So, after a few abortive stabs at trying to establish some sort of rapport, the two women had retreated into their separate corners, happy to set up play dates for their daughters but even happier to have nothing further to do with each other. Each of them welcomed the other’s child into her home. And both had developed a genuine affection for the other’s daughter. But that was as far as it went.
Today, as they stood outside the staff room, waiting to be summoned to speak to their daughters’ teachers at the PTA, Malti and Radhika were trying their hardest to make small talk. It was an awkward business.
Malti had nothing but contempt for Radhika, whom she saw as this busty, blonde-highlighted bimbo. She tried to hide it as best she could, but unfortunately her friendly gestures came across as condescension. Radhika, who had always been rather overawed by Malti’s professional achievements and was just a tiny bit frightened of her, reacted with a defensiveness that often veered dangerously close to rudeness.
On this particular occasion, though, Radhika wasn’t feeling at all defensive. If anything, she was feeling a bit smug. Okay, make that very smug.
Because, as luck would have it, while the brainy, brilliant Malti’s daughter, Gayatri, always languished at the bottom of the class, the airhead Radhika’s daughter, Kavya, floated effortlessly to the top every year. So, while parent teacher meetings were an ordeal for Malti, who couldn’t bear to fail at anything (and yes, she treated Gayatri’s less-than-sparkling academic record as a personal failing), Radhika sailed through them feeling immeasurably superior.
So, for once, she responded with equanimity when Malti opened the conversation with condolences on the death of her father-in-law. Yes, it was very tough on Karan to take over as PM in these circumstances. Well, they were coping as well as they could. Yes, she would definitely let Malti know if there was anything she could do.
They were just about running out of safe topics of discussion when, much to their relief, the school receptionist popped her head out of the door. It was time for Radhika to go; it was her turn to face Jayashree Palsikar, the stentorian headmistress of Aakriti.
With a sigh of relief, Malti went back to checking emails on her iPhone. But even as she clicked on an incoming message, she could feel the other mothers converging on her. Fixing an insincere smile on her face, she reluctantly put away the phone and allowed herself to be inveigled into their conversation—or, more accurately, gossip session.
As wives of senior bureaucrats and politicians, these women prided themselves on having their fingers on the pulse of the city’s social scene. And every time they met, a hundred reputations died a thousand deaths.
Today, their target was Radhika Pratap Singh. And despite herself (she did, after all, pride herself on being a nice person), Malti was drawn into the tales they had to tell, though she restricted herself to an enigmatic smile as the stories unfolded, offering no comment at all.
Did she know that Radhika had bought her personal trainer a BMW? Was that an award for all the horizontal jogging he put her through, ha ha? Had anyone else seen Radhika dancing with the Mittals’ young son at the anniversary party they had hosted? Honestly, it came as close to child molestation as possible without running afoul of the law. And how about that sit-down dinner hosted by Mala? Radhika had drunk so much red wine through the course of the evening that in the end her SPG guards actually had to carry her out to her car. And did anyone else catch that flash of red underwear beneath her black sheath dress as she was being carted out? Honestly, why on earth did Karan Pratap put up with such nonsense?
Malti, who knew full well that these stories were the product of someone’s overactive imagination, didn’t bother to remonstrate at this endless character assassination. The other wives were already resentful of her standing as Jayesh Sharma’s wife and one of the leading legal luminaries of the city. She didn’t want to alienate them even further by being all holier-than-thou. So, she just let all the talk of shame and scandal wash over her.
One of the women was half-through another long convoluted story that involved Radhika, when the door to the principal’s office flew open and the woman herself emerged in the doorway. Malti felt a hot flush rise up her neck as she realized that Radhika must have overheard the last bit of the conversation.
Suddenly, Malti felt a surge of shame overwhelm her. How could she have allowed herself to be party to such bile and spite? She had seen Karan and Radhika up close for so many years; she knew just how much in love they were with one another. And she had known Radhika long enough to know that her endless flirtations were completely harmless; she never strayed anywhere close to infidelity.
So, why had she participated—even if only tacitly—in the smearing of Radhika’s character?
She tried to catch Radhika’s eye to smile goodbye. But Radhika refused to make eye contact with any of the mothers and marched off at a fast clip, shadowed closely by her PSOs.
Malti, now overwhelmed with contrition, was about to follow her out, when she heard her name being called by the receptionist. It was her turn to genuflect at the shrine of Mrs Palsikar.
But even as she sat opposite the school principal, being told—yet again—how her daughter simply wasn’t trying hard enough, Malti’s thoughts kept flashing back to Radhika, and her expression as she came through the door. Silly little thing she may be, but Radhika really didn’t deserve that kind of slut-shaming.
And shame on her, Malti, for being part of it.
▪
It was nearly 8 p.m. by the time Karan Pratap was driven back through the gates of Race Course Road. It had been a long and difficult day. And his meeting with the service chiefs had left him rather depressed and dispirited.
The Army Chief had complained endlessly about the fact that ammunition stocks had been allowed to fall so low that they would last only a week in the event of a war. The Navy Chief had asked for a huge interim increase in the service’s budget so that the two main warships, which were in a state of disrepair, could be upgraded on an urgent basis. And the Air Force chief had put in a passionate request for phasing out the MIG fighters, those old warhorses which had been crashing a little too frequently of late.
All these demands; and no money in the treasury to meet them. The economic slowdown of the last three quarters had put a dent in the government’s reserves, and it wasn’t until after the election that he could even think of imposing new taxes to make up for the shortfall. Meanwhile, all his economic advisers were adamant that increasing the fiscal deficit was not a solution. So, what was he to do?
But, as he drove past the first security barrier of Race Course Road, Karan’s thoughts returned to another problem that had been plaguing him through the day: Asha.
What was the best way to handle her? Should he send her back to London and subsidize her life there as Baba used to? That way, at least she would be too far away to cause any trouble in India. Or should he send her home to Bharatnagar along with her mother, so that his faithful retainers could keep a close watch on the two women? What was the least problematic option?
And no matter which option he chose, what was the guarantee that she would even listen to him? This was a woman who had defied her own father on so many occasions. Why would she pay the least bit of attention to a half-brother?
How he wished that Baba was alive so that he could consult him, as he always had with any problem that vexed him. But, of course, if Baba had been alive, this problem would not have arisen in the first place. Asha would be living it up in London, playing at being a career woman, while the family fortune was used to underwrite all the expenses she ran up without a thought. If only she had married Sunny Mahtani and settled down to being just another billionaire’s wife.
But no, that would have been too simple. And you could trust Asha to complicate matters wherever she went.
The car drove straight to Number 7, where Arjun was waiting to meet him. Today, he had delegated all the party meetings to his brother so that he could have one free ev
ening with his family. But he still needed to be briefed on how things had gone before he switched off for the evening. And it would be good to catch a drink with Arjun and decompress a little after the day he had had.
The moment Karan set eyes on Arjun, however, he felt his annoyance rise even further. Arjun was dressed to go out for the evening in black leather pants, a black Lycra skintight T-shirt that was slashed down to his chest showing off his torturously-waxed torso sporting a garish Sixties-style medallion, all of it set off with a silver waistcoat.
Did the man actually intend to go out in public dressed like this? Did he not know how many rumours of his homosexuality had been swirling for the past several years? Did he really need to add fuel to that fire?
Despite the fact that the brothers had grown up close—having lost their mother to death and their father to marriage, they had tended to depend upon one another—Karan could never bring himself to address the issue of his brother’s sexuality. Given the close male friendships that Arjun had enjoyed over the years and the crowd he hung around with, there was a strong possibility that his brother was, in fact, gay. But Karan didn’t want to raise the question unless Arjun himself brought up the subject. And Arjun had never done so.
But what was the point of staying in the closet if you were going to give yourself away with that flamboyant display of fashion, which strayed so close to camp? Arjun may as well hold up a sign saying ‘I am gay’ if he was going out dressed like that.
With a visible effort, Karan damped down on these thoughts. It was no point berating his brother about any of this stuff. Arjun was what he was; he had best just make his peace with it. And in any case, they were here to discuss a different problem altogether: Asha.
Arjun listened carefully as Karan brought him up to speed, sipping on a glass of Veuve Clicquot (his usual lubrication before he headed out to party). Asha was in daily touch with Madan Mohan on the phone. The two had met several times at Number 3. Several other senior party leaders had also had meetings with her at RCR, on the pretext of dropping in to pay their condolences to her mother. The party cadre was pushing for Asha to stand from their father’s family seat, Bharatnagar. Asha was slowly but surely building up a power base in the LJP. She was going to be a nuisance—even more so than usual—going ahead.
So, how should they deal with her?
Arjun, who had heard much the same sort of thing from the party leaders he dealt with, thought long and hard before responding. Finally, after a long silence, he said, ‘you know, Bhaiya. There is an old saying. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer…’
‘Are you saying that we should keep a close watch on Asha? Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? We have been keeping a close watch on her. How else do you think we have so much information on what she has been up to?’
‘I don’t mean that. What I meant was it would be better to have her in the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in.’
‘God, thanks for that image, Arjun. You really do have a dirty mouth on you!’ Karan fumed.
‘Look, I’m sorry, perhaps that wasn’t the best way of expressing it. But I have been thinking about this for a while. And I really believe that you need to bring Asha within the fold for now. There are so many battles we have to fight right now. We don’t need to start another one within the family.’
Arjun was convinced that Asha would not go quietly. So rather than risk a confrontation, he explained, it made sense to bring her within the circle of trust, lull her into a false sense of security, and then, when they no longer needed her, move in for the kill.
‘So, what do you propose we do?’ asked Karan.
‘Play nice,’ replied Arjun. ‘Ask Asha to join the party. Allow her to fight elections from wherever she chooses; Bharatnagar if need be. Make her a star campaigner. And once the election is over, and you are in place as a duly elected Prime Minister you will be in a much stronger position to get rid of her.’
Karan thought about this. And reluctantly, he had to concede that his younger brother was right. Getting Asha on board was the politic thing to do.
How should they go about it? They hadn’t exactly been welcoming to her ever since she had arrived from London. In fact, the two men hadn’t even seen their sister after their father’s Kriya ceremony, though Radhika and the kids had gone over to Number 3 for lunch a few times.
So, how could they break the ice? If they suddenly changed their attitude to her, wouldn’t Asha be suspicious about their motives?
Perhaps, said Arjun. But if they co-opted Radhika and the kids—who had a good equation with Amma and Asha—in this enterprise, it would go down better.
And how exactly would they do that?
Simple. Radhika would announce that she wanted to have a family dinner to celebrate Kavya and Karina’s good results in their school exams and invite Amma and Asha to it. Then, they could depend on the kids—whom both Sadhana Devi and Asha loved to distraction—to work their magic. Once familial relations had been restored, and the two women had been suitably softened, Karan and Arjun would slowly bring their half-sister into the fold.
The two brothers were just getting into the logistics of this when there was a sharp knock on the door. Arjun’s housekeeper popped his head in to inform him that his guest has arrived.
The next minute, the door opened to reveal Shelley Arora, former supermodel and current unemployed actress, resplendent in a short black dress that made it hard to decide whether to focus on her endless legs or her generous cleavage. Her sexy pout disappeared for a minute as she spotted Karan, but she recovered in an instant and sashayed across to hug and kiss him, while murmuring condolences into his ear.
Apparently, Shelley Arora was Arjun’s ‘date’ for the evening. Despite his exhausted, even defeated, state, Karan had to raise a wry smile at that.
▪
Thus it was that a week later, the entire Pratap Singh clan gathered at Number 5, Race Course Road for a family dinner.
It had taken all of Asha’s skills to coax her mother out of bed and get her ready for the evening. Sadhana Devi had been prescribed strong antidepressants by her doctor, and the medicines seemed to have transported her into a catatonic state. She barely spoke, she didn’t respond when spoken to. She refused to eat, surviving on endless cups of sweet, milky tea. There were days when she even went without a shower.
Tonight, though, Asha had forced her to make an effort. So Sadhana Devi’s hair was freshly-shampooed and blow-dried till it shone. She was wearing a cream chiffon sari, almost the same shade as her pale complexion. Her trademark red bindi had vanished along with her status as a wife; in its place was a dab of chandan, the mark proclaiming her widowhood. Her light brown eyes were devoid of their usual kajal and mascara, looking peculiarly bare on her make-up less face. But oddly enough, this only seemed to accentuate her beauty rather than diminish it.
As the two women settled down on one of the sofas, Karan and Arjun sat down on the armchairs opposite them. There was a moment’s awkward silence before the kids barrelled into the room, escorted by Radhika.
Both Kavya and Karina made a beeline for Asha bua, whom they had idolized from an early age. She had always seemed so impossibly glamorous with her designer handbags, her oversized sunglasses, her model-like figure. In a way that they hadn’t quite managed to articulate as yet, both girls regarded her a role model. She worked at a fancy office; she lived on her own in London; she partied with the rich and famous. Both Kavya and Karina wanted to grow up and be just like Asha bua.
As for Asha bua, starved of familial love as she was, the adoration of her two nieces was like balm to a scorched soul. So, she in turn doted on them, spending what Karan considered to be a ridiculous amount of money buying presents for them every time she came back home. Whenever she was in Delhi, Asha would spend lazy afternoons in bed with Kavya and Karina, listening to their confidences, telling them stories of her growing-up years and all the mischief she had got up to.
&
nbsp; Now, the two sisters had a virtual treasure trove of stories to share with Asha. So they settled down on the sofa, scrunched up between Asha and Sadhana Devi, to tell their tales. And as Karina clambered into her lap to whisper some secret to her, Sadhana Devi felt the ice around her heart begin to melt with the warmth of that embrace. Soon, the girls had all of them giggling and laughing with stories of their escapades in school.
As Radhika poured her another glass of red wine, Asha felt her tensions slip away. It felt good to sit here, the entire Pratap Singh clan all together for once, laughing and chatting like any other family would. For just this evening it was possible to imagine that they were just any other family having dinner together, not the most powerful divided household in the country.
You had to grant it to Radhika, thought Asha. She may come across as a silly little socialite, but her reputation as a legendary hostess was well-deserved. She was properly deferential to Amma, while still managing to treat her with affection. She brought Asha into the conversation once in a while without putting too much pressure on her. She prodded Karan into telling anecdotes, pushing him to abandon his usual reticence. And she encouraged Arjun to tell those awful Santa-Banta jokes of his, which sent the kids off into paroxysms of laughter.
As the family sat down to eat at the table, Asha began to wonder why she had been dreading this evening so much. It felt good to spend time with her siblings when they treated her with kindness and affection. And she couldn’t help but think about how happy Baba would be if he were looking down on them just now.
Of course, this being the Pratap Singh clan, business was bound to intrude sooner rather than later. Tonight, it was served up along with dessert, in the shape of Jacob and Vidya Fernando, who together made up the company JVF Associates.
Race Course Road: A Novel Page 12