by Naina Gupta
‘Yes, Mum, okay.’
She had to get rid of Kiran, and fast, but so far every plan had failed. She even tried sending some porn but it turned out that Kiran’s parents were the understanding sort and believed him when he said a friend at work stole his credit card.
‘Nice try,’ he’d told Neela in a curt phone conversation that ended with Kiran promising to reveal intimate details of their previous sex life if Neela tried one more time to stop the union.
Daadi-ji would just throw herself into an early grave if she heard that, and Kiran knew it.
Bastard!
Neela kept telling Rishi that she was worried about marrying Kiran because he was violent and had police cautions for brawling and Rishi merely said that if Kiran hurt his baby girl he would personally kill him. And her father said he would lay down the law on their wedding night, just to be sure.
Walking out of the house, Neela drove to the nearest Costa and stared deep into a cappuccino – a taste acquired at university after 18 years of drinking Indian masala tea – wondering how her life had gone so wrong.
Getting up, she realised there were a few good shopping hours left in the day, and Rishi’s cards were burning holes in her pockets.
*
There were only a few days to go until the engagement celebrations began in earnest, and if V could be bothered, she would have told her mother she didn’t want Neela to be part of it. Problem was, the parents had become friends over the years, and uninviting Neela meant repercussions for the two families that V didn’t want to explain.
That didn’t stop V from planning to tell Neela that she wanted a full refund on the money she had paid to get rid of Girish. The man, apart from being revolting, was now almost always out with friends boozing when she called, which didn’t bode well for any sort of decent marriage. Okay, she hated the sight of him, but to have to be a doormat wife on top of that was too much to bear, wasn’t it?
‘Flip it over,’ V’s mum said after about five seconds of the chapatti being on the pan, and she followed the instructions without comment, even though V’s chapattis were renowned as being the tastiest in her family.
‘Press it down, and spin it around with your hand,’ V’s mum instructed. Sighing, V did as she was told, and once the second side was done, she lifted the pan to cook the first side again directly on the fire of the gas cooker.
After cooking the entire batch, she got dressed and was dragged into a room full of Patels, where she had to sit for two hours picking out wedding decorations. Her future mother-in-law’s ridiculously shrieky laugh was enough to make V consider simply standing up and walking out the front door, hopping a train to Paris and burying herself somewhere deep in Italy or Greece. Somewhere the name Patel had never been heard of. Somewhere Girish could never find her.
‘Look, the picture on this one looks just like Girish!’ One of the cousins commented cheerily. V looked over. The sketch was of a tubby man with a round head and floppy ears. Ugh.
Yes. Running away was a brilliant idea.
One in which she’d be missing, presumed happy.
*
‘NOOOO!’ Ishika cried, running after her husband. The run across the twenty-metre-long reception room took about five minutes of screen time, and when the pregnant woman got to the doorway, her husband was lying splayed out on the front path.
Lohit stood above him, angry and hyperventilating. He stomped his designer shoe onto Navin’s chest, and the evil cousin woke up. ‘Lohit, stop!’ This was the first time the he had looked fear directly in the face. But Lohit wasn’t in the mood for being reasonable. ‘YOU TRIED TO KILL MY MOTHER AND BLAME IT ON MY WIFE. FOR WHAT? FAMILY MONEY?’ Lohit stamped down on Navin’s stomach, and the evil cousin groaned loudly in pain.
Meanwhile, Ishika was still standing in the doorway crying, her arm reaching out, as if the stretched limb would stop a man way out of reach from killing her beloved husband.
Back home with eighteen parcels and a broken heart, it was almost too difficult for Neela to watch PAL. As she sat in the kitchen, transfixed along with the other Solanki females in the room, her heart pined for opportunities lost.
‘What are you wearing?’ Daadi-ji asked, the moment the programme finished and the titles began scrolling down the screen. ‘And is Kiran coming, as your husband-to-be?’
‘No, no.’ Soorbhi said. ‘It hasn’t been properly announced yet.’
Neela stared at them. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Vidya’s engagement, of course. It’s this Saturday.’
‘Oh.’ Given V clearly hated her now, Neela was surprised they were still going. Then she realised that it would cause more gossip for her friend than it was worth to exclude the Solankis, so on top of marrying a man she hated, V had to face Neela too.
If only Neela could do something to help. She had yet to discover what had happened with Girish and Rupali. Unable to be sure whether or not they had met at the Bazaar Lounge, she didn’t want to send any more text messages in case her cover was blown. Girish had sent one message after the meeting, but all it said was Call soon. Obviously, Neela didn’t, so what was happening was a mystery.
Maybe a call to Rupali was in order? Unless Girish hadn’t shown up, and Rupali was still alone? The last thing Neela wanted was the rabid bunny boiler on her case again, making threats of revealing Neela’s sordid little plans.
Sighing, Neela watched as Daadi-ji flicked channels, looking for the Plus One so that she could watch yesterday’s episode of PAL, which she’d missed.
Then, Neela’s mobile buzzed. Who could that be? All her clients except V were dealt with, and V wasn’t talking to her.
Got your message. Thought about it. Meet me at the Oxford Street cafe to discuss? 5ish? N.
Navin! Oh God, it was actually Him.
He must have forgiven her, which meant there was a chance that . . . Oh God, what was the time? Shit, she only had an hour to get there?
When she first started up with Kiran, had he asked her to meet him in an hour, Neela would have yelled at him for insinuating that she had no life and could drop everything just to go and see him. With Navin, it was different. She would give up a kidney if he asked. She was so eager to see him again her hands were shaking.
‘I’m going out,’ Neela said, standing up and racing to the hall cupboard to find the new Polo jacket she’d bought last week. It was a shame she couldn’t get changed into any of the new gear she’d just bought. ‘Back in time to help cook dinner!’ Okay, that was a lie, she would do anything to get out of helping cook dinner, but it might stop a whole load of questions.
‘Where are you going, beti?’ called out a shaky voice.
Neela turned to see Daadi-ji poking her head out of the living room door. The woman was amazing; she turned up out of nowhere. A minute ago she was eye-locked on PAL.
‘Just going to see some friends.’
‘Oh, have fun then.’ Despite it being obvious that her granddaughter was in a rush, Daadi-ji started reminiscing about her younger days, in the slowest voice possible: ‘You know when I was your age, I was already married. I was always at home cooking, because that was what a wife does. We did not go out and have fun with friends like you do in this country. If you were a girl you stayed at home.’
Neela looked at her phone impatiently: 4:40 p.m. Come on!
Daadi-ji then walked slowly towards her, even slower than the normal snails’ pace, and put a bony hand on Neela’s shoulder. ‘You really must learn to be a good girl. I pray to God everyday that you will come to your senses.’
Wow, this speech is longer than one of Payal’s monologues, Neela thought.
‘But really if you must go out with your friends every day, and not believe that people will think badly of you, then so be it. I am not here to stop you.’ Daadi-ji had finally finished the speech, but looked at her granddaughter, hoping the emotional blackmail would make her change her mind.
As if! ‘This is important Daadi-ji. One of my ot
her friends is getting married and she wants us all to meet him.’
Wrong thing to say. ‘Another one of your friends is getting married?’ Daadi-ji started up again, ‘Was it an arranged marriage?’
‘No, she was with him for about four years.’ Neela looked at her phone again: 4:43 p.m.
Daadi-ji wouldn’t quit. ‘Oh every time I hear about someone else’s child getting married, I used to ask God why my granddaughter can’t do the same, but, now, with Kiran, you–‘
‘Look Daadi-ji I really have to go now. Bye.’ Neela quickly gave her grandmother a hug to stay on her good side and then ran for the door before the lecturing could start again.
Hopping in her Mini, Neela set course for Oxford Street. Shame they had tow-away zones there, because there was no time to park properly. And she couldn’t miss this date. She wouldn’t.
Chapter T hirty-three
RUPALI COULDN’T BELIEVE HOW wonderful Girish was. He wasn’t the best looking of men, but he treated her like a goddess, rang her hundreds of times a day, and was sexy in a way she had never found Jai to be, because he was totally comfortable with his body. Plus, he was generous and wealthy, whereas Jai was wealthy and cheap. So far, he’d bought her an Abercrombie & Fitch tracksuit, from the lovely Mayfair shop with all the hunky shirtless guys. Then he took her to dinner at the Ritz. And finally, he told her he was engaged.
It should have upset her more than it had, but as with their entire relationship, Rupali knew that things would work out. It was fate. Just like when they had met at the shisha place. Girish thought Rupali had been texting him. Rupali thought the flowers had come from Girish. But both had denied the allegations, and Girish hadn’t been wearing the flower, like her secret admirer was supposed to. No, fate had stepped in, and brought them together.
A part of her wondered if Neela Solanki had anything to do with the match, but then, why would Neela match her to an engaged man? Plus, the flowers from her mystery man had begun long before she had met up with Neela. Why would Neela want to help Rupali, after destroying her life the way she had?
‘Girish, I think I love you,’ Rupali told him, stroking his round face.
And unlike Jai, Girish told her that was possibly the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to him.
*
Neela arrived at the cafe 15 minutes after five. She managed to park the car in Selfridges (the shame of the past overlooked in desperation to get to Navin) and had run across Oxford Street against the lights, running the gauntlet of buses. Staring wildly about, she strained to see him, but couldn’t. He wasn’t there – obviously thought she wasn’t coming and left. Did he not know about being fashionable late? Or even Indian timing, which meant you could be least forty five minutes late? Of all people, he should know about Indian timing. Sadly, she backed out of the door and began to walk away.
Suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind.
Thinking it was the nutter Rupali, Neela tried to back away, but her stiletto boot caught in a storm grate and she landed on her bum on the wet ground.
‘Ouch, what the–?’ she began to say, until she saw who it was.
‘It’s me.’ Navin looked down at her in amusement. ‘Who on earth did you think it was? Are the cops after you or something?’
‘I thought it was that, er, disgruntled client,’ Neela said, trying to sound more sensible that she felt, given the situation.
‘Here,’ he held out a hand.
‘No, it’s okay. I’m fine.’
‘Don’t be stupid. Come on, let me help you up.’
Mr Bollywood held out his hand, and she reciprocated. Moments later they were sitting downstairs in Starbucks, Neela nursing a sore behind and major embarrassment.
‘Skinny latte ok?’ Navin asked. He walked upstairs, leaving her to ponder how it was that he continued to increase in greatness in her mind. Now, he was more than hot Navin from PAL, who was made to have his eyebrows threaded, use eyeliner to define his beautiful brown eyes, and wear slim fit short sleeve shirts to show off his muscles. Now he was the amazing Navin, who liked to dress scruffily, sport stubble and a slightly crooked smile and help the clichéd, but still very much distressed, damsel.
When he came back with two coffees and set one down in front of her, he didn’t give up on trying to discover what had her so rattled that she would react to someone’s touch so dramatically.
‘I told you, disgruntled client,’ Neela said defensively, she then took a sip of the coffee to hide her nerves, and do it with her shaking hands.
‘Not that girl from the other night?’
Rupali had caused enough damage to her fledgling relationship with Navin, so Neela didn’t want to admit she was still rattled by the events of a few days ago. ‘In my line of business, there is always someone unhappy with the outcome.’
‘Look, about your voicemail . . .’ He sounded almost stern.
‘Yes?’
‘For some odd reason, I really like you, but I don’t know if I can date someone who is, well, in a line of work that would send my father to an early grave.’
Unbelievably hot or not, Neela didn’t appreciate the fact that he was trying to control her.
‘Well, what if I didn’t like of your line of work? My parents wouldn’t exactly approve of you either, you know.’
The seriousness had dissipated somewhat. ‘And why is that?’
‘You’re evil on that show, that’s why. My Daadi-ji would go mad if I brought evil Navin to dinner.’ That was complete rubbish – her grandmother would dine out on the event for years – but Neela wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Her career might not be his cup of tea, but not everyone could earn fortunes and drive Aston Martin’s from looking seedy on Asian TV, could they?
Thankfully, Navin seemed reluctant to start an argument. ‘Fine, but could you at least promise not to destroy the lives of any more unsuspecting women or men? At least in my presence?’
‘Easily. It’s a promise.’ Neela figured there was lots she could do when she wasn’t in his presence, so it was an easy promise to make.
Navin leaned in, and she got a whiff of his cologne. Delicious. ‘So, how about a date this Saturday? Movie and dinner, that sort of thing?’
Neela was about to enthusiastically agree, until she remembered V’s engagement ceremony.
‘I’m so sorry. It’s my best friend’s engagement. Another time?’
He smiled his amazing and expensive smile. ‘Sure, name the date.’
‘Really? You do seem to have a lot of time on your hands. What about PAL?’
‘The show is on hiatus. Filming starts again in Mumbai in two weeks.’
Neela’s heart plunged into her thigh high stiletto boots. Two weeks? What could happen between them in two weeks? Forcing herself to focus on the present, Neela suggested next Monday for a movie. She had to move fast if they were to start some sort of serious relationship before he went back to India.
The subject moved from TV to her family, and for over an hour, she kept Navin entertained with tales of Daadi-ji and her elderly friends, and Rishi’s demands to get married. Of course, she left out any mention of Kiran. Oh no. Kiran! Neela had to get home or Soorbhi would flip out.
She stood up. ‘I’m really sorry, but my family is expecting me.’
‘Why don’t I drive you home?’
‘No it’s okay,’ Neela said, hiding the fact that she would relish the opportunity to take him home and show him off. And that she had driven her own car. ‘Besides, I live in Harrow, you might get mobbed by old ladies who hate the fact that you tried to kill your entire family on a TV show.’
‘No arguments, I wouldn’t want some demented client to accost you on the way home.’ Standing up, Navin put one arm around her side and she sniffed some more of his scent. Somehow, he had found a metered park in a nearby street.
Something suddenly occurred to Neela. Someone as desirable as Navin must be hot property on the marriage market. As Neela got into the gleaming duc
k egg blue Aston, she asked if his own parents were still looking for a match for him.
‘No way. I told them to stop. Especially when my Dad told me the girl he had in mind was heavily into porn. They told me this girl was incredible. Goes to show their judgment is shocking, don’t you think?’
‘Porn?’ Neela wondered if Kajal was the possible fiancée. No? One look at her and you would know she was pornographic. It wouldn’t take weeks to discover that. One lick of that tongue and that would be that.
‘Imagine it. I think my dad is relieved I’ve told him to stop. Mum too.’ He smiled at her with his cheeky crooked grin, normally saved for evil plots against his TV family.
‘Well, at least your parents will leave you alone. Mine certainly won’t.’
‘I hope they don’t have anyone in mind for you right now, do they?’ Navin asked the question assuming the answer was negative.
Not wanting to tell another outright lie to the man who might possibly be the love of her life, Neela simply replied that her parents always have someone in mind for her. ‘It’s like a disease. They can’t stop.’
Navin opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again.
There was an awkward silence, in which Neela wondered if he were thinking the same thing as her.
That they would have to stop, if Navin and Neela got together.
Neela came back into the house and tried to stop herself from smiling like an idiot. She walked into the kitchen where her mum was stirring the dhal. And then remembered her Mini.
Oh God. Well, maybe she could say it was stolen? Or catch a cab back later to find it? Honestly, Navin made her brain turn to mush. How could she have forgotten her car?
‘Hurry up and roll out the pooris,’ Soorbhi said, without saying hello.