy December morning, so I’m wrapped up in thick

woollens.