by Rohan Dahiya
-Do you wanna meet at our usual place?
“‘Scuse me guys, I just need to make a quick phone call.”
If Pranab shot him a look, he didn’t turn to receive it. Hassan dashed up the stairs to call Priya and coordinate a time they could meet. Priya Sodhi – Rajiv’s wife of almost twelve years who, upon discovering his crippling addiction to gambling due to an unfortunate incident involving a stuffed shark, a banana, and a single black hairpin, had started a longstanding series of affairs. A few years later when Rajiv had discovered the clandestine meetings his wife was conducting in their holiday villa in Goa, he had decided to negotiate a deal with her. The deal was simple, she was to continue loving and supporting him and he would limit his pastime to a bi-weekly game night while she could continue her pastimes so long as Rajiv knew about them. That was the story no one knew about the Sodhis’ open marriage, until Hassan and Priya had found themselves at the last call of Townhall and needed another drink before calling it a night. She didn’t shy away from letting her hands wander when he showed off his new tattoo and the thrill of keeping it a secret from Raj had brought about an overall joie de vivre.
His breath shuddered with every ring.
“Hey Priya …”
“Hassan! Hey ya where have you been hiding I was texting you didn’t reply back only.”
It was great in the beginning, as all love affairs usually are. Priya was everything Chanda was not, mostly owing to her relatively extensive sexual experiences. Everything from the moment they met to the time they undressed each other was apathetic. She had the calculative ways of someone who knew what she was into and he preferred her silence. By their third time, when it was discussed finally, the idea of keeping their trysts a secret from his friend – her husband – a secret ignited between them a fire that only grew each time they met since. But as all things, their affair had an expiration date, at least in his mind.
“Okay let me explain this love, remember the last time we met and you forced yourself on me? Yeah that was super not cool and it’s got me really bummed out.”
“Huh? What’re you saying you loved it …” he could imagine how her face would crumple.
“No that’s the opposite of what I’m saying. I am saying that I did in fact … well did not. Love it that is.”
“But –”
“Yeah okay so I was like super hard and stuff but any guy with blood flowing in his body will get hard if someone goes down on him. How do you think the gays were invented, they jus got sick of waiting for women to give good head –”
“Okay that’s hideously bigoted. What kind of person even talks like that?!”
He rolled his eyes. “Look just because we were having super secret sex doesn’t mean we can’t stop.”
“But I don’t want to stop. You’re the one –”
Hassan swiped at the sweat on his lip.
“Yeah I wanna stop. Because I feel like you’re going a little cray-cray and I can’t deal with it right now.”
“How am I going crazy?”
“No, I’m the one who gets to be crazy for a while alright? I’ve just been adulting for too long.”
“What’s ‘adulting’? What do you mean?” She was at her wit’s end now.
“Ok adulting is a super young people’s word, I guess I’ll just have to explain that later – in a socially appropriate setting – but what I mean Priya is that I can’t see you anymore and I think you’re losing it.”
“But we love each other!”
“No we don’t.”
“We literally said that last time …”
“No. You said it while I gave you the best oh oh of your life and then I didn’t say it back.” He wiped the sweat off his brow, despite the cool post rain breeze.
“Of course you did.”
“No I didn’t.” he eyed the spring of stubble along his jaw.
“That’s why I wanna divorce Rajiv.”
“Oh oh which brings me to the next phase of my beef with you. What possessed you to call Pranab – my best bud in the club – and ask him to help you file divorce papers to his friend, who is also my friend, Rajiv?!”
“But I’m doing it for us.”
“You called him at three in the morning giggling and then when he said he’ll call you the next day you called back crying. What the actual fuck is up?”
“Listen …”
“You know what no actually. I don’t think I wanna know. Let’s just forget about this.”
“But –”
“And let me and Rajiv be good buds.”
“Hassan –”
“And please stay away from me.”
“What the fu–”
He cut the call and blocked her number, temporarily only. Hassan swore to himself that he would unblock it within a few days when he’d need entry into the club. The Sodhis threw every important party of the season; they held fundraisers and organized auctions for charity. For all intents and purposes, they were the glittering jewels of South Delhi society.
Hassan undressed under the harsh light of the bathroom with an unfamiliar soundtrack for company. Eisha, his sort of girlfriend, had taken it upon herself to introduce him to the sounds of Kendrick Lamar and the Weeknd. He powdered a big white pill and felt every muscle come alive as it went up his nasal tract.
“Well boys it’s been a great evening but I’ll take your leave now. Feel free to order pizza and continue the game!” he padded down the stairs.
“Woah woah what the hell?”
“I gotta go.”
“What’s more important than Friday rituals?”
“Okay first of all Monty I think we established last time that we’d call it FRIYAY, I don’t know why you’re insisting on being a douchebag right now by not using our predecided awesome code.”
Monty looked at him with a furrowed unibrow. “What’s a douchebag?”
Pranab rolled his eyes.
“Second of all I have a date.”
“A hot date is it? Don’t be shy give us some details …”
“Oh you met her don’t you remember.”
Rajiv looked impressed. “The one who called you uh … who was it?”
“Ben Affleck,” Pranab grunted.
“Yeah Ben fucking Affleck man!” He grinned.
“Isn’t she what twenty years old or something?” Rajiv had abandoned his surreptitious tone.
“Twenty four actually.”
“She’s basically Sana’s age what the fuck is wrong with you?” Monty guffawed.
“Yeah how’d you feel if oh I don’t know one of us slept with your daughter?”
“Okay first of all,” Hassan shrugged into his coat, “that’s disgusting I would kill you, but it’s totally not gonna happen. You know why?”
“Well, why?”
He bowed. “Because my daughter doesn’t have daddy issues.”
He left them rapt in impressed silence.
Hassan and Eisha had the kind of unapologetic sex that left them with bittersweet aches and a fine slick of sweat. They lay over each other in a post coital glow or perhaps it was just the way the string of lights reflected off the pale walls. He traced the curve of her back, sloping into a luxurious butt as she shifted and slid into a feline stretch over the sheets. Everything about the room had the dismal aura of cheapness that only specifically occurred at the cross junction of too much money and not enough love. She didn’t want daddy’s money, she’d tell you at a party, she wanted to make her life a work of art. The thing is she loved Leonard Cohen and Kurt Vonnegut and little else in between. And so Eisha had traded her Vasant Vihar bungalow for a nothing square foot apartment in Malviya Nagar where the paint was chipped and the balcony was shared with two tenants and a herb garden. She kissed with a reckless abandon and loved the graze of Hassan’s nose pulling from the space between her thighs. He always asked her to get an airconditioner but she loved the sweat rolling off her skin, the way it matted her hair. She lay there naked as a baby, reading aloud from
a worn out book of Pablo Neruda’s poems when he interrupted.
“Babe, whose underwear is that?” he pointed to the corner of the room.
“Oh it’s Gaurav’s, he’s sort of the neighbour’s boyfriend but they had a fight and she like threw him out in the middle of the night so I just let him crash here.”
“Wait, do you even know him?”
She pushed herself off the bed, no longer interested in the conversation or the poem. “We’ve talked a bit, while watering the plants mostly. Why?”
Nothing, he said. They dressed and made their way to the party. Before they’d made it all the way into Sainik Farms she’d pulled him into the backseat while whispering along to a love song.
“Oh shit, fuck I’m so sorry.”
Eisha eyed the damp tshirt scrunched in his hands. “Dude what am I supposed to wear? That’s going to stain.”
She nudged him off her and pulled the kimono robe up her shoulders, trying to cover her bra up as far as possible. He tossed the funky tshirt to the floor and pulled up his jeans with a gruff. She leaned in and kissed him till the tension eased from his shoulders.
“I’m getting a divorce”, he spoke into the nook of her shoulder.
“Why?” she bit his ear. “I don’t want to be seeing a divorced man, that oh that makes you sound so old.”
He ignored the stab of hurt and kissed her once on the forehead. “That doesn’t matter. Don’t you want to be with me, and I mean really be with me.”
Eisha looked at him with her big sad eyes. “I’m scared I’ll fall in love with you.”
“What’s there to be scared of, love? Okay but seriously, do you think I’m too old for you?” She shook her head. “Am I going to be the oldest person at this party?”
She tousled her wild hair. “Listen these people are artists and lovers of love, no one’s going to care how old you are or where you come from.”
He watched in wonderment as she wove her way through the party with unrehearsed ease. It seemed as though she was unfettered by every compliment and wink. The only trouble with Eisha was she didn’t know when the party was over and there was too much liquor and cigarette smoke fuming out of her. She beckoned to Hassan from the couch, a stranger’s heavy head resting on her lap.
“Babe I feel like we’ve barely spoken. Did you try the baked cheese oh my gawsh I just died and went to heaven.” She threw her head back and laughed.
The boy reached for her glass and she let him sip from it as though he were a lost traveler and she a water nymph. Hassan watched the scene with jealousy and arousal poisoning his gut. He knelt at her feet and sneered at her.
“How much longer do you plan to drink for Eisha?”
She pointed to her chest. “Till it stops hurting.”
The boy in her lap turned to the side and nuzzled deeper. Hassan grit his teeth to avoid snapping back. It was at this point that he found himself wondering how he chose his women so terribly. She was just a child, a sulking little girl begging for attention. In some ways, he realized with a rising panic, she was just a different version of Tina.
“I’ll go out and get drunk whenever I feel sad and – oh where are my manners!” she plucked the cigarette from his mouth and arced her hand out grandly.
“Raghav Dewan, meet my lover mister Ben Affleck”, she giggled. “Mr. Affleck meet Raghav Dewan, banker by day and painter by night.”
Hassan felt the bottom of his gut give way as the older Dewan brother turned back to look at him. Instantly they recognized each other and Raghav watched in mild amusement as Hassan scrambled away from them and into the bushes outside to spill his guts.
It was well into the night by the time Hassan made his way home. He saw his ashen face reflected in the mirror and put on the practiced smile.
“I have had a revelation.” He announced.
Pranab looked up from the bar, everyone else had left.
“Take a seat. I hope this has something to do with the problem you need to take care of before anything else.” He shot a pointed stare.
“What, the Priya thing? Arey Pranab saheb don’t worry, already taken care of that. I spoke to her before leaving and it’s all good.” Hassan popped a beer.
“So she isn’t planning on divorcing Rajiv then?”
“Well she can do whatever she wants honestly, it just won’t be on my conscience.” He ignored the fizz of his churning bowels.
“You cannot just ignore something as big as this Hassan, sit the fuck down and talk to me bud.”
He sighed. “You’re right. I don’t know what to do.”
Pranab was ostensibly surprised. He had hoped for some way to approach the situation without word letting out. The weight of an impending divorce already hung heavy on his own house, Hassan did not need another complication.
“My dad called today” Hassan sighed.
“Woah,” Pranab drank deeply. “That’s … damn, how long has it been since you last spoke?”
“Seven months. He sounded off; I don’t know what to make of it. I hope he isn’t sick because with the way winters are up in Himachal it could get very bad for him and you know ya buddy it’s not the best place for expecting quick medical help.”
Pranab offered his whiskey, which he took and then continued. “He wants me to come see him. Actually he wants all of us to go Kama, Geetu, and me. I know Geetika will have no problems but I don’t know what to do about Kama. Yaar she doesn’t leave her house at all, like ever. I don’t know how many occasions she’s missed, bloody hell she didn’t even come for Geetu and Dev’s wedding yaar! You were there did you see her?”
He sighed. “And I don’t know why it’s bothering me this much but he was talking to me in a way he hasn’t for years. I don’t remember the last time he actually sounded so nice. He wants to – I think he wants to discuss his will and shit.”
Not knowing what else to say or do, Pranab clapped him on his shoulder.
“Would you like me to come with you?”
Hassan scoffed at him. “As a friend or a lawyer?”
“Whatever you need buddy. Whatever you need.”
Chapter TWELVE
LADIES WHO LUNCH
(INTERLUDE)
o that’s it then, you’ve just decided not to come.” Geetu tapped the ash off her cigarette, both fuming.
Kama tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Oh it isn’t that, I mean what even is there to consider?”
She lit the joint between her fingers and grimaced delicately at the first toke. “I think it’s rather ridiculous that daddy would expect me to come anyway.”
Hassan sat at an equal distance apart from them, polar opposites of each other. Geetu had always had the deep thick voice that commanded immediate attention, even though she stood almost a foot shorter than her sister. Over the years she’d learnt the craft of words though, how to cut deep without leaving a mark. She’d mastered the art of piercing stares and dramatic hand gestures. Kama on the other hand, tall and dainty as always, had the sweet demeanour of one who never meant harm. But all the years of giving everyone a shoulder to cry and complain on meant that she had secrets that could well tear them apart.
“Oh really” Geetu stood with a loud stamp of the foot. “And why would that be? Are you some divine being that cannot leave her celestial throne?”
Kama chuckled at her indulgently. “Oh come on, don’t be silly Geetika.”
“No really,” her earrings jangled threateningly, “are you a deity whose feet we need to bow down at, just so you could come with us to see your own damn father?”
Kama thrust the joint toward Hassan.
“Oh shut up.” She said pointedly. “I don’t get how either of you can say anything to me, I’m the only one who even knows what’s going on in his life.”
Hassan massaged his forehead, now annoyed. “What have I done? Don’t drag me into this okay, I’d probably drive up to see him more if he wasn’t such a dick to me all the time.”
“True as that may
be, it doesn’t change the facts!” Kama regally pulled a shawl across her shoulders. “You know Geetu how badly he behaved with Ria, I know Surya told you all about it. Why should I now go all the way?”
“Because he’s still your father! And look we’re having dinner outside, which means you’re obviously doing better. What’s the harm ya, it’ll barely be for a few days.”
“Okay to be fair,” Hassan pointed to the glass ceiling, “we’re technically still inside the house.”
“Shut up”, they chimed.
“Look I’m choosing to no longer discuss the matter because you’re really ruining this lunch right now.”
“Oh cut the crap. As if you’ve prepared it.” Geetu waved the smoke off her face. “You didn’t even order it, you made your daughter-assistant do it.”
Hassan puffed at the joint to avoid catching in the crossfire.
“That’s irrelevant. I don’t want to eat warm sushi.”
“It’s December, are you on crack?”
Kama spun around, all airs abandoned. “I’ll show you a crack if you say one more word.”
Hassan pushed up from the chair unsteadily. Though he couldn’t feel his face anymore, he pushed between them. “Yeah I’m putting the sushi to chill for a while, it’s not as cold as you think.”
“Oh fuck off Hassan”, Kama walked over to the antique table and poured wine for them. “What’s this really about ya Geetu?”
Geetika Shroff shook her head in resignation. Only her sister could’ve served merlot with sushi. Only her daughter would be characteristically ungrateful.
“It’s just this wedding, I haven’t heard from Surya or Dev since last week and we need to send out invitations soon because otherwise nobody will attend the ceremony in Jodhpur. Fucking Jodhpur of all places, do you remember my first marriage?” She huffed. “And then there’s papa who won’t answer my calls, I’m so stressed that he’s sick again.”
“It’s going to be okay.” Kama spoke in her saccharine voice.
She stood and put the jazz café channel on iRadio and drifted around with another glass in tow for Hassan.
Geetu’s head swooned dangerously. “What’s in this joint, I’m completely gone right now.”