Club You to Death

by Anuja Chauhan

  This makes her laugh – a rich, husky, slightly hysterical laugh. Her pink hair ripples in the sun. A few matrons, rushing for the next mass, turn around and stare at her disapprovingly.

  ‘Of course not! I did my own thang if I wanted to and, I’m sure, so did he!’

  ‘And these ladies …’ Bhavani pauses delicately. ‘You would know who they are?’

  ‘I didn’t stalk him, if that’s what you’re suggesting!’ Shonali says, amused. ‘I’m too busy. So no, I won’t be able to name them, or even recognize them – but I got the impression that he was, you know, dipping into his pool of hot cougar clients a little!’

  ‘Cougar?’ Bhavani is confused.

  ‘Attractive older women.’

  ‘Ah!’ Bhavani leans in. ‘What gave you that impression? Please think carefully and tell us.’

  She looks amused. ‘Oh, I don’t know … just the way he’d look so smug and full of himself on some days. Purring like a big black cat who’d got the cream! And sometimes’ – she stubs out her cigarette, laughing a little – ‘sometimes he would ask to borrow my camera. I got the impression he was shooting some uh … intimate pics, you know?’

  Behind them the church bells start to toll.

  ‘O really?’ Bhavani says, very slow and soft.

  He stares at the innocuous looking camera case on the ground between them, and when he looks up at her again, she is startled by the glow on his face – transforming his plain features so that he looks almost De Niro-esque.

  ‘How do you store footage shot on this camera, please?’

  You are cordially invited to

  SHIVBLING

  A charity sale of exquisitely crafted, Swarovski studded Shiva lingams

  by contemporary artist Karishma ‘Cookie’ Katoch.

  All proceeds shall go towards building a medical clinic for migrant labourers.

  Shri Gagan Ruia

  has kindly consented to light the holy lamp

  at 12.30 p.m., the Rose Garden, Delhi Turf Club.

  Jai Bholenath!

  Some eyebrows are raised when a large contingent of DTC Zumba Girls travels from Leo’s memorial service at the Sacred Heart Cathedral straight to Cookie Katoch’s exhibition at the DTC, but Cookie herself is not at all conflicted.

  ‘Oho, it’s for a good cause, ya. Leo himself would have wanted me to go ahead with the exhibition! We had both been working so hard together to get my weight down to seventy kgs for it!’

  And so, dressed in Jamaican finery with her well-buttressed cleavage on display, she awaits her invitees in a garden strewn with mighty lingams, all lovingly sculpted out of rose quartz, lapis lazuli, malachite, marble and glass. And soon, Delhi’s richest socialites are trickling into the sun-dappled Rose Garden, knocking back sparkling white wine, dipping bits of focaccia bread into warm olive oil, and wah-wahing at the beauty and anatomical correctness of the sculptures.

  Mrs Mala Dogra sneaks a look at the discreetly displayed price tags, then tugs at her daughter’s dupatta.

  ‘I don’t have my reading glasses,’ she whispers. ‘Does it really say thirty thousand?’

  ‘It says eighty thousand,’ Natasha whispers back. ‘And it’s going to charity! Stop checking the price tags, Ma. It’s bad enough that our khataara just broke down in front of everyone!’

  Because the old Maruti Swift had wheezed to a defeated halt in the driveway of the club after its long journey from Noida, Mrs Mala Dogra had had to disembark, and with great dignity, request the ACP and his young inspector to push it up to the porch.

  ‘But eighty thousand rupees is obscene!’ Mrs Mala Dogra whispers back.

  ‘Yes, Mother, they are clearly obscene,’ a voice agrees from behind them. ‘What’s with the engorged veins and shit?’

  ‘Kashi!’ His sister whirls to glare at him. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I got held up by VIP traffic,’ he says wryly, nodding towards the entrance. ‘Look who’s here.’

  Gagan Ruia, the defence minister’s son, tall, fair and overfed, has just stridden into the garden, dressed in a crisp white pyjama-kurta, and woollen jacket (and his infamous pompommed juttis), with both palms joined reverentially over his head.

  ‘Jai Bholenath!’ he intones. ‘Jai Bholenath!’

  ‘Ugh!’ Nattu pulls a fastidious face. ‘They let him in here again? After JuttiGate?’

  ‘He’s come to inaugurate the exhibition apparently,’ Kashi replies. ‘Cookie auntie must’ve insisted on a real dick.’

  Nattu giggles. ‘Look who he’s with.’

  And Kashi realizes that Gagan Ruia has been escorted into the Rose Garden by Bambi’s father, industrialist Pankaj Todi. They are twinning in crisp white.

  ‘Are they tight?’ he asks Nattu curiously.

  She nods. ‘It was Bambi’s dad who signed him in that night when he made such a fuss about his stupid juttis,’ she says. ‘Gagan Ruia was his guest. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ he replies. ‘I know you think I’m obsessed with the Todis, and I track their every move, but I don’t, okay.’

  She chuckles. ‘Liar. Ooh, look, mushroom canapes! C’mon let’s score some.’

  A chunky brown hand reaches for the canapes at the same moment they do. It is ACP Bhavani Singh. He is looking about the exhibits somewhat bemusedly, but his expression lightens when he sees the Dogras.

  ‘Oh, vakeel sa’ab, is this your family?’

  Kashi is surprised. ‘You guys have met?’

  Mala Dogra smiles. ‘The ACP was too kind! He helped us with the car when you were nowhere to be seen.’

  ‘Ma, that’s not fair,’ Kashi protests. ‘He has a police car! Naturally he didn’t get held up in the roadblock!’

  His mother sniffs, unconvinced. ‘Somehow you and your father are never there when we’re in trou—Oh, hello, Cookie!’

  Cookie Katoch has descended upon them, gushing vaguely and dispensing effusive hugs.

  ‘Hello, dear! Hello, dear! Please do pick up a lingam!’

  Hai, hai, Mala Dogra thinks to herself. One’s quite enough for us, thank you!

  Aloud, she says smilingly, ‘I was just asking my son which sculpture he likes best.’

  Cookie turns eagerly to Kashi.

  ‘Uh … um …’ Kashi knits his brow. ‘They’re all unique in their own way … but I do like this green one here! It’s so …’ His fingers shoot up into the air, as if in search of words, ‘Green!’

  ‘Just like grass,’ adds the hovering ACP helpfully. ‘And this nice chutney.’ He points at the crystal bowl full of basil pesto.

  ‘It’s called dipping sauce,’ the bearer corrects him importantly.

  ‘O really?’ Bhavani replies, beckoning him closer. ‘We’ll just dip into it again then …’

  Cookie continues to hold forth. ‘The greens stone is malachite. You have a good eye, Kashi beta, this is one of my best pieces. It has a twin – but in lapis lazuli – a deep, rich blue. I had presented it to Bambi and Anshul at their engagement. In fact I asked her to lend it to me, just for this exhibition, I wanted to exhibit that one too, but she said ki she has no idea where it went. Which is a real loss to the art world, of course, but I didn’t want to nag her about it, especially after that engagement ended in such a tragedy,

  you know.’

  ‘We didn’t know,’ Bhavani replies, with great interest. ‘What tragedy?’

  ‘Oh, ACP Brownie, it was all so sad …’

  As Cookie lowers her voice and starts to fill him in on the story, Kashi moves away. He is in no mood to listen to the grand doomed saga of Bambi–Anshul.

  As he walks past, Roshni Aggarwal summons him to her side imperiously. Surrendering to the fact that today is his day to hang with boujee boozy aunties, Kashi goes over obediently. She promptly thrusts somebody at him – sullen, paneer-fair and dead-eyed, with worked-out arms, a soft belly and skinny
legs. Kashi remembers him vaguely as a senior from TVVS.

  ‘My son, Aryaman,’ Roshni says, smiling a little anxiously.

  Of course, Kashi recalls unenthusiastically, Aryaman Aggarwal, Roshni auntie’s hot mess of a son, is a notorious stoner. It is rumoured that he’d been badly beaten up by his drug dealer once, and left with injuries that had affected his brain.

  ‘Hey Arya!’ Kashi smiles.

  Aryaman looks at him with dull, vacant eyes. ‘Hullo,’ he says finally, reluctantly.

  Roshni gives Aryaman a little push. ‘Talk to Kashi, Arya!’ she says brightly, as if her son is five years old. ‘He’s become a very well-known lawyer. You’ll have fun!’

  And then she walks away.

  Kashi and Aryaman look at each other for a while.

  ‘So, man,’ Kashi says finally. ‘What d’you think of the uh … exhibits?’

  Aryaman doesn’t bother to reply.

  Kashi shrugs philosophically and sips his wine. Across the garden, Cookie is still talking earnestly to Bhavani. Seems like she’s giving him the Bambi–Anshul debriefing in great detail.

  He isn’t wrong.

  ‘The Poddar boy was really very good-looking, ACP Brownie!’ Cookie is saying into the old policeman’s attentive ear. ‘And altogether too good to be true! In fact, I told Bambi’s mother ki check-up kar lo, perhaps he is secretly gay or important or something! Not that our Bambi wouldn’t attract the best offers – but you know in India, in the Marwari community especially, for every twenty gorgeous girls there seems to be only one dhangg ka ladka, just one decent boy, and all the girls have to fight for him! People keep saying ki pre-natal sex determination and female feticide is a big menace in our society and the number of girls born is dwindling and kya kya, but to me it seems like somebody is systematically tracking down all our tall, fair, strong, handsome, intelligent boy fetuses and bumping them off in the womb only! Maybe it’s a Pakistani conspiracy.’

  Bhavani agrees with her, then inquires in a low murmur about the Kashi–Bambi angle. What exactly is going on there?

  Cookie giggles. ‘Oh yes, those two! Quite the lovebirds when they were little! Why, once I saw them in the squash court, all squashed up together …’

  She proceeds to give him details that would’ve made Kashi’s ears burn if he could’ve heard her. Luckily, he can’t.

  The party rolls on.

  Above the Rose Garden, the sky starts to get a bit thundery. The intrepid bits of female cleavage, shoulder and thigh that had braved the late February chill begin to goose-pimple all over the lawn.

  And then Bambi Todi bursts into Rose Garden, and things immediately get sunnier.

  ‘Heyyy guys!’ she says as she plucks a glass a wine off a passing bearer’s tray, drains it in one gulp and comes to stand between Kashi and Aryaman Aggarwal. ‘Wow, I needed that! I didn’t know church services were so long.’

  ‘It’s been so long since I saw you, Bambi.’

  Oh wow, thinks Kashi, startled, I couldn’t get a word out of the fucker and now suddenly he’s all chirpy!

  Bambi beams at the drooping Aryaman.

  ‘I know, Arya! We used to meet so often at the club when we were younger!’

  A gleam briefly illuminates Aryaman’s dull eyes. ‘Swimming,’ he says.

  ‘Yes!’ she replies encouragingly. ‘Tennis.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Hooking up on the library roof.’

  ‘Uh huh!’ She shakes her head, her eyes dancing. ‘That must’ve been with somebody else! Uh … refill please!’ She waves her glass at a bearer.

  Aryaman continues to look at her blankly for a while, then finally, his eyes trail away.

  ‘I’ve seen that guy before,’ he remarks. ‘The one in the fucktard shoes. Who’s he?

  This, because Gagan Ruia is walking up towards them, his juttis chwing-chwonging noisily.

  ‘Bambi! What an amazing artist your Cookie auntie is!’

  ‘Pick up something then!’ she challenges him gaily. ‘Cookie auntie’s put me in charge of bullying people into buying! All the proceeds go to charity.’

  ‘Oh daffynitely,’ he replies at once. ‘Come help me choose, na!’

  He puts out a hand appealingly. She hesitates, then takes it and walks away.

  ‘Well, he’s daffynitely hot for her!’ Aryaman sneers softly. ‘What a guy!’

  And Kashi has to agree. Ruia Jr looks smitten for sure, staring down adoringly at Bambi as she points out the finer points of each smoothly polished piece. Kashi averts his gaze.

  Near the bar, Cookie Katoch’s husband, dutifully present to support his wife, is holding forth to a rather inebriated, pot-bellied male audience.

  ‘Bhai, it is really high time that the DTC replaced its tambola kit! Srivastava insists ki it is an antique piece, but if you ask me, calling any toota-phoota old thing an antique is just being pretentious! I told him ek naya set mangwaate hain, there are so many options available in the market today … If the Club is short of funds, then I will sponsor it personally, but he is just refusing to listen! And Bhatti is supporting him!’

  ‘That is because Bhatti is quite a toota-phoota antique piece himself!’

  ‘A lot of the members here are antique pieces too.’

  ‘Not me.’ Katoch guffaws loudly. ‘I have a young and perky “member”! Who d’you think all these blingy lingams are modelled upon?’ He winks.

  Everybody cracks up, with Katoch laughing the loudest.

  Meanwhile, in another circle, the DTC Zumba ladies are scarfing down focaccia and champagne and mourning the loss of their trainer.

  ‘Those lashes.’

  ‘So long. And that hair.’

  ‘So thick. Talking of thick, babe, we need to find a replacement trainer ASAP. How are Thapa and Thambi? Any good?’

  ‘You mean Thinsuk and Thampi,’ Urvashi Khurana corrects the speaker gently. ‘Mukki trains with Thampi. He says he’s good for sculpting and strength but not for cardio.’

  ‘Leo was great for cardio. Just looking at him set my heart racing!’ Cookie Katoch sighs.

  Everybody follows suit.

  ‘He was so sweet, na? Noticed immediately if anybody was slacking off, or having some gynaec issue or using the wrong technique – paid so much attention to each and every one equally!’

  Roshni pulls a wry face. ‘You make him sound like a gigolo.’

  ‘Are you mad!’ Cookie grabs another piece of focaccia and soaks it liberally in olive oil. ‘Leo would’ve made a terrible gigolo. Asking you to lay off carbs all the time, and tsk-tsking over your flabby triceps, and saying he was terribly, personally disappointed in you if you “finished” too soon! I like my gigolos plump and non-judgemental, please.’

  This makes everybody scream with laughter.

  ‘He was so good with Arya also,’ Roshni Aggarwal says wistfully. ‘I had really high hopes that he would pull him out of his dark place …’

  The ladies murmur sympathetically.

  ‘Don’t worry so much about Arya, Roshni,’ Urvashi tells her friend. ‘He’s making such an effort to improve himself – it’s too commendable! My God, I was such a mess when I was his age! What temper tantrums, what selfishness and drama – my poor parents were constantly at their wits end!’

  ‘Lies,’ Cookie Katoch declares roundly. ‘All lies. You must have been the goody-goody head-girl type since the day you were born!’

  Urvashi smiles at her fondly. ‘Oh, it’s taken me a long time to get to this place, Cooks. You’ve no idea.’

  Roshni’s tight face softens a little. ‘Maybe my boy will get over his … problems too. I’ll speak to Thampi, Urvi.’

  Urvashi squeezes her friend’s hands. ‘Great.’

  ‘Oi Cookie!’ Katoch calls out from across the garden in a ringing voice. ‘Congruchulations! All your pieces have been sold! Young Ruia just bought the last and most expensive
piece!’

  ‘Oh my God, girls!’ Cookie gives a little scream of delight and reaches out to hug her friends. ‘Thank you so much for coming to my exhibition!’

  And then Bambi Todi comes running up to the ladies, dragging Gagan Ruia behind her. ‘Group hug!’ she shouts. ‘Three cheers for Cookie auntie and all her ShivBlings!’

  The ladies crowd in, laughing and smiling as Ruia produces his phone. They pout and shout and pose as the camera clicks repeatedly. The bonhomie is palpable.

  And yet, muses Bhavani Singh, munching his final mushroom-and-bacon canape of the day and wiping his hands on a napkin monogrammed with the DTC’s horse and jockey logo, and yet, one of this group of laughing, privileged people is a cold-blooded poisoner …

  Bambi Todi, very buzzed from all the bubbly she has consumed, rushes into the Ladies to wash out the red wine somebody has sloshed onto her white jumper. She whips it off and lays it under the running tap in the wash basin. Wearing just a skimpy lace bra and jeans, she stares slightly unfocusedly into the mirror and smiles – a smile that Nattu would no doubt have called a chutiya smile.

  Three times, she thinks dreamily. After ignoring me completely for three whole years, Kashi Dogra has managed to bump into me three whole times within a week! Sunday, at the Bumper Tambola, could’ve been a coincidence. Monday – okay so the cops called him in. But today? First at the memorial service, and now he’s hanging around at Cookie auntie’s penis exhibition! And he says he wants to be friends!

  I can do friends, she thinks seriously, as she finger-combs her damp hair. I can totally do friends. I need a friend – especially with things so fucked up at home, and Leo dead, and the cops sniffing after poor Ganga and everything! And of course he has a girlfriend and shit, but I won’t intrude on the GF’s space – I will fully respect her superior claim on him. I’m more than happy with just friendship …

  Because if they’re friends, then even boring conversations at the DTC become fun because they can both look up to meet each other’s eyes across the room in silent, shared laughter … They can redeem shitty web series by ranting against them together late in the night … She can reach across the table and pick up food from his plate and pop it into her mouth … She can fiercely contest points on a game of tennis and watch him throw down his racquet and lose his shit … She can edit his Instagram DPs for him so he looks hotter – not that he needs help looking hot any more given how lithe and muscly he is, with the shock of unruly black hair that falls onto his broad forehead, blatantly soliciting a pushback from female fingers …