They’d ended up on the same school bus a year later. He had been sitting alone by a window when she walked over and sat down next to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Ten years later, she had reached up and kissed him like that was the most natural thing in the world too.
‘Theme for a dream, sweet sixteen! One and six, sixteen!’
His grandmother digs him in the ribs, dragging him back to the present.
‘Sixteen,’ she indicates, blinking and pointing a wavering finger at the ticket in his hand. ‘We have that.’
‘Awesome Dadi!’ Kashi punches the ticket, then turns to look up at her curiously. ‘But how are you able to hear the calling? Your hearing aid isn’t even—’
She pokes him with a bony finger, directing him to look up. Her eyes are starry and her cheeks very pink.
‘No listening, Kashoo, looking!’
Kashi looks up to the stage, and realizes that though the old tambola wire-frame cage and the brightly coloured number balls are still the same, and so is old Mr Srivastava, there has been at least one daring innovation to the ancient ritual that is the DTC Bumper Tambola. A dark, muscular and strikingly attractive man is holding up the numbers – drawn on two-foot-high, black-and-white placards – as they are being called.
‘Hey, cool!’ says Kashi.
‘Thank you,’ Bambi whispers. ‘It was my idea.’
Kashi wonders uneasily whether the casting call had been hers too.
Probably in his mid-thirties, the man on stage is dressed in a fitted dark blazer, loose black dhoti pants, and has a muffler bundled tightly around his neck. His thick hair is pulled back from his high forehead into a messy man-bun that somehow emphasizes the chiselled, sensuous masculinity of his features and the hypnotic pull of his hooded eyes. As he puts down 1 and 6, and picks up 7 and 4 and holds them aloft instead, his movements have a smooth, fluid, slightly animal quality. He pivots from left to right, showing the numbers to each section of the lawn clearly. As he flashes white teeth in a smile that lights up his dark, exotic face, Kashi realizes that he knows him.
‘Arrey! That’s … Lokesh … no … Lambodar?’
‘Mahadev.’ Old Mrs Dogra smiles dreamily. Then she folds her hands and bows reverentially in the direction of the man on the stage. ‘Om Namah Shiva.’
Natasha smothers a snort of laughter. ‘He does look a bit like the hotter renditions of Shiva, actually,’ she whispers. ‘It’s the hooded eyes, and the man-bun, and the cobra-like muffler. D’you think Dadi’s nursing a crush?’
Bambi giggles. ‘On Leo?’
Kashi frowns. ‘His name’s Leo?’
She nods. ‘Leo Matthew. Isn’t he decorative? He’s part Jamaican, part desi.’
‘Oh, but—’ Kashi starts to speak, then goes silent.
‘What?’ Bambi prompts.
Kashi shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’
Leo is holding up another number now. His muscles ripple beneath his tightly fitted coat. Old Mrs Dogra sighs gustily.
The brigadier lets out a short grunt. ‘Ridiculous ape. Gigolo.’
‘Daddy!’ Natasha is scandalized. ‘That’s not nice.’
‘Yes, Balbir uncle, Leo isn’t sleeping with anybody for money as far as I know,’ Bambi chimes in.
‘I know a bloody Rasputin when I see one,’ the brigadier replies tersely.
‘What’s bloodyrasp you teen?’ Dhan asks interestedly.
‘Dhan, finish your drink,’ his mother snaps. ‘Leo’s a legit, highly sought-after personal trainer who conducts some classes in functional training, body combat and Zumba at the DTC gym. Daddy’s just being appallingly regressive, that’s all.’
‘D’you go for his classes, Nattu?’ Kashi asks.
‘My mornings are spent at The Wonder Years,’ she replies resignedly, ‘wondering where my years went.’
‘That’s my school,’ Dhan informs the table.
‘Wonderful.’ Kashi turns to Bambi. ‘What about you?’
‘I pay up regularly.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘But I barely go. They’re at six-thirty in the morning – who is even awake then?’
On the stage, Leo is now holding up a 0 and a 2.
‘Runner’s up, number two!’ says Mr Srivastava. ‘Only two, number two!’
‘We don’t have that either,’ Natasha grumbles. ‘On any of our ten tickets! How is that even possible?’
Right then there is a muted call of ‘Middle line’ and a portly man in a red-and-white striped sweater puts up his hand. The crowd wilts, then revives philosophically. There’s still the Full House, after all.
On stage, Mr Srivastava’s jowly face splits into a spectacularly dentured smile.
‘Ah yes! A claim for the middle line, which today, is worth ten lakh! Come right up here, sir!’
‘Who’s he?’ Mrs Mala Dogra nudges her husband.
He shakes his head. ‘Must be somebody’s guest. I don’t know the fellow.’
As the man in the red-and-white striped sweater starts to walk to the stage, smiling shyly, a nasal voice sounds triumphantly from the far end of the lawn. ‘Middle line! Middle line completed over here!’
The crowd murmurs, removes its designer sunglasses, and swivels around to look at this new claimant.
He is on his feet – a narrow-shouldered, wide-hipped man with thinning hair, a black shirt and yellow suspenders.
The brigadier raises his eyebrows.
‘Here’s a tamasha, I say!’ he murmurs. ‘That’s Mukki Khurana – Urvashi Khurana’s husband!’
His wife looks around interestedly. ‘What will happen now, Balbir?’
He grunts. ‘If they both have middle lines, they’ll have to split the prize. Fifty-fifty. So five lakh each, instead of a cool ten. Still, it’s something!’
On stage, old Mr Srivastava is looking unperturbed. ‘And we may have a tie!’ he exclaims. ‘Yes, yes, come forward, let’s check both tickets please!’
Both claimants hand their tickets to Leo, then stand beside the stage to await Srivastava’s verdict.
There is a discussion between Leo and Srivastava. It starts off quietly, but becomes loud and growly really fast. Finally, the Club Secretary snatches the two tickets from Leo in a manner that is so aggressive that the latter steps back haughtily, crossing his arms across his chest.
‘This is a shit show,’ he says, quite audibly.
The crowd begins to bubble and boil.
Mukesh Khurana steps forward, snatches the two tickets from Srivastava and compares them. Then he grabs the mic from the old man.
‘Cheating!’ he cries in a shrill, aggrieved voice. ‘Cheating! The two tickets are the exact-same!’
Consternation sweeps the crowd. Everybody turns to look at each other.
‘But that’s impossible!’
‘The game’s rigged!’
‘Ya, but there’s still no need to for Mukki to shout. He’s not selling vegetables in Azadpur mandi, you know.’
‘The gigolo has bungled it,’ the brigadier says disgustedly. ‘Too busy prancing around showing off his body to hold up the correct numbers properly!’
Kashi frowns. ‘Dad, don’t be rude.’
Mrs Mala Dogra shoots her husband a warning look.
He changes tack. ‘Or maybe the first guy got a bogey,’ he says placatingly. ‘He anyway looks like a bloody chaat-wallah.’
His grandson chuckles delightedly. ‘Bloodyrasp you teen! Bloody doodhwala!’
‘Balbir, please,’ Mrs Mala Dogra hisses. ‘It’s because you talk in that obnoxious way that Kashi thinks the club is snobbish!’
But Kashi’s mind is on something else. He shakes his head, confused. ‘What am I missing?’
‘There can’t be two identical tickets,’ Natasha explains. ‘Every tambola ticket is … has to be unique. Like a lottery ticket. Two identical tickets implies either an error – or deliberate
rigging.’
On the stage, old Mr Srivastava holds up both hands. ‘One moment … one moment … we will just sort all this out …’
‘I was here first!’ the man in the striped sweater steps forward with tentative aggression.
‘So what?’ Khurana starts snapping his suspenders menacingly. ‘I also completed at the same moment you did!’
‘But fastest finger first.’ Sweater Guy sticks to his guns valiantly.
‘We’re not playing KBC,’ Khurana retorts. He turns to face the crowd. ‘Does Srivastava look like Amitabh Bachchan to you?’ he asks with a loud neighing laugh.
Kashi raises his eyebrows. ‘What a gem of a guy. Is his wife like this too?’
Bambi bites her lip. ‘Urvashi auntie’s really nice. I wish she were here …’
‘I was here first.’ Sweater Guy turns to appeal to Leo. ‘Wasn’t I, bhaisaab?’
Leo nods and pats his back. ‘Yes, indeed, you were.’
‘And even though I was here first, I don’t mind splitting the ten lakh with this gentleman!’
‘Or you could arm wrestle,’ Leo suggests half-jokingly.
‘Can I please speak?’ Bulldog-y old Srivastava struggles to re-establish his authority. ‘I have been calling out the tambola numbers these thirty years—’
Khurana swings around to face him, providing the crowd with a perfect view of the magnificent wedgie he has given himself with all the suspender snapping. ‘You’ve been rigging it for thirty years, you mean!’
‘Hullo … take it easy, uncle,’ Leo steps forward, inserting his powerful frame between Khurana and the shaky old man.
It’s like he’s held a lit match to petrol-doused wood. Mukki explodes.
‘You be quiet!’ he hisses with disproportionate venom. ‘Bloody item number!’
The crowd gasps. People turn to each other. Whispers turn to full-on babble.
‘Well, that escalated fast,’ Kashi says to the girls. ‘Do these guys have history?’
Natasha and Bambi exchange glances.
‘There’ve been some … rumours,’ Bambi admits. ‘About Leo … and … uh … Mukesh Khurana’s wife.’
Kashi chuckles, amused. ‘The lady candidate? Your Urvashi auntie?’
‘Don’t laugh,’ Bambi whispers, worried. ‘She’s the star of Leo’s Zumba class and her husband hates it.’
On the stage, Leo is holding up one hand, veins throbbing in his forehead.
‘Watch your mouth, old man.’
‘You watch your mouth!’ Mukki draws to his full height, managing to reach almost up to Leo’s nipples. ‘This man is your known-to! You know him! You’ve rigged it so he wins!’
Leo shakes his head in exasperation.
‘I don’t know this man from Adam!’
‘I don’t know him either!’ Sweater Guy says shrilly. ‘I’ve never met him before in my life!’
‘O ya, O ya?’ Mukki, at a loss for words, makes up for it by snapping his suspenders again.
‘It’s like watching a chihuahua take on a Dobermann,’ Natasha whispers, riveted. ‘You’ve got to give it to Mukki – he’s got guts.’
Kashi looks a little wistful. ‘I’d love to go up there and O-Ya-O-Ya with him!’
His sister pinches his arm hard. ‘You sit here quietly!’
On stage, Leo seems torn between fury and laughter.
‘Dude, what exactly is your problem?’
‘Don’t use that tone with me!’ Mukki pants. ‘Bloody outsider! Bloody PT master! Hired help!’
‘Okay, that’s it!’ Kashi jumps lightly to his feet.
‘Akash, don’t get involved,’ the brigadier rumbles warningly, but Kashi is already striding towards the stage, pushing up the sleeves of his navy-blue sweater to display well-defined, sinewy forearms. The Ghia-Lauki gang low-key cheer him as he passes. He flashes them a grin. Supreme Court regulars would have recognized that trademark cocky courtroom grin.
‘Gentlemen! A little gentleness, please!’
His voice is deep, pleasant and authoritative.
The tableau on stage whirls to eye him belligerently.
‘Tu kaun hai, bay?’ Mukki snarls. ‘Who the hell are you? Your middle line also came or what?’
This draws a laugh from the crowd.
‘Go Mukki!’ somebody hoots. A few people clap.
‘Akash!’ Leo is looking surprised and a little wary. ‘You hang with this crowd?’
‘My dad’s a member,’ Kashi admits sheepishly.
‘Akash who?’ Mukki glares from one to the other. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘I’m Leo Matthew’s lawyer,’ is Kashi’s cool reply. ‘I’ve been studying your language and your demeanour from my seat in the audience, and I’m confident Leo can sue you, and your precious club—’
Brigadier Dogra chokes on his beer.
‘—for libel, defamation, character assassination, manhandling and criminal intimidation. For way more than ten lakh.’
There is stunned silence both on the stage and off it. Then Leo chuckles deeply and holds up his right palm to Kashi, who grins back and slaps it.
‘Har har Mahadevvv!’ yells old Mrs Dogra, with sudden and supreme aggression, rising shakily to her feet. Bambi and Natasha leap up to placate her.
‘Dadi, shhhh!’
‘Everything’s fine.’
Mukki’s voice rises to a thin nasal scream. ‘You will sue me? You will sue me? You will sue me?’
‘It’s not talaq you know,’ Kashi drawls, turning to face him. ‘You don’t have to repeat it three tim—’
But Mukki isn’t listening. ‘He’s not even a member!’
‘Which means he’s probably a decent person,’ Kashi retorts.
‘O ya?’ Mukki snaps his suspenders combatively.
‘O ya!’ replies Kashi, now hugely enjoying himself.
Mukki licks his lips. ‘I know the best lawyers in this country! I know the whole gourmint! I know …’ His eyes dart this way and that. ‘I know everybody! Oho!’ He chuckles pleasurably. ‘I will screw you two completely—’
‘Or we could just split the winnings fifty-fifty and finish this right here,’ the man in the red-and-white sweater whom everybody has forgotten about interjects plaintively. ‘Sharing kar lete hain na, bhaisaab?’
This appeal gives Mukki pause. He licks his lips again.
‘Yeah dude, just share,’ Leo’s tone is patient and perhaps just slightly patronizing.
Again, it has a galvanizing effect on Mukki. He turns to face the much taller man, rising to his toes. ‘I don’t share,’ he spits, breathing heavily. ‘I’ve never shared anything.’
There is an odd, pregnant pause. Kashi, standing so close to Leo, senses an internal struggle taking place inside the large, powerful body.
It was like a horned, black Leo was battling a halo-ed, white Leo, he tells his sister later.
The horned Leo wins.
His handsome face curling into a sneer that’s decidedly unpleasant, he leans in closer to Mukki Khurana.
‘That’s what you think,’ he whispers tauntingly.
There is a collective gasp from the crowd.
Khurana utters a loud, wordless scream and charges in, fists flailing wildly. Leo throws one contemptuous punch, and drops him instantly to the ground.
‘Darling, it was absolutely appalling. They were abusing and hitting each other in front of everybody.’
‘How too delicious! I can’t believe I missed it. What a day to go to the spa!’
The two Zumba buddies are tapping out WhatsApp messages thick and fast with exquisitely manicured fingers on their respective phones, while their two long, smooth cars speed down different roads in Lutyens’ Delhi, set to converge at the DTC in about seven minutes for Leo Matthew’s early morning class.
‘Serves you right for wanting to look like a hoor on Election Day, C
ookie! You should’ve sacrificed the denting-painting and come for the tambola only. At least you would’ve witnessed the tamasha of the year!’
‘Are you SURE you aren’t exaggerating, Rosh?’
‘Babe, I swear! Mukki Khurana said I’ve never shared anything, Leo said, that’s what you think, and then Mukki screamed and went for Leo and Leo knocked him down!’
‘He actually hit him in the face? Matlab dishoom dishoom? Full-on mukka-mukki?
‘Haan haan, Cookie, I’m telling you! Khoon all over the kilim-kaleens.’
To underline her point, Roshni releases a series of fist emojis at the end of her message.
‘Is he maaaad? Does he want her to lose the election?’
‘Maybe he does, Cooks. The size of that man’s ego is inversely proportional to the size of his cock.’
Cookie gives a loud snort of laughter. Unseen to her, her impassive driver winces slightly.
‘I am SO disappointed in you, Rosh!’ She adds a line of bright yellow crying faces for emphasis. ‘How could you not get a video?’
‘I KNOW!’ Roshni punches out a line of little panda bears face-palming. ‘It all happened too fast, ya. Otherwise you know me – would I ever let such a moment go unrecorded?’
‘How come Leo’s still taking his class like this whole kaand hasn’t even happened?’
‘That’s Leo for you! I was SO surprised when he sent the message for the six-thirty class. You’ve got to admire the man’s cheek.’
‘Cheeks, you mean.’ Cookie taps out at once. ‘Butt cheeks.’ She adds a little row of red hearts and panting faces.
‘Dirty girl! Have you reached?’
‘Ya ya, waiting in the parking. Hurry, na. I want to be in the front row today. If he has bruises, I can ask him about it. All innocently.’
And she signs off with an angelic halo face and a wicked wink.
Presently, the two friends emerge from their expensive cars and wave to each other. They are dressed in Nike trainers, Lulu Lemon pants and crop-tops the colour of summer sorbets. Their hair is pulled back from their faces in shiny ponytails and their eyebrows are finely plucked. Though both are in their early fifties, they could be taken, at a distance, for thirty-five.
Club You to Death Page 3
