by Rohan Dahiya
She willed her heart to settle down. “Find me after the wedding. I’ll send my assistant to get you a suit.”
He bowed deeply. “How kind of you Lady Snapchat.”
A deep grumble rolled from the concrete clouds outside.
“Shit,” she muttered on her way out.
Everyone gathered in the suite for one last picture in their matching Team Bride robes. Surya pushed Karishma to the edge of the huddle for sleeping in and missing most of the morning. They raised their palms out to show the varying shades of mehendi stained onto everyone’s palms. The photographer aligned them in dispersal all over the room so that they looked like models on a magazine cover. Surya almost broke into tears at the mere sight of her brother but Lara interrupted her with the promise of a joint. As soon as their round of photos were over, whoever was ready hot-boxed the bride while the others changed.
Even as the skies continued to darken to blue ash, one by one the wedding party stepped into their cars and set off for the gurudwaara.
Neil was the last man standing. In his newly fitted suit walking out the doors he realized he’d forgotten to call a cab but Lakshman who was waiting downstairs smoking offered him a ride. Neil had to bite back his tongue, almost letting slip that he knew him as the ex, and accepted graciously.
Gayatri was having her make up finished when there was a knock on the door, a final visitor they didn’t have time for.
Sunaina stepped out and pecked Sohrab, reminding him of their plan.
“Last kiss before the wedding.”
“No more till it’s over,” he held up both hands. “I promise. It’s your sister’s wedding I know how big of a day this is for you.”
“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to chill with you.”
“Relax, I’ve been hanging with your friends for a while I’ll be fine.”
“Plus there’s always Elina …” she offered.
“She’s no Sunaina.”
“No” she held up a finger. “No emotional talk. It’s been an insane morning as it is.”
“Okay. No emotional talk.” He smirked at her. “But I love you.”
“No.”
He chuckled.
“How’s Sunita aunty?”
“She’s still in recovery. I’ll let you know more as soon as I do.”
She gave him the briefest hug and kissed his ear before pushing him down the highway.
Back in the room she found Gayatri had already changed into her pants, her dazzling anarkali ready to be adorned. She raced into the bathroom and put on her blouse and heels. With Gayatri’s help she climbed into the lehenga, the heavy blue Sabyasachi she’d fallen in love with at first sight. It billowed gently to the floor as she helped Gayatri set all the folds right on her suit. Neither of them acknowledged the trembling hands or labored breaths, the gravity of the morning had finally sunk in while no one was watching. A sharp rap on the door made them jump, the wedding planner called out five minutes to departure and they rushed to put on their jewelry.
Surya was fully transformed into a bride when they entered the suite. The energy had changed in the room from nervousness to excitement. Everyone was ready. Surya stared at herself in the mirror, grateful that everything considered she still looked like herself.
“This is the day,” she said with a shuddered voice. “This is my wedding day.”
They paled in comparison to her outfit, a stunning creation of brilliant gold and sunset orange. She had the million glass bangles on and the shower of golden kaliras delicately sloping down her sides as they began the slow walk to the elevator, led by Vir.
The bridal convoy departed from the hotel set to the tune of grumbling clouds. On the way to the gurudwaara no one spoke more than a few words, no one could believe how soon the weeks had passed. Surya made for a stunning bride – a fact reiterated by the gasps as she disembarked at the gate. Ria was upset that no one told her when it was time for the official bridal entrance, the fact that she missed the momentous procession from the entrance of the prayer hall to where Dhiraj sat – a prince in waiting – would be a permanent chip on her shoulder. She was the first one to cry at the wedding. Surya needed assistance every time she had to stand for a parikrama, her skirt was seven kilos on its own. Dhiraj on his part, dressed in the fine silk achkan of rose gold with white pants, was there to hold her every time with a dazzling smile. It set a good precursor to their marriage – the aunties whispered through the room – that he was there to help her since the very beginning. That she didn’t look to anyone else for support. Sunaina and Gayatri rolled their eyes to near blindness.
From the moment she first sat down, Sunaina had a lump in her throat. With every breath it seemed as if Surya was going to dissolve into tears but it was just the shine of her embroidered blouse. It seemed that everyone in the hall was on the verge of tears watching them circumnavigate the prayer area. Too soon they were husband and wife and bittersweet tears took over. Dhiraj made an effort to keep the smile on his face; he hated the sight of Surya crying. He gave her the quickest hug before they were overwhelmed by relatives from both sides and then by friends. Almost no one cared for the unrelenting downpour outside. Thunderclaps couldn’t penetrate the calm aura of the ceremony. Their legs were numb from sitting but Sunaina and Gayatri followed the couple right till they were ushered into the car under oversized umbrellas. They stood amidst the gushing aunties and the quietly proud uncles as one of their own bid them farewell. It was the end of an era.
Geetu’s arms found them and embraced the girls with the quiet dignity of a woman holding herself together. That was the worst part of weddings, watching the parents of the bride let her go – a final signifier that lives were changing. They found Vir sitting on a bench on the other side, head buried in his hands. The three of them sat there while the party drove out in their cars. Whenever someone came over to rush them into a car and make way to the reception, Gayatri sombrely shook her head. They stayed there until the last car had driven away, which by a turn of fate turned out to be for the best because otherwise they might have missed the sight of their grandfather walking barefoot on the road into a random apartment complex. Brushing away their tears they ran, calling out to him with a stab of fear in their chests. He turned only at the sound of his name and jerked back, surprised that three strangers had just approached him breathless and far too well dressed for a regular Sunday pooja. They asked him questions that didn’t make sense and he smiled apologetically, he was only looking for someone but couldn’t seem to find them. The boy asked him whom he was trying to find and he took her name. Sunaina felt the ground give way beneath her at the sound of her grandmother’s name, a wave of fresh tears overtaking her.
Asim wondered why the girl cried at the name, he asked if she knew her. Whether she might be able to direct him to her house. The other girl told him she didn’t live there but that was nonsense, he recognized the water fountain that would be seen just at the next turn – the three of them knew there was no water fountain. He explained that he was running late, he had to meet her father he had to ask for her hand in marriage, they’d promoted him to Lieutenant Colonel you see. Vir ground his teeth as pain shot through him, a dull ache arthritically ruining his bones. Gayatri bit her lip and reached for the old man’s hand and offered to drive him to the house. He was standing at the wrong apartment complex really; when she pointed to the colour of the buildings he understood that they were all wrong. The Commander fell asleep almost as soon as he made it to the backseat of the car. The person from the wedding planner’s team who had stayed back to wait for them had been silenced. He stared grimly as they escorted him to the car and drove off. Heaving a sigh of relief not big enough to release his tension, the boy spoke into his earpiece and announced their departure.
It took Gayatri, Vir, and Sunaina a very long time to be driven back to the hotel. Gayatri slammed her impatient hands on the dashboard and volunteered to drive as fast as she could. Vir sat at the back, staring at his grandfath
er’s wilting moustache as the rain soaked city blurred outside the windows.
Surya made everyone call them. Sunaina answered every time. They’d had some trouble finding the Commander’s shoes. They had to turn back because she’d lost an earring. They were having car trouble. There was a little traffic, nothing to worry about. They had to stop for fuel. They rode in silence till they reached; Devendra was waiting for them in the parking lot. His pallor betrayed none of the toll the day had taken on him, it wasn’t over just yet. He escorted Asim to a bedroom on a wheelchair – that Gayatri couldn’t bear to watch. The girls retouched their make up and Vir combed back his hair, taking turns to sip the gasoline from his hip flask.
The reception was set in a sprawling lawn of moist grass so green it stained the underside of their shoes. The sun had finally burst forth, bathing the trio of marquees in fairytale glow. Light jazz trilled through the air and Sunaina found herself looking for someone to comfort her. Until time could work its healing spell, Gayatri’s hand holding hers was everything she needed.
The party was divided between hearty conversation by the bar and the quieter lot by the buffet who’d been hungry all morning. Surya almost leapt off the stage when they came into view but she made do with vigorously waving them over. They hugged her and Dhiraj in turns with equal love and fierceness, no one ready yet to divulge details of their delay. Geetu reminded them that they needed family photographs and so she arranged herself and Gayatri with Dev by her side around the couple. Then came Kama bua and Ria, a tighter frame. Then it was Hassan and Sunaina’s turn and she couldn’t smile even if she wanted to. Yet with a squeeze of his hand she confirmed that although they were hurting, each other was all they had. And as the rest of the family joined in, someone exclaimed that Asim was missing. Dev announced that he was sleeping off the exhaustion of the pooja, Geetu had never heard him speak in that tone of finality but the time wasn’t right so she swallowed her words.
So there they stood, arms around each other to complete the family on their own. Everybody turned to look, everyone’s head turned and drinks lowered. It was a moment of awe, of reverence at the handsome family of the Kochhars and the Shroffs. The sisters helped Surya change into a lighter outfit – lighter but by no means less dazzling so that no one could miss that she was the bride. They danced, losing themselves to the music the moment where nothing mattered – not the trying times that awaited them, nor the ones that they’d been through. They made the city’s longest human train with the most success; no one broke the line as they danced till their stomachs grumbled for a proper meal. After a meal carefully designed to be the epitome of #foodporn, Sunaina and Gayatri gave a brief speech and cried through another heart wrenching farewell – the bride and groom walked out with the biggest smiles on their faces through a waterfall of white rose petals – until nothing remained but a gently setting sun and the swaying fabric tents.
“I hate weddings,” Gayatri stood with Neil’s arms wrapped around her.
Sunaina, her skirt splayed out expansively on both sides, nodded and drank her beer.
“We’ve got company,” Vir remarked with a devilish smirk.
She turned and saw Lakshman walk over. The sun sinking lower behind him, casting him in a glow that was obvious and perfect and hit her like a ton of bricks. He paused as if waiting for permission, she only nodded at the sight of the bottles in his hand.
They sat in silence for a while.
“The song was good, I didn’t know if you were going to play today.”
He dipped his head. “That’s why I was practicing that night.”
“You didn’t sing along that night though.”
He took a beer for himself and drank. “I had other words on my mind.”
“Could you play it again for me some time?”
He nodded.
“I spoke to your friend Sohrab by the way.” His lips turned up at the corner. “He’s a nice guy.”
“Ugh please Lakshman, not now.”
“Relax, not everything’s about you Miss Kochhar.”
She burned in a pyre of shame, only cooled by the beer in her hands.
Beside her Gayatri was nuzzled against Neil, unbothered by the company. They spotted Elina smoking in the corner and waved her over.
Sunaina exhaled, tired and blue.
“God I hate this city. I hate the people and I hate what it does to me. I think and this part’s the most tragic, but I feel like I’m at my worst self here – here with my family and friends, I’m just toxic.”
She shook her head in resignation.
“So what’re you gonna do now?” Sohrab leaned over from behind.
“I … I don’t know. I had a lot of plans but I don’t think the Commander is alright. Maybe the B&B will have to wait for some time.”
“Why?” Lakshman asked.
“Because I’m not you. I can’t run a whole thing by myself.”
He nodded solemnly. “Lots to figure out then.”
“Too much. I don’t know how much I can handle right now honestly.”
Sohrab and Lakshman exchanged a solemn nod and drank to the bitter taste of irony. If it came down to it, time would either heal the heartbreak or bring them together.
Gayatri sighed. “You’re right though. This city is a mess, look at the side it brings out in each one of us. Kama masi’s cutting off from the family. I heard her talking to Geetu ma, she’s leaving the country. Maybe we all should.”
Neil held her closer, eager to fly her back to the west coast.
“I guess it’s true. But you should know it’s okay to fully be every part of you though – the good and the bad.” Vir regarded the lawn emptying out in front of them, the last drunkenly guests staggering off to sleep in the backseats of their cars. The staff timidly wrapping up the tables and chairs.
The sun had set. The flowers had wilted. A cool breeze shook them out of the reverie, with sighs and smiles they stood to walk back to their rooms.
Vir raised his beer in a toast as fireworks lit up the night sky. “No matter what you say about this place though, it is home.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are people without whom this book wouldn’t be what it is today and in all honesty this was a book I never knew I had in me so seeing it come alive has been an interesting process. To start with, I am supremely indebted to my friends and family who’ve put up with all my neurosis in the time I’ve written this. I wouldn’t be anywhere without people like them who have listened to me blather on about plots and characters over drinks and then helped me through every obstacle that came my way. A special shoutout goes to my editor Himanjali whose patience has been limitless and who believed in this book even when I had my doubts and insecurities about it. To the music of Arctic Monkeys who literally kept me going when I was feverishly writing this book day and night, and then some more when the ink was running dry.
ABOUT THE
AUTHOR
Rohan Dahiya is currently living in Delhi NCR seeking to weed out the clichés of Indian writing and test the boundaries of fiction as it currently stands. Drawing inspiration from his misadventures in the city, The Bitter Pill Social Club is his second novel. On most days he can be found at Chapter 101, a quaint bookstore in Gurgaon.
Table of Contents
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
Opening Act
Chapter ONE
Running With Scissors
Chapter TWO
The Theory Of Comfort Food
Chapter THREE
Lonely For You Only (Interlude)
Chapter FOUR
Wasted On The Young
Chapter FIVE
At Your Place Or Up In Space
Chapter SIX
Candy Cigarettes
Chapter SEVEN
The Axiom of Icarus
Chapter EIGHT
Love Is A Laserquest
Chapter NI
NE
No Remedy For Memory (Interlude)
Chapter TEN
Milk And Toast
Chapter ELEVEN
Second Star To The Right & Straight On ’Til Morning
Chapter TWELVE
Ladies Who Lunch (Interlude)
Chapter THIRTEEN
Nobody’s Business
Chapter FOURTEEN
Jusqu’ici Tout Va Bien
Chapter FIFTEEN
Rejection, Reflection, Redemption
Chapter SIXTEEN
To The Moon And Back (BadluckSoulmate#9)
Chapter SEVENTEEN
A Study In Sabyasachi (Interlude)
Chapter EIGHTEEN
I Always Thought It Would Be Your Hand (Holding Mine)
Chapter NINETEEN
Dreaming In A Technicolor Beat
Chapter TWENTY
I Won’t Listen To Your Dogma
Chapter TWENTY ONE
The Bougainvilleas Have Wilted (Denouement)
Acknowledgements
About the Author