The Bollywood Breakup Agency

by Naina Gupta

  ‘Who is it?’ V asked.

  ‘Jai.’ Reluctant to tell one client who was mad at her that another was also mad at her, Neela just said that he was just checking the details of her next plan.

  ‘Which is?’ V asked.

  ‘Forget Jai, this is about you.’

  Neela looked at the clock on the wall, it was 5:45 p.m., and V’s parents would be expecting her home. They were due at the other Patel home in Stanmore at 7:00 p.m.

  ‘Better get this make-under started,’ she grabbed V’s arm and they walked, quickly to the car.

  *

  V’s mum was ironing ferociously; sweat beading across her forehead, when the girls arrived. V hoped her mother wouldn’t freak out seeing Neela there – she didn’t do spontaneity.

  ‘Neela?’

  ‘Just come to help V get ready, Aunty. I won’t be staying, don’t worry.’

  ‘Well, your churidah suit is ready here,’ she indicated a colourful outfit hanging from the door to the utility room. It was made up of a knee length dress with long, sheer sleeves, and tight fitting trousers.

  ‘Oh, we bought V a special outfit for the occasion.’ Neela smiled brightly. V wished she would tone it down, as the family already thought Neela was a bad influence, thanks to the Mr Trivedi debacle.

  Her mother’s eyes flickered dangerously. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I wanted to have something new and pretty for Girish,’ V said.

  ‘No, you wear what I tell you.’

  There wasn’t enough time.

  Neela thought more quickly than V. ‘Why don’t I help V with her hair and makeup and then we’ll put this on?’ She took the freshly-ironed outfit in hand.’

  Another stern look, then a shrug. ‘Fine, fine. Just don’t shame me by being late.’

  Upstairs in her room, V turned to her. ‘I don’t think I can do this. Mum will kill me.’

  ‘Just pretend you think it is all perfectly normal. After all, we are just dulling you down a little. Girish might not want his prize if he gets a little glimpse of the future.’

  ‘Hey!’

  Neela patted her shoulder. ‘No offence, sorry.’

  ‘Hmm.’ V pointed to Neela’s bulging bag. ‘What’s in there for me to wear?’

  ‘First things first.’ Neela threw her the tin fake tan. It had ‘Ultra Dark’ on its label.

  ‘Are you sure?’ V actually liked her skin the way it was. ’I have to go to work, you know.’

  ‘Say you had a sunbed accident. Think of the long term, and be quiet, you don’t want Aunty up here, checking out what’s going on. But fine, if you don’t want to do it, you can always go off and get married and live happily ever after in Girish Patel’s wonderland.’

  The thought of it hit V like a bad curry. ‘God, don’t!’ Sighing, she picked up the tin, walked into the ensuite and popped the top. The smell was atrocious. ‘It stinks.’

  ‘Great, adds to the effect.’

  ‘Terrific. Shall I do my arms and neck too?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Neela called, V’s outfit had long sleeves, so the tan wouldn’t show there anyway.

  After a few minutes, the fake tan was working its magic, and V began to panic. ‘God, look!’

  Neela raced in and V turned to reveal a weird brown/orange/ streaky freak. ‘I look like an exploded Terry’s Chocolate Orange’.

  ‘That doesn’t look natural, what did you do?’

  ‘I don’t know. Just what it said on the tin. Where did you get it, anyway?’

  ‘The Pounder’.

  ‘One pound? Are you crazy? I paid you good money to help me, the least you could do was go to Boots.’

  They stared at V’s face.

  ‘Foundation! We’ll layer it.’ Neela grabbed her foundation from her bag. ‘I’m a shade darker than you, it might work.’ She began slathering it on V’s face.

  They took another look in the mirror. V’s face was smoother now, but still a dark orange.

  ‘Almost perfect.’ Neela said.

  ‘Are you blind?’

  ‘Let’s do the acne.’

  ‘I’m not sure, isn’t this enough?’

  ‘Do you want his family to change their minds or not?’

  ‘Neela . . .’ V was sure her mother would have a complete cardiac arrest if she saw her walk into the Patels looking like an over-ripe orange.

  ‘You asked for my help and I’m going to give it to you. Keep still.’ Neela came at her with a weird brown crayon.

  ‘Are you sure this will come off? I can’t go to work looking like this.’

  Neela replied not to worry, that she had read a tutorial online about making fake spots using eyeliner, foundation, stick concealer and some blusher. ‘First you make a dark outline, then smudge it into the shape of the spot with the concealer, cover it in foundation and add blusher for extra colour.’

  ‘Ok just make them small, I don’t want to look like a freak, just enough that I couldn’t be arsed to look after my skin this week. Or, in the case of my mother, in the last hour.’ This was such a bad idea. Perhaps Neela wasn’t the best person to breakup marriages?

  Her friend spent a good 20 minutes trying to get the spots just right. Unfortunately, they were so large that V looked as if she’d contracted some long eradicated disease.

  ‘Uh oh.’

  ‘What do you mean uh oh? What have you done to me?’ V pushed Neela out of the way and stared at the horrific sight.

  V snatched the pencil out of Neela’s hand. ‘It looks like smallpox.’

  Neela grinned sheepishly. ‘Can’t be a bad thing.’

  It was official. Her parents would disown her.

  ‘Look I’m sorry, maybe if you hadn’t put that fake tan on wrong–‘

  She wasn’t serious? V turned to Neela and pointed her finger. ‘Don’t try to blame this on me; you and your stupid plans! If you’d spent more on the tan and less on yourself, the idea might have worked.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Pointing at Neela’s outfit, V said: ‘Don’t think I don’t notice that new dress you’re wearing. Banana Republic?’

  Neela looked down at herself.

  ‘Just go.’

  ‘V–‘

  ‘And you might as well take these,’ V said angrily, throwing the makeup bag at Neela’s face, who dodged it just before it made contact. ‘When I end up marrying him you can be my makeup artist on the big day.’ V grabbed a handful of wet wipes and began scrubbing at her face. It was one thing to look as if she’d let herself go, but quite another to appear insane.

  ’Calm down, I can help, I promise. Leave the pimples off, if you must, but I got you this great dress. Looks like a sack.’

  ‘And where did it come from?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Neela looked at her, guiltily.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘A charity shop in Pinner, but listen–‘

  V was getting madder by the minute. ‘Just go. And don’t bother helping me anymore.’

  ‘At least try it.’ Neela stood her ground.

  ‘No!’ V took the churidah off the hanger. It was one of her favourite outfits, wasted on the Patels, and now it would be forever associated with this horrible day. There was nothing to be done. Neela stood and watched as she got dressed, and then offered to help her reapply her makeup.

  ‘I’ll fix it, if you want to look normal, that is.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ V didn’t trust that Neela wouldn’t apply a clown face, and she was now officially late and, therefore, in huge trouble with her mum.

  ‘Sit.’ Neela pushed her down, grabbed a primer from her bag, and then applied V’s own foundation. Some powder, the infamous concealer around the darker spots on her forehead and V was ready. This time, V had to admit Neela had some skills. With the careful but subtle eyeliner, V looking far prettier than she had ever thought she could. The fake tan beneath it now gave V a healthy glow and nothing more.

  There was a bang from downstairs.


  ‘Vidya, where are you?’ Her Mum.

  Grabbing her purse, V kissed Neela, whispering that even though she was a shit, all was forgiven.

  ‘Where are you?’

  Racing down the stairs, V’s Mum forgot to be angry. ‘Oh my beautiful daughter, you look so grown up!’

  ‘I’m 26.’

  ‘Yes I know, but, you look ready to be merried. Girish’s mum is going to love you tonight.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ V said sadly.

  ‘Come come, we must go, they are waiting.’ As they walked down the street and towards the car, waving goodbye to Neela, Mrs Patel said, ‘I’m so glad you are embracing this match, not running away from your obligations, like that friend of yours.’

  Chapter Eighteen *

  NEELA WALKED TO THE nearest crossroad to flag down a cab home, then remembered she didn’t have any cash on her. Great, it was the bus, then. Waiting in a queue of fifteen Indian pensioners, she realised it was the first time her life seemed to be falling apart. Jai was angry at her, Kiran had turned nuts, V had given up on taking her advice, and why shouldn’t she? She looked so gorgeous tonight that Girish’s parents might call the priest the minute they caught sight of her.

  And if that happened, her friend would kill her.

  Sighing loudly, Neela sank onto the orange bar that was supposed to be a seat, and prayed no one saw her waiting to catch public transport.

  Her mind churned. Why V and Jai were so cross was baffling. It wasn’t like she had made any guarantees; she hadn’t even courted the business. The whole thing had been V’s idea, hadn’t it? Still, Neela was sure, given enough time, she could ditch their other halves. The problem was, having paid their money, the clients wanted instant results. Marriage was a sensitive issue – it wasn’t like fixing a faulty boiler, done in two hours with a two year guarantee on parts and labour.

  But, if Neela could make her little business work, it was a great way to make money, and the irony of thwarting Rishi by de-arranging marriages was pretty satisfying too.

  Once again, her phone buzzed. Jai. Not again.

  Do something. She is talking toenails again. Thinks it is what turns me on! Says it turns her on too. This is all your fault. DO SOMETHING!

  So Rupali had a dark side. Hmm. Something rather devious occurred to Neela. She quickly texted back that she had a new idea, and told him that she wouldn’t need him for it.

  Perhaps there was a way of turning Jai’s family off Rupali.

  The bus rumbling up to the stop, and Neela jumped up, hunting for change in her purse.

  Soorbhi, Daadi-ji and Rishi were standing in a line in the hall, scaring her witless as she opened the door to find the silent trio standing there in the dark.

  ‘Surprise!’ they yelled.

  ‘No joke,’ she grumbled.

  ‘You are getting married, beti,’ her mother said, a beaming smile spread from cheek to cheek.

  What was wrong with her family? Neela groaned. ‘Who to this time?’ Were they still trying to force her on the Trivedi’s? Couldn’t be, no way he would forgive her and allow her into his family now.

  Rishi stepped forward. ‘Your young man came by my office today.’

  Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. Neela put a hand to her mouth.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he declared his interest in you?’ Rishi’s smile was broad and proud.

  Neela felt as if she might heave. ‘And?’

  ‘And . . . I said he could marry you.’

  The three of them watched for the predicable reactions: joy, handclapping, happy hugging. But Neela honestly couldn’t muster the strength. Bloody Kiran. He seemed determined to get his way. The fact that he was attempting to railroad her into marriage was the last straw. Came by Dad’s office, indeed. That was the last time she gave a boyfriend her surname.

  Well, no matter. She would just tell him to call Rishi and drop the idea.

  Or else . . . well, or else she would just reveal his murky past. And then Rishi would think Kiran had tried to deceive him.

  And he would kill him.

  *

  The phone call was short and sweet. ‘Cancel it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cancel the meeting between the parents next weekend, or I will tell Dad about you.’

  ‘Neela, I thought we loved each other?’ Kiran sounded hurt, but Neela knew that unless she told him the truth, the situation might just get worse. Her own life was beginning to resemble Jai’s and V’s – and it was all Neela’s fault.

  ‘No, that’s the thing. I don’t love you. That’s the real reason I can’t marry you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kiran. It’s just the way it is.’

  ‘You’ve led me on for two years. What kind of person are you?’

  ‘Come on,’ Neela couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘You got lucky, dating me. It’s over. Move on.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath, then: ‘Well, the meeting was moved to Thursday night, because your parents have some function next weekend. It’s too late to cancel it now.’

  Thinking fast, Neela said then they’d have to go through with it, but no more meetings after that.

  ‘Straight after the dinner, you tell my dad that you’ve changed your mind. Or get your mum to tell mine.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure I can think of a way out of it,’ Kiran said, a new bitterness in his voice.

  ‘Good.’

  The family waited for Mummy-ji to wake up from her daze. ‘How could this have happened, again?’ they asked each other. What was going on? What was the reason for this strange condition? Everyone looked confused. The lookalike Payal and Lohit stared at their comatose mother, brushing away tears that had stopped rolling halfway down their cheeks five minutes ago.

  The evil cousin Navin called the doctor once again and the medico arrived at the house moments later. He explained that perhaps the new addition to the family had caused undue stress. Wedding preparations and having to accommodate a new daughter-in-law may mean Mummy-ji was suffering greatly. At this revelation, everyone looked at the daughter-in-law, both shock and awe evident in their expressions.

  In the background the doctor made to leave and Navin’s wife Ishika escorted him to the door. Placing some money in his hand, she thanked him for helping the family. They smiled at each other, and Ishika raised a sharp edged eyebrow. The doctor had lied to help with the evil agenda. Clearly, it was a slow week at the hospital.

  ‘Neela? It’s 11:00 a.m. Have you nothing better to do than watch this? We have a wedding to arrange.’

  As Soorbhi spoke, her own eyes were fixed to PAL. Reluctantly, Neela tore herself from the sexy Navin, and tried to appear enthusiastic. The Kiran nonsense would be over soon enough, so while she didn’t have a marriage to organise, she also had one or two to break up!

  ‘Come on, let’s go to Wembley! You can drive.’

  ‘I’ll need petrol,’ Neela said quickly.

  ‘Of course, darling. Your father said to give you this.’ A new debit card. In her name. ‘It is linked to our account.’

  Linked to their account? Mind blowing! ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you have come to the senses. You are getting merried.’

  Thinking that her life was becoming a plot in an Indian soap opera, where the same things would happen over and over again, Neela vowed to stock up all essentials such as designer hair care products and Paul Smith skirts from Selfridges, before the whole Kiran dream came crashing down on her parents. She didn’t have much time. Maybe Soorbhi would prefer Oxford Street to Ealing Road?

  But her mother insisted on Wembley, no doubt to finally reveal that her daughter had finally agreed to a match to every street vendor and shop owner in the entire suburb.

  Wembley. Every time Neela went there, she felt gross and disgusting. Being in close proximity to so many people; being stared at by creepy market-stall owners; all the cheap, awful things that were on sale – there was no redeeming features. O
ne time, a freshpot market worker - a young woman who had probably just arrived in the country – pulled her over to try and sell her a thick, dark brown and yellow, knee length, cable knit cardigan with ruffles at the sleeves. For 12 quid. She told Neela that it was fashionable and everyone was wearing it. Horrified, Neela pushed her aside and told her to leave her alone.

  Moving along aside Soorbhi as she gossiped, Neela noticed that there were stalls selling those God-awful DVD copies and cheesy Indian music CDs everywhere. As much as Neela enjoyed escaping into a Bollywood fantasy world, most of the stories made you want to bash your head through the TV.

  Her mum had moved on to perusing all the polyester salwar kameez suits in a nearby store. Still outside, Neela flipped idly through a stack of DVDs, until she noticed that the stall owner had casually placed a load of porn on one corner of the table. Gross. Where did that guy think he was? Soho?

  Hang on a minute.

  Perhaps this could be exactly what she was looking for, in terms of extricating Jai from Rupali’s grip. Indian parents might forgive his past indiscretion, but her appearing in a porno flick? No way would anyone stand for that. Not even Girish Patel’s parents would give V the nod if she were full frontal on ‘Dirty in Delhi’.

  Brainwave!

  If Jai’s mother somehow saw Rupali’s photo on a filthy DVD or video cover on one of these stalls, it would all be over. No self-respecting person would allow a wedding to go ahead in those circumstances. Jai would definitely be freed from his commitment it was revealed the perfect, sweet Rupali had a disgusting and sordid past.

  It was too perfect, if not slightly evil. Neela felt a twinge of guilt at the probable spectacle of Rupali’s shame, but she needed to think about her business. And that meant Jai. Rupali’s feelings couldn’t figure in this – otherwise she’d be trying to orchestrate a divorce after the couple had grandkids.

  But how to make it work? As Soorbhi exited the shop, moaning about the poor quality and high prices, Neela calculated the best way to bring the plan to fruition. She wanted to leave Jai out of it, so that his reactions would be natural. Which meant she had to discover another way to lure Rupali’s mother-in-law-to-be to Wembley.