The Bitter Pill Social Club

by Rohan Dahiya

  He stopped himself short.

  It was the hunger, not the fact that Benaras was suddenly hot tourist property again, that drove his thoughts to acid. He pulled his bags one by one and found that the tightening in his gut had lesser to do with the anxiety of the crowd than a need for food. He called Surya but she didn’t answer, so he set out to book an Uber where the signal seemed strong enough.

  Devendra’s call interrupted him and he debated whether to answer or not. Like his opinion on the people vomiting out of the gates, Vir was largely unbothered by his stepfather. It was a game of facts, really – Dev’s inclusion had healed his mother in ways you couldn’t put to words. He’d been the one to push for Vir’s design course, Geetu still worried he’d fall off the wagon. He’d shown patience and kindness when both Vir and Surya were hard on him; with his strange sense of humor he’d made his own space in their hearts.

  Heaving a sigh Vir answered the call.

  “Thanks for picking me up, Dev.” He slipped the mask off once the air purifier lit up a pleasant blue.

  “Arey what thanks, I didn’t want you to have to sit through a taxi in this heat.”

  He smiled back politely.

  “It’s the car isn’t it? It’s too much …”

  “Definitely the car, let’s burn it down.” Vir reclined his seat backward, smirking. “How’s everything? Has mum driven everyone mad yet?”

  “Nonsense, I’m as sane as I ever was though not for lack of trying on her part.” Dev sniggered. “No really, everything is super stress free. Look at me, do I look tired at all?”

  “You could use a vacation.”

  “If only vacations could last a year,” he chuckled. “In all seriousness though Vir if you decide to get married anytime soon I will kill myself. No, first I think your mother will kill me to just exorcise herself; I’ll be brought back to life and then I’ll kill myself.”

  “I’m not getting married anytime before I turn thirty. Even then there’s the whole matter of my –”

  “Oh I’d really wait to tell your mother about that buddy!”

  Vir wondered if there was a correct way to string words together so he could tell them his truths and not be hated for it. His smile withered as the sun beat down on the collecting traffic, it was one of those unacknowledged facts of life that everyone had an open mind and liberal heart until the tragedy struck at home. So he’d do as Dev decreed and wait but would it ever be worthwhile in the end?

  With each passing hour it was harder to find a moment’s peace in which to call home, the local sim wasn’t activating on his phone and he had no way of getting to a laptop without Geetu peering over his shoulder. She was breathing down the necks of the boys draping flowers all over the living room till it resembled a garden, heady with the scent of marigold and roses. She insisted on referring to his ear gauges as buttplugs till he removed them. Everyone’s outfits were steam ironed and placed on hangers, while Gayatri and Surya had the special privilege of sleeping in.

  The kurta cut into his throat, cut too snugly around his shoulders, and Dev’s bemused consolation was of no help. He felt like a clown, not only because the last time he’d worn a traditional kurta was at his father’s funeral but also because the shade of purple gave him the appearance of a peacock. An uncomfortable peacock who was introduced to a thousand different aunties none of whom made any efforts to hide their scrutiny of how suitable a suitor he was.

  “So beta what are you up to these days?”

  “Arrey I’ve heard you’re starting your own company and all in Osaka.”

  “Roppongi –err it’s in Tokyo actually, but Osaka is a beautiful –”

  “Yeah I went there for a holiday last year.”

  “So bacche you didn’t tell us what you do.”

  “Oh ho don’t hound him like that he’s just shy.”

  “No no aunty I assure you it’s nothing like that. I –”

  “I didn’t tell you guys?” Geetu had popped over to recommend they try the coconut water cocktail. “He’s started his own line of high-end bags.”

  “Luxe backpacks, ma, don’t make it sound like a boutique store for clutch bags.”

  “Wait like backpacks, like the stuff kids take to school and all?”

  “Mmhmm exactly,” Vir sipped his drink to calm his nerves. “Except these are made of beautiful cowhide and studded with 3D printed embellishments. Not really suitable for children.”

  “Wow beta that’s really … impressive.” Paramjeet smirked.

  “Yeah, look at what all jobs are coming up now!”

  “Arey Minal it’s about taking control ya, he’s following his passion. In our days toh you could either be a doctor, lawyer, or teacher.”

  And yet you chose to be none of those. He bit back his words.

  “So if not kids then what’s your ideal market bacche?”

  “Look at you Priya, straightaway in business mode and all ah! Let the poor boy wet his whistle first.”

  “I don’t drink actually.”

  Looks were exchanged.

  “Also, they’re unsuitable for children because of choking hazards and I’m sure they wouldn’t be able to afford them.” He said quietly.

  “Afford them.” Priya Sodhi lifted her glass of champagne to salute him. “Well inshallah beta, I hope you find the best clients. And really Geetu you must show me these bags sometime.”

  He pulled at the collar of his kurta and excused himself.

  Param raised an eyebrow at his retreating back. “He’s quite distracted today ah Geetu, is everything okay?”

  “Nonsense he’s just landed a few hours back ya, he’s exhausted that’s all.”

  “Not too tired to be on the phone,” Priya tittered, “he must be talking to his girlfriend.”

  “He’s not single?” Minal deflated, matchmaking dreams deflating.

  “He is.”

  “Chalo that’s nice, even if he is dating I mean it can’t be serious otherwise he’d tell you right? These days if they don’t come up to us and say, ‘hey mummy this is so and so’ every relationship can be broken up ya.” Priya high-fived Farida.

  “Well, he’s not dating anyone right now. And I would know if he had a girlfriend,” Geetu willed her cheeks to cool down. “We don’t have any secrets.”

  “No girlfriend then … maybe a boyfriend?” Farida laughed the loudest as always at her own joke, unbothered by the champagne spilling over her glass. Geetu excused herself and made the rounds looking for her husband. She adjusted her sunglasses, tossed out a smile to whoever looked her way, the picture of ease.

  The sun wasn’t as harsh anymore, signaling that cocktails were now free for the taking and the Shroff sundowner went off into full swing.

  Surya met her mother in the hallway and told her she was on her way out.

  “Beta for one day can’t you two just sit at home?”

  “Mumma please don’t stress me out, Gayatri and I can’t miss Lara’s roka function it’s so cheap ya. We can’t expect her to show up at our functions if we don’t go to hers.”

  “Fine,” she made her way to the kitchen. “Oh listen, why don’t you take Sunaina also? She must be on her way.”

  “Mom puh-lease! She wasn’t invited to begin with and if she can’t make it in time to our house why should I take her there? It’s just embarrassing. I’m embarrassed for you for suggesting it.”

  Geetu rolled her eyes and entered the kitchen to have the blood drain from her face so fast she thought she’d faint. Were she not still holding the door she might’ve. The meat kebabs were plated and heading out the door – she peeked out at the garden where the guests were drinking and eating. The unmistakable orange of chicken tikka pierced through her heart and set her soul on fire; even Dev’s calming hand on her arm couldn’t help her unsee the horror.

  “WHO SERVES MEAT AT A POOJA? DO WE LOOK LIKE FUCKING MUSLIMS TO YOU?!”

  “Okay Geetu, you’re being very loud right now.” The door clicked shut behind them.
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  “Madam you only placed an order for shammi kebabs and tikkas for starters –”

  “I wanted VEGETARIAN SHAMMI KEBABS and PANEER TIKKA. What nonsense is this?”

  “Madam we’re serving what we were told, you’ll have to talk to the manager about this.”

  “I definitely will but bhaisaab what do we do about right now? You’ve completely embarrassed us, our reputation is ruined. Not one person out there is going to forget that we don’t even know how to cater a small pooja-party.”

  “Ma’am –”

  “Are you aware that my daughter is getting married, I have so many functions to host after this. Do you understand what a disaster this is?! I have nowhere to hide my face!”

  “Geetu …”

  “No Dev this is disastrous, I’m going to be sick!”

  “You’re not going to fall sick, please hydrate. We’ll speak to the caterer today evening.”

  “We’re not paying for this. And I want to cancel him for everything he’s booked.” She turned back to the nervous kid. “Just try and get another job in this city, you piece of garbage.”

  Dev opened his mouth to protest, advance payments had been made but she was irredeemably deaf to reason.

  “Geetu, please just have some water.” He pushed a glass into the dispenser.

  “Oh fuck off Dev don’t patronize me. Do I look like a child to you?” she glared at him over her hands, lighting another cigarette.

  He bit back a laugh. “No baby –”

  “Ma, what’s going on?” Vir stared between the two of them as another tray of kebabs was carried out.

  She whipped around. “And you! Where have you been?”

  “I was on a call.”

  “With who?”

  “Whom,” Dev muttered.

  “My business partners – ma firstly I already told you that I’m going to be very busy we’ve just barely launched our website and I’m having to coordinate everything from what is a literal black hole of network connectivity. I have to stay updated on a lot.”

  “No, you were smoking weren’t you? I can smell it.”

  He stared pointedly at the lit cigarette in her left hand.

  “Nonsense, it’s on you I can smell it. Tell me, if it’s not cigarettes it has to be pot. Beta are you back to using drugs?”

  “Mumma are you crazy? Need I remind you that you wanted proof that I’ve been putting your ‘investment’ in my business to use.” He snarled. “Also no one gives a fuck whether you’re serving kebabs of palak or beef they will be judgmental either way. They’re your friends after all.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “And please, please don’t talk to everyone you meet about my company because I’m really not ready for that kind of extraneous publicity.”

  “Why don’t we get you a drink?”

  “No thank you,” Vir huffed on his way out.

  “Disaster,” Geetu muttered even as she was ushered out.

  Another typically atypical Delhi bar, a reunion of old friends and it is always the same dance. A routine of matador and bull treading in careful choreography around the same things they always talk about with the same put-on airs of nostalgia for a different time. It’s the same talk, the same mouths, with a shift in setting between bars that cling to their forced aesthetic with the same desperation that people meet with – that hunger for a connection. And if it doesn’t happen in the first few moments, there’s a chance it wouldn’t at all. You can see it in their shifty eyes, the one-too-many nods, their mindless hummed ascent – they ask you how you are but they only wait for the hole in your answer to hook their own story into. And then the tables have turned. And now you’re the matador and they’re the bull. The same dance, the same dance as always.

  They compare dick measurements in vacation spots and paychecks, happiness with the ring of platinum and diamonds, a completion of life’s basics. On their own they can’t stand to talk to each other long enough to last a full meal, and so they drink. They drink and the same fucking dance ensues.

  They drink their drinks and talk of who’s dating whom, who has talks of an upcoming wedding in the mix, who’s screwing who on the side and how much, and all of it is okay because then they go home and lie next to their version of a happy sort of everafter. They feverishly stare into their phones because it saves them from having an authentic thought. They talked of the same people they did the last time he met them and so Vir found himself tuning out their words as the banter swelled into the late evening. They were grown up versions of the same, tired high school clichés that once trolled around the canteen during lunchtime to ceaselessly judge and bully.

  They were mere shadows of their former selves – smart, successful, and shamelessly rich of course and they seemed content being just that. Maybe it was because they got what they always wanted, became exactly who they set out to be from the day they had discussed career goals in fifth grade. That’s what happened to the ghosts that peaked in high school, Vir realized solemnly. He handed them their wedding invites and left, paying his share of the bill no matter how much they insisted he didn’t.

  “Au revoir, Vir!” Rubina Raman waved at him from the car.

  He smiled and waved back, regretting the moment he told her about wanting to learn French.

  Vir walked out of the mall passing self-important groups of sharply dressed people on their way to binge-drink the night away. He might’ve been the only guy that evening not wearing super skinny H&M jeans but the weather was kind to his denim jacket, he hugged it closer allowing the synth and bass from his headphones to drown out the usual Saturday night babble. He stood outside in the balmy breeze, a lone shadow against the bright window displays, perfectly content till a sharp jab disturbed him.

  “Hey you!” Gayatri panted, weighed down by a few dozen garment bags each emblazoned with a designer’s initials. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just meeting some old friends. Don’t you have an assistant to help with all this?”

  “She’s on a whole other set of errands, don’t ask. Here take some of these won’t you big brother.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly but helped her ease the bags into the back of the awaiting car.

  “So what is all of this for, dare I ask?”

  “The wedding of course, some designer-friends sent in options for me to try on and I’ll wear something if I like it.” She turned to the backseat. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “What if you don’t like any of them?”

  “I guess my assistant sends it back, I don’t know.”

  “Just like that?” he didn’t see it working out in her favour. “Why do you get freebies though?”

  “It’s a thing, just get with the program.” She pulled her hair into a knot. “Anyway, how was your day? Is Geetu ma’s bickering finally getting to you?”

  “Mumma’s never been good with stress,” he smiled indulgently. “What I don’t understand is why you and Surya were so rude to Sunaina today.”

  “Okay well I’m absolutely fine, I called her a while back to ask her if she’s coming for the cards party tonight and she just like ‘yeah I’ll-let-you-know’ed’ me so I’m just giving her space now. But okay she did have a point that Surya knew when she came back and she didn’t go over and say hey and didn’t tell her about the wedding and Dhiraj but then Sunaina herself made no efforts either right?”

  He barged in to the room where Surya sat smoking, the skirts of her anarkali pulled up to cool her thighs.

  “Shut the door it’s like a furnace outside!”

  “Can you stop being immature and just call Sunaina?”

  Gayatri appeared behind him ashen faced. “I’m not even getting into this, I’ve to get ready and all.”

  Surya shot daggers at the pair of them. “Could you find the lock to the closet so this time there’s no one barging in to look at my wedding outfits?”

  “Can you answer my question – why can’t you two put your egos aside and just tal
k?”

  “What’s it to you? If she wants to talk to me she can very well come over here and get it out, she’s just being a prissy bitch and avoiding confrontation.”

  “Funny because that’s exactly what she said and now I’m convinced that you’re both bat shit crazy.” He glared at her even as she straightened up, knocking the glass with ash and water all over the carpet. “This is ridiculous, I’m going over there and I’ll drag her here if I have to.”

  “Vir I want no part in this –” he slammed the door behind him.

  Sunaina tested the volume swiveling the dial left to right so it was just loud enough to cut through the sound of the evening wind, cooling against the trickle of sweat that formed down her throat. The wine sanguineous and swirling over the tip of her glass down her open lips was just cool enough to mask the bitter aftertaste of tannins. She plucked a java plum and crushed it between her lips on her way to the bar for a refill. The wine had her walking on clouds. Her thoughts were like overexposed photographs. She lit a cigarette and swung her hips to Savage Garden, throwing open the doors dramatically belting out the high notes like she was the star of her own show.

  “Wow, so this is where the real party is!”

  “What the fuck,” she wrapped the robe tighter around her waist. “I thought you were at bua’s house.”

  Sohrab sighed. “Yeah hate to disappoint you but I’m not into poker.”

  “Oh that’s terrible,” she threw her head back and laughed. “You’ll never survive this side of town then.”

  “I don’t mind sitting out, but these guys just take the game way too seriously.”

  He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Wait a minute, you cut your hair? That’s how you got to skip out on that pooja today?”