The Bitter Pill Social Club

by Rohan Dahiya

  “Your hair is perfect don’t get the crazy eyes right now,” they walked through the groups of men and women almost all smoking in the wet winter evening.

  He turned back to her. “I know it sounds petulant but I just really fuckin’ want my bed. But I know as soon as I’m back I’ll miss the thrill of all this.”

  She threw her head back and laughed.

  “You’re such a cliché right now, you know that right? Pretty but dumb –”

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

  The words were familiar but the timing wasn’t right and the setting wasn’t right, and he wasn’t right either. They belonged to someone else, a special set of eyes and lips that curved into a smile. She shrugged off the memory and wove her way through the barrage of tan overcoats and sparkling wine. Neil handed her a drink, charmingly unaware as always.

  “Are you sure about the jacket? I’m freezing here.”

  She looked up.

  “Wear a dress then we’ll talk!”

  In her first month living in Bombay, Gayatri had decided on a few things as absolutions; truths that helped her make sense of the world she now lived in. The first was that people who wore kolhapuri chappals rarely had anything interesting to say. That people who listened to Nucleya were smarter than others. And that she hated sunsets. She hated sunsets more than anything else now, because her house on Pali Hill had a stunning view of sunsets and she hated the end of another day. Hated that she was the same person at the end of it as when the day began. Then she would sit and wonder if it was worse to be stupid or rationalize her emotions.

  Once they started filming, her life turned into a long panorama of call times, fittings, and cold readings, spending most of her free time stuck in traffic. She couldn’t drink because she had to lose weight. She couldn’t have sugar in her morning tea because she had to lose weight; soon she stopped adding milk too. She gave up non-vegetarian food except on Sunday afternoon and she doubled her workouts. She had to lose weight. It was with these thoughts in mind that Gayatri sat to write her speech on the thirteen hour flight back home.

  Neil snorted at the state of her notebook nearly bursting with stapled odd bits of paper of scribbled notes and post-its. She always pulled her mind away from them, her private torturers. He collapsed into the seat beside her and immediately settled into his favourite douchey pose.

  “Come on” he nudged her side.

  She leaned in and smiled for the selfie.

  “Why do you do that?” she pushed him to sit straighter.

  He looked at the notebook, all signs of humour gone from his face.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “I’m fine” she squared her shoulders. “I’m just going through them as a thing you know, like a chef reading the recipe or something. It’s supposed to be therapeutic.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “I’m serious. I mean I think it’s supposed to be, I don’t know.”

  “I’m confiscating that as soon as we land. You have” he grimaced at the screen in front of him, “a million years to finish the speech, and then I’m hiding that piece of shit journal.”

  Gayatri didn’t want to cry, it would’ve made things worse. He probably would’ve torn it up right then. So she smiled and nodded.

  It wasn’t love, not the way she’d once defined it and not the kinds you’d find on a Pinterest quote. Somewhere between playing lovers, spooning, and taking care of each other through the filming schedule, Neil and Gayatri had forged a bond of a different nature altogether. She had picked him off the floor when he was three sheets to the wind, driven him home when he was blinded from the bottle, she stopped him from choking on his own vomit. He made sure she didn’t die of starvation. He’d force her out for walks, buy groceries and cook for her. They simply helped each other survive.

  She wondered if in retrospect she regretted falling so deep into the rabbit hole when the whole audition was a joke and who in their right mind would walk into a casting call without preparing something?

  While the elevator took them up to the office, Gayatri could feel her apathy fading. She’d been joking and laughing the whole day but in that moment she could understand how real it all was. It was just for laughs, they didn’t even have legitimate headshots – it was a quick printout job. They picked up plain white t-shirts from the nearest Zara and ran over, heads swimming from the mid-morning beers at Doolally.

  But when the doors opened and they saw what was an endless corridor of doppelgangers in that same white shirt and black pants, Gayatri could feel the blood drain from her face. Tall: most of them had legs streamlined by six inch heels and tight pants. Fit: shoulders so slender it was magical how they could’ve slung a bag on it. Long hair: it was an army of perfect hair, only a handful had it up in a bun.

  Some of them had accessorized, most of them had over an hour’s worth of makeup. Every single one of them had at least two acting jobs to their credit and over a thousand auditions. There was logically no chance for her. She balked, the beer rising higher up her throat.

  Seven girls went in and out before they called her name.

  When Gayatri stood she was worried she’d shit herself, not from fear but the beer. She decided then never to touch another pint.

  “Are you coming or what?”

  Under different circumstances, she would’ve slapped the tiny girl for taking that tone with her, but she just walked in silently.

  “Please remove your shoes, bag, and any other accessories by the table”, one of the guys at the desk burped between his tea. The tone of his voice made her yawn.

  Someone read out the scribbled cv she’d tacked along with her photo, she nodded through most of it. They asked her questions, basic questions about her life and she sat straighter with every answer, fighting against the dull energy of the room. The director didn’t even look up from his phone. They asked her to look into the camera and talk about herself. She asked them what she was supposed to talk about.

  “Madam talk about whatever you like, there’s no right answer here.”

  He left for a smoke break.

  They asked her some more questions.

  “No I used to crossfit for a while but it wasn’t my thing. I run mostly, I used to take dance classes when I was in school.”

  They asked her why she stopped dancing.

  “I got bored.”

  Would she be willing to lose weight for the movie? Would she do it if she got the part?

  “Would it make you notice me better?”

  Some of them huffed at her, some giggled, Gayatri told herself to keep walking. She’d vomited into the plants as soon as she made it outside.

  Neil was lost in sleep beside her. He was of the particularly irritating variety of people who could sleep through any length of a flight – sometimes even before the plane left solid ground. He explained how it felt like being lulled to sleep but Gayatri couldn’t afford to lose focus. Her fingers deftly danced over the keys, notebook splayed out on her lap, the same note scribbled over and over and over and over on aesthetically placed post-its.

  YouAreWorthlessYouAreWorthlessYouAreWorthlessYouAre WorthlessYOUAREWORTHLESSYOUAREWORTHLESSYOUAREWORTHLESSYOUAREWORTHLESSWORTHLESSWORTHLESSWORTHLESS

  It was a week into her first schedule when she’d written them, placing them all over her vanity. Anyone who saw them looked at her differently, to the point that she was convinced she didn’t belong. Their awkward glances chafed her skin, even the interns who ran errands. Shashi an ever present bee checking in on her, took it upon herself to shoo away anyone who lingered. They were all over the dressing table, the mirror, the bathroom door, the mini fridge – constant reminders.

  Just looking at the words brought back every bit of the hurt. Gayatri promised herself to get rid of that journal.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Breathe.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Smi
le.

  One.

  You are in control.

  Two.

  You are the creator and destroyer of your own world.

  Three.

  Savour the power.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Push the knife deeper in his chest.

  One. Two. Three.

  Ruin him.

  One. Two. Three.

  One. Two. Three.

  One. Two. Three.

  One two three. One two three. One two three one two three one two three one two three one two three.

  Kama woke up, not with a jolt but a sigh. Her hands ached from gripping the pillow so hard. The nightmare itself didn’t seem as strange anymore, she’d been thinking about it more often over the past few days. What threw her off was that she’d ben straddling the pillow. Frequency notwithstanding her dreams had never manifested in physical reactions this way.

  Her hair was a sweaty mess matted across her face, she scratched at it, dabbing away the thick beads of sweat. Her arms ached from the obvious physical strain but she said a prayer for patience, for peace and serenity in the sleep cycle or some such collection of words. She ended with a mental note to call her trusty hairdresser for a cut and pushed herself off the bed to light exactly five incense sticks even though it was the middle of the night.

  She found her mind drifting to the argument with Ria that had put an abrupt end to dinner earlier. It had finally happened, that most dreaded moment of a mother’s life. Her daughter had begun drifting away from her, no longer the mature confidante, the trustworthy companion she had thus far been. To worsen the situation, Ria’s line of questioning had broadened to include her father. That was a bigger betrayal.

  Kama shook her head and danced the incense sticks around her. Something about the smell of lavender incense really enlivened her chakras, she’d tell whoever bothered to listen, and it grounded her with the earth. In all honesty, she simply had nothing else to fill her mind anymore. It was as empty as her pages. She decided to take a stroll through the house and let the sweet smoke flow through the halls.

  “Huh” he said as the car rolled to a stop.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” Something was obviously on his mind.

  Gayatri massaged her forehead wearily. “I’ll really hit you right now. I haven’t slept you know…”

  She turned to open the door.

  The watchman came running out to help with her bloated suitcases. She breathed in the salty sea air, perfectly cool in the early morning while the sun crept up the other side of the building.

  “It’s just that it’ll be, I don’t know, weird.”

  She turned back to him, struck by the way he glowed in the morning light. Against better judgment she admitted to herself that Neil, just in the way he rested his chin on the hood of the car, was undeniably beautiful.

  “Why? What’ll be weird?”

  He stared at the hood of the car like it was the most interesting thing in the world, pouting like a child.

  “I don’t know,” he reached across to her, “I think I’m just too used to having you within reach.”

  Gayatri sighed, a breath hitched in her throat. They had yet to talk about the night when she slept over for the first time. He had knocked on her door till she woke up but her anger had vanished at the sight of his cadaverous face. She wasn’t anybody’s first choice for seeking comfort, in fact Gayatri was known to be the least helpful person during a crisis. The sight of him three sheets to the wind and barely standing up had disarmed the usual sarcasm, she pulled him in more on instinct than common sense. That night she held him as he half moaned in sleep oblivious to her goodnight kisses on his damp forehead. Eventually sleep came for her too, she settled with an arm draped across his chest. They were almost done with the principle filming. He was sipping on gin and juice every hour. She hadn’t eaten for two days.

  Gayatri shook her head clear.

  “No listen I’m still me and you’re still you. Call me whenever you want.” She shifted under his gaze. “Anyway now you know where to find me.”

  Pacified for the moment, he waved goodbye.

  The elevator ride was spent in containing her thoughts, away from Neil and towards her bed. In her current frame of mind, somewhere past the landscape of utter exhaustion, Gayatri only had in mind the moment she’d walk barefoot and melt onto the bed. What she didn’t expect was the sight of Ankit, cup of coffee in hand by the bay windows. The sunlight hit him fully like he was a mirage borne from sleeplessness but he was real.

  “What …” she didn’t have it in her to deal with whatever was going on.

  “I still had my key and the watchman recognized me.”

  “Well I’m definitely having him fired first thing tomorrow …” she let her backpack fall next to the suitcases.

  “Look, can we just talk?”

  “You talk, I’ll listen. Start by what the fuck you’re doing here when I told you the last time –”

  “–Hey hey!! If you wanna let me talk, let me talk. Just sit down please you look like you’re going to faint.”

  She glared at him. “Well can you blame me? I’ve been up for almost twenty four hours now. I was kinda hoping to have some peace and quiet when I got back home, to my apartment.”

  “Just sit please, I’ll make you some tea.”

  “I don’t want your fucking tea I want to know why the hell you’re in my house Ankit!”

  He paused somewhere between setting his cup down and racing to the kitchen. In the months they’d been apart it was clear he had lost weight, she could see the way his cheeks sagged, the hint of dark circles. He stared at her with the same imploring eyes till she sat down.

  “Gayatri …” she didn’t meet his eyes. “Just-just hear me out okay.”

  She huffed.

  “I was an idiot. I was an absolute asshole, especially to you and I’ve-I’ve really been thinking about it the last few weeks and I think I understand why. I think I know why I just completely checked out of the relationship or whatever you’d called it. It’s because somewhere like on a subconscience level I knew –”

  “Subconscious,” she rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah that, I was aware that it wouldn’t last between us. Like I was aware in my mind but not in my heart and then my heart sort of heard it and refused to accept it but then, I don’t know, it just did.”

  “Bloody hell ya do you actually have a point to make here or what?”

  He stalked behind her into the kitchen. “Listen, I knew we wouldn’t survive a long-distance relationship.”

  “Uhh really? You didn’t dump me because of the long-distance thing, you did it because you had to like go and make a fucking career and shit.”

  He opened his mouth to protest.

  “And I get it, I get that it was the right move for you. I didn’t back then but I get it now and I’m absolutely fine with it. I don’t however understand what the fuck you want now!”

  “Okay look so the firm has me in Bombay for two months for a project, I’m going home for Holi but otherwise I’m here, and I want to spend every waking moment with you Gayatri, I-I still love you.”

  “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” they jumped at Neil’s voice.

  “Sorry, the door was open and you two weren’t exactly keeping it down.”

  “Who the fuck is this?” Ankit jabbed a finger in the air.

  “The fuck are you bro? I’m her friend.”

  “Well I’m her boyfriend.”

  “EX-boyfriend, shut up Ankit.” She was dizzy and sick. The two men had sucked all the air out of the apartment.

  “Neil, what’s up?”

  “How do you even know this dipshit?” Ankit furiously crossed his arms.

  “I wanted to talk to you.” Neil looked past him.

  “Okay, can we do this some other time?” she gestured at Ankit, “I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

  “Yeah but
–” Neil was moving closer and Gayatri’s skin crawled.

  “Okay no buts, out!” she pushed him all the way out. “I will call you when I manage to wake up from this nightmare. I need sleep, many many hours of sleep.”

  She reached for the collar of his jacket, “But I promise I will call.”

  It was against his better judgment to leave just then, but Neil would never know how much she respected him for it.

  Gayatri stood there in the hallway with a throbbing head in her hands, she clawed at her hair wishing she could just stay there forever. An eternity in limbo had to have been better than having to deal with whatever Ankit Kalra’s pendulum heart, with Neil’s unprecedented intensity, with the constant texts from her PR manager Shashi reminding her of schedule changes with all the grace of a woodpecker sharply rapping the back of her head. Was this adulthood, she mused, because so far everything was just a shitstorm. An ever growing shitstorm. Messier by the minute. Ankit cleared his throat from the living room behind her.

  She wasn’t sure what to do about him but went in anyway.

  “I want to share the next two months and have every waking moment with you by my side, Gayatri, please.”

  They were words she once wanted desperately to hear, waited for them to come like a madwoman.

  “Yeah, you already said that.”

  But that was five months ago.

  “I really mean it, Gayatri.”

  She snorted a ‘huh’ at him and plopped back on the couch.

  There was something immediately empowering about it, sitting on the couch with her legs wide apart, eyes burrowing holes into his thick skull. He looked like he was veering off the edge, like he’d be on his knees begging at any moment. He wanted to spend time with her, she should’ve been happy about it. It wasn’t so long ago that she felt that way – but that was then and this was now and now she didn’t have two months to spare. He would leave again, that she knew for sure, and once again she’d be the dirty whore. His job was the only thing Ankit could love, she was only a mistress.

  “Get the fuck out.”