The Bollywood Breakup Agency

by Naina Gupta

  Neela had the milk, and was racing for home and an hour-long session with her hairdryer in preparation for the sexy Navin, when she bumped into V. Unfortunately, that idiot Rupali had yet to reply to all the flowers and notes, so, as far as V was concerned, marriage to Girish was barrelling towards a horrific actuality.

  Deciding to act as if everything were normal, Neela leaned in to kiss her. ‘Hi, long time, no see.’

  ‘Don’t give me that bull, you were supposed to help me.’ V pushed her away.

  ‘Ouch! Look, I was busy with–‘

  V’s round face blushed a fierce red. ‘I don’t care.’

  Her attitude was unbelievable, considering all the money Neela was spending on flowers. ‘What is the big deal?’

  ‘The big deal is that a few days ago, my married life with Girish began.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh yeah, now you’re paying attention. I’m not engaged, but we had to do that ceremony to say that we wanted to marry. Apparently it is something you do before the engagement. What the hell am I supposed to do now? You were supposed to have dealt with Girish.’

  ‘Look, I’m working on it.‘

  ‘Don’t give me your bullshit excuses.’

  V hardly ever swore – she thought it was a lazy way to talk – so Neela figured she meant business.

  V’s face became ever redder, and the juice carton she was holding was squeezed tighter and tighter. ‘It is always about you Neela. I always sit on the sidelines, listening to stupid problem after stupid problem – you broke up with Kiran; you’re back with him; you don’t want to marry losers – back and forth, again and again. But when I need your help, when I pay you for help, you do nothing.’ By that last sentence, there was almost a tear in her eye.

  ‘I listen to you,’ Neela protested.

  ‘No you don’t,’ V shouted, ignoring the startled looks of the other patrons. The orange juice dropped from her hand and crashed to the floor, bursting open. The owner began screaming at V in a language they couldn’t understand, she just waved him away. ‘For God’s sake, you were supposed to help me. But once I even had to wait half an hour in the car because you were watching stupid Indian soaps with your mum.’

  Neela thought back. Okay, she might be a bit self-centred, but V had to know she was working on her problem.

  ‘Listen, V–‘

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that!’

  ‘You’re not the queen of the universe Neela – we don’t all have to fawn over you.’

  ‘I never said you did.’

  ‘Why don’t you go back to deceiving Kiran and your parents and leave me alone?’

  That reminded Neela of the date with Navin. She checked her watch, less than two hours until she had to leave.

  ‘V, I swear, I am doing something about Girish, just trust me, will you?’

  And her former best friend looked her straight in the eye. ‘No, Neela, I won’t. Not again. Not ever.’

  Chapter Twenty- seven

  JUST OVER AN HOUR LATER, Neela was watching yet another re-run of PAL, and putting the finishing touches to herself for the date with hot Navin. She had to pinch herself time and time again; she just couldn’t believe it was real.

  Daadi-ji and Soorbhi had gone to Mrs Singh’s a few doors down for some intensive gossiping, which was ideal as Neela could sneak out for her date without having to answer too many questions. If she couldn’t be bothered doing her hair for Kiran’s family, the massive makeover for a coffee date would be hard to explain.

  The doorbell rang. Ah, a delivery – must be Priya’s stuff for the scheme tomorrow. Should have come yesterday – stupid delivery company. Luckily Neela was in now to receive it – her family discovering what she was ordering was all she needed – although she could always blame it on Kiran. Hmm. Shame she hadn’t thought of that before.

  She threw open the door and held her hands out for the large brown box, discreetly labelled to prevent embarrassment.

  Signing quickly, Neela turned to go back inside but the front door swung inwards and she bashed the box, and the tips of her fingers, into the heavy oak.

  ‘Owwww!’ she exclaimed, dropping the box in pain. It dropped to the ground and the top popped open. X-rated items spilled onto the front stairs and rolled down the path.

  ‘Shit!’ Neela tried to ignore her stinging fingers and pick up the various bits and pieces before, God forbid, Daadi-ji came home at that moment and saw them. The sight of hardcore porn on the front doorstep would send her poor grandmother to an early grave. As Neela scrabbled to collect her wares, she accidentally kicked some of the items further down the garden path.

  ‘Shit!’ Bending over to pick up the waxing packet, she stood and walked forward to retrieve the saucy DVD, which had skidded across the ground right down to the gate at the street.

  Which is when she saw Mr Trivedi.

  Standing at their gate.

  Holding a DVD case with some naked girl on girl action on the cover.

  For once, both Neela and Mr Trivedi were similarly horrified. In silence, the elderly man walked up the path, handed her the case, shook his oily little head, then stormed off, leaving Neela to contemplate the fact that if he chose to tell everyone, Soorbhi and Rishi really would make good on their threat to evict her. Or kill her.

  Early, and sitting demurely in a highly visible spot in the Oxford Street café, Neela was still cringing at the thought of the foul Mr Trivedi handing her the similarly foul item on her front path. Come on, she told herself. You are about to have coffee with the best looking man in the universe. Forget about the ugliest man on the planet.

  The café door swung open and Neela watched as he entered the warm shop, brushing back his hair in a familiar action – well familiar to anyone who was addicted to PAL. He looked around and on seeing her, made his way over.

  This time, in a better light, Neela noticed how different he looked off screen. There was no black eyeliner, his eyebrows hadn’t been threaded and he wasn’t wearing his regulation slim fit shirt to show off the amazing muscles, but she decided that he looked even better without all the grooming – if that was possible.

  ‘Hi, are you okay for coffee?’

  Her chai latte was barely touched, so Neela nodded. As he made his way to the back of the queue to order, she watched him, completely star-struck. All the anticipation had succeeded in making her nervous and shaky, and when he returned, she knocked her drink on the floor trying to make room for him on the sofa. A surly boy came along with a bucket and mop.

  ‘You sure know how to make an impression,’ Navin commented, after queuing up again and plonking a replacement latte down in front of her. ‘I’m Navin, by the way. I don’t think you actually know my name.’

  ‘But that’s your PAL name, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh God, you don’t watch it, do you? I’m surprised. You’re not a middle-aged housewife. The same name makes the transition between me and the character easier on the production team.’

  Was that an English accent? No, just perfect English. Well, he was an actor. ‘No’ she squeaked, trying to sound calm. In an attempt to look nonchalant, she picked up the coffee to take a sip, but missed her mouth and foam spilled all down her top. The upside was it had cooled down. The downside was now hot Navin was considering her as one might a decrepit aunty who had lost her marbles.

  Neela couldn’t get that sexy accent out of her head – she’d never been attracted to someone from over there, and luckily, she still wasn’t. Why didn’t she notice his voice the first time round, instead of just staring at him like a star-struck fool? Now to find out what he was doing in London.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be poisoning your aunt to get your hands on the inheritance?’

  ‘You do know that show isn’t real? He enunciated the last word in the way that a soap star who had been stalked his entire working life by nutter fans might say.

  ‘I only watch it because of you,’
Neela said, before she could stop herself. Why? Why say that? She wanted to kick herself. Hard.

  He smiled the beautiful, slightly evil, slightly crooked smile. ‘It’s a relief to know you aren’t a fan of the show, then.’

  ‘The show sucks. You, on the other hand . . .’

  Navin nodded politely. He was clearly used to compliments.

  ‘So what are you doing in London then?’ Neela said, eager to keep the conversation going, in case he decided she was a bore and left.

  ‘Visiting family.’

  ‘So you’re from here?’

  ‘Not really. My family moved from India when I was one. I moved back at twenty to work.’ The amazing eyes passed over her. ‘You look gorgeous, by the way.’

  Neela, wondering whether he said that to every star-struck girl, decided to try to impress him with her business acumen. ‘I run my own business. It’s necessary that I look the part.’

  ‘Your clients appreciate a short skirt and high boots?’ The smile was broader now, but Neela didn’t really like the fact that he was humouring her. Being used to having the upper hand with men, it was obvious when the situation was reversed. And she didn’t like it.

  ‘They expect it. I need to look as if I know what I am doing.’

  ‘Which is?’ There was still a touch of laughter in his voice.

  ‘I run a breakup agency.’

  That got his attention. ‘A what?’

  ‘I break up arranged marriages. Or engagements. The idea is that it doesn’t get to a marriage. And that I do it without shaming my client, if possible.’ She passed over one of the rather rubbish cards she’d had made in one of those machines in St Albans shopping centre car park, far away from the Harrow printing shops. Neela couldn’t afford to be seen printing business cards. On it, simply a mobile number and the words Break it, Don’t Fake it!

  ‘Nice touch.’ The deep brown eyes crinkled into a grin. ‘My parents were trying to match me up. I might have had to use your services, had the girl not turned out to be a total lunatic.’

  ‘In my line of work, lunatics come with the territory.’

  ‘There are a lot out there. You should hear what my father has had to put up with.’

  Now that the initial awkwardness passed, they began to get on much better. An hour later, and Navin was looking at his watch.

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Dad has organised this family thing, but I’d love to see you again.’

  Neela smiled. ‘Sure, call me. You’ve got the number.’

  ‘I will, but I need to check one thing. You are available?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You know. For dating. Not betrothed to someone else?’

  ‘Of course not.’ In her mind, Neela wasn’t, and it was only when Navin had left the café that Neela realised three things. Firstly, she had no idea what his full name was. Secondly, he didn’t even know her name, which didn’t bode well for future relations. Finally, if he found out she was engaged, the idea of any further relationship would be as laughable as Girish becoming a Bollywood star.

  *

  Jai couldn’t help thinking of her. In fact, he was surprised that thoughts of her stopped him from leering at any of the overly made-up bimbos at the engagement party he was attending with his family that morning. Why would he be thinking of her? For a start, it was clear she hated him. And she definitely wasn’t his type. Perhaps all this nonsense with Rupali had affected his brain. Still, there was something about her he found unbelievably attractive. A unique combination of pushiness and brusqueness that other girls simply didn’t have. But, given she obviously knew of his murky past in vivid detail, it was unlikely she would talk to him again, let alone date him, let alone anything more.

  Sighing, Jai allowed himself to be led to the happy couple to perform his duties as a cousin. Why was life so complicated? If Rupali had been normal, instead of a bunny boiler, he wouldn’t be lusting after someone so inappropriate now.

  Perhaps he should give that girl he’d sent to Hiten’s house a call later. At least she could help him forget his woes? But as he watched the engaged couple in front of him smiling happily, Jai knew his heart wasn’t in it.

  Could it be that he actually wanted a proper, monogamous relationship?

  Or maybe he was just under the weather and had a cold coming on?

  Yes, he decided, handing over his offering to his cousin – that must be it. He must be sick. Why else would he be fantasising about a girl like her?

  *

  Yet another bunch of flowers, this time with accompanying chocolates, arrived. That made four that week. With her daughter putting on weight daily and the possibility of a huge wedding pulling away from her like a fortune in a banking crisis, Rupali’s mother decided enough was enough.

  Thank you for your kind thoughts, she texted from Rupali’s BlackBerry to the mobile phone number that had been carefully provided with every floral offering delivered over the past two weeks.

  The reply came back quickly. You are always in my thoughts, beautiful.

  Contemplating the options quickly, and following the age-old instincts of an Indian mother, she then asked: What do you do for a living?

  There was a pause, then: I owned a company in India with my father. But business is nothing without a woman to share it with. A decent woman, like you. Please, can we meet?

  Reading the response quickly, Rupali’s mother then did what any decent woman who wanted to save her daughter from a life of spinsterhood did.

  She made a date with the secret admirer.

  Chapter Twenty- eight

  V AND GIRISH WERE IN Wembley shopping for household items, together with both Mrs Patels and a variety of cousins and aunties from both sides.

  ‘You okay, beti?’ V’s mum asked, wrapping a hand around her elbow.

  ‘Fine.’

  Then in front of them, Girish grabbed his mobile and considered it, a shocked look on his face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked V’s mother. ‘It’s not the business, is it?’

  ‘Girish sold the business, Mum.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘He is buying another,’ Girish’s mum quickly replied. ‘So that he can live here with V.’

  That begun a discussion of the opportunities in the highly-competitive Indian take-away business, and V tuned out to watch Girish, who was looking at his mobile as if he had never seen one before. What was going on with him?

  Dare she hope of some dreaded disease? No, that would be wrong; she didn’t want Girish dead, just gone.

  But, with the exception of Neela’s stupid plan of some beautiful woman sweeping him off his feet coming true, Girish would be going nowhere. And looking at his round, balding head, hair sprouting from his ears and tummy poking out from his too-tight trousers, V had to resign herself to the fact that Girish was unlikely to attract the attentions of any woman who wasn’t blind, deaf and dumb.

  And had a much reduced sense of smell, too.

  *

  Finally, finally, that stupid Rupali had replied. Neela quickly appealed to her sense of greed and revealed what V had told her about the state of Girish’s finances. That seemed to do the trick and Rupali agreed to finally meet Girish.

  It was easier to get Girish to agree to a date, Neela simply texted him with the message: I think you are cute, do you want to meet?

  His reply was quick. I am engaged, but okay.

  Typical bloody man. Still, Neela was so relieved her plan for V was working, after so many weeks of solid (well, occasional) grind and considerable expenses, that she didn’t spend more than a moment indulging her rage for the male of the species. But she did press ‘save’ on Girish’s reply. If all else failed, there was always blackmail.

  How about tonight? Bazaar Lounge?

  How will I know you?

  Prepared for the moment, Neela quickly sent a picture message in reply – she had asked Jai to forward one of Rupali for her business hall of fame. Of course, the vain loser had fallen for it an
d agreed.

  Girish’s final reply was simple. Can’t wait.

  Bastard! Still, Girish and Rupali’s date finally sorted, Neela decided she now had to call Kiran’s bluff. If need be, she would say he was lying about being together, but for now, she had to extricate herself for Navin. Sure, they hadn’t actually been on a proper first date, but that didn’t stop her from daydreaming about a huge Bollywood wedding and a life of luxury in his palatial mansion with his wonderful, classy family. She wasn’t giving the possibility of even an iota of that coming true for a lifetime of unhappiness with Kiran Acharya. How could she have ever gone out with him, she asked herself again.

  Hopping into the Mini, she made it to her dad’s office in record time, parking illegally in the carpark and blocking the entrance.

  ‘Neela?’ Her dad was in the foyer, briefcase in hand. ‘I’m off to court, a commercial lease matter. Is your mother alright?’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Can’t it wait, as I said–’

  ‘No, sorry, it can’t.’

  Rishi issued instructions to explain his late arrival to his client, and the receptionist, well used to Neela’s petulant ways, rolled her eyes and began dialling. Rishi led Neela into his office.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Daddy, there’s something you need to know about Kiran.’

  ‘I know, Neela.’

  She didn’t expect that. ‘What?’

  ‘He told me about the fighting, the police cautions.’

  Oh come on. ‘And you don’t mind?’

  Her father, his handsome face showing his distraction, looked her in the eye. ‘You love him, and you’ve, um, committed to him. He told me that it wasn’t his fault, and he didn’t actually go to jail, so there is nothing more to say. And,’ Rishi added, ‘he came to me himself this morning first thing to tell me. That is the sign of a true man.’