The Bitter Pill Social Club

by Rohan Dahiya

  “Wait but what am I supposed to do with Sunita?”

  “What do you mean –oh oh shit they separated na … but I’m sure they don’t want to advertise that to these socialite bitches.”

  “Oh lord is this something to do with me and Tina now? Are you passing some passive aggressive comment here?”

  “No.” She held the phone away. “Oh hi Farida, hawaryouu – good good ya, just getting this stuff done quickly then I’ve to get back to work.”

  “Good god stop it, I’m already nauseous.”

  “Then maybe you should watch how much you drink.” She hissed.

  “Definitely. I’ll just stick to casual drug abuse like you ah.”

  “Oh fuck off Hassan.” She slammed the phone.

  He groped the table for a cigarette but only found sticky stains of the night before. Every muscle ached as he realigned the joints of his spine, suddenly aware that he was naked except for a pair of H&M boxer briefs. The only good thing Eisha ever gave him. He walked through the cardboard box of a house with unfocused eyes. Around him the tabletops gathered the same layer of dust, wiped by the same tired hands as the servants followed the same path of cleaning up. There was no sound. Hassan fished through the bottom drawer behind the shoe boxes where Sana once kept her prized possessions and a backup box of cigarettes. The only sounds heard inside were Vikram’s footsteps down the stairs and the pipes settling in his bathroom. He held his breath and waited for anything else to disturb the peace. Somewhere a bird might have squeaked but it was barely audible in her room. Outside the seasons had changed and inside Hassan Kochhar had turned into the shadow of his former self, Crossfit and binge drinking notwithstanding. Sunglasses indoors to hide his worn soul, shifting weight from bare foot to bare foot in that Sisyphean bungalow.

  His phone vibrated with a text from Dev.

  -Gayatri’s flight delayed so Ram is picking her up. Shud

  -I tell him to get Sid and all too?

  -No I should go. C u in the eve!

  The sun was high, he lit his cigarette and pulled a chair by the pool immediately vomiting as the smoke hit his nose. As if on cue Pranab appeared, clapping at the noontime show. Hassan turned to look at his face dripping with disgust, wiping his own as he did.

  “I thought you had hit rock bottom already but buddy you’re proving me wrong every day. My faith is restored that the worst is yet to come.”

  “Fuck you,” he grunted.

  Pranab called out to Vikram and headed for the living room where he fixed up a cocktail of egg, Tabasco, and gin for his friend’s hangover.

  “It’s a fight on the way down,” he patted his back as Hassan retched, “but you’ll be good as new in a bit.”

  Hassan shook his head in disgust and gulped his way through a glass of cold water. Then he began cutting himself a line, impervious to Pranab’s nervous presence.

  “I have some news for you … uh you should sit.”

  “Can’t. I need to sort myself out before daddy gets here, he’s already hit Rohini.” He picked up a throw pillow and placed it back. “And a gin and tonic, yes that’s what we need a good G&T.”

  They heard the car pull in and Hassan’s stomach lurched. Vikram came running in to tell him that saheb had arrived but waited to be told to help with his bags.

  Pranab fixed two gins as Asim’s boisterous greeting echoed in.

  The sight of wild hair and a rucksack took his breath away. Hassan stood at the other end of the foyer, staring at Leela in horror. If there was anything left in his belly, he’d have vomited once more. And then she moved closer and he saw her shift, Sunaina walked up to her father looking as out of place as she felt.

  “Sana? Is that you?” he ran forward and picked her up into a hug. “Where have you been my baccha I…” he exhaled into her hair to keep from crying.

  “I’ve missed you papa.” She wondered if there was a word for the kind of hug that should feel warm but didn’t.

  “You don’t know how good it is to see you my love.” She felt the warm teardrops on her shoulder.

  She pushed him away. “What have I missed? Tell me everything.”

  Hassan opened his mouth to speak but didn’t know where to begin. He was losing control of his life. He was slowly descending into alcoholism. Ending a messy affair with his friend’s wife. Lying to everyone about his coke stash at work, and at home, and a spare gram in the car. So he went with a smile and noncommittal wave of the hands.

  Sunaina stared grimly at the space between them.

  “Nothing’s changed. I can smell the alcohol on your breath. And nobody calls me Sana anymore.”

  Asim entered the house looking happier than anyone had ever seen him. His smile faltered at the sight of their looks, the frigidity of the room. The next few moments ruined all his hopes for bringing the family together. Sunaina excused herself, though not before she could pointedly ask if the maid still worked there. Hassan cussed and stalked off to his gin. Pranab excused himself. The Commander looked around with his heart sinking, wondering why he’d left an empty house to come to another one.

  On his way out, Pranab caught the tail end of a gooey conversation. He walked into the group of ladies in tasteful dark athleisure, vultures who walked one way then another feeding on carcasses of their friends’ social lives.

  “Someone should really do a pooja in that house ya,” Param clucked her tongue. “They need a proper havan to cure that curse left by you-know-who.”

  “Who you-know-who?”

  “Minal are you fucking kidding me right now.”

  “Arey Tina ya, she’s just messed those two up I’m telling you. That Sonakshi is there na, the gym girl, she was telling me he asked her out on a date and she was telling him ‘no ya I have a boyfriend’ and all and apparently he said ‘I don’t mind.’ Both father-daughter are just a mess.”

  “Babe I toh think maybe it’s like a family thing. Look at Geetu’s daughter, not even married and already staying with that fellow… what’s his name ya, the Gurgaon chap.”

  “Dhiraj something. I think he’s a jaat.”

  A symphony of gasps ensued.

  “Good evening ladies,” he spoke icily.

  “Oh hi Pranab, hawaryooou.” They harmonized. “We were just on our way to play bridge.”

  He bowed mockingly. “Indeed. Don’t stop on my account.”

  For someone who’d spent so much of her year trekking, Sunaina was pitifully tired by the time she reached the landing. With every stair her bag weighed heavier and now her forearms pulsed in protest. She dragged the rucksack into her room, once alive with her energy but now silent. It resonated with the cheerlessness that often bleached the brick and mortar of a room no one lived in any more. Even the corner of the wall where Gayatri had once spilled her drink had faded, the stain barely visible. Nothing about coming home was what she’d expected, what she needed.

  The week had gone by in calming her nerves, controlling her thoughts from wondering about her dad, how the moment they’d finally see each other might be. Now all she could do was swallow the bile on the back of her throat, walk past the bed that was too soft, over the carpet that was too clean, and into the bathroom. The bathroom where she’d lost the final shreds of her dignity. It was the week after Gayatri had left the city. She’d called the only one who could’ve helped, but her lifeline was out with her new boyfriend. Surya had told her to lighten up, to get out of bed and go have fun. At the end of the night Ankit had fucked her on the bathroom counter.

  The next morning was the first time she’d picked up the blade and put it to her wrist. Who was it that had told her of the incomparable rush of cutting wrists? It didn’t matter anymore because what she’d done was worse; she’d talked herself out of it because she couldn’t bear the thought of the pain. That was who she was, the weak girl with a bad heart. No matter how much she drank, how horribly she spoke to everyone, she couldn’t swallow it. That was the season Sunaina Kochhar stopped looking into the mirror to see if s
he was still there.

  Now, back in the same room that had seen every heartache and heartbreak, she braced herself for the overwhelming flood of emotions but all she felt was the same apathy as her plastic-covered clothes. She remembered everything, she felt them too, but what did any of it matter now? She smiled ruefully.

  The sweat and dust had formed a crust and she could feel her skin turning adhesive. Sunaina let the water beat down on her, suddenly too tired to move a muscle. Only upon stepping out did she realize her towel was still in the bag by the door, the door that was open and anyone could walk in. She stood there dripping and debating, completely unaware of the full rack of towels to her right. Lying next to them was her pink satin robe, a reminder of the person she once was that now seemed as daunting as meeting the rest of the family. Answering their questions. Where had she been? What had she been doing? Who was she now that she didn’t belong among them or was she pretending to be someone else for effect? Sunaina massaged her forehead, driving the voices away. Nobody would ask her that outright – or so she hoped.

  The towels were too soft to the touch, worsened by the realization that she was too severe in her judgments. Maybe the heady smell of honey-lily shower gel just needed more time to get used to. Sunaina was surprised at how much her tastes had changed.

  The sun was high but the wind still had the bite of a lasting winter, she threw on a pair of shorts and the same oversize sweater Faisal loved to hate on. She made her way downstairs to the already familiar sound of bickering.

  The Commander sat fiddling with his teacup, obviously eyeing the glass of gin her father was refilling.

  “It’s my summer drink,” he explained from behind the bar. “It’s just perfect daddy leave your tea and switch to the good stuff.”

  “Is it summer already?” Sunaina asked, eyeing his leather jacket. The ridiculously perfect fit across his shoulders made her cringe, he looked younger than half the men he was friends with. Suddenly all the stories she’d heard from her grandfather made sense.

  Her words cut through the tension, Hassan shifted uncomfortably and removed his sunglasses. “You can have some no matter how hot or cold it is outside, it was just a phrase.”

  He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t. She refused his offer to share a drink.

  “Why don’t you go easy on those if you’re driving to the airport?” Asim adjusted the collar of his shirt.

  “Don’t rile him up, he’ll only end up driving rashly and it’ll just become a thing.”

  Hassan smiled sourly. “You sound just like her.” He shook his head.

  “Anyway how’s everything back at the house? Are you still dreaming up your B&B scenes?”

  Asim nodded “I’m surprised you remember.”

  “So I guess there’s no way to talk you out of it then.”

  She shot him a warning look.

  “Not a chance Hassan don’t be an idiot, in fact I want Sunaina to help me with the business since literally nobody else seems to be capable of it.”

  “What do you mean?” he slammed his glass on the bar.

  “I can’t manage the whole operation myself–”

  “That’s not what I meant”, he turned to her “are you not staying back? I thought you were ready to come home for good Sunaina.”

  She balked under his red-eyed gaze, everything about his appearance seemed to be imploring her to stay back. It was nothing if not a call for attention, his styled hair and ripped jeans channeling every anybody’s Instagram feed and it only added to the aura of despondency that hung like a rancid smell in their house. Sunaina felt the familiar weight on her chest, the one a child feels when they need to be an adult for their parents. It was nothing as tragic as what her mother had put her through, but too often the behaviours of aging women are deemed worse than their male counterparts.

  In trying to speak her white lies, mostly to ease the situation, her throat closed up and she wondered if it was irony or divine intervention. Hassan however didn’t take it as lightly, gin addled brain assuming the worst.

  “This wedding is still weeks away beta, you have plenty of time to think about this.” Asim pushed the now cold tea away. “Why do we need to be so melodramatic all the time?”

  “No of course, I haven’t put a timeline on moving back to Delhi just yet … I don’t know.” Sunaina realized there wasn’t much left to save the conversation anymore. She turned to Hassan and smiled “For now it’s just good to be home.”

  He pulled her into a tight hug and whispered an ‘I love you’ and for the moment that was all they had to give each other.

  “Take it easy na papa,” she pulled him away from the bar. “Let’s do a little detox for some days, I’ll even do it with you.”

  “No no that’s not necessary, the only real trouble will be keeping Sid entertained. He can outdrink us both without blinking, really you remember don’t you?”

  Asim chuckled. “I once thrashed him for stealing my rum.”

  Hassan turned back to her, “Only because it was cheap rum.”

  “How’s his boy now, better I hope?”

  “Oh dad don’t bring up his wife under any circumstances okay? Last time was embarrassing enough, Kama got sozzled and just didn’t shut up about it.”

  Sunaina frowned in confusion.

  “His son’s wife died in a hit and run, some drunk fellow …” he stopped short. “I’ll take the driver with me, Vikram’s cleaning out the guest room. Both the rooms on the ground floor are still being painted – it’s a mess. Beta are you okay to take the fouton in the basement for a few days?”

  She put on a smile and nodded, ignoring the pitfall in her stomach.

  Sunaina was fifteen when she had realized that the best spot to smoke without being detected was the ledge between her room and the terrace. It was nothing short of a precarious climb but over the years she had it down to a minute and three seconds. She sat with her legs crossed, cigarette in contorted mouth, raking her fingers through the mess of wind dried hair. Pulling her fingers free, she took the cigarette and watched the ash flow with the breeze down.

  “Hey.”

  The sun was beating its retreat and although the wind was still warm, there was a nip in the air. She stood to watch the last slivers of orange in a lilac sky, the only view in Delhi uninterrupted by trees or high rise buildings. She followed the streets lined with neatly trimmed trees to the house at the end of the lane where–

  “HEY!”

  She turned around.

  “Down here!”

  The first thing she saw were the tattoos curling up his arms in a helix, poking out the neck of his T-shirt on one side.

  “What?” she shouted back.

  He squinted at her like he was dealing with an invalid.

  “What ‘what’, what’re you doing up there? Don’t kill yourself, you’re too beautiful.”

  She threw him her worst scowl, only to have it shrugged off with a side smile she knew was the byproduct of manipulative consideration. Sunaina wanted to slap him just for that smile.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Get down from there please you could really hurt yourself.”

  She was immediately aware of the things that made him a douchebad. The 70’s style pornstache. The buzzcut. The tattoos – each of which no doubt came with a preemptively prepared story.

  Eyebrows drawn against the late evening sun, Sohrab Sood beamed at her until the corner of her lips quirked up.

  “Alright wait a minute,” he set down the carton from his hands and spread them up to the skies. “Okay now jump, I’ll catch you.”

  She laughed incredulously. “Seriously, does that line ever work for you?”

  “I’ll tell you if you come down here.”

  “Come come beta”, she heard her father calling from inside the house, “it’s too hot outside.”

  Sunaina flicked the cigarette in his direction and made her way back to the balcony of her room where the entourage had arrived. Ha
ssan looked at her making no efforts to hide his surprise.

  “Bacche, what’s up with your hair?”

  “Whatever, papa who’s the weirdo in our driveway?”

  “Sunaina don’t be rude they’re our guests.” He grit his teeth.

  “Yes Sunaina,” she whipped around to see him standing there smirking at her from the bathroom door. She averted her eyes from the Calvin Klein model physique, made worse by the way he crossed his arms. “Don’t be rude.”

  She was resolved to not give him the satisfaction of seeing her blush.

  “Sorry if we got off on the wrong foot,” he held out his hand, “I’m Sohrab Sood.”

  “How charming,” she gave a firm handshake and made to leave.

  “Sunaina!” Hassan chided. “Why don’t you be nice and help Sohrab find his way through the room.”

  It took every fibre of her being to not ask her father to shove it. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of the invincible summer of patience and kindness she’d discovered within over the past year. Yet, all she wanted was to knock that self-assured smirk off of Sohrab’s face. An itch gnawed at the inside of her belly, polluting her conscious mind with a brassy need to push him away from her, into a wall. To at once hit him and crash into him.

  “He’s already here isn’t he?” she deadpanned.

  “Oh but I’m terribly lost,” he stared at her with innocent eyes. “Can’t find my way through anything.”

  She pointed behind him. “Bathroom and spa facilities, extra towels in the rack above the mirror. Bed, TV, you can use the cupboard for your crap, whatever you need to clear out you can just shove it under the bed.”

  He snorted. “Are you usually this salty or is it because I got your room?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Call Vikram if you need anything.”

  “Why can’t you help him Sunaina?” Hassan demanded.

  “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I’m gonna wait on him for every little need papa.” She left fuming.