Page 24 of Better Catch Up, Krishna Kumar

Rudra grins. “Thanks. That’s the first time someone’s said that to me.”

Wanting to brush away the fact that I justcomplimentedRudra Desai’s style, I quickly shift the topic, “Oh, before I forget—I have a playlist. For the road. It’s all Bollywood songs, though—not sure if that’s your taste. Could I play it?”

“Yeah, of course.” He shrugs. “You could’ve asked before.”

“I didn’t want to impose. You are driving us all the way there, after all.”

As we both get into the car, I mentally let out a sigh of relief, surprised at the turn of events. Rudra is so much nicer than I thought he would be. I just assumed he’d been brainwashed by Priti into always taking her side, but I won’t forget the way he stood up for me. My mind takes me back to the moment at the party yesterday when he handed me the water, genuine concern creasing his face.

I’m touched by his kindness, even if I don’t say it.

“I’ve turned off my Bluetooth,” he says, starting the car. “You can connect yours. It’s, uh... Jimi Hendrix’s Groupie.”

I guffaw so loud Priti takes out an earbud, staring at us. “What’s going on?”

“Ignore the name,” Rudra says, rolling his eyes. He starts pulling out of the petrol pump station and turns the knob of the AC. Thank god, because I’m already starting to sweat. Mumbai is excruciatingly sultry this time of the year. “It used to be just Jimi Hendrix, but Priti decided to change it.For funsies, in her words.”

“Never sayfunsiesever again,” Priti says. “You sound like an ass.”

“You can’t gatekeepfunsiesfrom me.”

“Watch me.” Priti points her finger at him accusatorily. “And can you blame me? You used to beobsessedwith Jimi Hendrix when youstarted playing the guitar. Like, you wouldnotshut up about how he was the most legendary guitarist of all time.”

For a brief moment, the image of a tween Rudra Desai yapping his head off about his favorite guitarist pops into my mind, and I have to admit, it’s kind of adorable.

“So if I have this right,youare the aforementioned groupie?” I laugh.

“Heisthe most legendary guitarist of all time,” Rudra says, resolutely ignoring my question. He drives us back onto the main road. “Besides, if we were to start unpacking the shit you used to obsess over, Priti, this conservation would never end.”

“Oh, shut up.” Priti turns to me. “Is this your playlist?” Her face changes suddenly, as if she’s just realized who she’s speaking to. “Oh, wait, I’m not talking to you.”

I ignore her statement and finally click play. At first, I’m annoyed Priti’s still acting likeI’mthe one that did something wrong, but then Rudra forces her to start navigating, “Dil Dhadakne Do”plays through his terrific speakers, and a calm sets in.

This road trip isn’t off to a great start, but at least I get the sweet relief of AC and have the whole back seat to myself now.

7

The Internet Has Seriously Corrupted Our Generation

Mumbai, Friday

We get on the Mumbai–Pune expressway, and from there it’s a straightforward route to Baner. We plan to stop once at the food mall that falls on the expressway, about fifty minutes before we hit Lonavala, to grab some coffee and use the toilet.

Since I have some relative privacy in the back seat, Ifinallytext Amrit.

@notkrishnakumar

Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t text before. It’s been a long day.

The three dots andseen just nowappear on the footer of the chat so quickly I get whiplash. My heart starts beating really hard behindmy rib cage, and Priti shoots me a death glare right at the moment Amrit’s text pops in.

@amrit_ka_achar

No that’s okay! I knew you were traveling today

Oh, right. I’d forgotten he thought I was on my way back and not on my way tohim. A nervous “ha ha” squeaks out of me at that, making both Rudra and Priti glance back at me.

“Sorry,” I mumble.