Chapitre 1: Episode - 1
People write love stories, and people write autobiographies. People write autobiographies that revolve around love stories. And more often than not, these love stories are picture perfect. Girl meets boy, boy eyes girl, girl looks at her friends for approval and gets it, girl reciprocates, silent sighs, sleepless nights, first kiss, a few more sleepless nights, they go against the world and everything falls into place. Boring.
I mean, wouldn't you rather be lying in the arms of your loving boyfriend or girlfriend in
the backwaters of Kerala or Mauritius depending on how lucky you are or how rich your partner is, than reading this book on a Friday night, curled up in your bed with no one to cuddle but your pillow.
But the fact is that you are here, and in all probability know that finding true love is as
difficult as finding a needle in a haystack. But then again, love wouldn't be such a huge
concept and Valentine's Day would just be another day if love was something you could find walking on the subway, or over the counter. Love is not something which you can receive by an email whenever you need it; it is tough finding love. For guys, it's a little easier—give them a nice smile on a nice body and they can fool themselves that they are in love, for a little while at least.
Anyway, as we go finding true love, we all experience turbulence, speed bumps, ugly
turns, tears, tonnes of ice cream, assholes, bitches … but do we stop? We do not. We fall in love repeatedly, hoping that things will turn out just fine this time, and more often than not, they do not. However, if they do, it makes for a great love story. What if it does not?
This book is about when it almost doesn't. And some other unrelated things. Is this my
story? No. But it's the story of someone I know, in his own words. He has been around for six years, and has led one of the strangest love lives I have come across. He has rarely been single and has always been a sucker and a staunch supporter of true love. He has dumped and been dumped countless times. This guy just keeps falling in and out of love. People get into flings knowing that it is going to be a fling. This guy gets into it thinking it's a relationship and only when it's over, he comes out, scratches his head and says. Oh, it was a fling!'
He always believes that love is waiting right around the corner! It will come when it comes; the possibilities are endless.
For him, it has come. Lucky bastard.
This book is his story. That lucky bastard is Joy, my best friend.
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'*Joy … So, now that you finally know what you had been looking for, let's go for it.'
'Go for what?' Joy said as he casually sat with his legs up on the coffee table.
'Tell me all of it. Everything. From the first girl,' I said. 'You had promised you would!'
'NEETI, for the last time around—Firstly, it is boring, not to mention—embarrassing. And secondly, find some other scapegoat for your book!' he said as he pushed me aside to watch a repeat of a soccer match. I snatched the remote and turned it of , inviting a nasty
look from him.
'It's the first time that I have asked you for something,' I said, with my puppy face look.
We, girls, are lucky to have such a weapon, aren't we? Moreover, Joy usually fell for it.
As he did that day.
'Fine. Fine,' he said. 'But I will change names. I will change things as I deem fit. And no details. Maybe I will even lie and exaggerate, and make myself to be a stud instead of the raging nerd that I am. And I will rush through it. She'll be coming any moment and we are going out. And I am not doing this again.'
'Why? That's unfair. You have all the time for your girl and not for me. I knew you before you got to know her, you were my friend before you became her boyfriend. Hmmphf …' I faked anger. 'Take it or leave it!' he said.
' Whatever '
Though my displeasure was evident, he did not budge from his decision, and frankly speaking, I didn't really have much of a problem; I had his attention now. With a couple of cof ees and bagels at hand, he started on the story.
'Tell me everything,' I said.
'Fine. Neeti … It was 1996. And …' Joy started. 'It's a long time back, so I may miss some things and make up stuf that I don't remember …'
And then Joy started narrating the story. His story. And hers*.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone