‘Buggered,’ Devendar Bhatti mutters feelingly under his breath.
Bhavani Singh deduces correctly that this remark is not addressed to him.
‘Is that the police, Bhatti?’ a thick-set woman with a bouffant maroon boy-cut asks in an officious voice.
Bhatti stares at her for a moment, clearly unsure of whether to say yes or no. Then, reluctantly, he gives a small, jerky nod.
‘Yes. There’s been a most unfortunate accident, as you perhaps know—’
‘Hullo there,’ Maroon Hair cuts him short, holding out a hand to Bhavani. ‘Good to know you’ve been called in.’
Bhavani Singh grasps her hand, bracing resignedly for a bone-crunching squeeze and receiving exactly that.
‘Madam.’
‘What’s your rank?’ she enquires bluntly.
Padam Kumar steps up. ‘Bhavani sir is the assistant commissioner of police, madam.’
‘Like an army colonel?’ she demands.
‘Like a captain, madam,’ Bhavani says genially.
The lady juts out her maroon lower lip, which matches her maroon hair perfectly. ‘That’s too junior, surely!’
‘Rank doesn’t necessarily mean ability, auntie.’ A slender girl in an ALPHA FEMALE sweatshirt steps forward, and smiles at Bhavani apologetically. ‘Quite the opposite sometimes. Shit rises to the top and all that!’ Then she winces. ‘Oops! No offence, Bhatti uncle!’
Bhatti looks around finickily.
‘Ladies, ACP Singh comes highly recommended by people in the know, and I can say with great confidence that we could not be in better hands.’
Maroon Hair looks sceptical, but changes tack.
‘Are you going to go ahead with the election today, Bhatti?’ she demands. ‘I mean, if somebody has actually died it would be in terrible taste to carry on as if nothing has happened!’ She hesitates, ‘I mean, somebody has died, haven’t they? I know Cookie Katoch and Roshni Aggarwal said so, but …’
She trails off, managing to imply that Cookie Katoch and Roshni Aggarwal really can’t be trusted.
‘Later, madam, later,’ Bhatti says testily. ‘Bambi beta, why don’t all of you get your workout on the jogging track today, huh? Or on the courts? I need to take these gentlemen through.’
He leads the two policemen into the gym, and gingerly indicates the exercise bench, not without a small flourish. ‘And there you have it.’
The old ACP takes in the grisly sight quietly. The staring eyes, the straining chest, the twisted, contused neck.
No matter how many corpses he sees, the first sight of a body divested of the dignifying spark of life always depresses him. It is a jarring reminder that at the end of the day, in spite of all your dreams, worries, ambitions, successes or failures, in spite of all the EMIs you pay and the plans you make – plans of losing weight, plans of taking the kids out for ice cream, plans of revenge, of glory, of world domination – all roads eventually lead here – to a cold, crumpled stillness and the heat of the furnace.
Police folk use a lot of deliberately flippant slang for death – off ho gaya, ticket cut gaya, gauna ho gaya – but they’re just kidding themselves. Seeing a freshly dead corpse is always an uneasy, unsettling, semi-spiritual business.
‘It was quick,’ Bhavani says finally. ‘It looks bad, but it was quick.’
Sliding his hands into his roomy trouser pockets, he turns slowly to scan the gym – the gleaming machines inside, the sprawling lawns outside, visible through the windows.
‘Who’s he?’ he asks.
‘His name is Leo Matthew,’ Bhatti replies. ‘He was found by the two ladies they mentioned outside. Cookie and Roshni.’
‘Looks like the barbell slipped from his hands, crushed his windpipe and broke his neck,’ Bhavani Singh says. ‘It is a fairly common gym accident, unfortunately.’
‘You do weightlifting?’ Bhatti jerks up an eyebrow. ‘You look fit.’
‘Oh no no no no no,’ Bhavani says quickly. ‘We just do eleven minutes of basic exercise – but every single day – for the past forty years. Nothing fancy like this … with so much science and technology and special equipment to avoid injuries. And yet,’ he pauses, ‘and yet, the fellow has still ended up dead.’
‘But he’s fit, sir,’ Padam Kumar says admiringly. ‘What a deadly body he has built!’ He raises an arm and points at the dead man’s abs. ‘One two three four … Seven clearly defined abs!’
‘Yes.’ Bhavani shoots his junior a quelling look and continues to look about the gym. ‘It’s a company called Precor, we see.’
‘It’s very well reputed,’ Bhatti replies. ‘All this equipment cost a quite a packet, I can tell you!’
‘Yes …’ Bhavani’s eyes continue to roam. ‘And where is the security camera? Ah, there.’
‘It’s placed at a good angle, sir,’ Inspector Padam Kumar ventures. ‘That should give us quite a clear picture of what happened. A movie director couldn’t have placed it better.’
Bhatti’s face lightens a little. ‘I chose that placement myself,’ he says. ‘If there was any foul play, that camera would’ve definitely captured it! But there wasn’t.’
‘How nice,’ is Bhavani’s genial reply. ‘But we would like to review the footage too. You have no objection?’
Bhatti shakes his head. ‘Of course not. Of course not.’
Bhavani continues to study the space. ‘Somebody celebrated a birthday party here?’
‘Huh?’ Bhatti is taken aback.
Bhavani indicates the helium balloons, some of which have come loose from their tethering and are hovering beneath the ceiling, their satin ribbons trailing below.
‘Ah!’ Bhatti’s face clears. ‘They’re from the Annual Bumper Tambola we had yesterday.’
Bhavani is still looking around the room searchingly.
‘But we should ask these Precord—’ he begins.
‘Precor.’
‘Precor people to come over and give us their expert opinion at once. Just in case.’
Devendar Bhatti rubs his nose. ‘Could he have been distracted or something? Ill or hungover?’
Bhavani Singh looks slightly surprised. ‘He was a drinker? Doesn’t look the type.’
They stare down at the ruined body for a while, their expressions sombre.
‘Even then, it is possible he had some pre-existing medical condition that was worsened by the heavy weightlifting. Some sort of heart attack, or sudden clotting, or a tumour in the brain …’ He looks at his assistant. ‘Get RML to do a full post-mortem, PK.’ Turning back to Bhatti, he asks, ‘Were there any witnesses at the time, sir? Anybody else using the gym?’
Bhatti shakes his head. ‘No. He was last seen alive entering through the main gate this morning at five sharp. And the ladies discovered him, like this, at a quarter past six.’
‘The ladies had also come to use the gym?’ Bhavani Singh asks.
‘Ah.’ Bhatti’s expression clears. ‘But I haven’t told you! This man is an instructor. After finishing his own workout, he would have started a Zumba class, from six-thirty to seven-thirty, attended by a group of about ten ladies.’
‘What’s a Jumba?’ Padam Kumar wants to know.
‘You’ve got me stumped there,’ Devendar Bhatti admits. ‘It’s some sort of South American dance form, they tell me. Helps you lose weight and er … tone up … This fellow has a YouTube channel, in fact. With lakhs of followers, I believe. It’s called … er … Lose it with Leo. His name is – was Leo. Did I tell you that?’
‘Yes,’ Bhavani replies.
There is a short silence, which Bhavani Singh spends wondering what joy a man as intellectual as Devendar Bhatti, who has held such a powerful public office, gets from being at the beck and call of the members of what seems to be a highly entitled and eccentric club. To each his own, he supposes.
Finally he asks, ‘Where’s his phone?’
Bhatti puts a hand into his coat pocket, and fishes out a plastic ziplock-bagged iPhone. Inspector Padam Kumar steps forward to take it, but Bhatti moves his hand out of reach.
‘No need to go nosing about into it if it’s just an accident,’ he says, slightly defiantly. ‘Let me hang on to it for the time being.’
Padam Kumar’s eyes widen. He turns to look at his boss uncertainly.
Bhavani Singh holds out one large, brown palm. ‘We will keep it just like that, sir,’ he says easily. ‘No nosing or prying till we get conclusive proof of foul play.’
He continues to hold out his palm.
Gulping like a cornered hen, Bhatti very slowly and reluctantly places the phone into it.
Bhavani hands the zip-locked bag to Padam.
‘Keep it safe, PK.’ Then he turns back to Bhatti. ‘We will inspect this area minutely, get the Precor people to check for any tampering, watch the CCTV footage your security staff has, and of course, send the body to RML for forensic testing. If all goes well, a clean chit can be given by this evening! Who is the next of kin?’
Bhatti looks harassed. ‘We haven’t quite figured out. Luckily, we happen to know the chap’s lawyer. Young Dogra. Quite a well-known fellow. You could bring him in for background questioning, if required. He’s a green card-holder.’
‘He lives in America?’ Bhavani enquires.
Bhatti looks blank for a moment, then gives a dry little laugh. ‘Oh, green card-holders is what we call non-voting members at the club!’
‘And why nat?’ Bhavani smiles good-naturedly. ‘The DTC is as great an institution as the USA, after all!’
Bhatti, not sure if he is being gently roasted by the homely old policeman, smiles uncertainly. ‘Er … yes.’
‘Can we talk to the ladies who found the body?’ Bhavani asks next.
Bhatti nods again, not very enthusiastically. ‘The ladies – yes. Certainly. I’ll round them up for you.’
Bhavani studies the older man for a while. He definitely seems jumpy.
‘Sir, there was some mention of an election?’
Bhatti passes a hand over his face.
‘The Club elections, yes. They will have to be postponed I’m afraid. I need to send out an official communication … Meanwhile, you find what you can find, like a good chap! I’ll also get them to allot you a guest cottage for the day. Make it your base, as it were.’
It was Bambi’s sixteenth birthday. The ridiculously over-the-top Mexican-themed party was over. Everybody else had left. They had been playing Call of Duty on her bed, surrounded by torn wrapping paper, scattered presents and a shared plate of rich, eggless chocolate cake, when she chucked her controller aside, flopped backwards into his lap, smiled up into his startled eyes, and announced, in typical bossy Bambi fashion, that she wanted him to kiss her.
‘You’re the best bod on the Dosco squad so it has to be you. Don’t say no to the birthday girl, Kash. It’s rude. And don’t worry – it won’t complicate anything – we can keep on being just friends, and I’ll never tell anyone.’
Thoroughly taken aback, his ears bright red with embarrassment, Kashi had stammered that what she was proposing was wrong for at least six different reasons. She’d shut him up with a kiss then, a sweet, warm, very clumsy kiss, which had gone on for far longer than it should have. Her body was under his, with her hands flattened against his bare chest by the time he found the strength to roll off and away.
‘No!’ he said forcefully, moving back when she tried to reach for him. ‘No, Bambi! No! Get off me. Stop it, now!’
She slunk away to her side of the bed and wrinkled her nose. ‘You sound like you’re disciplining a puppy.’
‘Then stop acting like a puppy!’
Her eyes raked his face boldly. A lock of honey-brown hair fell across her face, making her look incredibly sexy and just a little demented. She tossed it back and met his eyes, straight on. ‘Why not?’
He leaned forward and fired a counter-question. ‘Are you in love with me?’
‘Hai hai!’ She had abandoned her sexy lounging pose, and sat up, genuinely horrified. ‘No! Lame! Who even talks like that?’
Hugging his pillow to his chest in his barsati in Nizamuddin, Kashi recalls how hard his heart had been thudding when he asked that question. And how, when she’d made it clear that the idea was ludicrous, it had seemed, for a moment, to stop.
He’d said curtly, ‘You’ve spent the entire summer raving to me about Jaibeer Kanodia, and how he won’t give you any bhaav and now, randomly, you want me to kiss you?’
She’d nodded serenely, not seeing any problem with this. ‘Ya.’
‘Well, I don’t want to kiss you if you’re going to be closing your eyes and thinking of Jaibeer Kanodia!’
Reaching forward, she’d smoothed his tousled hair. ‘Maybe if you kiss me thoroughly enough I’ll stop thinking of Jaibeer Kanodia. He’s gonna pass out this year, anyway.’
Kashi had leapt off the messy bed and started looking for his shoes.
‘You are truly the most selfish person I’ve ever met! I’m not a bloody rehab centre, you know. I’m a person with feelings. What the fuck is wrong with you?’
She’d sat up in bed, finger-combing her hair and rolling her eyes. ‘Oh my god, Kashi, why’re you overthinking this? Besides, I have feelings for you! I like you – I trust you.’
‘Piss off,’ he’d said tightly, and stalked out of the massive house.
After that, he couldn’t get her out of his head. He’d dreamt the same damn dream every single night – he asked her again if she loved him, she answered with a yes instead of a no and he pulled her in close, wound his arms around her sweet, cinnamon body, pushed that frilly little birthday dress up her gleaming thighs and showed her what the best-bod-on-the-Dosco-squad could do.
And so of course, when he came home from Doon later that year, he’d ended up back in that pink bedroom, kissing her.
Later, she had told him that she’d made up all that stuff about liking Jaibeer Kanodia just to make him jealous. He’d accepted this explanation because he wanted to believe it, and thus had started the messy, magical hooking up years, every time he was back in town. On his nineteenth birthday, they’d gone official as a couple at his insistence, continuing to do the long-distance thing with no trouble at all while he studied law in Bangalore and she went to college in Delhi, till she told him, one fine day when he’d just started working, that her family was looking for a boy for her, and that she ‘could never not do what they told her to’.
Numb with pain, Kashi had put a message on Jaipur House Soccer Squad and the Doscos had showed up at his parents’ house in Noida almost immediately. They had drunk his father’s whisky, eaten a shit ton of pizza, held forth with great eloquence on the themes of other fish in the sea, the joys of singlehood, and the fucked-upness of women in general and bloody Bambi Todi in particular. Much FIFA was played, Pyaar ka Punchnama watched and at 5 a.m., they marched him down to the Sector-44 swimming pool, stood him on the highest diving boards, completely naked, and made him shout, ‘I declare Bambi Todi cancelled’, before he leapt into the pool. The love that had begun with a cannonball leap into a pool at the age of five had ended with this drunken, teary finale.
He had made a brief final appearance in the role of childhood friend at Bambi’s glitzy, ill-fated engagement a couple of months later, and then dropped her entirely. And two years later, he had met Kuhu.
Thinking of which …
He rolls over onto his stomach, hauls out his phone and finally opens the email she’d sent him yesterday, right after they’d spoken on the phone.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]▼
SUB: Goa
Kash, like I tried to tell you just now, the newly elected MLA wants the school ready in time for his mum’s birthday, which is in two weeks. So all the deadlines have been advance
d. The dude’s funding the whole thing so I have to listen to him.
And like I also tried to tell you when you started being so cold and polite and you-do-you, he dropped this bombshell on me at the last minute.
And yes, you were right. I could leave my foreman in charge of the site for three weeks. He’s entirely competent.
But here’s the thing. I don’t want to.
This school is my dream. These kids have become my family. I’ve put blood, sweat and tears into this project for months and I don’t want to abandon it when it’s almost done. And it’s not fair of you to expect me to.
Are we Over?
Could you please let me know?
We have a tremendously loud machine here that cuts through reinforced concrete and steel rods like they were butter, and breaking up with you will hurt as badly as feeding myself into its jagged jaws. Just saying.
But fine, if you’ve decided what I did was unforgivable and you want a girlfriend with different priorities, then just let me know, okay? Don’t let this drift and be ‘kind.’ You’re always too kind.
Also, please please have fun in your three free weeks! I will feel SO guilty if you don’t.
I missed your sweet, drowsy good-morning call today. I missed it like a limb.
I’ve ordered some books from Amazon which will be delivered to your place. Please COD 795 rupees?
Hugs,
Kuhu
He’s frowning down at the screen, torn between resentment and remorse, when a voice speaks from the doorway.
‘Behenchod, Dogra, get out of bed! You can’t stroke your balls ruminatively under that razai all day.’
Kashi flips a middle finger. ‘What are you, Walli, my mother-in-law?’
Kartik Walli leans on the door jamb. He’s dressed for a corporate meeting – sharp jacket, shined shoes, slicked back hair.
Kashi grimaces. ‘You look like a hooker.’
‘I am a hooker. I’ve got a ten o’clock meeting at the head office and I’m already late. What about you?’
Club You to Death Page 5
