The Bitter Pill Social Club

by Rohan Dahiya

  “The fuck kinda bartender are you?” she shoved him aside, unaware of the stares. “That’s not how you make a cocktail, I didn’t come to sip this bougie shit ‘kay?”

  Sana threw back her vodka soda to avoid the disaster that usually began with Gayatri stepping behind a bar. Lara did not follow suit.

  “Gigi oh my god, make me a ‘skinny bitch’ please.”

  Gayatri threw her head back and cackled. “Bitch, even god can’t make you a skinny bitch. But if you want a vodka tonic then gimme two.”

  Sana moved away to avoid burning in a pyre of shame. She scanned the party, avoiding eye contact from anyone who’d ask her where her drink was or whether she’d show up for all days of fashion week, no she was looking for him to save her from having to make giggled small talk. She didn’t see him anywhere.

  “—Try the wasabi poppers, I know I hate wasabi too but these are to die for babe—”

  “—You guys are literally the cutest! Oh my god where’s your drink, get another one na—”

  “—Oh my god listen don’t even worry I’ll have the driver drop you home—”

  “—Yaas gurl try it with the dip … so good right? Oh my god feed me too—”

  “—Okay babe, seriously, if you’re not wasted in the next half an hour we literally cannot be friends anymore—”

  “—Oh oh I love this Berlin ArtParasites quote too! Omg they like totally get me! —”

  More giggling.

  “OMG like are you totally serious right now!”

  She turned around at his voice. “Laksh, there you are!”

  His hug was like a winter morning sun.

  “Thank god you’re here, I thought I would die,” she whispered into his ear.

  Her lips brushed against his neck when she spoke and he made no move to back off. Instead, he leaned closer and turned his lips to her cheek.

  “I’d die without me too.” He smirked.

  Their second hug didn’t go as unnoticed but no one around them said anything, mostly out of fear. No one survived a Sana Kochhar takedown, no one. She didn’t want to leave his side but Sana knew how people let their thoughts run, she knew because she was no different.

  “Hi, I’m Swati!”

  They turned and introduced themselves to the girl with legs for days wrapped in cigarette pants, and eyes only for Lakshman.

  “Hi, I’m Laksh. It’s nice to meet you.” Just like that she was forgotten.

  The girl with the spidery long legs threw her a smile over Laksh’s shoulder and Sana did her best to return it with grace. Karishma, while helping herself to a third cheese cigar pulled her back to the bar where the others stood.

  Gayatri slapped her butt. “Hey sexy!”

  She threw back a tequila and instantly regretted it. “Who the hell are all these people?”

  Karishma looked around and shrugged.

  “I don’t know, maybe a lot of them just brought friends along, like your invite said.”

  “Yes for plus ones not their whole neighbourhood.”

  “Maybe some of them are Sam’s friends?” Gayatri ordered herself another drink.

  “Umm what friends? We know everyone who’s friends with her. They’re our friends.”

  “Whatever I’m over it.”

  “Haha Gayatri that’s so rude.”

  “No really, I’m so done. We throw her this awesome party even though she’s dropping bombs on us and leaving to work in some trash place and yeah like I get it’s super nice, it’s volunteer work or charity or something but what-the-fuck-ever man. She’s just behaving like we’re not good enough already.”

  “Sana, who’s that girl talking to Laksh?”

  She sighed. “Swati something.”

  “She looks like a model.”

  “Who’s she here with?” she took another shot of tequila.

  “I think she’s Ankit’s sister.” Surya had made her way over to them, appropriately apologetic for being late.

  “Ankit Kalra? No, he has two kid brothers.” Gayatri ignored the way they looked at her. It was just dark enough to hide her violent blush.

  “Whatever, she’s a stupid slut who can go fuck herself.”

  Gayatri raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh we don’t like her.” Sana took her glass and took a large swig.

  She raised both her eyebrows meaningfully.

  “Stop it.”

  “You stop. It’s your party man at least try and have some fun.”

  Somewhere Samaira had entered the party, which had swollen to the point that the air conditioning had been rendered ineffective. Sana opened the double doors to the front lawn where the party was met with fairy lights and mist fans. Lara took her for another hit and she returned feeling invincible.

  Sam made her rounds, politely meeting everyone. In her mind she was sure they’d never be relatable again, they who clutched their drinks and cigarettes and laughed sloppily so she never knew if they laughed with her or at her. They who debated Modi and his henchmen as if they knew beyond their slight inconveniences, who spoke of their vacation plans with so much seriousness you’d think they were curing cancer. Social pretenses forced her to hold on to a drink, even though she’d quit since the last party where someone had spiked her cocktail and she’d woken up at a friend’s house in only her underwear. They didn’t really look at her, even when they spoke to her, so Samaira dipped her head and wove her way outside. She passed the bright sign that they all took pictures of, she’d seen their incessant updates on social media. The house felt like a skeletal structure, no better than a rented warehouse really. She felt three feet small remembering the days when they laughed and ran through those halls and played with a silly pink skipping rope. Of white light up shoes and picnics under a tent in the backyard.

  Two people were staring at her and a third made some comment she couldn’t hear, but their laughter was loud enough. She’d never been laughed at to her face before, though she’d done it to other people. Samaira had stood proudly in formation with Sana and the others and done the same. She had said such mean things that were so funny then and they couldn’t stop laughing and then that meanness had become a habit and she’d become a twisted harpy who said things for the benefit of a joke even when no one was around to hear it.

  What am I even doing here?

  She looked at her friends, the girls she’d spent every waking moment with. They sipped on jägerbombs and danced in tandem. Outside the boys they once sought attention from hid softening guts, or worse spoke of premature wedding plans. As the pool lights came on, she set her ginger gin down and vanished with a final jingle of those half moon earrings.

  “You’re welcome!” Swati handed Laksh a glass of upturned jäger, a subtle hair flip ensued.

  “Ugh don’t you just hate everyone here.”

  He knocked back the shot and set his glass aside with a polite smile. “No actually. These people are my friends and you shouldn’t be talking about them this way.”

  Visibly stunned at his reply, Swati chalked it up to ill-timed humor and laughed it off. In a city where everyone delighted in calling strangers hateful and ugly, and vehemently denied it, this boy had shut her up with unsettling ease. Sana was within earshot and she knew it, Swati had chosen her moment well albeit unaware of the outcome. It really was a room full of silly ugly men, she decided, not one she’d deign to go out with and even Laksh, well he wasn’t the best but he’d. No, Laksh was something different altogether. Sana raised her eyebrows meaningfully and Swati took it as her cue to leave them.

  “Dude, thank god you’re here. I thought I wouldn’t be able to get her off me.” Laksh exhaled as Sana walked over, pulling out a cigarette.

  “Why d’you wanna get rid of her?” she looked at him through droopy lids. The smoke curled out from her blushing lips.

  “For the sake of it, really. She’s too much, man.”

  “She’s one of the most beautiful girls here, Laksh.” She hoped her voice wouldn’t crack.

&n
bsp; “Are we feeling extra crazy today?” he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

  She swatted him away. “I said ‘one of –’ shut up.”

  “She’s a pain in the ass to talk to though.”

  “I don’t think she wants to do much talking.” She noted bitterly.

  He drew his eyebrows close and stared. “Why’d you say that?”

  She ignored the hollow in her chest. “She looks like she’s ready for it.”

  His eyes didn’t leave her face.

  “That’s irrelevant. You’re the one I’ve been meaning to talk to all night.”

  “Why?” She thawed out. “Is everything ok?”

  “Yeah, no it’s nothing serious. I was just wondering if you wanna join me for a quick road trip. I was supposed–”

  “Of course! Oh I think I’ll die in this house, let’s go please.”

  “Alright alright, but I was going with mom and dad earlie but they canned, so I got a single room instead.”

  “No one else is going?”

  “I haven’t asked anyone else yet.”

  “Don’t.” she ignored the turbulent thumping of her heart. “Wait does this mean I can drive your car?”

  “Exactly, I figured you could use the time away from all of this”, he waved a hand around them, “and no you cannot drive my car.”

  She crossed her arms in defiance.

  “Super. Pack light, there’s nothing to do at the fort except chilling and we can probs pack some beer along.”

  Her heart might’ve flown off if it wasn’t in her ribcage. Unable to contain herself, she launched into a hug.

  “At least now I’ll have some company for the drive.”

  “Uh obvi! Why’d you wanna pass up on such awesome company.”

  “Don’t pretend to be more annoying than you are.”

  “No Laksh that’d be my mother” she rolled her eyes.

  The memory of an unconsented kiss echoed through his mind and so he decided it was time to go home.

  “So I hear you have some interesting tattoos.” Swati was back.

  Laksh pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed loudly. “Yeah I do.”

  She snaked her hand around his arm. “Tell me everything.”

  “Better yet, why don’t I just show you”, he lifted the edge of his t-shirt to show her the line of dots and dashes that made up what was famously called the ‘Lakshman Rekha’. It sat low on his hips, Sana had to avert her eyes.

  The rest of their conversation was whispers and giggles, rooting her to her spot in disgust.

  Swati thanked her for the fabulous party with a cheek-to-cheek kiss and left with Laksh in tow, his hand running down her back.

  He looked back at her with shadowed eyes, all signs of humor gone, and gave her a mock salute. Sana still couldn’t move from there. It was like a punch in the gut. No, deeper. It was like a fist slowly pushed past her flesh and bones and plucked one of her organs out, leaving her slowly sinking.

  Gayatri wasn’t too comfortable keeping her head underwater for too long, in fact she avoided it whenever she could. Standing at five feet nine inches did have its own benefits though, she stood upright in most pools. The stone edge was too warm for that hour but she was leaning against it all the same, head lolling so heavily you’d think it might snap right off. She stared up at the sky that never seemed to darken, perpetually burning orange with the toxic glow of streetlights and the dust of a dying city.

  It really had been one of the hottest summers that Delhi had seen, she thought about how homeless people having nowhere to hide could just catch fire. The constant hum of conversation blurred to white noise when she tilted her head a little to the left, a little more and static rang through her ear. A heavy breeze lifted up the sweet scent of those very specific white flowers that only bloomed at night. She sifted it through her open fingers, standing straighter to move the joint away from her face. Her lungs filled with the half-formed memory of the scent that came from those seemingly invisible flowers, how it’d catch her unawares at the oddest spots in the city. Nights like that often remained a blur.

  She righted her head and turned around so that she could stare at the motley crew of drunks, swaying in their own tableaux of douchebaggery, pushing prime snow up their sharp noses. She sniggered at the thought of it, these people who were on the wrong side of peaking in life, of their hearts forever stopped in these times as their bodies aged and sagged. She saw them softening around the middle, greying and grappling to hold on to this version of their life.

  “Hey where’s Sana?”

  She shifted her head, looking at Ankit from the corner of her eyes.

  “I…” she sniggered, “dude I don’t fuckin care.”

  She pushed herself away from him. “Wait, why do you care all of a sudden?”

  “It’s not like I want to take advantage of her, Gayatri.”

  “Okay buddy, but like she’ll probably be ready to hit some rebound rides right now. So I’d suggest you stay away from her and all.”

  He laughed and plucked the joint from her fingers. “Aren’t you a smart cookie.”

  She turned again and leaned her back against the stone.

  “No I’m actually horribly stupid.”

  The sky was an amber wasteland above them and Gayatri wondered at how her life was going to change. She dreamt of casting calls and the panoramic view from her house in Bombay. She took in another lungful of the sweet incense and whispered an I Love You to the moon.

  “What?”

  Her heart stopped beating. “What ‘what’? Why are you still here?!”

  “What did you say just now…”

  “I thought you went looking for Sana.” She dipped underwater.

  “I wasn’t planning on leaving you alone, Gayatri.”

  She ignored him.

  “What did you say?” A smile played on his lips.

  “Nothing.” He widened his eyes at her. “Stop it Anki, I didn’t say anything.”

  Her nervous laugh gave it away.

  “Why’re you so embarrassed about it?” His laugh was possibly the worst reaction in that moment.

  “I said ‘I love you’, okay. I’m stoned as fuck. Besides I say it to people all the time.”

  “All the time?” he deadpanned.

  “Yeah”

  “All the time, Gayatri?” he sprawled on the grass in front of her.

  “YES.” She crossed her arms, fully aware of her childishness.

  “I love you too.”

  The smile was gone.

  “I’ve had a thing for you since we first met.” He shrugged as if it was common knowledge.

  And it had been. Everyone knew Ankit Kalra had a true-blue crush on Gayatri, including Sana who had told him to keep his distance from her. Who had told Gayatri that she just enjoyed the attention from Ankit because he was the new addition in their social circle. This was the same Sana who had started a rumour that Gayatri was a lesbian in high school when Karan Jaiswal had told her that he wanted to ask Gayatri out on a date. Worse still, everyone had believed it. The thing is, Sana had a penchant for fabricating details – not unlike her mother – and she had made up rather steamy scissoring scenarios between Gayatri and Nikita – who was actually a lesbian but wouldn’t come out of the closet for nearly a decade because of being bullied. However the worst of it all was the dean calling Gayatri’s parents to school to address the issue of homosexuality even though there was no school policy on it. They’d put her in therapy for a month until convinced it was all a big lie.

  Ankit took a deep breath. “That’s horrible.”

  “Yup.”

  “So then?”

  She giggled softly and wiped her eyes. “Then what? Nothing. Karan dated Sana for like six months then moved to the States and Nitika just faded to nothingness. As for me I figured I’d be better off as Sana Kochhar’s cool lezzie friend than a sad lez reject no one wanted to talk to.”

  She couldn’t stand to see him look
at her that way.

  “I’m a cliché aren’t I?”

  “Yeah”, he smiled, “but that’s irrelevant.”

  His hands wove through her hair and when their eyes met, Gayatri leaned in and kissed him. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore, not the blistering heatwave nor the high banter, not even the smell of nocturnal flowers. It didn’t matter that the first drop of rain had hit the parched earth. With their first kiss the spell was broken.

  One finger.

  Another finger.

  Two fingers more.

  She nudged her hand higher.

  Sana’s head rang with the sweet smell of cocaine. The ash from her cigarette lay scattered all over the basin, flaking over the bottles of shampoo, her make up box. James Blake crooned of his willing heart and she couldn’t stop thinking of Swati’s legs wrapped around Laksh’s bare back.

  Looking back at the cock-up of a night, Sana had no idea at what point she’d made the decision but it had come to her in a moment of absolute clarity. A plug pulled inside and all the alcohol drained out. Her hair fell unbound down to her navel, hair that she’d spent months growing out patiently snipping away split ends with surgical precision. She wanted to have a picture perfect wedding, who knew when a media house would buy the rights to her wedding photos?

  Smoke from a freshly lit cigarette stung her eyes and she told herself that that was the reason she was crying. There was nothing else to it.

  Her party in full swing below, Sana smoked away to oblivion fingering her hair till the smell had seeped in. Then she picked up the scissors – fingered measurements be damned – and chopped it all off from above her chest. They lied, they all lied. The movies, the TV shows, it was all fake. There was no grace in the movement of scissors against hair; it didn’t fall down in singular gossamer strands. Instead the converging blades were met with resistance and none of the falling clumps of hair was in slow motion. It clung to her top, poking her through the fabric. She felt her earrings rattle as she ducked out of it. The hair went everywhere, pinching her skin from under her bra.

  With blood turning vitriolic in her veins, Sunaina cut her hair at perfect level even though it took her the better part of an hour to do one side. She didn’t realize she was shivering till the scissors slipped from her white knuckled grip. The handle left welts on her hands and she welcomed the pain.