The Bollywood Breakup Agency

by Naina Gupta

  ‘Yes.’ Navin was looking directly at Neela as he said it.

  ‘I can’t believe that,’ Neela blurted out, cursing herself for doing so. She never let a guy know she was interested. Guys hated needy girls. Look at Jai and Rupali.

  The amazing smile featured once more. ‘I let my dad look into a marriage for me but the girl ended up being some sort of freak, so I am still free and single. And,’ he was still staring at Neela, ‘free for coffee anytime.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Priya said, batting fake eyelashes at him. ‘Who was the girl?’

  He ignored her, eyes still fixed on Neela. ‘How about it, then? Coffee?’

  Reminding herself to play it cool – he might be a sleazy player like Jai – Neela asked curtly, ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow? I’m staying in town, near Marble Arch. We could meet on Oxford Street, unless you’d prefer somewhere around here.’

  Pretending to investigate her availability on her BlackBerry, Neela perused her calendar, then finally said, ‘Starbucks opposite Selfridges?’

  Those amazing deep brown eyes bored into her hazel contact-lense-covered ones. ‘I can’t wait.’

  And then his mobile rang, and he waved goodbye and hurriedly left the café, leaving two swooning women in his wake.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ON THE WAY HOME, Soorbhi called to scream at Neela that Kiran and his parents were due in ten minutes, and to ask if she had lost her mind.

  ‘I’m coming. I had car trouble.’ The excitement of meeting Navin (she still had to pinch herself at the thought of the impending date) has caused Neela to totally forget about Kiran. Her parents had rescheduled after the fiasco of the last meeting, making Neela promise to behave. Lucky Kiran was coming tonight, Neela thought. By tomorrow, the whole saga would be over, and Neela could concentrate on . . . she could hardly believe it . . . Navin – or whatever his real name was.

  As she drove through steady, driving rain, Neela daydreamed about a future with the sexy TV star. In her dreams, his family were gracious and loving, accepting her happily into their family.

  Then she turned into her street and reality hit. How was she going to get through tonight, pretending to be all lovey-dovey with a man she was over and done with?

  More sneaky glasses of booze, perhaps?

  Ignoring her mother’s frantic phone call, Neela parked her Mini and did a little business. Kiran and his family could wait. They weren’t important. She dialled up a number on the Bluetooth. To execute Priya’s plan a person without any scruples was required. So she called the one person she knew who had slutty friends with no morals on tap.

  ‘Jai I need your help.’

  ‘Of course. After what you did for me, I would do anything for you,’ Jai said suggestively. ‘In fact, I was planning on calling you. Fancy dinner and, well . . .?’

  ‘Um, how about no way?’ Neela thought quickly about Navin again. If only Jai and Kiran knew who their competition was!

  ‘Well then, what do you want?’ Jai sounded hurt, which didn’t worry Neela one bit.

  ‘I need one of your little tarts to deliver a package for me. I’ll pay.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Look, can you help me or can’t you?’ Neela asked him impatiently. Soorbhi had appeared on the doorstep and was gesturing wildly. ‘I need a hot girl to take some stuff to a guy who has been stealing from his fiancé, that’s all you need to know.’

  ‘How much will you pay?’

  ’50 quid. But she needs to dress suggestively. And be happy to say she’s been with a guy called Hiten.’

  ‘Been with, as in . . .’

  How come he managed to make everything he said sound sleazy? ‘Look, Jai. Do you know anyone?’

  ’20 quid for me as well and I’ll text you a number immediately.’

  As Priya was paying so much, Neela felt the extra expenditure was worth it. ‘Fine, but I need the number now.’ She hung up without further comment. Soorbhi was now walking towards the car, and Neela hoped she wasn’t about to whack her with that rolling pin she had in her hand. She hadn’t done that since Neela was twelve.

  In less than a minute, Neela was out of the car and running a vacuum around the house. All this for nothing, she couldn’t help thinking. Two minutes after that, Soorbhi pushed her upstairs to dress in something appropriate, which meant something traditional. Neela chose a plain dark red churidah suit, tied her hair up, and didn’t bother reapplying her makeup. No point in wasting time and energy on the Acharyas. Daadi-ji, overly excited by the events, sternly warned Neela to offer the family tea and water as soon as they stepped into the house.

  *

  Another evening, another bunch of flowers. Rupali shook her head when her mother suggested, once again, they contact the nice man sending them. ‘

  ‘You need to forget that Jai.’

  ‘I can’t, I love him.’

  ‘But he doesn’t love you, beti. Otherwise he would not have listened to those rumours.’

  ‘It’s his parents, not him.’

  ‘Then why hasn’t he called you?’

  ‘They won’t let him, that’s why.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t want to live with people who are like that, do you?’

  ‘I want Jai.’

  But Rupali, deep bags under her eyes, and a rapidly growing paunch from a lack of exercise and the consumption of too many cakes in front of TV, didn’t look like the girl Jai had originally selected, and it was all her mother could do from telling her.

  *

  On cue, at 7:00 p.m. exactly, the doorbell played its cheesy 70s tune. Soorbhi answered the door, and led Kiran, his parents and his sister in to the living room. By the time they had sat down, Neela had arrived with a flowery tray on which nine glasses of water were balanced and was offering it as genteelly as she could. She paused in front of Kiran, throwing him a nasty look which she hoped conveyed the message that he shouldn’t be there. She placed the tray on the glass coffee table in the middle of the room and sat as far away from Kiran as possible. Daadi-ji shot her a strange look, but Neela ignored her.

  Kiran’s family seemed to have forgotten the spectacle of the previous meeting. Neela suspected that Rishi had done some smooth talking, and probably told them that Neela stood to inherit a substantial fortune in order to entice them back. It was as if Pride and Prejudice had never been written, Neela thought. Kiran’s mum was smiling at her as if she was already part of their family, and his dad was casting an experienced eye around the room, sizing up the quality and cost of the fittings.

  Not surprisingly, talk turned to the wedding. As they banged on about this and that, Neela couldn’t help thinking of poor V going through the same thing with Girish.

  God, what a problem that was. So far, ten bunches of flowers hadn’t led to a single return text to the spare Pay As You Go sim. That Rupali really was pathetic. Neela had been sure a bunny boiler, by definition, could be gone in the head enough to fall for the dashing saviour who cared enough to send her flowers. But no. The stupid girl was probably still hooked on Jai.

  ‘Neela! Mrs Acharya is talking to you.’

  ‘Oh sorry, what?’

  ‘Neela!’

  ‘Isn’t she a peach?’ Kiran tone was nothing if not sarcastic and the whole room turned to look at him.

  Saving everyone from further embarrassment, Soorbhi abruptly decided it was time for dinner and shooed them into the dining room.

  The Acharyas, Rishi and Daadi-ji sat at the table, while Neela and her mother gathered the many dishes of curry, dhal and rice and chapattis and put them out on the table. Idly, Neela wished there was enough time to add a little laxative to the food, just to be on the safe side. Kiran was acting really weird, and she was worried he might not actually tell the truth and call the whole thing off, like he was supposed to.

  Neela was massively irritated by Kiran. He knew how she felt about him; about being forced into a marriage she didn’t really want. Worse, he was forcing this charade on her when
it was clear that once her father knew of his police cautions, the whole thing would be off, anyway.

  She cornered him as he returned from a visit to the loo. ‘Remember what you need to do.’

  Kiran, cold eyes looking over her with disgust, told her simply: ‘No.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You do it, I’m not going to.’

  ‘What! You want to shame your family?’

  ‘No, which is why I am not going to break this thing up. It’s right we are not married, if you don’t love me. But if you break it off, I am going to tell everyone about us and what you did with me. Get it? No one will want you, then.’

  Neela sucked in her breath in horror. He wouldn’t! Navin and his handsome face shot through Neela’s consciousness. What would Navin say if he heard Neela had been with Kiran. Navin was Neela’s type, not this slimy little conniving accountant-to-be. How she had ever . . .

  Exasperated, Neela turned and walked away. Kiran could make all the threats he wanted, but she would get even – and make sure their marriage was well and truly off.

  With the exception of the supposed engaged couple, everyone else got along well that evening. The longer the dinner went on, the more talk there was of getting together to pick out the wedding hall, go shopping, and all the ceremonies that needed to be carried out. Before she knew it, the fathers had gotten up from their chairs and were shaking hands. Crap. Still, Neela told herself not to worry. Even if Kiran was being a prat, her strict father wouldn’t allow a union to a person with police cautions; a man who might ‘disgrace’ his daughter by brawling in the street.

  But what if he didn’t? What if . . .? No, forget it. She wasn’t V. They couldn’t force her to marry Kiran. Even if she had lied and told them she wanted the match, she would simply cancel it.

  Neela’s head hurt with the intrigue – she wished she had never lied about the stupid match now. That way, no matter what Kiran said to Rishi, Neela could have just rejected him outright.

  Kiran’s family walked slowly to the door, followed by Neela’s family, Kiran and Neela trailing at the back. She tried not to look at him in case she punched him in his smug mouth – what a rat!

  ‘Neela! Say goodnight.’

  ‘What?’

  Kiran’s mum smiled sweetly, chucked Neela’s cheek and said they must go, but that they were ‘very excited’ by the ‘arrangement’.

  ‘So are we,’ said Daadi-ji, looking Kiran up and down appreciatively. ‘Neela has chosen well, haven’t you?’

  It was all she could do to raise her lips, let alone reply.

  Rishi said the words for her. ‘Yes, she has. This wedding will be one to remember.’

  Yeah, thought Neela. Because it will be the only one in history minus the bride.

  As the parents continued their long, 25 minute Asian goodbye, Neela began to feel dizzy. Realising she could use an illness to her benefit, she collapsed to the floor.

  Whether or not it was intentional, it did the trick. The Acharyas were immediately bundled into Kiran’s hotted-up Polo and Neela was laid on the sofa in the living room by her father.

  Beside her, Daadi-ji began to pray she would not have to bury her granddaughter before she, herself, died.

  ‘Look, she’s fine,’ Soorbhi pointed to Neela’s open eyes.

  ‘Sorry Mum,’ Neela groaned, ‘I guess I must not be feeling all that well today.’

  ‘Ok beti,’ Soorbhi said, genuine sympathy in her eyes. ‘You go to bed. You just need a good night’s rest.’

  What she actually needed was breathing space. Neela wished that sympathy was there when her parents were trying to make her the next Mrs Trivedi. If it was, then she wouldn’t have had the fight with Kiran; he wouldn’t have been trying to force himself into her family; and they would have been plodding along nicely in their relationship without the pressure of marriage.

  Chapter Twenty- six

  FREE OF HER FAMILY, and alone upstairs in her room, Neela got into her pyjamas, brushed her teeth, and settled down to watch PAL. Kiran and his threats could wait until after her date tomorrow, when she might have had a clear head for revenge. For now, she still couldn’t believe she was having coffee with the evil Navin. Watching him on screen didn’t make it seem any more real, either. All the problems – Rupali, Girish, Priya and of course V – paled into nothing when she thought about the delicious actor. Of course, she had to be careful. Sure, he could have anyone he wanted, but she wouldn’t cheapen herself. If he was a player, she wouldn’t play. But if he was sincere, well, the thought made her shiver.

  And no guy had ever made her shiver.

  Lohit cried out that he could feel a pulling in his chest, and a strong wind began to blow into the room, sweeping his hair backwards - a sign that this was indeed the real Payal. She, and not the lifeless figure on the sofa whom he had married, was the life of his life. The real Payal was standing directly in front of him, wind blowing in her face too. The first strains of the overly sentimental music that was the theme for the two soulmates could be heard. The two lovers had been re-united.

  Suddenly, the camera shot between characters, and lights flashed without any preceding warning for those prone to seizures to look away from the screen.

  The real Payal broke the silence with a fairly obvious pronouncement: ‘I AM PAYAL, THE LOVE OF LOHIT’S LIFE.’ The family gasped, as if this was news to them.

  Next the real Payal walked over to a cowering Ishika. ‘AND I HAVE BEEN LISTENING TO ALL OF YOUR PLANS ISHIKA.’

  Then she walked towards Mummy-ji, who was still clutching her chest, to the apparent disinterest of her entire family: ‘And there’s more. MUCH MORE!’

  Annoyed that the credits had started just as things were about to get interesting, Neela turned off the TV and fell asleep.

  The next thing she knew, her phone was ringing. It was Jai. Groaning, she said she’d call him back, and closed her eyes again, but the peace was momentary.

  ‘Neela!’ Soorbhi, shouted from the kitchen. ‘Come and help me with lunch.’ Lunch? What time was it? Rolling over, Neela checked her alarm clock. Midday. How had she slept for so long? There were lots to do to before she met Navin – hair, nails, waxing, eyebrows. And now her mum wanted help as well.

  And then she remembered Jai. She had to call him back.

  ‘Neela!’

  ‘Sorry Mum, on the phone,’ she yelled. ‘It’s V, she wants to talk about the wedding.’ As she spoke she managed to slip out of her nightie. A quick shower and she’d call Jai back.

  It took thirty minutes. She made the call.

  ‘So, do you have someone for me?’

  ‘Yes, but it will cost you more than we agreed.’

  Bloody Jai. ‘Fine, fine.’

  ‘And I want a bigger cut, too.’

  ‘What are you? A pimp?’ Neela was fed up with men. Well, not Navin. But then, he was more than man – he was a Bollywood God!

  ‘A larger cut,’ Jai demanded. ‘If I’m part of your plan, then I want part of the money.’

  How could Rupali have ever wanted to marry this sleazeball? Girish was actually an improvement, and that was saying something.

  ‘Neela! Where are you?’ Soorbhi was sounded seriously annoyed now.

  ‘In a minute,’ she called back. With Kiran on the radar, Soorbhi was having none of the usual cooking excuses, forcing her into the kitchen at every opportunity so that Neela didn’t embarrass them when she moved out to live with another family. A girl who couldn’t cook was a bad reflection on her mother.

  ‘Look. A girl can be despatched to the address as given. Tomorrow night. 5:00 p.m., as agreed. But it will be 200 quid, all in. Fifty for me.’

  There was no alternative, was there? ‘Fine. I’ll pay you next time I see you.’

  There was silence, then Jai said: ‘Listen, I was wondering . . .’

  ‘Sorry, Jai. I am seeing someone.’

  ‘But–‘

  ‘No, look . . .’ What could she say? A small time player like
Jai? When she had a hot date with the evil Navin? No way. Which is when it occurred to her that she still didn’t even know Navin’s real name. Why hadn’t she checked the credits on PAL last night? Never mind, she’d ask him later. With the delicious thought of her coffee date expanding into a dream of marriage and three kids, Neela forgot Jai was on the line, until she heard a polite cough.

  Oops. ‘Gotta go. I’ll pay, but you make sure she does the job right.’

  ‘She always does the job right, you know. Now, listen, I wanted to ask you–‘

  But Neela pretended to lose reception, hung up, and shuddered at the disgusting turn the conversation took. She shoved her phone into her faux-leather jegging pocket and went downstairs.

  In the kitchen, Soorbhi was putting the one and a half foot deep pressure cooker onto the hob, straining with the weight. ‘I need you to peel the potatoes for me.’

  Reluctantly, Neela walked over to the sink, where five large baking potatoes were waiting for her in an orange plastic sieve. Halfway through number four, her phone rang again. She checked the caller ID. Jai. Again. Forget it. She wasn’t answering it. Let him text her if he wanted.

  ‘Is that V again? What does she want?’ Soorbhi asked.

  ‘Wedding exhibition,’ Neela lied. ‘She wants me to go.‘

  ‘Could be a good idea. Perhaps Mrs Patel and I could come too? We are mothers of brides after all.’

  Neela imagined how that little party would go. The mood V was in she would probably reveal all about Kiran, and Soorbhi would disown her in front of an exhibition full of nosy gossipers.

  ‘No, I can’t go. It’s this afternoon. I have a date.’

  The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think. Stupid, Neela told herself. Stupid.

  ‘Oh, with Kiran? Well, give him my best.’

  Neela’s mum grabbed the remaining potato. ’Let me. I want us all to eat today.’ She looked across at Neela and continued sternly: ‘You really must learn your priorities. Be useful, go and buy some milk. You know how your Daadi-ji likes her milky tea before her afternoon nap.’