The Bitter Pill Social Club

by Rohan Dahiya

  Dev wiped his brow and helped her to the bed. The wounds were mostly superficial except for the ten-inch blade through her palm.

  “I can’t do much about that without proper equipment … we’re risking infection here,” he looked to his wife for support.

  Geetu was on her last reserve of willpower. She threw her hands up and pulled out a cigarette from the bedside vanity. “Do whatever you can for now she can’t keep sitting with that thing here.”

  The idea came to him as she lit her cigarette. They’d cauterize the cut and drop her to a hospital in the next town. Yes, they’d have to give her some money and tell her to leave their family alone because it was simply unacceptable to have the Kochhar family name associated with some common pahadi girl who –

  “Dev! Shut up and fix her hand and get her out of here.”

  “I’m going to be sick,” Hassan was turning grey in his crouch by the door. “No way in hell am I driving her.”

  “Hassan you really are good for nothing,” she hissed.

  “Can someone tell me why Kama sleeps with a fucking knife under her pillow?” It seemed like a fairly obvious question to ask but the look in Geetu’s eyes told Hassan that he needed to sit in silence. He wasn’t the best in dealing with blood, he’d fainted twice in the delivery room when Sana was born and they ultimately had to escort him to the other suit with a glucose drip. And now with his sister’s eyes burning a hole into his skull, he sank to the floor and hung his head between his knees.

  “Hassan buddy stay with us, you’re not gonna black out are you?”

  “No the … the smell it’s fucking me up.” He took in a ragged breath through his mouth.

  “I’m going to be so pissed with you if you puke right now Hassan!” Geetu was on the verge of losing it and everyone in the room, Leela included, knew there was no time left. “Go to the store room downstairs and get a pair of sheets. Can you do that you useless shit?”

  The room grew warmer even with the open window. Geetu felt the heat rising hard and fast up the back of her neck, out through her ears. Kama was all but dead to the world. As for Leela, the minute Dev had withdrawn from her began threatening them with the police. In any other place there would be no panic because Geetu knew how easy it was to turn situations in her favour with the right amount of money. But they were no longer in Delhi and this was the occasion to panic. Leela cried and stammered her accusations that they’d tried to kill her and she’d make them pay for it.

  “How much?” Dev muttered darkly. The calm smiling man they knew him to be was gone.

  Hassan chuckled once from the bed where he had changed the sheets and helped put Kama to rest. “That’s what it comes down to after all na? Fucking peasant just wants money. That’s why you were sweet on dad, trying to swindle him from his fucking money.” He walked over to her. “Women like you disgust me.”

  Leela remained impassive. “Just pay me enough to start over and you won’t hear from me again.”

  Or we could just kill her and be done with it. It was a thought never voiced out but they all felt it for a flash. The lights had been turned off but the moon was full and bright outside, the night prime and electric for the mischief of fate.

  Geetu – fist and teeth clenched in anger and embarrassment– finally escorted Leela with a shawl over her head. Dev met them by the foyer, his comfy slippers replaced with the brown loafers she particularly hated. He had never known his wife to be one for overt gestures but Geetu threw her arms around him and told him that she loved him. “Come back safe, I’m waiting.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back before you know it, just don’t be too hard on Hassan.”

  She rolled her eyes and left them to the night. Leela was never seen again.

  The next morning brought a cold mist that even the sunshine couldn’t drive away. Kama slithered into the bathroom and gasped at her reflection. Dried blood was smeared across her with the finesse of a paintbrush, arcing high and proud around her brow on one side, curving around her cheekbone on the other side and trailing down past the jaw to where the traditional Kochhar chin folded into her neck. In the refracted morning light she looked like a monster. She grabbed at the cold stone basin and ground her teeth because a monster scared of her own shadow didn’t make for a good villain. And if she had to be a murderess she would do so with dignity.

  Hassan was carefully regarding the room when she walked back in and she watched the dullness of disturbed sleep drain from his face. He looked at her like she was a rabid dog: unpredictable.

  “Where’s Leela?”

  He gulped. “She’s gone.”

  “I killed her didn’t I?” Kama told herself she wouldn’t cry.

  “She’s no longer a concern of this family Kama.” He poured himself a glass of water and lit a cigarette. She hated the smell of a cigarette that early in the morning. “Just forget about her.”

  “Arey how can I just –”

  “I said just forget about her!” he snapped. “Forget she ever existed, forget we came here, just fucking drive it out of your mind.”

  “You’re such an asshole Hassan”, she threw him a withering look and left the room.

  They sat in the verandah by the bougainvillea wall, no more than a barren web of hardy vines in that late February chill. The morning dew sparkled even in the dim light, Geetu was lost in the tiny spider webs woven through the bushes. She found herself wondering if there was a way to save memories into webs such as those. Rid herself of the previous night. Dev reached out for her under the table and squeezed her hand in quiet reassurance. Hassan cleared his throat and fluttered the newspaper he’d been reading, directing everyone’s attention to the house.

  Asim came to the verandah, appropriately dressed in a classic black polo shirt and khaki chinos, mulling over the rather distasteful morning he’d just had. Geetika and Dev had prepared to break the news of Surya’s wedding before Asim would enquire about Leela. Kama would find a way to divert conversation to her writing and Hassan would sit quietly and try – as Geetu had iterated thrice already – try hard not to catch any attention.

  Asim however spoke first. “So, well, I guess you all were right to behave as you did toward Leela, she’s gone.”

  Their jaws collectively dropped. Geetu felt as though her heart was going to burst in her chest. “What do you mean she’s gone?”

  “She – well firstly I would just like to say that regardless of that woman, your behaviour last night was inexcusable. Hassan, I am astounded at how old you’ve grown with the brain still of a fucking toddler. I’m disgusted!”

  “Well that’s great dad!” Hassan tossed his paper to the ground and sunk lower in his chair. “A good fucking morning to you too. We can’t go even one day without –”

  “Hassan just shut it for a second ya” Geetu spat at him. “Daddy what happened with Leela?”

  The Commander stroked his moustache halfway lost in thought. “Right oh Leela yes right, well, you see beta she left me a note saying she’s leaving town. No real explanation but with that circus show you idiots put up I don’t think we need to really wonder why she left – nobody wants to be a part of this carnival of crazies.”

  Geetu rolled her eyes at the hyperbole; Kama filed it away for future reference.

  “She just left? What about her tea place or whatever?” Dev asked. Asim pretended he simply wasn’t there.

  “That’s not all. There was – now you need to just listen and not lose your heads at this – but I’d set up a small account for her,” he shut his eyes at the commotion breaking out all the way down the table. “It’s my money and I will do what I want with it! But I guess she found a way to access that money because it’s been emptied out as of this morning.”

  “She could be anywhere by now,” Pranab spoke from the back patio, “it’s been hours since she left I’m assuming since nobody saw her leave. Let’s just put this whole matter behind us shan’t we?”

  A dead silence descended on t
hem as he joined the breakfast table with a glass of orange juice. Geetu glared at it as if it were personally mocking her.

  Asim walked back to the house with mechanical steps.

  “Daddy”, Hassan leapt up, “what happened? Are you feeling okay?”

  He had his arm around Asim’s shoulders, an unfamiliar but welcomed gesture. He made no move to push it off. The breakfast party watched as the Commander shook his head in defeat, it seemed as though he was slowly shutting down. Dev sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. In his mind the gesture was uncannily similar to Amitabh Bachchan’s hyperbolic acting in the last movie they’d seen – he hated having to wait to share the joke with his wife at a more appropriate time. He hated being stuck in these social situations; the entire weekend getaway had thus far been one stressful event after another. He shook his head almost in sync with Asim, he decided they were all truly crazy and he’d simply have to make peace with it for the sake of his own sanity.

  “Just,” Asim muttered “I want to go sleep for a while.”

  “Arey baba just eat something first? We’re all making a move back to the city by the evening.” Geetu rolled her eyes and sighed. Hassan couldn’t have chosen a worse way to make the situation better. “Just have some breakfast with us na?”

  But Asim no longer looked as if he was listening, listening or aware of what was going on.

  “Dad how much money did she take?” Hassan asked in a low voice.

  “Nothing much really, it was just fifty grand, but the… but how could she just leave?”

  Hassan looked back at the table where Geetika looked ready to set the garden on fire. “Some people dad, you just never know who they are till they show their true colours. Forget her.”

  Kama sat sipping her dark tea, lost in space. She had murdered Leela and this was all an elaborate ruse. But whether Leela had actually stolen from her father or not, Kama realized there was a potential story to be told. And so she stood and excused herself from the steadily cooling breakfast spread. Dev followed his wife as she stormed off from the table. Pranab had long given up hopes of keeping up with them and resigned himself to the scotch eggs in their nest of lettuce and slaw. It wasn’t his business, he nodded to himself.

  Geetu, Hassan, and Dev now stood in the shadow under the staircase fidgeting. Through the dumbwaiter – the singular functioning apex of Asim’s pride and glory – the Commander could be heard barking instructions at some delivery company, apparently the linens were early and he didn’t have enough storage space ready because the movers hadn’t yet arrived to shift the furniture out of the room. Geetu slid the wooden panel shut to allow them some privacy.

  “That fucking snake!” she whispered. “It’s almost like she planned the whole thing.”

  “How much did you give her?” Hassan enquired.

  “Twenty five thousand, and with the money she took off of daddy that’s almost a fucking lakh just gone down the drain. This is just disastrous, it’s an embarrassment ya.”

  Hassan bit back a comment on how left to their devices Gayatri and Surya could blow up the same on a shopping spree. “So now what do we do?”

  Dev had had enough. “I swear to god I cannot deal with this shit show anymore,” he hissed. “We listen to our own fucking advice on this and move the fuck on, just forget she even existed.”

  Geetu opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. “No. NO! Not another word on the subject. I come here for a bloody holiday and this … this little private party of madness is going to turn my hair white.” He glared at them as if scolding a pair of miscreants. “You two need a therapist and someone needs to tell Kama what happened before she convinces herself she’s some murderous chudail!”

  He stormed off muttering to himself. “Crazy … absolutely crazy.”

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  JUSQU’ICI TOUT VA BIEN

  There are few things in life more annoying than the sound of an unanswered FaceTime call. Surya sat crosslegged on the couch in their apartment shell. Beyond the French windows she could see the beginnings of a traffic jam. The gathering clouds had sent the post-office rush into madness. She wiped away the lint off her keyboard and dialed Vir again.

  “Hey hey sis, what’s happening?”

  “Why do you always take so long to answer my damn call?” she glared at him.

  “Get some chill in your grill, we’re on our way out. I was in the lift when you called, and how you always manage such bad timing is beyond me.” Her exasperation only made him laugh harder. “Why’re you so salty today? Moving in with the husband not the dreamboat lovesong you’d imagined?”

  “How high are you?” she leaned in as he pulled on the vape pen and blew out a cloud on his phone screen. Vir and his friends were walking to the neighborhood bar, a Friday night tradition Surya no longer remembered. She stared at the dusting cloth by her feet in disgust.

  “It’s too much fucking work, I’m dying. Worse still I can’t deal with this domestic fucking life man, when are you getting here? Why aren’t you booking your flights – what the hell!”

  With the sound of laughter and fast Japanese in the background, Vir apologized and picked up his phone from where it had fallen. Surya sighed heavily and he simmered down.

  “It’s not just the move ya, like, my mind it just feels like it’s disconnected. Like the neuro impulses are all off, they’re not fired up. I have two client orders and they both want like proper custom designed wedding outfits. Seven outfits between each of them and like all I’ve got to show for the past week are these empty sheets of paper.”

  He shook his head with an indulgent smile, she could tell from his glassy eyes that he wasn’t all there. “You’re being stupid. Just go back to what inspires you, inspire yourself man. If it doesn’t happen today, fuck it. Start tomorrow.”

  “Sure, thanks bhai. And listen, please book your tickets?”

  Vir gave her a mock salute and signed off.

  Surya stared at the ceiling, the corner where the cabinet almost touched it, wondering how comfortable it might be to crawl into a space that tight with her back pressed against the wall. The gossamer cobweb waved back, fluttering in a breeze that didn’t reach her. She wondered how long the spiders would take to fill up the corners of their new home, though she had to urgently consider Dhiraj’s reluctance to leave them be.

  Granted it was oddly amusing to watch him stalk their spindly trail with a rolled up newspaper, the left foot slipper, or whatever else was nearest. She looked down at her engagement ring and chuckled, nothing was funnier than that though – he’d had a friend design a platinum band looping up front into a delicate web that also resembled a daddy long legs with eight diamonds. It was a tad excessive to wear everyday but she was definitely wearing it till they exchanged rings in front of seven hundred and eighty – and counting – of their closest family and friends.

  It was strange how oddly contrasted it was to move houses in real life than movies. There weren’t any stolen moments of giggles and kisses and running around through the empty rooms, both Dhiraj and Surya were exhausted, almost constantly covered in a light layer of dust and sweat, and buried in work. His website was about to go live, the developers wanted to push it out before their wedding so he wouldn’t have to work through his honeymoon. She on her part had to figure out how to make a pre-wedding gown in shades of pink without making the thirty two year old lady look like a giant vagina. The discarded sketches of a thousand anarkalis looked up at her from the trashcan beseeching a second chance.

  She pouted at her ankles, going through the motions of another congratulatory call, wondering if she could get liposuction to make them look daintier. Their questions worsened with every call – whether they’d already moved in before their marriage, whether she was making her own clothes, whether they had a reason for rushing the marriage. Dhiraj walked in pleasantly amused to find her tittering at the mystery caller.

  “Fuck,” she fell back onto the couch.

  He leaned ove
r and kissed her deeply, pulling out a wine bottle from his bag. She pulled out two glasses and poured more than necessary. He slid the window shut and flipped on the smartbot air purifier.

  “How come you’re home already?”

  “I left early,” he did the jazz hands. “But I have a bunch of reports to finish up so I figured it’s better to do them here sitting next to you than be stuck out there.”

  “I wonder how long this one will last,” she stared outside where the rain had begun pouring.

  “How’s the work going? Did you umm …” he stopped short at the sight of the balled up sketches.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” she threw her pencil against the wall. “I try and everything comes out like some form of that stupid dress.” She drank deeply from her glass. “I think I genuinely hate Gayatri now. That gown, you know the one I’m talking about, nude-ish with a black lace top gosh it looked so beautiful but fuck I can’t copy it. I don’t want this lady thinking I’m just some boutique running dud who can’t create anything authentic.”

  He set his glass down and knelt by the couch. “How can I help? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

  His eyes were a warm night, when the flowers hung low and hot. She dabbed at the bead of sweat by his brow and kissed him on the forehead. His hair still had the smell of minty shampoo, she rested her cheek on it and held him tighter to her chest.

  “I love you” they murmured. He suggested they order in earlier than usual so with the traffic delay it could arrive in time. That was the first thing that pinched her. He switched on a brighter light and made his way to change out of his clothes.

  “Oh hey thanks for doing the laundry babe,” he laughed from the bedroom. His words set her teeth on edge, perhaps the next day she’d meet him at the door with a glass of whiskey and help him take his shoes off too. Maybe the week after she’d find herself cooking his favourite comfort food for dinner. Of course it’d end with him balls deep in a younger girl within a year. She poured herself a coffee to ease her racing mind, ignoring the memory of her honey-man. The fact that Surya could picture Dhiraj’s movements to the precise moment when he’d unbuckle his trousers, when he’d slip the t-shirt over his head, and that was the push. In her blind rage she ripped off the paper in front of her and unwittingly slit the skin of her thumb. Surya watched as the blood oozed up in a singular bubble of red, her mind told her to stand and take care of it. She had to wash it and sanitize, she’d have to clean the spots of blood from the floor.