DURJOY DATTA was born and brought up in New Delhi. He completed a (With Maanvi Ahuja). Oh Yes, I'm It was the second-best place after the gym I had set up a couple of months . My parents were divorced and we were never on .. he had my kind of money, cars and everything else, he would be dating Deepika. Durjoy Datta(born 7 February ) is an Indian novelist, screenwriter and entrepreneur. (co-authored with Maanvi Ahuja) was released by Srishti Publishers in while he was still in college. In August and Durjoy Datta. After graduating from MDI, Gurgaon, in , he co-founded Grapevine India Publishers. Men, women, children, i don't collar who's reading this eharmony post. and durjoy datta dating after divorce maanvi ahuja and durjoy datta dating after divorce.
Durjoy lives in New Delhi, loves dogs and is an active CrossFitter. For more updates, you can follow him on Facebook www. Currently gappaa dot org residing in Mumbai, she works as an investment banker at a leading banking firm. To know more about her, you can mail her at maanviahuja gmail. I Love you Rachu Dear Frnds pls spread this msg until its reach to my rachu I thinks she knows my name Ebook Downloaded from: I Just Kissed Someone Else!
And So Is My Girlfriend! This is perfect, I kept telling myself. It had been twelve hours on the trot. It had been a long day and I was ruing the moment I had asked her out tonight. I had missed all my classes that day, all in vain.
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For starters, she could fry my bloody head and chomp it down. No doubt, she would order her third cocktail that evening to wash it down. Now if only she would get tipsy, start seeing things in double and eventually be oblivious to my rendering her clothes useless. I might be a jerk, but many guys would agree with me on this: I hoped it would work this time, though it was the millionth time that day and she had not even blown a kiss, let alone do it real time.
I wondered why I had decided to be in love with her. I could have lived with the tag of an ugly but lucky jerk with a one-track mind. For a guy who looked as bad as I did, it was surprising that I had dated a few girls before Smriti. However, none of my relationships worked and apparently every break-up was my fault. This time, I had vowed that I would make it work.
Because I was tired of the nonsense being said about me. That I had no respect for women. I was losing every bit of credibility on the dating scene. Soon, no friend who would set me up with anybody, which itself happened very rarely. Being a perennially struggling-to-save-money-for-dates student of a nerdy engineering college, in my world relationships were more than about partying each night and drinking oneself to sexual inability.
People around me wanted love, care and long conversations, whatever that meant. It was time I fell in love. I had to find somebody to love. Or at least somebody I would not hate after the first few weeks. Smriti fit the bill.
I was lucky I got her. She was not too hard to handle and was low on maintenance. But the most important thing—she was busy. As a medical student, she did not have a lot of time to spend on long phone conversations. She was a little too fair and a little too thin, compared to my bulky five-foot-ten frame, and consequently a little less endowed in the places I would have liked. But what the hell, she was beautiful. Not like the ones you would fantasize about till you were blue and frothing at the mouth, but the kind you would take home to your mom.
Although in our case, I could never imagine that happening. Something kept her from reaching the dizzying heights of dollish beauty. It was either her smile that extended from ear to ear, making her look like the little pug from a television commercial, or her slightly long, crooked nose.
Whatever it was, there was something wrong about her. I guess I would find out in due time and find her not likeable. For now, I had to concentrate on getting her to kiss me. I was not in a position to comment on something such as looks, anyway. The only redeeming feature on my face was the patch of unmanaged beard that covered my chin and took away attention from the below-average features I had managed to crowd my face with.
The unruly mop of hair on my head helped too. The basic idea was to hide as much of my face as possible. Okay, well, I had a dimple, too, but more or less, I was ugly.
It had been almost a month since Smriti and I had accepted that we loved each other, but so far there was no physical proof to back it. We had not even kissed. However, a night-out was exactly what I needed to weave my magic, and weave her clothes off her.
If I failed, I would tell myself it was pure, untainted love that I was after. As 50 Cent preached in one of his songs—Be a Gentleman. It was tough, though; she was not letting me be a man. Gentle, I never was. Anyway, I had managed to put my arm around her and land a peck on her cheek during the wretched movie we watched earlier, gold-class plus popcorn.
Moreover, the peck was so woefully devoid of passion, it could have graced a greeting card rather than a Cosmopolitan centrefold. How was I supposed to know she would find The Chronicles of Narnia so interesting that she would fail to notice the stolen kiss on her cheek?
She was a doctor, all right. But not a vet! Definitely not Dr Doolittle. Nightlife in Delhi in those days was pathetic, to say the least. I suspected even a tribal region in Sikkim showed up more on the US military radar systems than Delhi did. Comesum was where all the inexpensive nightouts invariably ended, amidst lots of pathetic food and mosquitoes. Nevertheless, its large and empty parking space and low do-not-disturb bribe rates excited me, and many others who spent the night acting funny behind tinted car windows.
Sex was engulfing every part of Delhi, having long replaced television as the favourite pastime. The only people who refused to accept it were the ones not doing it. However, it was all around. The geeky girl in your class, the stud, the backbencher Sardar—however incapable you might have thought them to be, morally or physically, they were all doing it.
If you had a girl, then you would be doing it. Sex was everywhere—schools, office backrooms, movie halls and parking lots. Secluded places were paradise. Illegal though they might have been, tinted car windows were in. In a few years, not having a girlfriend became as odd as having one had been, a few years back. Still, I did not blame Smriti for her naivety.
It just has a few drunken local brats dancing. After all, it is your treat. I had to shoot either the plan down or myself. After about a million detours, we finally reached the place where I hoped all my hard work for the day and the few weeks preceding it would pay off.
I told myself not to expect anything because I was so damn much in love, after all. I could feel it seeping out of my skin. I had started wondering what options she had if I were to abandon her in a desolate street at 3 a. It costs money and I was barely above the poverty line. I wished someone would tell her that. Well, actually, I did mind paying. For guys like us, with limited means, dating is like playing Russian roulette. High risk, high gain.
I was running out of luck. But then, girls make the world go round, and I was no different. My eyes started roving around the complex as we gulped down the slimy, sweet thing she had ordered. It was a two-storeyed building and most people sat outside. It opened primarily for railway passengers and not drunk party revellers.
Anyone who ran out of money, got thrown out of a club or got too drunk, landed up here. So we would have here a mix of short skirts and long, flowing ones but mostly short! Delhi girls never dress conservatively, making it a pleasure to ogle them.
I had no fashion sense and anything that started below the navel and ended above mid-thigh was fine by me. Exposure is always in vogue! There is nothing more refreshing than a pair of welltoned, attractive legs. Suddenly, I heard a lot of girls bitching to their boyfriends in tight T-shirts about other girls who wore shorter skirts or heavier make-up. Those girls could have fired up a power station to full capacity. It just worsened my already sky-high testosterone levels. I tried to finish off the ice cream quickly, as it had been a pain watching her chew it down to atomic levels before swallowing.
Girls have an internal heating system that is activated once they put on a short dress or an off-shoulder. What is that supposed to mean? Is that a yes? Can we please cut the crap and make out? At least kiss, damn it! I guess she was getting some kind of a sadistic pleasure in teasing me. I think all girls do. I started walking towards the parked car, hoping she would follow. For the first time that night, I was being headstrong and manly.
I definitely knew what I wanted: I was curious to know what it would be like to kiss her. I took the first few steps and paddled my hands around me to hold her by the waist but my hands caught nothing but air.
The night just kept getting longer. At this point, I was destructively angry but I had to stay focused. As we walked towards the car, I handed over a hundred-rupee note to the moustached security guard. It was a worthwhile investment. I could already feel my hormones kicking into action. I pulled up my jeans and walked swiftly towards the car. The problem with low-waist jeans is that when you walk, it is always as if you have a helmet stuck right between your thighs and if you have mammoth thighs like me, God help you.
Yeah, I was a little healthy and majorly detestable. Her skirt looked even shorter and more alluring from behind. Yeah, I was being a cheap pervert.
But then, every guy goes through this phase! She was playing around. If she had, she would have offered to go Dutch, or at least paid for her own ice cream. I might have refused, but she could have offered! As soon as we settled down in the car, I got the elementary step wrong. It had been quite some time since I had stared at a real naked girl and I was dying to do it that night.
I had started to rub my nose against the nape of her neck, which was meant to send her into the throes of a hormonal overdrive. It was strange because I had never had my way with girls in the past. Girls always found me repulsive in that department.
What do you mean? She was in control? Something in that tone was incredibly inviting. I wanted her bad now. I sunk back into my seat, wondering if there was any porn left to download. I wished I were in Mumbai or Bangalore. Delhi girls are tough, Shrey had once told me. She looked at me as if she was expecting me take out a pen and start making a list on a mile-long piece of toilet paper. Love is what I feel for you, pure and untainted. With you, I feel different, I feel special, wanted. I feel loved and I long to make you feel the same.
You make me feel so … You complete me, Smriti. It nearly sounded spontaneous! I love you too. You are not as bad as my friends tell me. A little lower, a little lower, just a little lower, damn it! We talked about unnecessary things for what seemed like an eon.
I was just an average bloke praying to get lucky with his girlfriend. Sex was too far-fetched—Obviously! Not too much to ask for, I suppose. Of course, I loved her too.
Somewhere between the interesting conversations, I dropped off with my head resting on her shoulder. It had been a long and expensive day. I slept, wondering if I would feel awake enough the next morning to attend the mechanics of solids class. Suddenly, I felt something against my cheek, something nice and delightfully wet. She was kissing me.
Durjoy Datta proposed to his girlfriend on Twitter. Will she say yes was the question, and she did.
I tried hard to stay still, to see what she would do. I opened one eye and saw a bit of my cheek disappearing inside her mouth and being slathered all over by her tongue. I woke up wondering what I had missed. And then she let go. She kissed me as if it was her last kiss, grabbed my hands and placed them over her breasts as she moaned ecstatically, and ran her hands all over my chest and even lower.
It had started to feel real good; I slipped my hand inside her T-shirt, and trailed my fingers up her back to whatever she was wearing inside. I was just about to unhook the joys of being a man, when she stopped me. I aimed for the stars. Clothes can be a pain. We will save the rest for later. I had a major physiological problem in my pants but she was no longer interested.
Now what was I to make of it? I had done reasonably well, to think of it. It was officially our first night-out and the fifth date and to have managed all that I had until then was commendable. It came at a price, but who cared? I was no longer angry. I took heart from the fact that she had said that we would not do everything at once.
That probably meant we would do it but not at once. It was getting easier to love her. She left me with some big mosquito bites on my neck. If mosquitoes ever grew up to the size of dogs, that is. The kisses were great, so I decided I would continue loving her. Smriti was turning out to be amazing in all the visual and tangible assets and I loved it. As I drove home, I tried to think of an explanation for those love bites.
Mom would definitely ask about those marks if she saw them. I roamed around in ancient turtlenecks for the next few days. I was shallow and I knew that. I loved being so and I knew many guys who would have loved to swap places with me. The fifth semester results were out. This was January My class rank is eighty on hundred. But she had always been like this— straightforward and ruthlessly undiplomatic.
And yes, it had been two months, and things were not the same any more. Relationships deteriorate; mine just did a little faster. Every relationship has an expiry date. We did a lot of things together but much of it fell short of my expectations. She had started acting like a little kid in a big city with no one else but me. However, the charm had fizzled and instead my classes became too important to miss.
I hated her prolonged kisses that exhausted her beyond twenty orgasms. Yes, we had stamina problems. Let us celebrate; I just blew up my semester exams.
I may not get a job after college. We talk a hell of a lot more than that.
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And what about the messages I send? You never reply to my messages. You have time to talk to Vernita. You never call; I do. Her tear glands were on their mark. You will never understand this. My college marks are important, damn it. I am close to being screwed and all you think about is yourself, your dates and your calls and the goddamned messages. It is better to shift blame than try to fight it.
It also meant a licence not to take her calls for the next few hours. Smriti loved long, never-ending texts and expected them to have the same effect on me. I hardly read those messages. I knew I was being harsh on Smriti. But something had to be done. If things were breaking down, she had to take the blame for it too.
She had to be bad in some way. The break-up had to result from mutual frustration and incompatibility. It was a congenital disease. I had to talk to her for four hours a day and give her the minutest details of everything I had done in the course of the day. It had started to get on my nerves. She had shut out all her friends and begun devoting every minute to me!
Worse, she wanted me to do the same. Those glistening, marble-white legs now seemed to have stretch marks marring them and her petite breasts seemed to have retreated into her body. I noticed all that. Too bad if nobody else did. And to top it all, she was wrecking my college performance too. The relationship was killing me. Going on like this was against the very laws of nature. How was the result? Shrey, with his tanned complexion, as he put it, and curly, bushy hair, which according to him had been perennially in vogue since the seventies, was immensely cool.
He had gone to the hostel to catch a nap between classes but had not returned for any. Shrey was the kind of guy who gets on your nerves the first few times you meet because of his theories about life, IQ, education, poverty, progress, engineering, even girl psychology! They are all bullshit. Shrey had stopped caring about his semester marks long ago.
To be precise, it was the day we took our first semester exams. He had already studied enough. That was sad, as he had several high-powered processors embedded inside that noodlehair-covered head.
The big problem with him? He wanted to be everywhere and be everything. I think he even smiled. I so envied him. I would have shat in my pants had I scored like him. We are meant for bigger things. Are you going somewhere tonight? Though a day scholar, he was often mistaken for a hosteller for he spent most of his time flitting from the JCB Jagdish Chandra Bose hostel to the BMH Barah Mihir Hostel to others, in search of a better bed to crash on or a better computer to crash into.
He had flunked two exams and was short on attendance in the current semester, but that would change nothing in his schedule. He would still go out that night.
Not only did he manage to smile in the face of adversity, he had the balls to poke at it with alarming frequency and audacity. The girls are waiting. Is there somebody else, too? I have to rush now. I bet they are the best in Delhi. But that certainly did not stop him from exploring newer, fresher vistas. He had dated a few girls on the side, too, while he was in a serious relationship with Vandana. It was a simple equation for him —keep one constant, and vary the others.
Girls were his second love. His first love had always been engineering science, particularly big laboratories and Wikipedia! The softness, the melt-in-the-mouth texture … oh man! It is awesome, dude.
You have to develop a taste for mutton kebabs and that takes time. Poor Vandana, she would have to agree with him too.
Durjoy Datta - Wikipedia
Vernita completed the core trio. All three of us were nerdy enough to drag ourselves to a decent engineering college but non-nerdy enough by choice or by nature to be suffocated by it.
All three of us perennially envied the lives of students in non-professional colleges. The grass is always greener, prettier and hotter on the other side of the fence. Usually, I either ended up dating or disgustingly hitting on my female friends with disastrous resuslts. Vernita and I had come close to doing it once but I realized it was just me!
She never had those intentions. Vernita was really short and good-looking. She had a long face with sharp, pointed features accentuated by her creamy white complexion. However, what stood out was her loud and overtly sexy sense of style. She was like those seductresses in animated movies who wore black dresses with really long slits.
The voluptuous Indian curves and gorgeous features that she was endowed with were the reasons why we became friends in the first place. Shrey, for the first few days in college, had stalked her like a maniac. She was too hot to be ignored. Eventually, both of us had stammered and stuttered our way into her life, though she made it clear that neither of us had any chance with her and that she thought we were jerks. She had a history of boyfriends and a couple of pregnancy scares in the past. I tried to hit on her during first year but she was too smart for my unpolished charms and unflattering looks.
It is always easy being the second or the third boyfriend. Making the girl shed her inhibitions the very first time is such a pain! Nevertheless, I found her endlessly charming. Failing at both meant that you were socially ill-equipped. She wore a white Esprit T-shirt that clung to her best assets.
A slight rip and the tee would have split all the way down the middle. I was lucky to see her every day and unlucky to have seen her only with her clothes on. A sight like her was a rare thing in an engineering college such as ours. You are not the only one with short attendance here. We attended all our classes while the students of other hallowed branches—IT, computers and the like—wasted away their time at the nearby coffee shops or on the college lawns.
But at the end of four years, they were the ones who lapped up all the high-paying jobs. All they did day in, day out was sit in front of the computer and write lines of code. No lathes, no welding shops, nothing. On the other hand, we were blessed with the most frustrated and sadistic lot of teachers, none of whom had completed their PhDs in less than a decade. They were the dumbest of the lot. Nevertheless, given their limited intelligence and knowledge, their urge to teach was exemplary.
It takes a brave man to pretend he is wise when he is not. The combination of these teachers, the lack of girls Vernita was the only one in our class! The heaviest drinkers, smokers and dopers of the lot! And when some of us, defeated by life, go on to become professors, the vicious cycle goes on! The class went as usual. The frontbenchers jotted everything down, the students in the middle rows pretended to write what the professor said and the backbenchers slept, talked, or texted on their phones.
Things have been a little rocky. I never went into the details because I have never completely understood what ticks off women. Both of them tried to make me understand but I never got it. Even the most intelligent men find it hard to understand why girls fight. And I was just a dumb guy. I really want to be with her but things are not going well.
I got a damned sixty-two. Smriti would never know that I had lied about my marks or that I had improved over the last semester, with a good five per cent increase.
JCB was the most notorious hostel that year because of these two guys. Every few days, they would catch some innocent guys, make them throw a big booze party on some pretext and turn the washrooms in the hostel into a puke dump. Let us go to a coffee shop or watch a movie. Why drive all the way there? Are you coming along? They were small-town guys—one from Ludhiana and the other from Jalandhar—and not quite the smoothest, but they complemented each other perfectly. The huge, muscled Virender with his stand-up acts and the thread-thin Yogender with his cutting one-liners did pretty well together.
It was hard to imagine them without each other. And just like every other guy I hung around with, they were obsessed with, well, you know! Viru and Yogi usually tagged along with us whenever we went out somewhere. Moreover, they knew as long as Vernita was in the scheme of things, there would be free alcohol which was a change from their Iodex and cough syrup highs. There is nothing out there. They had already made up their minds.
When Shrey suggested something, everyone assumed it would be something cool to do. The only incentive of going to an amusement-cum-water park was seeing Vernita in a skimpy bikini.
I knew she would not wear anything like that, but the one-in-a-million chance was motivation enough to say yes. The wetter she was, the better she was. Moreover, amusement parks were places I could actually prove to be a greater man. As a kid, my sister and my father used to taunt me every time I backed away from the prospect of being flung out to hell from those huge rides!
But eventually, I got used to them. Now, it was fun to prod big guys who turned blue and vomitted on scary roller coaster rides. It was February and it was getting warmer. However, not warm enough to be in Splash, the amusement-cum-water park. But we still went there because Shrey wanted to do something different.
Normal life is always too boring for him. We entered the amusement park section and saw that most of the rides were hanging together by a thread of rust. It looked like it had been lying abandoned for a decade. Both Shrey and I—we weighed in the mid eighties—decided against subjecting the already crumbling rides to the unconquerable forces of our mammoth thighs and bulky asses.
We chose the water rides instead. We hired swimming costumes that were supposedly free size but were anything but freeing. They almost squeezed my balls into one bigger one. I was getting tired of looking around every time to check if anybody was watching before I could pull out the costume, which kept burying itself deep inside the crevice between the two huge masses of flesh that jutted out from my back.
One could have studied human anatomy and the reproductive organs of men by looking at me or Shrey. Makes me want to restructure all my sentences," and to avoid misunderstanding, clarifies saying "We are already getting married people. Let me do something sweet for her? I have consent for me bullying. People have started congratulating the author on Twitter. Durjoy Datta durjoydatta February 23, Durjoy also tweets a screenshot of a text her sent her this morning.
It is too much "aww" again! This is the drab text i sent her this morning. You like my parents more than you like me," Let's be honest.
You like me parents more than you like me. He has now tweeted a photo of him and his "one love" saying he was supposed to ask her out during 'that' trip, but didn't since people were watching. He exclaims "Twitter was made for people like me," Ws suppsd to ask her out in this trip but ppl were watching. Twitter ws made for me. This is how he reacted. Durjoy Datta durjoydatta February 23, An important test for your partner is impressing your friends.
Avantika has clearly done that. My friends love her. Often more than me. That's why I'm always holding the camera. Keeping the Bengali in him alive, Durjoy tweeted that one line we all have used, and probably the only sentence in Bengali we know. Aami tomake really bhalo bhashi! Just land already Avantika. People are looking at me strange. Thank you for everyone who joined in! She's about to land! Since we began our live blog here, various media houses have started covering this, and amid those, Chetan Bhagat got burnt.
Durjoy Datta durjoydatta February 23, The author has tweeted saying Avantika called from a number that has no internet. So she has not seen all that happened yet. He also shared a photo on Twitter.
Is this the placard? She just called from a number that has no internet. Have this tho to catch her attention.