Free When Only Love Remains by Durjoy Datta Page A

women who are older, more accomplished. Not that he’s an MCP but all the women he has been around with are docile women, so when someone like Karthika comes around, he feels a little overpowered, less of man, and he’s not particularly proud of that.
    ‘How old are you? Seventeen?’ asks Karthika.
    ‘I’m twenty-one,’ corrects Devrat, and immediately thinks that ‘I’m eight’ would have sounded equally childish.
    ‘I’m thirty-two,’ says Karthika.
    Shit. Thirty-two!
    ‘How long have you been in this . . . industry?’
    ‘Feels like forever,’ says Karthika. ‘Best of luck for your recording. Who are you recording it for?’
    ‘A small YouTube channel. They wanted me to sing for them. Sumit arranged for it,’ answers Devrat.
    ‘Shall we record the song now?’ one the technicians asks.
    ‘Sure,’ says Devrat. Karthika follows them inside. She asks Devrat if he minds her staying in the recording room and he says he doesn’t.
    Devrat goes to the room meant for singers, places his lyrics sheet in front of him, and puts on the headphones. As usual, he will be trying to knock the song out of the park in one go and not give it multiple shots like Karthika did. The music is on and he starts to sing. He stumbles on a few lines in the lyrics department, and has to repeat them, but other than that, it’s perfect. In and out in half an hour. During the entire duration of the recording, he tries steadfastly to not look at Karthika. He would have dealt with Karthika with ease had this performance been in a club, had he been a little drunk, had he been a little baked out of his head, but when sane, he doesn’t do well when being judged.
    He comes to the recording room and asks the guys. ‘How was it?’
    ‘Awesome, bro!’ says one.
    ‘You killed it,’ says another.
    ‘It wasn’t good at all, but they will obviously not say that. It makes their lives easier. You book them for two hours and then finish in forty minutes!’ says Karthika. ‘Work shirkers, all of them. Fuck you.’
    ‘Oho, Karthika—’
    They start to protest but Karthika asks them to shut up and asks Devrat where he lives, and Devrat tells her, and she asks if he needs to be dropped home. Devrat nods. Karthika doesn’t slip into conversations, she bulldozes into them.
    Minutes later, they are in her car, a decent Honda City, the older model, bought secondhand from a fan. A fan who later became a boyfriend, who wasn’t even good in bed and Karthika tells him that it was a little creepy because they would only fuck when she sang. ‘Could be harder than you think it is,’ says Karthika and laughs throatily. Her mouth’s open wide enough to fit a few children in. Karthika’s a little disgusting and emasculating but there’s something strangely sexy about her. She’s a like a sexy, pointy-nosed witch.
    ‘Don’t you feel bad about the song you just sang inside?’ asks Karthika.
    ‘Why would I feel bad about it?’ asks Devrat.
    ‘You know . . . it . . . just wasn’t as good. You could have sung a few lines differently than you did. And it would be a much better song,’ says Karthika.
    ‘It doesn’t work for me like that,’ says Devrat.
    ‘You’re cheating your listeners. You should give it the best you can,’ snaps Karthika. ‘Like I do.’
    Devrat is not sure whether he’s attracted to this opinionated older woman, or he’s repulsed. ‘I don’t think it works like that for me. It’s not like any other product that the best notes work the best,’ says Devrat. ‘If I try to sing every note the best I can, I end up losing the emotion behind the word and I start to concentrate on the singing more.’
    ‘Surprise, surprise! You’re a singer, and you’re supposed to concentrate on that,’ mocks Karthika.
    ‘Maybe. Here, right,’ says Devrat. ‘Here’s where I stay.’
    ‘Oh that’s nice,’ says Karthika. ‘Hey! Do you want to go out right now? I can sure have a beer.’
    Devrat shrugs his shoulders and says