They say that in life, sometimes, shit happens. Shit happened to Bloody in the Calcutta metro. Ash turned to him and said, ‘Talaq, talaq, talaq.’ Well, almost. She turned to him and said, ‘I need space, Animesh, please leave me alone. I think I got into this relationship far too early. I’m still wounded. I need time to heal myself.’ Then she burst into tears. That was it.

During the last performance of the play that evening, when the spotlight fell on her, Bloody wished the beam would do more—like dissolve Ash then and there, right in front of her home crowd. Later that night, he crept into the girls’ wing of the hostel they were staying in. He crawled down the length of the passageway and scratched and whined at Ash’s door. There was no response. He wasn’t even sure if he was at the right door. A naked bulb glowed dimly, its purplish light imbuing Bloody’s face with a devilish aura, making him look more crazed than he actually was.

Once back in college, Bloody burst into Viya’s room like a thunderstorm. One kick and he was in. He didn’t knock, he didn’t wait. He could have been a policeman barging into a gangster’s den, except that the people in the den looked more stoned than scared. And Bloody, instead of pulling out an arrest warrant or a gun, pulled out a pair of shorts, whirled it around his head like a lasso, then flung it on the floor in disgust. His voice quivered with rage: ‘Guys, Ash and I have split up.’ This declaration seemed to tire him instantly. He collapsed into the only vacant chair in the room without uttering another word.

The gang inspected Bloody as if he was an alien offloaded by a passing spaceship. Remember, he had not stepped into this room ever since that fateful bolster night.

But today was different. Bloody got up from his chair. ‘Somebody roll me a fucking joint,’ he said to nobody in particular. A joint was immediately handed to him. He took a few drags, choked, sputtered and coughed. People offered tips, rubbed his back. Bansal, the hairy jogger, urged him to never stop trying. Tarun, the avid chemist, explained that the roach had the highest THC content. Nikhil, the resident nurse, offered a glass of water. And Viya, the generous host, offered a fresh joint: ‘Forget that one, man, try this.’

With so many people backing him, failure was hardly an option. Bloody finally managed to inhale some smoke and, more importantly, keep some in. The dope took effect. Instead of calming him down, it got him all worked up. He said he felt used. He kicked two stools, flung someone’s slippers out of the window. He banged his fists on the wall, bringing down a Jimi Hendrix poster. The gang looked at Bloody with new eyes.