The Bitter Pill Social Club

by Rohan Dahiya

  The last time they’d had a conversation was when he had entered her room late in the evening to explain the situation between Surya’s mom and Gayatri’s dad.

  Something didn’t feel right.

  “Where’s mumma, isn’t she with you?”

  “Sana, could you please have a seat and let me explain. I’ve had a very long flight and I’m fucking exhausted right now.”

  She pushed down that slow burn of dread churning her gut and sat next to him.

  “Look Sana, you’re grown up now and I honestly don’t see any point in beating around the bush about this. I just want you to know that your mother and I love you very much beta, we do. We love you till the end of the earth” she closed her eyes and wished he would stop there, “but honestly this whole situation between me and that woman isn’t working out anymore.”

  “PAPA!?”

  “I can’t do it anymore. I just cannot see a way of making things work. She’s just on her own bloody trip in life and I am … I’m just done.”

  “What do you mean you’re done?” Her eyes stung with tears she’d held back all day.

  “We’re filing for a divorce. I can’t fucking be married to that woman anymore.”

  “But what about me?” she couldn’t fight the tears anymore.

  “What about me, Sana?” his voice echoed off the walls. “What. About. Me.”

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “You know she’s off frolicking in Europe with her boyfriend right now?”

  She left the couch, the room, hand to heaving chest.

  “He used to work in my fucking office. MY FUCKING OFFICE, SANA! She’s gone. The bitch is fucking gone. I’ve sent her the papers and told her never to show her face here again.”

  It was more than she could swallow.

  Sunaina ran blindly out of the room, out the house, out of the gate. The smell of those sweet nocturnal flowers made the air heavy, so heavy she couldn’t breathe. It was as if when night had fallen it brought out a feverish heat and that heat rose up from the earth in waves. Tears diagonally streaking down her face, she didn’t stop running.

  She didn’t stop till she heard his voice calling out to her. Lakshman was standing under one of the streetlights with a wistful cigarette, the purple-amber sky blazing behind him. The sight of him filled up her heart. That hole she didn’t know he’d left behind fixed itself. And she ran into him with a kiss that nearly knocked him off his feet.

  He held on to her for dear life, even as he staggered backwards. It was a single kiss that broke into a thousand smaller kisses, and they were gasping for breath.

  “I love you,” she looked into his eyes. “I think I’ve always loved you.”

  “I love you Sunaina,” he gasped back at her.

  “My parents split up,” she could taste the salt of her tears.

  He grabbed her and kissed her again, his lips more gentle this time. There wasn’t an urgency in his kiss, it was an affirmation.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  He grabbed her hand and ran towards his house, Rover yipping at their feet with shared excitement. Lakshman’s dog was the only one she knew of who went for walks without his leash. The retriever hurried past them through the kitchen door and she could hear him lapping at his bowl through the garage in excitement.

  “Where are we going Laksh?”

  He fished out a faded helmet that looked like it could fit her.

  “Anywhere!”

  It was her first time on a bike. Sunaina had her heart in her throat but with her arms around his waist she could’ve made it to the moon without flinching. Even with all the pollution and the humidity, when the wind whipped around them it was magic. They tore down the highway, the streetlights watching over them like sentinels. The cityscape started to disperse and the buildings grew smaller, the spaces between them expanded, and at one point from the road they could only see vast open land that was bathed in that same amber glow. They turned back around just after the sprawling grounds of the Buddh Circuit. She smiled into the back of his shirt, breathing in the shadows and the pale light of the moon.

  There was barely a whisper beyond the occasional car or truck, even they didn’t honk on that wide open road. She held on to Lakshman and allowed the wind to wipe away the inherited bullshit of her selfish family.

  He took her for a drive through the circles of Connaught Place, the gamut of brightly lit bars staring back at them in stupefied silence. The massive Indian flag that made up the central roundabout oddly unremarkable at night with no one to look at it. They wondered why no one had wrapped it up.

  It was way past midnight by the time they made it to India Gate. He bought her cotton candy and soft ice cream because there was nothing much left to look at once they’d looped around the monument.

  “So,” she licked the melting ice cream off the side of the cone, “when can I ask you out on a proper date?”

  He smirked “You want to go out on a date?”

  “Yeah I think that’d be nice. We should dress up, go out and get dinner somewhere.”

  “Friday. I’ll pick you up.”

  He held up the ice cream cone and dramatically finished it in one bite.

  “I thought this was our first date” she smiled ruefully.

  He melted into a smile. “That’s irrelevant.”

  She bought him a red rose even though it had wilted from being carried around all day, weary from being thrust into car windows and other couples. The young girl grinned at them and wished for their happy future before running over to another couple. They shared a cigarette and had warm popcorn straight off the heat. She kissed him before he put his helmet on and they wove themselves back into the night.

  Chapter SIX

  CANDY CIGARETTES

  At the age of seventy eight, Commander Asim Kochhar considered his daily walk of seven and a half kilometres an exemplary display of fitness. He would walk past the small shops selling maggi and hot tea, through the village with its dozen or so houses. It was one of the most charming hamlets around, with every house an eclectic personality on its own; yet they all came together in one harmonious picture. The mountain air was clean and pure and his walks mostly meditative. He’d walk all the way to the small café near the bridge so he could sit with Leela and talk books over butter cookies and rhododendron tea.

  “You’re crazy,” he’d always say, “you put too much syrup in the tea.”

  “I do it so that all your teeth fall out and then I won’t have to hear you talk so much.”

  Asim wasn’t just a customer at the Himalayan Tea Stall, over the years it had grown on him in more ways than one. He had taken it upon himself to teach Leela how to read and write in English, how to manage her accounts, he taught her what it meant to yearn for more in life. In the terrible snowstorm two years ago, the back wall had completely caved in and Leela had had no money to fix it. Her father had started the teashop as a means for her husband to make his daily bread but Sachin was born an idiot. He drank at night and slept through the day and in a fateful moment the river took him away.

  She did her part in mourning the loss of a husband but taking over all of the work had been a greater joy. It was the happiness of finally fulfilling her life’s purpose. When the snow fell that year it took a toll not just on her father’s health but also the backbone of the little stall. The choice was clear but not an easy one; she needed the money for his treatment. Asim had personally funded and overlooked the entire repairs while she took care of her dying father.

  At a young age Leela had understood the importance of accepting help when she needed it, precocious even as a teenager she held pride in her ability to gauge both sides of a problem. In return for his patronage, although she always told herself it would never repay her debt, Asim had free tea and cookies for life – regardless of how irksome he found the biscuit crumbs on his polo shirts. She’d often tell him the biscuits were made crumblier just to ruin his precious t-shirts. He was also the guinea pig
for any new recipe that she wanted to try out. The cookbooks he offered to bring her had everything under the sun but she’d always point to the fruit and veg sellers.

  “But why would I want to make those”, she reasoned, “wouldn’t it be better to make my own recipes? It’s not like we’re lacking any ingredients here in the village.”

  It was then that he decided to expand his backyard garden into a slightly larger farm, one that Leela could help tend to. He found her a book on gardening and curing that kept her busy for most of the month – and their lessons continued. In exchange for her help on the farm, Leela could use the produce at her tea stall, where she then started serving instant noodles with spiced veggies and omelettes with yak cheese on toast.

  However none of these had cemented their bond as strong as the games of chess, Asim having found a formidable opponent after many years. So on days when her head hurt and she didn’t want to read her lessons or talk of things here and there, she and the Commander played chess in silent rapture. If the weather was particularly pleasant, they’d walk down to the riverside to one of the cafés where tourists smoked joints and the coffee was actually good, and one could hear the water gushing past. On those days he’d only make it back by nightfall, always declining her offer to walk him home.

  The house was too big for him. Even with the housekeeper, the cook, the servants, gardener and driver, it was too big for Asim. The rooms had grown weary of gathering cobwebs and being cleaned out. The walls flinched from their yearly paint jobs because every year he hoped the family would come by for Diwali, or a summertime vacation. It had been eight years since they’d all been under the same roof. Now their holidays involved ten hour flights and yachts, or at least that’s what he could tell from Facebook updates.

  The last time was when his son had driven up to propose selling the house and putting the money into opening up a nightclub. He wasn’t sure what had angered him more, the fact that his son had an ulterior motive to come see him or the fact that he wanted to sell off a house Asim had literally built with his own hands. He chose to believe the latter. If he’d had a drink that night Asim would’ve thrashed him for the sheer idiocy. Of course since his outright refusal, Hassan hadn’t called, or texted, or emailed. However that conversation had sown the seeds for a different idea – one that excited the very ends of his moustache – but true to form, the Commander had planned to sit down and properly plan out the whole idea. Decisions such as these needed an unburdened mind and a list of pros and cons, of possible investments and expenditures required. He knew all of what had to be written down, he just never did it. Instead he went about his day per usual waking up and overlooking the household chores while tea and breakfast was made, then yoga, then a walk to the village.

  He harboured an immense pride toward the house, there were no exaggerations when he said he had built it himself. Of course the percentage of involvement was but a minute detail, no one needed to know what had gone down in the planning or the hiring of a contractor whom he’d strong-armed till the four walls went up. Sometimes at night he’d find himself thinking about those early years, right after he’d retired and the house still had its first coat of paint and the whole family was there. The weekend brunches, cricket matches in the untamed backyard, slow-dancing with his wife at the regiment’s bittersweet reunion. Those were the days he missed the most, of bridge at the social club, formal dinners with preplanned course meals, the look of pride in his wife’s eyes under the glittering chandelier. These things Asim kept safe in the corner of his mind, memories echoing with the faded glamour of old photographs – some nights he’d open the heavyset photo albums. Those mustard walls were still up but they felt cavernous with just him and a lone lightbulb to look through those pages.

  “Why don’t you just ask them to come see you sometime?” She placed a hot cup of tea in front of him.

  “Why don’t they ask to come themselves?”

  Leela reprimanded him with raised eyebrows.

  “Oh come on, Leela! It’s not that hard …”

  “That’s exactly my point. Why are you so afraid to tell them you want to see them?”

  “I will have you know madam that I’m not afraid –”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She sighed and folded away the plastic chessboard. “Look what I’m trying to say is that family’s important, you should see each other and spend time as often as you can because before you know it it’ll be too late.”

  He stared at her impassively, fingers smoothening his crisp moustache.

  “You’re practically by yourself in that stupidly big house except for one servant and a caretaker.”

  “Dipali is not a caretaker, I’m still able to take care of myself thank you very much.”

  “I’m just saying I think it’ll be good if you just have some company there from time to time. Someone who’s your family, who knows you. You spend most of your time here and –”

  “I spend my time here because I like it. And because I’m hoping that one day this sweet tea of yours really does poison me and relieve me of this burden.”

  She clicked her tongue at him. “Your life is anything but a burden Commander-saab!”

  “Oh please Leela, have you seen your handwriting? It could drive anyone blind. Besides, if anyone from my family wants to see me they should, I’ve even learnt how to make Skype calls now. I should’ve just raised you instead; you at least wouldn’t have been as ungrateful as that lot. Possibly you would’ve turned out to be a better daughter, helped me run the Bed & Breakfast.”

  She shot him a quizzical look.

  “Do you remember when he came last and proposed selling off the house?”

  “I can’t afford you breaking any more glasses here.” She deadpanned.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Your glasses can go right to hell with my son. Anyway, it got me thinking that since no one is living in those rooms I could rent them out during the tourist season. Fix anything that needs fixing and host maybe a couple or two, peaceful travelers you know, the kinds that won’t meddle around or hassle me too much. We could serve them breakfast and stuff, make a whole package out of it.”

  She took a seat by the window.

  “Granted it would increase the traffic a little bit, but if you think about it having some more tourists drive by the village and actually staying here is perfect for everyone. Can you imagine how much Abhinandan can sell his chips and popcorn for? And how many more people would stop by here for tea?”

  Leela pulled herself out of the dream where she was the Commander’s daughter and looked around her little shop.

  “More people coming here for tea would be good.” Her voice was small but hopeful. “But you can’t just start a business like this out of nowhere. You’ll have to go and speak to sarpanch-ji and take his permission, speak to some people around and get them to support you. I remember how much work baba had to do just to start this little stall.”

  “Well I have your support don’t I?”

  “Of course you do.” She scratched at a spot on the glass table.

  “Good. So next time we’re down by the river, we can speak to Anil and see how he feels about it. The more local business owners supporting me the better it’ll be.”

  She gathered her things and made to leave the table. “Don’t be so quick to bet on Anil’s support.”

  “Let’s hope for the best my dear, let us hope for the best.” He winced and finished the remainder of his tea.

  Hi Daddy

  Hope you’re doing well!

  I’m sorry it’s been some time since I wrote you a proper letter, things here have been running on full steam and I just haven’t been able to take time out to put everything down on paper for you. The book is set to come out in a month, but hopefully I will have a few copies beforehand and I can send one to you. I don’t know exactly when this letter also will reach you.

  I was actually thinking I’ll send Ria for a few days to stay with you and she can bring you a c
opy of the book. Your feedback means so much to me and I hope I get to hear it soon. Just a quick trip before her summer vacations get over you know maybe she and Surya can take a train or something – but trains have so many people I don’t know how I feel about letting two girls travel alone like that. Maybe it would be a better idea to hire a car and they can just travel safely. I made some mixed pickle also I’ll send a jar for you! I swear daddy it tastes just like the pickle that mom used to make – I had the first bite and almost cried.

  I think it’s so good that you’re helping that girl learn English, really when I read your last letter my heart was just bursting with joy. I’m thinking I too should start some home lessons, maybe for the maid’s daughter or something. Although I think it’s better if Ria takes them I don’t know how comfortable I would be in teaching a random person like that na?

  I was looking at some old photographs of the house – sending one of them with the letter – it’s from that day, if I remember correctly, when you had bought the first batch of bougainvillea and how we had such a fuss over who will plant the first pod. You should see how happy mom looks in the photo I can’t even tell you it’s so beautiful papa. I wish sometimes that she could’ve seen how our children are growing up. Do you remember how she used to make us all dress up so nicely for those family photos? I was thinking about the old house in Cochin the one where all five of us are in white, Geetu had such a bad fight with me because I wore one of her frocks and Hassan had those silly sunglasses which he refused to take off even though it wasn’t sunny. I guess I just want you to know how much I love you and miss you papa. I think about you every day, although with the shameless amount of phone calls I make to you I think you know that already.

  I’m also sending a small pack of candy cigarettes, I didn’t want to tell you over the phone when I found them online – there’s like only one place that still makes them now. I remember when all of us would go for walks in the market and oh we used to eat so much junk and then have ice cream and you’d always get us the Phantom cigarettes. Do you remember how much mumma used to say no and she would get so annoyed but you did it anyway and she’d smile anyway.