Club You to Death

by Anuja Chauhan

  ‘So sorry for your loss,’ Bhavani says gravely, as if the general’s wife has died that day and not three years ago.

  Mehra’s hazel eyes grow wistful. ‘She was a saint,’ he says. ‘A real saint! Loved gardening! In fact, the kitchen garden here is dedicated to her memory. There’s a beautiful, engraved plaque: Shrimati Savitri Mehra Udyaan.’

  ‘So nice,’ Bhavani replies. ‘We were there this morning with Bhatti sa’ab. But we did nat observe the plaque.’

  ‘Bhatti wouldn’t have shown you. He doesn’t like me. Because he made such a hash of being home secretary while I was such a success in South Block! Defence Minister Jagmohan Ruia is my very good friend even today. In fact, the party offered me a Lok Sabha ticket. Did I tell you that?’

  ‘Yes. Uh, general sa’ab, one last question. You must have heard all these rumours about Mrs Khurana and Matthew … Do you think Mr Khurana could have been upset enough to poison him?’

  Mehra thinks hard, then exhales noisily. ‘Look, the chap’s unhinged,’ he says bluntly. ‘Desperately sick. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on medication for schizophrenia and bi-polar behaviour! I know everybody’s been saying I’ve been winding him up about Matthew and his wife, but believe you me, Khurana did not need any egging on from my side to perform any of his recent antics – he’s always been like this – there’s always some chap or the other he’s jealous of! Wife’s a real looker, you know! Not much difference between him and young Ganga’s husband, if you ask me, frankly! His wife should not be volunteering for public duty with such an ill man on her hands. In fact, she shouldn’t be running a business either. Her primary duty should be to her home and husband.’

  Bhavani looks confused. ‘We were told he’s a highly successful chartered accountant? With his own firm?’

  Mehra leans in earnestly. ‘Chap like that would be right at home with numbers and accounts! It’s black-and-white stuff – with clear rules and consequences. It’s the human side of things that he would find incomprehensible!’

  ‘You think he did it, Mehra uncle?’ Kashi asks.

  Mehra shrugs carelessly. ‘He’s the most obvious answer to your little problem,’ he says. ‘And in my experience, the most obvious answer is usually the correct one.’

  This is the beauty and wonder and miracle of the institution of arranged marriage, Bhavani Singh thinks as Padam Kumar ushers Urvashi Khurana into Guest Cottage No. 5, that a wet fish like Mukesh Khurana can score a wife like this!

  Because this a special woman – tall, finely made, with a short mop of chic, loose curls he can only describe as French-looking, and a glowing complexion. She is dressed in a pepperminty woollen firan, white track pants and embroidered leather juttis.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she says gravely in a soft, exquisitely modulated voice. ‘I believe you are the ACP?’

  She reminds him vaguely of those elegant ladies in the Pakistani TV shows his wife likes to watch. There’s something refined about her, so much so that she makes you want to be refined too. Bhavani notices that Padam Kumar has put on his most cultured face, smoothed down his pink Rajasthan Royals jersey, and is coyly pushing forward a chair.

  Bhavani gestures towards it invitingly. ‘Yes, madam.’

  She takes her own time sitting down, then looks at him with serious and complete attention.

  ‘And you wished to see me. Why?’

  Her sheer classiness is extremely intimidating, but Bhavani Singh ploughs in doggedly, his plain face as grave as hers.

  ‘Madam, your role in the proposed election for the Club president and the fact that your husband was … umm … assaulted by the murder victim on Tambola Sunday do accord you somewhat special status,’ he says stolidly. ‘Also, the rumour that, forgive us, you and Leo Matthew shared a somewhat special relationship.’

  A ghost of a smile gleams in the grave eyes. ‘Please don’t apologize, ACP. I’m well aware that there are various nasty rumours doing the rounds – in clear contravention of the Club’s election by-laws, by the way – of my lurid affair with dear Leo! Please ask me anything you like.’

  Bhavani gives a quick nod.

  ‘Thank you, madam. So first just the routine questions we are asking everyone. What exactly was the relationship between Leo and you, then?’

  ‘We learnt from each other,’ she replies composedly. ‘We met three times a week for the Zumba class at the Club, after which I helped him with his yoga practice. People who lift a lot of weights – like Leo did – can become inflexible and stiff, so we were working on that. Sometimes we messaged – usually to share videos or music we liked. That’s it.’

  ‘Like this song, madam?’

  He taps on Leo’s phone. ‘Secrets’ fills the room.

  Urvashi smiles. ‘Yes,’ she says calmly. ‘That one too – it’s so cute and retro.’

  His eyebrows rise. ‘No other reason, madam?’

  She looks amused. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like blackmail, madam,’ Bhavani says steadily.

  She gives a perfectly pitched, exquisite little laugh. ‘That’s ridiculous, ACP!’

  ‘Is it? Because right after that song he sent you this link, madam. To an orphanage – and subsequently you sent a substantial donation to them.’

  Now it’s her turn to raise her eyebrows. ‘Badshahpur? But that’s where Leo grew up! We had a long talk about it once … But please could you not tell the Club ladies he grew up there? He was terribly embarrassed about his humble roots.’

  Inwardly impressed by how unflappable she is, Bhavani says, ‘We will do that – but, madam, if he was so embarrassed, how come he opened up to you?’

  She turns her clear open gaze on him. ‘I didn’t fetishize him, ACP.’ Then, seeing his uncomprehending expression, she explains. ‘I didn’t see him as a sex object – I didn’t giggle about his abs or his shoulders. I just related to him as a person, a fellow athlete, and spiritual seeker.’

  ‘Understood, madam!’ Bhavani nods. ‘And the other ladies in the Zumba … Don’t mind, but are you implying that they saw him as just a fetish?’

  She plays with the rings on her fingers. ‘I don’t want to criticize anybody, ACP. Our Zumba class is really very sweet, and the ladies there are mostly harmless – but they are sometimes remarkably immature for women over fifty. It’s like they have purposely infantilized themselves. I find that kind of thing ridiculous.’

  ‘But they’re all very supporting of your candidature in the election.’

  She shrugs. ‘That’s what they say. Building up a business from scratch for the past sixteen years, I’ve learnt that people don’t always mean what they say.’

  ‘And these ladies …?’

  She squares her shoulders. ‘I think they don’t wish me as well as they claim to. I think they wouldn’t mind seeing me fail.’

  ‘But surely they wouldn’t go so far as to poison Leo to do it!’

  She shrugs. ‘They wouldn’t have to. I think the whole Club is in agreement that winding up my husband would be enough to get the job done.’ Her voice is very bitter.

  They sit in silence for a while.

  ‘Madam, the tambola yesterday was your show of strength, you organized everything – and beautifully! Why didn’t you attend it?’

  She sighs. ‘Well, little Bambi had the thoughtful idea of having somebody hold up the numbers for the benefit of the hearing impaired. Leo was really eager to do it – he was quite awed by the Club you know, though he tried to hide it. He only got to see it very early in the morning, when nobody was about, so being on stage in the packed lawns during lunch was a big deal for him. When Leo was nervous he tended to … overcompensate. Strutting and flexing and putting on an accent. I didn’t think Mukesh would like watching that, and I certainly didn’t want to be around to see Mukesh watching that! Especially with all these wretched rumours flying about. Besides, I was exhausted from all the canvassing I’d been doing – no
t asking for votes directly, of course, so crass, but talking about how much I loved the Club and wanted to serve and so on! So I went into that grubby parlour next to the pool and got a pedicure! Of course I regret doing it now – if I had been there I could have stopped the scene from getting so ugly!’

  She shudders slightly.

  ‘Madam, we will keep this very confidential, of course, but is your husband on any kind of medication for a mental condition? Has he been diagnosed with something?’

  Her eyes lose all dreaminess and blaze with sudden anger. ‘Of course not! Mukesh is absolutely sound mentally! Who has been suggesting such a thing?’

  Bhavani throws the general under the bus deftly. ‘Mehra sa’ab did mention something of the sort …’

  She makes a small scoffing sound. ‘Of course. Our local Donald Trump! How could it be anybody else?’

  ‘Donald Trump, madam?’

  Her beautiful eyes glitter with anger. ‘He’s an oaf and a chauvinist! And a lecher! Always hanging around the Daily Needs, harassing the poor girl there! And he wants to hold a beauty pageant at the Club every year! A “Miss DTC” contest if you please!’ She gives a fastidious little shiver. ‘Naturally, all the randy old men are delighted – imagining themselves as judges, surrounded by pretty contestants, all buttering them up!’

  ‘But, madam, he is a war hero.’

  She snorts. ‘He would thrive in a war situation! All crude machismo! Always boasting about how he got his nickname – let me tell you, officer, it suits him! The man has selective hearing! Anything that doesn’t agree with his particular view of the world – women’s rights, aesthetics, people with special needs, LGBTQ rights – he acts like he has never heard of it! He’s a human bulldozer!’

  She pauses for a moment, too overwrought to continue. ‘Actually, all these male presidents – even the best of them, like Devender Bhatti – they just can’t see the DTC for the shining jewel it is. The building is historic. The legacy is historic! They see it as a cosy place to hang with their buddies and swim and play tennis and consume cheap whisky and chicken tikka and leer at each other’s granddaughters—’

  ‘And you, madam, how do you see it?’

  Her eyes start to glow in her almost translucent face. ‘I see it … oh! As a place of tremendous beauty and influence and soft power! You see, ACP, beauty has the power to refine. When people are surrounded by everything aesthetic, they begin to have a genuine, civilized exchange of thoughts and ideas! That is my dream for the DTC – that it will be so beautiful that the best minds will gather here to have free and fearless discussions about art, music, literature, governance, policy—’

  Bhavani’s eyebrows rise internally. The good lady is clearly living in some sort of dreamworld.

  ‘But President Bhatti told us the Club has to toe the government line or they come for all your licences and permissions!’ he points out, cutting her off mid-speech. ‘All this free and fearless exchange of ideas won’t work with them! They’ll cut your water supply or something, madam!’

  ‘Oh that!’ She shrugs, her expression growing inscrutable. ‘That can all be managed.’

  ‘O really?’ Bhavani is greatly interested. ‘How, madam?’

  She smoothens the folds of her firan carefully.

  ‘The IJP government is oafish, ACP. They’re crude and violent and just plain illiterate – but even the crudest minds can be sensitized and refined by consistent exposure to beauty, kindness and yogic meditation. Those are the three tenets on which I have built Chrysanthemum, my lifestyle brand.’

  It sounds more like religion than a brand to Bhavani, but he nods enthusiastically. ‘O yes.’

  ‘People come into the store with money, but no taste. It has been my task to open their eyes … sensitize them to good aesthetics, to refinement, to class. Of course I use the word ‘class’ not in the crude, literal sense!’

  ‘Of course, of course.’

  She fixes her clear glowing eyes on his sympathetic face.

  ‘I hope to do the same with the elite of Delhi! We began all wrong with the IJP government, I feel! We got their backs up. Most of them just have an inferiority complex because they’re small-town bumpkins who resent us for being well-educated and well-off for a hundred years or more! If we had been less patronizing and less snobbish and just … nicer generally – half of the nonsense that’s happening in this city and the country would never have happened!’

  A vision of the Club as Urvashi Khurana would like it to be rises before Bhavani’s eyes. Scented candles, soft cushions, pools of water, the best wines, right-wingers and liberals appreciating Korean cinema or the latest Booker Prize–winning novel together in hushed voices, while the High Priestess of Beauty strides softly through her domain in robes of embroidered white, scattering goodness and light.

  ‘Wah!’ he declares. ‘Your vision is beautiful, madam!’

  She smiles graciously. Then her tone grows a little matter of fact. ‘Instead of despising this one for being uncouth and that one for being a lala, if we give a few, judiciously chosen, influential or wealthy people out-of-turn memberships … educate them about beauty and civilized society, then at least all our licensing and financial woes will be sorted …’ She gives the tiniest of shrugs, letting her voice fade away.

  Bhavani starts to understand the secret behind Chrysanthemum’s success, and why Urvashi Khurana is tipped to win the coming election. It is because she exists simultaneously in a beautiful fantasy la-la land – and a very practical lala land.

  ‘Madam, one last question: who supervised the placement of the balloons in the gym yesterday?’

  Her chin rises. Her husband has clearly told her about the loose balloons that had floated up and obscured the camera.

  ‘I did.’

  The words hang in the air like a challenge. Bhavani lets them.

  Then he leans in and looks the beautiful woman in the eye. ‘Things are not looking good for you, madam,’ he says gently. ‘Or your husband. You decided that balloons should be part of the décor of Tambola Sunday. You instructed that four bunches of gas balloons be placed in four corners of the gym! One of those bunches floated up to block the sole camera in the gym at the exact moment when your husband was there alone, and could have poisoned the flask of Creatine Monohydrate Thampi had prepared for Leo. It is common knowledge that Leo had hit your husband hours before, after a very public disagreement. And now this song has surfaced! Along with evidence of your payouts! A very good case can be made by from joining all these pieces, that you, Urvashi Khurana, were having an affair with your Zumba instructor, that he started blackmailing you with some intimate photos or videos or something, that you finally told your husband about it, and then the two of you conspired to kill the blackmailer to save your standing in society and that you succeeded.’

  She glares at him, white-faced, tight-lipped and absolutely furious.

  He stares back. For a moment it seems to him that she may crack, may break down, may let him in and confide in him, but the moment passes.

  ‘Intimate photos?’ she says finally, with a small, scornful laugh. ‘Do you think I am a schoolgirl, ACP Singh? Or a pathetic, middle-aged woman having a midlife crisis?’ Her chin comes up proudly. ‘I’m an independent, successful, self-made businesswoman and I think with my brain. I would never, ever put myself in somebody’s power like that! And as far as your four bunches of balloons are concerned, anybody with even a minimal knowledge of Chrysanthemum’s design principle would know how fiercely committed I am to four-cornered symmetry! It is at the core of all my designs!’

  He sighs and sits back. ‘So it is your stated position that you were not being blackmailed?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘And if you do your homework properly, you will find that I have been donating money to Badshahpur for decades, much before Leo Matthew arrived on the scene.’

  This is brand new information for Bhavani. He can’t s
top his mouth from falling open.

  ‘O really?’

  ‘Yes, really,’ Urvashi retorts, faint triumph in her voice. ‘Do check. And check my WhatsApp history with Leo too. He has sent me several songs – not just this one. Our conversations were almost exclusively about music and dance and exercise.’

  ‘We will do that at once,’ Bhavani says. ‘My apologies if I have in any way offended you …’

  Urvashi inclines her head graciously. ‘You’re a thorough man, that much at least can be said for you.’

  ‘Thank you! But, madam, don’t mind, but just for one minute, a short time ago, we felt that there was something you wanted to share with us …’

  She doesn’t deny this – just looks at him with careful and total concentration for a moment, then shakes her head decisively. ‘It’s got nothing to do with all this. Can I leave now?’

  9

  An Eye in the Wall

  The final interview for the day, with a very sober and wary Roshni Aggarwal, begins on an uneventful note. She says vaguely that Leo had sent her many songs, ‘Secrets’ being just one of them. When questioned about her donations to the Badshahpur Children’s Village, she gets suddenly emotional.

  ‘Ab what to hide from you,’ she says, tears spilling from her mascaraed eyes and spilling down her bony face. ‘You are the police, you know everything anyway! My son … has some … problems. And when your child has problems, you try to bribe the Gods, so that these problems will go away. Donating to Badshahpur, a place where Leo did some volunteer work, was one such bribe for me.’

  And that is all she has to say on the subject.

  By lunch time, Bhavani is alone in Guest Cottage No. 5, all his interviews done for the day. He sinks into the floral couch, puts his feet up on the coffee table, rakes his hands through his hair, and thinks furiously.

  They are all lying. They have to be. Bambi has already confirmed that Leo was a blackmailer! But how had Leo cottoned on to Bambi’s mother’s secret? Did he have some inside information? We will have to instruct PK to interrogate all the staff at the Todi house …