The Bitter Pill Social Club

by Rohan Dahiya

  “Listen bubba we gotta talk about something.” She pulled up her most convincing voice (a domineering tone perfected over the years). “I think we need to switch up the pairing a little bit, keep Gayatri and Vir front and centre but let’s swap Lakshman with Sohrab – I think it’s throwing the aesthetic off balance ya completely shoddy job I must say.”

  He looked at her like she’d force-fed him sour milk.

  “So, Sohrab and Elina on one side and Lakshman can go with Sunaina, put Kabir at the other side with Karishma, he’s far too short to be that much in the middle.”

  Before he could say anything she thwacked him on the back and quit the scene.

  Everyone followed the directions with grit teeth, Sunaina cast a dark look at Surya’s back who at that moment was deflecting the most tedious forms of small talk and Priya’s pressing comments on how being gay was totally normal. She prayed Geetu wouldn’t hear any of it.

  As Sohrab brushed past Lakshman with good natured whoops from the back to which Elina bowed deeply, Sunaina willed her soul to leave its fleshy prison. She vowed never to return the next time she could leave the city. The unnecessarily long medley of Bollywood’s finest songs – selected after a week’s worth of discussion on a whatsapp group everybody subsequently quit – blared from the speakers and they stepped in formation. With the every hip thrust it grew easier to enjoy the dance and by the time she ended up with her arms entwined around Lakshman’s spinning in sync with the others, Sunaina was actually enjoying herself. Sohrab swallowed the stab in his chest at the sight of them, the ease with which they fit together, the way he made her laugh.

  The fourteen minute performance left them winded but there was enough applause to consider the efforts worthwhile. She fanned herself with the edge of her satsuma coloured kurta and pressed the icy glass of gin and juice to her neck.

  “Wait how do you plan to manage all that on the day of the mehendi function?” Kabir demanded.

  Karishma tied her hair up with a smug scoff. “I’ll figure something out I mean come on ya it’s a Penn Masala set like how can you miss something like that?”

  Kabir pressed his lips together, at a complete loss for words.

  “Look I mean at least RSVP on Facebok for the sake of keeping up with civilized society. It’s just, I mean how can you consider yourself cultured if you can’t even go see a Penn Masala performance?” she stared at him aghast. “That’s like saying you don’t like Prateek Kuhad.”

  He turned to Sunaina for help. “I just … I don’t even know …”

  She shook her head to his tune, biting back a smile. “It’s okay. Just say you know him–”

  “Guys what the fack! You don’t know Prateek Kuhad?”

  Five pairs of eyes turned to them, bulging at the disgraceful news.

  Kabir buried his face into Sunaina’s shoulder. “I can’t. I can’t with this.”

  “No I mean I’ve heard of him,” Sunaina gasped from the effort of keeping a straight face. “I just … I don’t think I’ve heard his music.”

  “Stahp what the hell, please educate yourselves guys it’s not funny.” Karishma genuinely looked offended as the pair of them shook with silent laughter. “You guys are sick.”

  Elina smiled as she forced herself into the conversation. It was the kind of smile girls reserved for easy access to have their way. And Elina had learnt early on that bad girls knew where to find the party. “I’m so bummed, anyone up for doing a line?”

  She had company quicker than she could blink.

  Meanwhile, Lara had unwittingly drifted over. “Seriously, I just had to ask. What do you guys even do if you don’t go to Piano Man to hear these guys play?”

  Kabir straightened up with his steely best. “We’ve moved on from Piano Man sweetie.”

  Unfortunately the rest of his comeback was drowned in the bellowed argument making its way up the stairs as Vir chased his mother who, having caught him on the phone for the last time, had confiscated the borrowed iPhone and stormed to a private room to unleash her rage. Gayatri found her way to Sunaina and pulled her from the increasingly dissonant gathering – an after-party had broken out and nobody else had been close enough to hear the argument break out.

  The door slammed shut behind her and Geetu wasted no time in pulling out the big gay gun.

  “Priya gave me an interesting piece of information, she saw you and Ankit Kalra kissing on the night of the youngsters.”

  “WHAT?” Gayatri froze at the door but Geetu was not to be interrupted.

  “On top of the fact that your so-called brand is fake. There’s no company is there? You’ve just been lying to us this entire time!”

  Surya brushed past her mother. “Wait bhai what’s going on? What is mumma talking about?”

  “Minal and Fari wanted to see the catalog of your brother’s collection –”

  “Mumma I told you not to talk about the bags –”

  “And it turns out that there are no bags! And just now when you claimed to have been on a work call I caught him talking to someone in French. When did you even learn French, Vir?”

  “Mumma don’t be ridiculous I was actually taking a work call.”

  “Oh my god beta, don’t even think of talking such crap. I may be old and irrelevant in your mind but even I know how to say ‘I love you’ in French!”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat, no longer sure what to say.

  “Why don’t you fucking start with who you were talking to? What are you hiding from me?”

  Dev and Asim closed the door behind them.

  “Beta are you involved in some trouble again?”

  He pulled the neck of his ratty t-shirt away to swallow but the cotton ball was lodged in his throat.

  “Why don’t you say something!”

  “It’s not what you think mumma, I don’t know why you insist on making such a fucking big deal about this!”

  “Don’t you fuck with me Vir! A mother knows when her son is hiding something from her, no matter how big bad the secret is just tell me. What is going on with you.”

  “Geetu please, let’s calm down for a second before we go making any accusations here.” Nobody had heard Dev speak so gravely. “If this is about what Priya saw…”

  “Wait mumma what she saw has no merit she’s probs just making this shit up.” Surya crossed her hands defensively.

  Geetu lit her cigarette and whispered throatily. “Are you … beta are you a gay?”

  He knew perfectly that his mother had gay friends in her life so it would’ve been impossible for her not to know the incorrectness of prefixing the word gay with an ‘a’. He saw the double standard in her fierce stare, she was fine with being friendly to somebody else’s gay son but the thought of her own following suit was like being disemboweled with a blunt knife.

  “Geetu-ma I think that’s a bit harsh –”

  “How’s it even relevant?” Sunaina threw her hands up in disbelief.

  Asim overlooked the swelling scene in shock.

  “Okay before anyone else says anything else I need to get this off my chest.”

  “Oh god” Geetu clutched her chest dramatically, “Haye Raam I knew it!”

  “Knew what?”

  “He’s gay.” She reported in their general direction.

  “Mumma just fucking stop for a second!” Vir’s face flamed in anger. “Look I know you all think I’m hiding something from you, I know my being on the phone is irritating and Surya I’m sorry if I haven’t been there enough for you.”

  “Chill bhai I know you have important shit going on in your life.”

  Gayatri scoffed and whispered to Sunaina, “Bitch couldn’t’ve been this understanding with us.”

  “Yeah but my behaviour’s been shit I know. Look it’s because the company needs me right now.”

  Geetu’s head shot up. “What fucking company beta? You’ve just been lying to us, making a fool of us all.”

  “Mumma I don’t make backpacks. I gave u
p on that two years ago.”

  “What do you mean you gave up on it?” She laughed once. “You made bags for Surya and Dhiraj … didn’t you?”

  Vir raked his fingers through his hair, trying not to rip them off. “Yes but that’s not what the company does.”

  The room fell silent. He shot a fleeting glance at his grandfather and decided he couldn’t lie anymore.

  “We …” he took in a deep breath. “We make novelty collector’s items for umm for adult pleasures.”

  He rolled his eyes at the room of confused faces.

  “We make eco-friendly sex toys, specifically for fetish purposes. Costumes for role-play are something we’re looking into. It’s still very high end because of the engineering and raw materials we use so it’s not like I work in a stall on the street in Bangkok, but that’s what I do. I also customize nightlife travel programmes for people who want to experience the sex clubs of the Shinjuku district.”

  Geetu collapsed onto the couch.

  Sunaina felt her jaw drop. “Wait, there’s a market for sex tours?”

  Vir laughed nervously. “Like you’d never imagine!”

  “Wait, so you’re not gay?” Gayatri asked meekly.

  “What?”

  “You’re not gay then? Because I think that’s what Geetu-ma was most afraid of really. Well, before this.”

  “I’m not gay.”

  Geetika barely choked out a sigh before he continued.

  “I’m in a bisexual threeway relationship.”

  Gayatri covered her smile, lest she be stabbed for it. Sunaina nodded, clearly impressed. Surya tried her best to share in his relief. Dev reached out and squeezed his wife’s shoulder to make sure she was still alive, wondering if her heart sputtered the same arrhythmic song.

  The Commander clapped loud enough to make them jump not only as it ripped through the hush but also in reminder of his presence.

  “Is this what you were sent him out of the country for?” he seethed, voice rising dangerously. “To burn your money, to sully our name in society, to do this bullshit?!”

  “You think I knew about this?” she choked back her tears.

  “Geetika, your son is a randibaaz!” he bellowed. “Do you have nothing better to say?”

  Gayatri whipped out her phone. “And once more for the camera please!”

  Sunaina held onto her shoulder, convulsing with laughter.

  “I don’t care who you are, you don’t talk to her like that!” Dev roared, redfaced and unbothered by the flash of the camera.

  “Abbey you fuck off, bloody wimp.”

  “He’s right,” Geetu whispered. “You’ve left us with no way to face society Vir.”

  “Are you kidding right now mumma?” Surya screamed. “You can’t control who you love any more than you control gossip. You should maybe reevaluate your friends if you’re so afraid of their judgment.”

  “And what about his living conditions?!”

  Gayatri closed her eyes and took a deep breath before answering. “Are you saying you’d be okay if he was with a guy?”

  “No.”

  “Then?”

  “He should be with a girl.”

  “Why? Who decides that?”

  “What do you mean ‘why’, because it’s not normal!”

  “There’s no normal where love is concerned, ma. If he loves two people he loves two people – that’s that.”

  “But what even about grandchildren? How does that work in his condition?”

  “In his relationship. And even then it’s not about what you want. It’s their decision. What if tomorrow Surya declares she never wants to have kids or whatever, would you hire a surrogate and pretend that it’s hers?”

  “Ugh I cannot deal with this crap anymore!” she threw her hands to the heavens.

  “You shouldn’t have to.” Sunaina sighed. “Nobody has asked you to ‘deal’ with it because it isn’t something you have to solve. It’s three people who care about each other –”

  “Three people” Asim snapped, “is a math problem not a healthy living situation.”

  “Just try and understand him instead!” Even as Gayatri raised her voice, Vir had left the building.

  Surya sat on the bathroom floor with her knees drawn in; the tiles cooled her burning skin. She’d taken to aggressively fiddling her ring – as yet unfamiliar on her finger – while rereading the argument she’d just had with Dhiraj. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he saw irredeemable flaws in her family, every passing day brought out the ugly truth while the world was looking the other way. Outside, Gayatri hugged Vir till the shivers of anger and humiliation died down. Inside, Surya’s fingers ached to call Dhiraj because to hear his voice would put an end to all the doubts and fears burrowing a hole through her belly.

  Vir looked up from his clenched fist at the sound of the door.

  “You know mom’s lost it right?” Surya entered warily.

  He beamed at her even through his red eyes. “We should alert the management at the asylum.”

  “Let’s keep a guy on-call. Just sedate her any time she’s about to speak.” Her smile faltered. “I think she’s really going off the rails.”

  “Sit” he patted the bed. “You know I only came here because of you right? If I hadn’t I probably would’ve just left her to her version of the story.”

  “That wouldn’t have stopped her from asking questions, Vir. About work or your plans for settling down.”

  He tilted his head. “I don’t know if I ever really want to get married.”

  “Why, couldn’t you have a hippy communal-type wedding?”

  He stared at Surya like she’d lost it.

  “That was meant to be a joke.”

  “You used to be funnier.”

  “Maybe that lack of good humour runs in the family.” Gayatri muttered from the closet. She ripped the packaging from a forgotten welcome basket, pulling out the only medicine available – a bottle Patron.

  “Oh, so you mean to imply that we’re all insane and there’s no hope for us?”

  She nodded, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

  He wagged a finger at them. “Oh I think there might still be hope for you two.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Surya scowled at her phone. “What if it’s a family curse? Like what if that’s what sets off the psychosis?”

  “Well then I trust Dhiraj to keep you sane.”

  Gayatri poured out the tequila. “Shit, who’ll keep him from going crazy then?”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Nah I wouldn’t worry about him.”

  “I guess only time will tell,” Surya shrugged.

  The sky lit up outside with a far off bolt of lightning and Vir allowed the knot that’d tightened with each passing day to unwind.

  Sunaina lay upside down in her bed, feet propped up against the wall, book of shorts cradled with her mind miles away. To her side was the phone no longer displaying an unanswered text to Sohrab, a whatsapp group still blowing up with last minute dance practice schedules, someone really needed a dealer’s number in RK Puram. Her eyes flitted with every beep but none of it was what she wanted to read, so she lay there like a forgotten doll with a half formed scowl staring blankly into Balzac.

  The city was like a dead zone, not enough wind to shuffle a fallen leaf even though the summer had breathed its last and the evenings were thick with cricketsong and steam. She threw the balcony open and leaned as far as she could, the rising fever of the ground burning her naked feet. That night she could light a fire just by rubbing her thighs, light a cigarette by snapping her kindling fingers. She pulled on the cigarette and arced it away to keep the smoke from her eyes, but it hung around her in a punishing cloud with no wind to give it direction. Sunaina stood and choked on the smoke for as long as she could and then when she’d had enough she resumed her upturned position on the bed.

  An hour later, the door to the backyard slid open with ease. To let in the salty sweet breeze
before a storm and to let her out. Stray leaves rustled along the path she jogged, thudding on the still warm concrete down the road that connected the rear gardens of every house on the street. She made her way toward the house where she hoped Sohrab was awake and waiting for her. There was a pinch in her throat that told her otherwise, that told her she should’ve known better – a woman’s intuition as her mother had once put it – but Sunaina ignored it.

  Lately it was as if the whole family had conspired against them, leaving no more than a few private sighs between him and her. They talked with the nondescript air of friendly banter where she’d ask about Sunita aunty or he’d pass a light comment on the red-faced choreographer who presided over dance practices with militant authority. She’d catch him staring but he’d look away too soon, and she spent her nights waiting till the seat of the swing hardened her back. Sunaina missed their conspiratorial smiles, the ease his closeness brought to her. To make matters worse forced between them was the ever alluring Elina, whose endgame was beginning to matter less and less every day.

  A power cut knocked out every light on the street and took her breath away. Sunaina realized she’d walked too far ahead and now stood at the wrong end of the curb with shadows rising all around her. With only the purple sky and phone light, she felt her way to the other side, peering through overgrown vines into a marble engraving for the house number. Like a current sparking through her she shivered, staring back at the house where Devina Dewan, Lakshman’s mother, had once thrown glittering soirees.

  The iron gate swung freely under her hand, frail with years of rust. The sky above disappeared into a canopy of overlapping branches, heavy with leaves and critters. Sunaina walked with her heart in her throat, every muscle prepared to jettison herself from the swamp. A branch snapped and her hands flew up to protect herself, she gasped aloud and turned in every possible direction to find the source of the noise but the darkness just stretched to infinity. And then a pair of hands wrapped her wrist and Sunaina screamed like the girl who saw the old hag emerge from the shadows in a grainy black and white film right before she pushed her down the stairs to her doom and death. Lakshman, white as a sheet, screamed back half in surprise and half in anger.