A Ladder of Panties

by Sandeep Jayaram

  ‘Oooh, Liberty Gardens. That sounds wild.’

  It’s Sounds Wild now, closely followed by Pretty in Pink making a bid up front. After threatening to overtake everything in sight, Saturday has slowed down, dropping behind. Wednesday, Seize the Moment, Sounds Wild and Pretty in Pink are neck and neck.

  ‘So you’re coming with your friends?’

  Unusual for a race but time stood still.

  Pretty in Pink then galloped gamely ahead.

  ‘Sure. Let me ask my mom right now. I’ll ask my friends after that.’

  Through gritted teeth, Sri sucked at the air. Given his luck, there was bound to be something reptilian under the saddle. He moved the phone away from his ear, unconsciously twisting the long extension cable around his right wrist.

  From a distance, he could hear ‘Mom, can I go to a party, Saturday night? It’s a guy I know from baddie. I met him last year during the interschool tourney.’

  From even further away came, ‘Will there be other girls?’

  The telephone cable wound itself tighter and tighter.

  Padmini replied, ‘Sure, I’m going to ask my friends.’

  Inspector Eagle went, ‘That's not what I meant. Are there going to be girls from other schools?’

  There was lightness where his right hand should have been. The telephone cable had cut off circulation. He couldn’t feel a thing.

  Where’s the damn phone?

  ‘Srinivas... Srinivas? My mom...’ A distant voice continued, confused.

  There it is.

  The receiver lay cracked on the floor having bounced off the bronze kuthu vilakku[13].

  The commentary resumed…

  We’re in the home straights. In sight of the winning post, Out of Circulation thunders by. Seize the Moment is down to a limp. Sounds Wild and Pretty in Pink are veering off track and seem to be headed for the stables.

  And we’re past the winning post. It’s the crowd favourite, Oh Phurck, waving from atop Out of Circulation.

  Better fix the bloody phone. Having barely dodged the pink card, only an idiot would dangle this carrot in front of Mom and Dad.

  After gluing the mouthpiece back, re-entry was attempted. Shot down! Inspector Eagle was firm that anyone who cut the phone, when asked a question, lacked in character and no daughter of hers was going to a party thrown by such a character.

  Thursday and Friday came and went. When asked about the panties for the party, Sri declared they were going to be fighting to get in. Many a boy squealed in glee.

  Saturday turned up. Sri made his way to the party for boys to meet girls for the first time in their lives. The doorway of the hotel was festooned with flowers, like a wedding. In the lobby, on a board, white plastic letters announced 'Roof Top Room—Me S S for Boys'. Some vandal had been at it: a vandal with an appreciation of the imminent.

  No chicks. Not a single one. I’ve come up with nothing. This is killing. No panties! Unless the other guys... not a chance! Booze? What will it taste like?

  One of the uniformed staff, standing by the glass door, saluted smartly. A surge of power drowned out Sri’s guilt.

  I’m in baggy green stonewashed jeans and a blue round-necked T-shirt! No wonder that guy saluted. This is growing up.

  Sri entered the party. He almost walked straight back out. Spread out in little groups around the party room with a few huddled on the terrace outside was Standard VIII.

  There was a mirror covering the wall across from him. No doubt installed to make the room look bigger. It also doubled the count of pimples.

  Stop obsessing! There are enough on my face.

  The playground scene replayed itself in his head. Brotherhood. With a smile on his lips and a prayer in his heart, he took the party on. Within seconds, he was surrounded. The air heaved with hope.

  Time was nigh. It was only a matter of seconds before absurd demands were made.

  ‘Where the fuck are the panties?’

  Oh, Phurck!

  Sri pushed his way politely through the mob and headed for the safety of the open terrace.

  They won’t kill me out in the open.

  In the middle distance, back-lit by the setting sun, was a bathtub.

  What were these idiots thinking? This is completely off-programme. What the fuck is a bathtub doing in the middle of the terrace?

  Attack being the best defense, he fired the first salvo. ‘Why have you dicks put a bathtub here?’

  In reply, at least four voices went, ‘When are the chicks coming?’

  ‘They aren’t. Not with a fucking bathtub on the bloody roof of the hotel. There’s no way any mom will send her daughter to a bathing party with boys.’

  Sanjay Kewalramani took his time as he spoke. ‘This isn’t a bathing party, man. Look inside the bathtub.’

  Lo and behold, the bathtub was up to its elbows in bottles that had Rosy Pelican printed on them.

  But before a dive into this ocean of beer could take place, something didn’t fit quite right.

  Sanjay Kewalramani, using his astute Sindhi[14] brain, addressed this. ‘You said the chicks aren’t coming because of this bathtub. How did they find out? You only just saw it yourself.’

  With a slow turn, Sri did a 360 of the terrace.

  The answer has to be out there somewhere. Because, sure as bloody Rosy Pelicans in a bathtub, it isn’t in my head!

  It was December. People on the neighboring building tops were flying kites. One such group was wrapping up for the day. The bathtub that had appeared magically on top of the Liberty Gardens Hotel caught their attention. They paused, worried.

  ‘Don’t look now but there’s a group of people at 3 o’clock—’

  ‘It’s 5.30 now. Who gives a shit that people came here at 3 o’clock? You knew the party was starting at 5. Why did you call them at 3?’

  There was little doubt that the lush green vines hanging down the sides of the building had more grey matter than Nitin Sardesai.

  ‘3 o’clock is a position. Isn’t there anyone who understands?’ Grabbing the nearest guy and using his struggling head as a pointer, Sri persisted despite the rising panic. ‘See, those people over there? They’re Priti’s parents. See? You can even see Priti.’

  ‘Who’s Priti?’ Another four voices went a cappella.

  Finally, some movement!

  In the manner of a doctor beside a hit and run victim, Sri said, ‘She’s the chick I asked. She stays in that building. Look at her face now. Look at her parents. Do you see her skipping over to join us? Do you? And you know what? Right up till a few minutes back, Priti was defo coming. She was going to bring fifteen of her pals before you brainless dodos decided to put this... this...’

  Seeing the commotion around the bathtub but mistaking it for teenage curiosity, one of the waiters decided to advance the festivities. Cracking open a bottle of Rosy Pelican, he started shaking it vigorously. He shouted what sounded like Enjaai[15] and took his thumb off. Fizz streamed out for at least eight feet.

  In fear, an elderly lady on ‘Priti’s terrace stepped back a little too quickly and fell on a pile of kites. ‘Priti’ helped her up, keeping an eye out for other airborne stuff. She shook her head at the boys and the whole family trooped downstairs.

  I’m in the pink. Bloody hell! No momentum to be lost.

  ‘Saw that? We’ve really pissed them off.’

  ‘That Priti was quite cute, Sri,’ said Jehangir Dorabshaw wistfully.

  A despondent Sanjay Kewalramani chimed out. ‘Imagine sixteen panties in all. We screwed up big time.’

  In this spotted gathering, there were barely three-and-a-half guys who knew what beer meant but there were at least thirty who had stayed up all night hoping, nay, praying for the presence of panties. Given all the hormonal turbulence in the air, screaming girls streaked way ahead of beer bottles.

  The first tendrils of resentment spread out in the dimming light. Could this loss of panties ever be offset by Rosy Pelicans?

  Bharat Reddy, t
he guy with two older brothers, thought so.

  He stuck his hand into the bathtub. Sanjay Kewalramani followed.

  Inspired by these two leading lights, Nitin Sardesai laid his paws on a Rosy Pelican.

  There was another group, though, that believed the damage was irreparable. One amongst them had a cigarette pack. It got passed around.

  On the wall, a guy with long dark hair thrust his arms around himself while singing and striding through a field. A girl with the wildest hair possible joined him. A passing dwarf then fastened himself to the action. Between flinging their arms about and nearly taking people’s heads off, they cheekily sang ‘Safety Dance’.

  Sri was pensive. There was a pattern here, a certain hue. Panties. Pink card. Rosy Pelican.

  Shrey Ganatra yelled out something only he was familiar with.

  Sri said, ‘Cheers.’

  Within the hour, half the boys decided the party was a waste of time and left. Circling the bathtub, boy after boy downed bottle after bottle. Given the amount of bird fluid inside them, it was only the magnetic quality of the bathtub that prevented this lot from taking to wing. On the other hand, inside the party room, the smokers arrived at their own understanding of what parties should be like. Communication had broken down between the two tribes.

  Left to the machinations of a certain individual, this was about to change. Somewhere after the fifth bottle and some time before the sixth, Sri took it upon himself to negotiate a truce.

  ‘Lishin guys, nee one coulda made that mistake. Juzz a bathtub, thas all. Whazza lil bit of beer between us? So what if the pannies din come? We have the rez of aa lives to hang out whizz chicks.’

  Nauzer Framroze, who’d lit a Gold Flake, looked down his long nose. ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Wazz it, Nauzer! I’m bein frenly. This ish sha fursh party we ever had.’ Sri brandished a bottle of beer above his head. ‘Canna behave like shuch dicks. Whazza point in bein frenz for so long?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  Very similar to the arm that went around Kochar the cockroach, another went around Nauzer’s shoulder. The idea of course was to be brotherly. Show affection. Establish trust. Not get a punch in the nose.

  Stunned, Sri pressed his sleeve to his nose. Flecks of beer and blood dotted the blue fabric.

  Nauzer got a punch that exploded just above his right eyebrow. He pitched backwards like the elderly lady on ‘Priti’s terrace. Unfortunately for Nauzer, there was no ‘Priti’ to help him up. Instead, he got a solid kick in the chest.

  For a guy who was pissed, Sri was landing them all in the right spots. He was also staggering over Nauzer threatening, ‘I’ll shtangle you. I’ll shkill you.’

  Another waiter on the terrace joyfully yelled Enjaai.

  Sanjay Kewalramani put his mature head to use. ‘Okay, guys. My uncle owns another hotel in Colaba. We’ve got two rooms booked there for the night. Do you guys want to head there?’

  The smokers’ faction spoke as one. ‘Why spend any more time with these drunk guys? Let’s go to the rooms right now.’

  ‘Room! We are allowed two rooms at Hotel Maurya. You guys take 113. We’ll take 114.’

  Taha Nalwala, who’d been sitting quietly next to two plastic bags, perked up. ‘Let’s leave. I’ve got the mags with me.’

  This confession shook Nitin Sardesai out of his drunken stupor.

  ‘What mags? Lemme shee.’

  So, the hidden cache of porn came to light. The thickest mag was retained by Nitin Sardesai as Taha watched wordlessly. Before any further depletion of their stash, the smokers scarpered.

  With their departure, those remaining dragged the bathtub indoors in front of the video wall. And when a black and white video by The Police played, three of those heads looked at where ‘Priti’ had last stood and sang E’ry breasht shoe tay.

  Close to midnight, Shrey Ganatra pulled on a straw hat. Until a quarter past one, he alternated between adjusting the white elastic under his chin and swigging recklessly.

  Then, with the remaining beers in a haversack, this lot headed to Hotel Maurya.

  Starting at the far end of the hotel lobby, a trail of Dutch, German and Danish porn magazines led upstairs.

  Sanjay’s heart bumped about in his chest. Does uncle know? Has he seen this shit?

  The boys were still reeling in shock when they entered 114 only to find naked men and women strewn all over the floor as also draped in an unbiased manner over the fan blades.

  Shrey pointed at Nitin. ‘You shouldn’t have taken that mag from Taha. As it is he was pished off with you. Now look what he’s done.’

  ‘I gonna press his mom’s arse then I’ll break his faysh if he comes for me,’ Nitin said, before strolling off in the direction of what he thought was Taha’s room.

  Bharat reined Nitin in before he most definitely would have interrupted an Arab guy pleading with a hooker to blow him as part of the price paid. Not as a pay-as-you-go service.

  There was no telling what could come of an encounter between an Arab with his pants down, a hooker with her skirt up and a pissed Sardesai. Taha’s mother’s or otherwise, there was just too much arse on display to contemplate the outcome.

  Deliberating over the possible carnage, Jehangir Dorabshaw said, ‘I know how to drive. Let’s take your uncle’s car.’

  Quick to see merit in this, Sri added, ‘Lesh get outta this place. There’sh going to be anotha fight shoon.’ His ability to see patterns had returned and that could only mean… Cheers.

  Taking a beer, he went into the toilet to find it unusable in any conventional manner.

  Taha’s been here, too. There’s a bloody huge plant blooming out of the pot.

  There was also a profusion of porn. Torn pages had been inserted into the foliage, so it appeared as if the plant was sprouting naked European men and women.

  Pleased to have made the acquaintance of this botanical marvel, Sri said, ‘Cheers.’

  On the other side of the door, Sanjay Kewalramani was evaluating the plan to go for a drive. This involved tugging thoughtfully at the white elastic band under Shrey’s chin. Shrey, eyes closed, swigged Rosy Pelican and patted his straw hat. Jehangir tapped his fingers impatiently on the writing table there.

  Close to Sanjay, at the window, Bharat and Nitin watched a man piss on the traffic light pole, below. At about the time Sanjay reached his decision, the man staggered into the middle of the road with his fly open. Bharat slapped Sanjay’s hand in laughter. The elastic band snapped right back into Shrey’s chin. A porky squeal split the air.

  Sanjay led the gang into the night. Gleaming in the compound was a white Fiat, number MRG 8692. Jehangir opened the driver’s door. The boys, as did the beer, spread out evenly inside the vehicle.

  Watchfully, the car was eased onto the main road. It was 2 am and the streets were empty. Bharat Reddy pulled out a tape. Sri examined the cover.

  Is this to be my curse? To see what others don’t? We’re in a car and we’re listening to Men at Work—Cargo. Car. Go. Cheers.

  Marine Drive winked by as the car headed north. At the Babulnath temple right, Jehangir hit the brakes a little too hard and the car skidded. Over the next five seconds, six bottles of beer sprayed their contents all over the car. Jehangir regained control but the loss of bird fluid had dented the confidence of his passengers.

  Shrey offered to take over. He saw himself as a respectable figure with all the privileges of a hat. Three minutes later, they were still outside Babulnath temple. Besides humming while drumming on the steering wheel, Shrey didn’t know much else. Bharat stepped forward. His claim to the throne was that his brothers had taught him how to drive. The engine picked up speed and the boys flamed down Pedder Road.

  By the time they reached Worli Sea Face, all the beer was over. But this only increased their amazement at Bharat’s driving. It also led to the one question that would alter the car forever after—will you teach me to drive?

  The Fiat, obviously a womanising zamindar[16] in its
previous life, received its just desserts in this incarnation. Speed-breakers, road dividers, the steps of the promenade, nothing could slow this vehicle down.

  Nitin Sardesai slept on. Sanjay Kewalramani dropped his normally suspicious attitude and belted out, ‘We’ll be alright in the morning time/Yeah/We’re doing fine, I’ll see you on the nightline.’ Shrey Ganatra stroked his chin like a man who knew his headgear. Bharat Reddy leaned out of the window to take a closer look at a dog taking a dump. Sri thought about Priti. Pretty Priti. The real Priti.

  Jehangir was the only one who caught the burning smell because, by rotation, he was at the wheel. Not certain what the smell was, Jehangir was sure of one thing. He had to get the car back.

  It was 5.30 in the morning, on Hughes Road, that the radiator gasped and exploded. Steam gushed from the sides of the bonnet. As luck would have it, the brave six were at a safe distance from the car. Bharat Reddy was lecturing them on the intricacies of the female anatomy as they stood over a crouching and nervous street dog.

  With the car ruled out, the room at Hotel Maurya beckoned with crooked finger.

  Three events occurred during their absence. One, the smokers had left. Two, the rain of porn had been mopped up. Three, the police were on the lookout for a stolen white Fiat.

  With little respect for the Do Not Disturb sign hung by Jehangir, Chander Kewalramani (Sanjay’s uncle) stormed into Room 114 at 7 in the morning.

  ‘There will be no more parties for your friends on our premises.’

  Since this was directed at Sanjay, the others didn’t really take what he said to heart.

  Chander Uncle swiveled around. ‘Do your parents know you read magazines that have naked men and women? Bloody horses, too!’

  Sucked in now, especially since Nitin was using the thickest mag as a blanket, the boys knew a miracle would be required and so looked at each other in great disappointment when Nitin responded with the criminally lame, ‘Uncle, it was for Biology homework.’

  Chander Uncle gnashed his teeth. ‘Can you please tell me where the hell my car is?’

  The bombing of Nitin’s excuse along with guaranteed decapitation once they revealed the location of the partially blown up Fiat meant tears began to roll.