Bathinda to Bangkok Read online

  Bathinda to Bangkok

  Bathinda to Bangkok

  Vibha Batra

  BLOOMSBURY INDIA Bloomsbury Publishing India Pvt. Ltd Second Floor, LSC Building No. 4, DDA Complex, Pocket C - 6 & 7 Vasant Kunj, New Delhi 110070

  BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY INDIA and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  First published in India 2019

  This edition published 2019

  Copyright © Vibha Bhatra, 2019

  Vibha Bhatra has asserted her right under the Indian Copyright Act to be identified as Author of this work

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior permission in writing from the publishers

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  ISBN: PB: 978-93-88038-92-8; eBook: 978-93-88038-94-2

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  For

  BNPMSR

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  1 The one with the (re) intro-shintro

  2 In which the heroine rushes to rescue a damsel (and dude) in distress riding on her (high) horse

  3 In which a long drives turns into the longest drive of the heroine’s life

  4 In which the Bangkok Battalion goes down fighting

  5 In which the heroine comes face to face with her past

  6 The one where the government pours water over the heroine’s plans

  7 In which the former groomie becomes current roomie

  8 In which swords are cross and heated words are exchanged

  9 In which dying embers are stoked and old fires are relit

  10 The one with the impressive acting chops

  11 The one CBFC would have banned for more reasons than one

  12 The one with the (mistaken) identity crisis

  13 The one with the heart to heart and chest to chest

  14 In which hearts etcetera are stripped open and feelings etcetera are laid bare

  15 The one with the cat and the bag and all that jazz

  16 The one with multiple torture scenes

  17 In which the air is cleared and bridges (at least, some of them) are mended

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you, ji, for joining thee B2B party and making it rocking-shocking. Now for some movies as return home gifts.

  My family: Carry on, Jatta

  My editor, Nandita: Jihne Mera Dil Luteya

  My cover designer, Pallavi, from Graficus: Vadhayiyaan Ji Vadhayiyaan

  My publishers: Chak De Phatte

  My friends: Yaaran Da Katchup

  My readers: Young Malang

  To HP: Control, Bhaji, Control

  1

  The one with the (re) intro-shintro

  BEEP! BEEP!

  Uff! My cell toh should go inside Limca Book I thought, peesoing my teeth. Beeping thousand and one times in bloody one second.

  BEEP! BEEP!

  I took out breath and opened one eye – chingggg – like angry rishi (not Kapoor, saint). Checked out thee cell screen.

  It was that Dingy. Dying again.

  Actually, she should go inside Limca Book. For dying thousand and one times in bloody one day.

  She was my bestie before testy (not exams, balls), but she was also little jhalli. Oho, why to lie, she was very jhalli. Sometimes toh I think my brain had gone to eat grass to start party-planning business with her. We were both 50-50 partners, but she couldn’t do one thing 100% by herself. No, ji, not.

  My yoga teacher had asked me to watch my breath during meditation. I watched as it came out of my ears.

  BEEP! BEEEEP!

  Ma ki@#$%!

  I’d no choice only. I had to – had to – convert meditation to pranayam. I took deep breath, closed right nose with right thumb and covered left nose with three fingers. Then I picked up cell with left hand and stuffed it between right ear and shoulder.

  ‘Hello?’ I barked.

  ‘M-m-m-Mahi?’

  ‘No, Queen Victoria!’ I replied, trying to hold on to cell and temper both.

  ‘S-s-sorry Mahi, I know it’s your off day. I know you said, “Dare you call between 12 and 1”. I know you hate if someone does mother-sister of your meditation, but I’m f-f-finished –’

  Hain?

  She was f-f-finished? So soon? Toh she’d called me only to copy Shahrukh Khan?

  ‘My life,’ she sob-sobbed, ‘it’s over, finished, thee end.’

  Oh!

  ‘WAAAAAAA!’

  Hai, she was crying like anything. In one second my heart melted like kulfi in heat. I removed thumb from right nose and took out breath. ‘Oh, calm down, Dingy…just tell WWW…’ (Oho, What Why When.)

  ‘It’s Andeep –’

  ‘What did that lallu do now?’

  ‘MAHIIIIII!’ Dingy shouted. ‘I told you not to talk like that! He’s my Fiancé! Show some respect!’

  I was showing respect. Inside-inside, I’d called him laudu.

  ‘Okay, baba,’ I said in soothing tone mother uses for baby. ‘What did that Andeep do now?’

  ‘He said, “Enough! Full stop! I can’t convince Mummyji Daddyji anymore…there’s no hope…they are not going to give blessings…I’m very sorry.” Can you believe, Mahi?’

  I could believe. That’s why inside-inside I always called Andeep laudu.

  ‘I also didn’t keep quiet, told him straight on face, “Okay, then let’s break up” because –’

  ‘Because your dream’s to get married in Bangkok,’ I finished.

  Most people wanted to go to Bangkok hiding-hiding for bang-bang. But Dingy was Sanskari Bharatiya Nari, ji. (Oho, Traditional Indian Woman.) She wanted to go there for humpy-pumpy with permission-slip from elders. She became tears-tears.

  ‘If I can’t get married in Bangkok,’ she ate swear, ‘if I can’t get married in Bangkok –’

  ‘You won’t get married to him?’ I asked, with hope in my voice.

  Too much hope, because Dingy shouted, ‘MAHI!’ and started Round Two of crying. For thee next few seconds, she got busy blowing nose. Giving me time to finish one set of deep breathing. I was going to do one more, when she burst out, ‘Help, Mahi-ve! Do something!’

  ‘What can I do, yaar?’

  ‘I don’t know anything… I just know if anybody can do anything, it’s you and only you…’

  Oho, I was PC (not Priyanka Chopra, Sorcar) or what? As if I could do abracadabra on Andeep’s parents and bring them under my control.

  ‘Dingy, please, please understand. I also have some limits –’

  ‘How can you ditch me and Andeep like this?’ she cried, sounding like one-mad. ‘Last year when you wanted help, who came in front? Andeep! Only Andeep! He helped you save Lavith –’

  That’s it. One small mention of that name was enough. I felt as if Dingy had taken rust-knife, heated it on stove, rubbed one kilo salt on it, and opened fresh wound in my heart.

  ‘Yes or no, Mahi?

  Yes.

  ‘True or false, Mahi?’

  True.

  ‘Right or wrong, Mahi?’

  Right.

  Uff! Why was Dingy asking stupid-type ques
tions? We were playing KBC – Kaun Banega Chutiya – or what? She knew what had happened. Leave her, full Ludhiana knew my history, geography, biology. My heart had been cut into chintu (not Rishi Kapoor, small) pieces in Delhi. And I was back to pavilion trying to join them like big puzzle.

  ‘Andeep did you favour, Mahi, big favour. Now it’s your turn.’

  Oh, I toh felt like thee horse in Sholay. It was izzat ka sawal. Question of self-respect.

  I let out long breath. What-what we had to do for friends. ‘Dingy, I’ve to go –’

  ‘Go? GO? Hai Rabba! I cannot believe,’ Dingy screamed. ‘After such emotional speech also, you’re talking about going –’

  ‘I’ve to go and make Bathinda plan, baba,’ I said in Art-of-Leaving voice. ‘That’s where your in-laws live, na?’

  For one second, Dingy lost her tongue. Then she shouted, tearing her throat, ‘OYE MAHIIIIIIII-VE!’ She toh couldn’t control only. All her feelings came out bubbling-bubbling. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you! You’re piece of my heart, my life, my first love.’

  Hai, she was touching me so much.

  ‘Oho, stop maaroing senti,’ I said, before I also got emotional. ‘Bye now, I’ve to call my competition, Mr. Secondary.’

  My meditation was fully working. Because in thee silence, I could hear Mahi smile.

  ‘And one more thing –’

  ‘Uff! Now what?’ I asked impatiently. ‘I made you sit on my shoulder, now don’t do susu in my ear, okay?’

  ‘Give me sorry, Mahi,’ she said, doing sniff-sniff. ‘Lakh-lakh times sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned last year and Lavi –’

  ‘I-it-it’s okay,’ I quickly stopped her. I didn’t want to hear that ‘L’ word again. ‘Happens, yaar.’

  ‘Okay, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. God promise.’

  ‘I know, Dingy, I know.’

  She could never ever hurt me. At least, not like He (not god, that ‘L’ boy) had hurt me.

  I cut thee call, my heart heavy like I’d eaten too many masala kulchas.

  But I didn’t call Andeep. I called Dumpy, Dingy’s bhraa (not undergarment, big bro).

  ‘Hello, hello, Mahi Madam!’ he shouted into the phone. ‘Long time, no news?’

  ‘Sorry, Dumpy, I was too busy…’

  My shoe, I was busy.

  ‘Too busy for best friend?’ he asked.

  Hai, I toh didn’t know what to say.

  Actually, last year, full confusion had happened. Mistakes, misunderstandings, madness, what not. I’d made mistake of proposing to Dumpy, causing misunderstandings, leading to madness…don’t ask. After that, on top-top, we maintained good relations, but inside-inside, things were stiff as starch shirt.

  ‘Busy for gossip? He continued in leg-pulling voice.

  Gossip? Hai, I toh need it like sari blouse needs booby pads.

  ‘I thought when you heard about Ronit, you’d jump on phone and call me…’

  He was telling truth. Thee whole world goes to Google-Shoogle or news channel for breaking news, I toh dial Dumpy.

  ‘What to do, yaar,’ I said slowly, trying not to sound despo to find out. ‘Work’s too much –’

  ‘Oye hoye,’ Dumpy said in teasing voice, ‘I forgot that I was talking to best party-planner in whole of Ludhiana.’

  ‘Only in Ludhiana?’ I asked, making face.

  I don’t want to beat my own drum, but Ludhiana to London was not some chunnu-munnu local company. It also had some standard. With events in Goa, Delhi, Mumbai, it was full-on national. And with Dingy’s Bangkok-Bang-Bang plan, it was going to reach international height.

  ‘Okay, okay, your company’s world-famous in India. Happy?’

  ‘Hmm. Now you’re coming on thee line,’ I said in I-forgive-you voice. ‘Okay, now what was that thing you were talking about?’

  ‘What thing?’ Dumpy asked. He was trying to act innocent but I knew his rug-rug (not carpets, veins).

  ‘Something about that Ronit…’

  ‘Oh, forget about that chodu…’ Dumpy said.

  Forget? After smelling blood, shark forgets, or what?

  ‘Okay, fine! Bye, Dumpy, I’ll call you later –’

  ‘Mahi-ve,’ he said in ‘I’m-sorry’ voice. ‘I was just pulling your leg.’

  ‘You’ve pulled leg, knee, thigh. Now tell WWW.’

  ‘Okay, okay, can you believe his mother-in-law was having affair?’

  I toh couldn’t believe! ‘Malhotra Aunty?’

  ‘Ya! Malhotra Uncle caught her with red hands.’

  ‘Sauteli maa ki @#$#!’

  ‘Uncle was already having doubt. Day-night she was stuck to her cell. Not leaving it only, not for one second also. From kitty-party to susu-potty, she was taking it everywhere…’

  ‘Then?’ I asked, my ears singing.

  ‘Then one day he heard her asking family tailor to put pockets in all her kurtas…’

  Hain?

  ‘….So she could put her cell phone inside, not miss any of her lover’s calls,’ Dumpy went on.

  Oh!

  ‘But who was her lover?’ I just wanted him to come to thee point.

  ‘Their family tailor, Daulat Ram!’ Dumpy dropped atom bomb. ‘He’s really their “family” tailor now. Ha ha ha!’

  Haw! What days had come! You toh couldn’t trust your tailor also. One minute, he was taking your naap (not sleep, measurement), next minute, he was becoming your bache ka baap.

  ‘But Malhotra Aunty was always going to temples –’

  ‘Morning she was doing Ram-Ram, night she was doing Daulat Ram,’ Dumpy said with chuckle. ‘Anyways, leave. You didn’t call me to hear about Aunty Affairs.’

  ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Andeep,’ I confessed to him.

  ‘Why, what did that laudu do now?’

  Ya, everyone knew about Andeep. Except that blind-in-love Dingy.

  ‘You know, na, Dingy wants to have first night in Bangkok – ?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She wants destination wedding in Bangkok. But Andeep’s parents want it in Bathinda.’

  ‘Mad she is. Getting chance to dump him and not taking it.’

  He was cent-percent correct. But what to do, I couldn’t forget Dingy’s CD (not compact disc, Crying-Dying).

  ‘Crying-crying she’s raised full sky on her head,’ I informed him. ‘Uncleji-Auntyji’s don’t have sense. Arre, they have no role to play in this film –’

  ‘No, they are only thee boy’s side,’ Dumpy said in sarcastic voice.

  I continued as if I hadn’t heard. ‘…they are not hero-heroine, they are only side-actors. Andeep and Dingy get married in Thailand or Timbuctoo, what goes for them? They should quietly put tongue inside mouth and do balle balle in thee background…’

  ‘But what role do you’ve to play in this?’ Dumpy asked, confused.

  ‘I have to, have to go to Bathinda. To put sense into their heads –’

  SMACKKKKK!

  Dumpy slapped his head loudly. ‘Oh, so you want me to come to Bathinda with you. As your driver – ?’

  Hai, Dumpy knew my rug-rug, too. But, my shoe, only I’d admit it.

  ‘As Dingy’s Big B,’ I told him, my voice spicier than red chillies. ‘You also have some responsibility or no? If you want to come, come. Or you also zip lips and sit quiet as mouse. As for driver, I can get ten like this,’ I added, my fingers going click-click.

  ‘Oh, Mahi-ve,’ he said in ‘Let’s-make-up’ voice. ‘Your temperature’s always on boiling point. Hundred-percent we’ll come with you.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Simran and me.’

  SMACKKKK!

  It was my turn to hit my head.

  Simran. His girlfriend. She was ten times bigger laudu than Andeep.

  ‘How long she’s been asking me to take her for long drive,’ Dumpy said, doing cluck-cluck. ‘Poor thing.’

  If Simran was poor thing, so was Mogambo.

  ‘Four of us will go to Bathind
a…’

  Four? With common-sense, he’d lost counting power also.

  ‘You, me, she. Three,’ I said patiently.

  ‘You forgot about Raj….’

  Raj. Simran’s twin brother. He was hundred times bigger laudu than Andeep.

  ‘Her parents don’t let her go anywhere without him.’

  It was Buy One, Get One Free offer or what?

  ‘You, me, she, he. Four.’

  I hit my head four times.

  Oho, I was jolly-type girl. I got along with all thee types of people – okay-okay, with some types of people. But thee day god had distributed brains in heaven school, Simran and Raj were absent, ji.

  Hai, I thought in full panic, where I’d got stuck? I wanted to scream, shout, beat my chest like King (not raja, Kong). I wanted to throw my cell phone on wall. I wanted to cut cancel delete my own plan.

  But when there’s no choice, we’ve to listen to inside voice. It was question of Dingy’s heart.

  Mine was pieces-pieces, but I had to – had to – keep hers intact.

  2

  In which the heroine rushes to ­rescue a damsel (and dude) in ­distress riding on her (high) horse

  ‘Okay, Dumpy,’ I said, letting out long sigh. ‘See you outside my house tomorrow morning –’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Why, you’ve got appointment with Amitabh Bachchan?’

  ‘No, but my store –’

  Oh, I forgot to tell that he was thee owner of Dumpy Da Swag – Ludhiana’s Number One Store for Number Two (not potty, fakes) things.

  ‘Ask Dingy to sit there. You’re doing this for her. She can do that much for you.’

  Dumpy liked thee idea. After all, whose idea it was?

  ‘Okay, see you at seven –’

  ‘Seven?’

  ‘If that’s too late, we can leave at six,’ I suggested sweetly.

  ‘Nine, okay?’

  He was bargaining like shopkeeper.

  ‘Neither yours, nor mine,’ I bargained like customer. ‘Eight. Final deal or I’ll ask someone else.’

  ‘Done dana-dan-dan!’ We reached settlement. ‘Why don’t you ask Niku also to join?’

  Niku. My brother from another mother. But more own than my blood brother.

  I lived with him and his mother. I called her Bhooto (short form for Bhootni). Why? Because she was such a sample, such a sample, don’t ask.