Bikram nodded. “Yeah, give me one then. So, when are the other guys coming in? When did you say Suresh finished?”
Suresh was Raghav’s cousin. Bikram had seen him often enough at Raghav’s back in Kathmandu. “He should be back any minute, with the dope. We’ll have a smoke, have some dinner, then head out for a bit of British disco. What d’you think? You haven’t got jetlyag have you?”
Suresh worked at the Marriott in another neighbourhood. Raghav worked in a shoe store on the main street of Hounslow. Then there was Gaurav, a friend of Suresh’s from Kathmandu. It wasn’t a bad-sized house for four people, according to Raghav. They’d just moved from ten minutes away a month back, and they’d set aside a small room for Bikram: none of this rubbish about sleeping in corridors that he’d heard about while applying to come here. But of course he needed to find a job really soon. His part of the rent was two hundred and fifty pounds a month! That was more than 30,000 rupees. You could rent a whole house in Nepal for that!
Raghav returned with the beers, slumped into the sofa and started fiddling with the TV remote. “Hey, leave it on this song. Look at her ass, mujhi!” Bikram gulped his beer noisily as he stared at Jennifer Lopez shaking her way through a club scene. Great song. Great body. You never saw girls in Kathmandu like that. Though even that was changing.
“Good luck...” Raghav lighted a cigarette. “Don’t know about J-Lo, but you might find a nice Indian chick tonight, if Srijana don’t mind...”
Bikram pursed his lips.
“Just for one night, don’t worry! Here the Indian girls are different, understand, they only look Indian, they act like they’re kuire. Last week we went to this club, there were so many hot chicks there –” His mobile broke in with a tinny techno tune. “Wait a minute...” He went out into the hallway, talking and nodding.
He came back in. Bikram raised his eyebrows. “Who?”
“Ey, Suresh, he’s just met this hapsi called Musti to get the G.” Raghav chuckled as he sat back down.
“Musti? What kinda name is that?”
“Dunno... he’s from Somalia, that hunger-death place. The day I got here last year I was going to the shops with Gaurav, and this hapsi just comes up to us and asks us if we want some, and gives Gaurav his number. So Gaurav calls him a week later and he’s told to come to a pool place in Northfields, close to here. We get to the bar, it’s all dark and smoky, and it’s full of hapsi! You could barely see anything – just eyes, teeth and gold! And we only met this guy for five minutes the week before – the first hapsi I’d spoken to in my life, understand? I say to Gaurav: “Oi, which one is our hapsi?” He’s dazed. “How should I know!” But we think, mujhi, let’s have a look around at least. And Gaurav goes up to one of the hapsis playing pool and asks him, “Hey brother, you know where Musti is?” And he goes, “Musti? Hey, Musti!” And calls this other hapsi over, he looks just the same as everyone to us, and does the whole handshake thing.” Raghav got up, ducking his head and gesticulating, as Bikram guffawed, delighted. “Here I am in my first week in England and I’m in a bar full of hapsis doing this hip-hop handshake with a drug dealer from Somalia.
“So we head back to his place. Musti wants to impress us with his stuff so he’ll get regular custom, right? So I can see him rolling this heavy joint. He lights up and the joint is so strong he starts coughing straight away, you know, trying to keep it down but coughing all the same. And I can already see Gaurav turning to the wall to laugh and I’ve gotta keep this straight face and take the joint from Musti.
“We became his customers. Maybe his only customers! Soon as he picks up the phone he goes, “Hey man you want some?” And in five minutes he’ll be outside the door. But it’s good stuff. Suresh met him right now.”
“How much d’you pay for it?”
“Mujhi, we pay twenty pounds for a small bag...” He cupped his fingers to indicate how much. “Normal London price. What to do?”
“Twenty pounds... 2600 rupees! Mula, we never had to pay in Nepal...” Bikram took refuge in his beer, shaking his head solemnly.
“Sure, but you never had to pay for anything in Nepal! We earn money here, but we spend it all – on food, rent, booze and dope.”
Bikram frowned, discomfited. “I thought you sent money to your parents sometimes.”
Raghav looked away. “Hoina, of course you save a little money. But you’re on your own here. You make money yourself and you spend it on yourself. Everybody else, damn care.” He eyed Bikram defiantly, adding, “Of course we help each other as well.”
The doorbell rang and with a rattle of keys, Suresh and Gaurav strode into the living room. “Oho, Bikram! What’s up?”
The grass was great. “Jay Shambho,” Bikram had intoned as he’d fired up the joint. After a day and a half of dragging his suitcases around, senses peaked for gate signs, departure times and security checks, it was great to just chill out with his friends. Nepal suddenly felt far away – and perhaps not at all. Sure, his parents were thousands of kilometres away, and so was the dust of Nepal, but his own Nepal, smoking and drinking with friends, was right here. When Raghav hollered from the kitchen, “Hey boys! Come to eat rice!” he couldn’t have asked for anything more. The heady spices of the chicken curry had been airing the house for the last half-hour and it had been all he could do to stop himself dunking his head into the saucepan, he was so hungry. He got up, crumpling his beer can, and converged on the kitchen with Suresh and Gaurav. Cursory politesses later – “Take, take, no no, come on, you’re the chief guest, you take and then I’ll take” – they all heaped their plates with steaming white basmati and ladled the rich gravy chicken, sienna red and pungent, on top. There was some bottled chilli pickle, and a curl of golden ghee to melt into the food. They sat down in front of the television, cross-legged, newspapers spread under their plates, and started trowelling handfuls of meat and rice into their mouths, only looking up to wet their eyes with the booty wiggling away on TV.
Bikram was tired, jetlagged he supposed, but he would make the most of this first night. Why not see what real clubbing was all about? He felt like he was on holiday.
*
“Come on guys, hurry up! Look at this singing mujhi, he’s been doing his hair for an hour!”
Raghav sneered at Suresh, who was trying to check out his sideburns in the mirror from behind him.
“Well you gotta do it yaar, how d’you think I’m gonna get a girl if I look like I just dropped down from the hills? Here, where’s the shoe polish?”
“What polish? Polish your cock, mujhi, and you might have a chance tonight!”
“Hyaahh... don’t do this bad-luck talk man, just tell me where the polish is and we can go!”
It was almost ten when they jumped into Raghav’s rickety Toyota, the four of them souped up and ready to get down. A riot of aftershaves rose from scrubbed and shaven faces, and Brylcreem and gel glinted blackly as they squirmed about and bickered. Between the strained booms and thuds of the cheap car stereo bursts of laughter spilled out on to the dank suburban streets greased with drizzle. As they left Hounslow behind and swung on to the motorway, the youths fell silent, perhaps feeling the joint they’d smoked just before they left. But it wasn’t long before their chatter started up again. Raghav really wanted to get some action that night. He couldn’t stop talking about it.
“Hey d’you remember last time, those girls we met? Maybe they’ll be there tonight – the one I was sweet-talking...”
Suresh insinuated his rangy frame in between Raghav and Bikram and exclaimed harshly, “Eh heh, listen to this guy bullshitting; he sweet-talked her, he says. If you were so great then why’d she leave with that other guy at the end of the night, hm? Explain that to me, please!”
Bikram sniggered. “Yeah, meester, explain please...”
“Well lemme finish what I was saying, machikne...”
“Your talk is too much – action is louder than words, remember that. I’ll show you how to talk to the ladies, don’t wor
ry, bro...” Gaurav spoke casually from the back seat, heavy gold necklace and silky black shirt glistening in the dark.
Suresh indicated Gaurav to Bikram, eyebrows scrunched up earnestly. “Yeah, brother, listen to the guru – before you came to the UK, we went to this place, he was dancing with two girls –”
“And buying drinks for both of them!”
“Yeah, then he comes and... what did you say to me then?”
Gaurav snorted. “Well, I had to decide which one to focus on! I didn’t have enough money on me to keep buying both of them drinks... though how it would have been to give it to two girls –” He nodded to himself, momentarily distracted by the idea.
Bikram regarded Gaurav with new respect. “So what happened?”
“Well, they were just waiting for a guy to pick them up. When one started dancing with this hapsi I just steered the other girl away, getting a little closer, and then it was easy, I just got her in a corner and kissed her.”
“And then?”
“Then she took me to her room ni – she was a student at a university in Windsor – all night dey danadan, bro!” He snapped the fingers of his right hand and slammed the palm down onto his clenched left hand several times by way of explanation.
Bikram snorted, shaking his head in wonder. “Mujhi. Hahahaha!”
They were off the motorway now and trundling through the narrow streets of Windsor, looking to park. Almost immediately, they managed to pip a BMW to a spot Raghav would have passed if Suresh hadn’t yelled at him to stop.
The boys piled out of the car as the BMW roared past. The thick thunks of doors filled the street. They were headed to the pub next to Liquid for a few drinks first; it was too expensive to get drunk in the club. Nodding to the bouncers, they strutted in, heads turning casually to take in the crowd. Wetherspoon’s was packed and buzzing with the ordinary excitement of another Thursday night. Gaggles of girls necked Bacardi Breezers, ogled by men strong-arming amber pints with reckless abandon. As a meeting point and watering hole for the two-hour window before the exodus to the club, the bar could not have been better placed.
Raghav pushed his way to the bar and leaned up on tiptoe. He was looking for Sushil, a Nepali who worked there. And there he was, calmly efficient as always, expressionlessly flitting from one tap to another. If the bar were left to the whites they’d get lynched by this thirsty mob in minutes. Sushil clocked him, smiled briefly and signalled him to wait.
The rest had clustered around a pillar in the middle of the brightly lit pub, smoking. Suresh was busy showing off his new phone to Bikram. “Look here... look at this video quality, not bad, eh? This one is more than ten minutes, with sound!”
Bikram stared earnestly at the tiny screen. “Hehe... what’s he doing there?”
“Hahaha. I was just filming Raghav while waking him up – look at his face!” They burst into laughter.
Suresh explained, giggling. “You see this mujhi had just gone to sleep after coming back from work at one in the morning and we were trying to get him to come down and eat – see how pissed off he is!” Reliving the incident, they echoed and amplified the squeaks of laughter from the phone.
Gaurav stood aloof, nonchalantly leaning against the pillar. He’d already spotted a few girls he’d be looking out for in the club. “You guys don’t have anything better to do,” he spat out scornfully.
Suresh looked up, smiling. “What?”
Gaurav cocked his eyebrows in the direction of the girls. “Look there, bro – not bad huh?” Suresh drew himself up, squared his shoulders and stared at the girls, giggling away not fifteen feet from them. Two blondes and a brunette, all wearing sexy tops and short skirts. One of the blondes was a little plump but she had great tits, you could really get a good view.
“Look at that,” breathed Suresh. And the buxom blonde caught his eye, wheeled around and wiggled her breasts at him before dissolving into giggles. Her friends were in hysterics.
“Machikne,” exclaimed Suresh and Gaurav at the same time, smiling goofily. Bikram’s eyes widened. The brunette, who had a nice figure but rather plain face, waved at Gaurav. That was all he needed. Before the envious looks of his friends, he sauntered up to the girls and greeted each of them with exaggerated courtesy, laughing and talking. He exuded masculine confidence.
Raghav, returning from the bar, stopped short and followed the collective gaze. He started shaking with laughter, prompting Suresh to grab the pitcher of rum and coke he was carrying. “He’s already started! Oi, Bikram, see what we told you? Learn from the guru!”
Bikram was, in fact, watching Gaurav intently. This could never happen in Nepal, he couldn’t imagine it, not even in the hotel discos that the rich Rana and Shah kids went to, he was sure. With the people he knew and the way they were – it was almost like you had to marry the first girl you were seen holding hands with. Srijana’s face seemed to shimmer in front of him; then Gaurav was back, smiling sardonically.
“Hey bro, give me some of that!” He grabbed a glass from Raghav and held it out to be filled.
“Well?” They looked at Gaurav expectantly. “What was all that talk about?”
“So you’ll get to do them?”
Gaurav sipped at his drink and eyed the girls who were chattering away, not looking their way now. “The bitches!” he exhaled, jovially. “They wanted me to pay the cover charge for the one with the big tits, the one who said hello to Suresh.”
Suresh grinned. “So what did you tell them?”
“Did you present your credit card to them, pin included?”
“Whores!” Gaurav sneered. “I said how about if I buy you a drink inside the club? And they said OK. The bitches were just trying to see how much they could get away with.”
“No, you did the right thing – more chances if you pay for them inside the club.” Suresh addressed Raghav, “Hey, how much did you pay for this?” Raghav looked supremely smug. “Don’t worry guys, I got this phree... you know Sushil’s there; he just filled it up and gave it to me. There must be a third of the bottle in there!” He held up the pitcher in triumph and they toasted each other enthusiastically. Cheeyerrs!!!
“That Sushil, yaar, he works like a robot – his hands are moving like a machine’s, non-stop.” Raghav imitated Sushil, deadpan. “Poor guy, he can’t come with us because he needs to work at the airport at six in the morning!”
The club wasn’t so busy for a Thursday night but a couple of hundred people were spread across three rooms of pounding house, hip-hop, and eighties music, and the boys were soon lost in a crush of bodies up against the bar in the main room. A vapid blue sheen enveloped everything and flashes of white and crimson glanced off bodies jerking and swaying to slick, bassy house. Gaurav grabbed his beer and went over to the edge of the dance floor, sizing up his prospects.
The unrelenting boom-clap-boom-clap, cheap horns, and silky vocals over deep, funky beats poured out of huge speakers set into the walls. A wall of music, chopped into sheets of noise by lights spinning in tandem. The dancers self-consciously circled each other, sucking on cigarettes and gulping beers. Bikram grabbed Gaurav’s shoulder excitedly and pulled him around so he could see the girls from the pub on the far side of the floor. They were dancing together, waiting for something, it seemed. Gaurav’s eyes lit up and he clapped Bikram on the back. Still dancing, he shimmied into the crowd. Bikram followed in his wake nervously, smoothing his hair back.
They made their way up to the girls, and Gaurav nodded to them and mouthed a hello. But they didn’t even smile back. Unfazed, Gaurav started dancing next to the blonde with the big tits, so Bikram did the same with the brunette, grinning awkwardly. The girls continued dancing as if the boys weren’t there. Bikram tried to catch the brunette’s eye, but she was looking at nothing in particular, and seemed bored, her body jerking mechanically to the beat. After a few minutes, Gaurav put his arm around the blonde and pulled her to him. She just looked annoyed, shrugged him off and moved away. When the song ended, both gi
rls walked off abruptly, leaving the two of them dancing together like idiots, pretending nothing had happened. Well, what could you do?
After a while, Suresh and Raghav came and joined them with fresh bottles of beer, and they all danced together, watching the girls not dancing with them, occasionally breaking away to go to the bar or the toilet. Gaurav disappeared for a bit, winking significantly, but soon returned looking sweaty and deflated, shouting over the music, “Today it looks like a Nepali disco here! Can’t even talk to a girl without pissing off five of her bodyguards!”
Gradually, it ceased to matter. As the boys got drunker and drunker, they didn’t stop eyeing the girls, but had lost hope of getting anywhere. They became more relaxed, laughed at each other’s dance moves and consoled themselves, thinking: there’s always a next time.
What bitches, Bikram muttered to himself as he approached the toilets. What was all that fuss about in the pub if they didn’t even want to give a little? He passed a young couple in a corner; one of the guy’s hands was on her tits, the other somewhere up her skirt. He had to force himself not to stop and just stare. He wondered what Srijana would think if she saw this place. If she saw him dancing with the girls here. Or trying to! But he was feeling good tonight. Drunk and high and happy. London, London. He had finally made it!
The toilets weren’t busy. He was glad to see that the black who was there earlier, standing next to the sinks offering soap and paper towels for tips, wasn’t around. Earlier, Raghav had waved away the towel the hapsi held out to him and simply wiped his hands on his trousers, but Bikram had innocently accepted a towel from the guy. So he’d had to tip the bastard as Raghav grinned, waiting by the door. What kind of job was that anyway, he thought as he urinated, aiming first left, then right, nodding to the muffled beats from the club.
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