Bathinda to Bangkok Read online

  ‘Come on, Ma-hee, what are you afraid of?’ Tarzan challenged.

  Anyone who knew me this much also knew that thee word ‘afraid’ wasn’t in my dictionary. I knew Tarzan was trying to provoke me. I knew he wanted to hear my answer, I knew it would be big mistake to attempt thee question. But Mahi Ahluwalia never left any battlefield like coward. She fought even when she was 100% sure she’d lose.

  I took deep yoga breath. ‘I toh don’t know too much,’ I said softly. ‘I only know that love’s love…pure, kind…it’s not selfish…when you love someone, you don’t think about yourself…you think about thee other person, what they like, what they want, what makes them happy…so that’s my definition…love means making someone happy. Even if it makes you unhappy, even if it breaks your heart –’

  Uff!

  How much was I talking! I shut my mouth in middle of thee sentence. Simran was so touchum-touched, she started crying again. Raj looked as if I’d given thee answer to all thee problems in thee universe’s problems, free. Tarzan, I toh didn’t dare to look at.

  My eyes went to him only when Raj asked, ‘And what do you think, bro?’

  His face, it looked deep fried with anger. As if I’d done surgical strike on him. I stopped breathing. I badly wanted to hear his answer. I knew I was acting like one stupid. As if his answer would be ‘Love means having feelings for someone even after they leave you without giving notice’.

  Tarzan swung his legs off the bed, looking at me and only at me, and spat out thee words, ‘I think you’re full of shit.’

  And in few long steps, he was out of thee room.

  12

  The one with the (mistaken) identity crisis

  ‘Where’s Lavith?’ Simran asked, her eyes looking over my shoulder.

  Why was she asking me, I was his secretary or what? I peesoed my teeth, getting into thee boat. Already my head was paining. Because of Simran, I was going to get tooth pain also.

  ‘He’s not coming,’ she said in disappointed voice as thee engine started.

  ‘If you want, you can stay back too,’ I said sweetly.

  Arre, we were going to Bangkok for work, not for bloody picnic. Muesli had given contact of one panditji and one more secret supplier. It was surprise for Andeep-Dingy and I didn’t know if Raj-Simran could keep things in their stomachs.

  Muesli had given idea for calm and quiet Thai wedding also. Said he’d arrange everything – from Buddhist priest who’d conduct thee ceremony to special tailor who’d stitch traditional Thai costumes for Dingy and Andeep.

  But thee problem with us Punjabis is, if we don’t wear fancy dress, if our drunk relatives don’t dance with whiskey glasses on top of heads, if we don’t have multi-cuisine buffet counters, if panditji doesn’t chant mantras we cannot understand, we don’t feel married.

  ‘Mahi, I’ve made a list of questions we can ask Panditji,’ Raj said, tapping thee notepad with pencil.

  I peesoed my teeth again. I liked to collect stationery (and also toiletry) from hotels and resorts. That’s why I saved them till thee last day. But Raj had used them. They were totally spoilt now. He was more than fifteen percent laudu.

  As thee boat jumped over thee waters, my breakfast jumped into my throat. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. I didn’t know what was making me irritated – thee boat ride or what had happened last night.

  Tarzan had accused me of fully shitting. Arre, why would I shit in front of everyone? What award would I get for telling lies? I was trying to indirectly tell him that whatever I was doing, was for thee sake of his happiness. That it was making me very sad, but it was for his own good. But he hadn’t believed one word. No, ji, not.

  At dinner, he hadn’t said one word. He’d sat on our table, but his eyes were on his cell phone, his mind thousand miles away. Thee atmosphere in Lembla had become more polluted than Delhi in December.

  Thank god, Dingy and Andeep were coming thee next day. And two days after that, Dumpy and all thee families. At least thee pollution levels would come down little bit.

  I sighed and tried to concentrate on work. I took peek at Raj’s notepad. ‘Do you have any questions?’

  Simran raised her hand. Oho, she hadn’t come out of her classroom mentality.

  ‘Ya, Simran?’

  ‘Where does Lavith work?’ she asked, trying to sound casual. But her cheeks were red tomatoes.

  Uff! Tarzan had given her his hanky, not his heart.

  He quit his bank job and is vela (oho, jobless) I wanted to say.

  But I decided to answer her question with another question, ‘Why? You’re planning to hire him or what?’

  ‘Lavith’s started his own company,’ Raj dropped bomb.

  I sat up straight – means, as straight as possible in bouncy boat.

  ‘Not party-planning company, I hope,’ I said half-jokily.

  We lived in different cities, but still, I didn’t want him as competition. His mother father had too many contacts and he’d easily…

  ‘He invests in startups – new businesses.’

  I sent thanks to God in thee sky.

  Looked like Raj had mugged up everything about Tarzan’s company.

  ‘Gives them consultation, opportunities, mentoring. He was anyways investing money for other people, making them rich in his old job –’

  ‘Now he was going to invest his own money and make himself rich,’ Simran completed.

  I’d stopped listening to them. Thousand and one emotions were fighting for space inside me like people in third-class compartment of trains.

  I felt excited, happy, proud. Tarzan had taken big step. He was finally doing what he always wanted to do. I was cent percent sure his company would do chutti of competition.

  I felt upsetted, hurted, insulted. He’d not bothered to share thee good news with me. He’d told Raj, his sleeping partner of two days. But kept it secret from his sleeping partner of many months.

  Who had encouraged him – okay, okay, who had fought with him—to quit his job? Me. Who had advised him – okay, okay, shouted at him—to go behind his dreams? Me.

  One of our discussions – okay, okay fight, on thee subject came to my head. I flashbacked back to Delhi.

  It was Sunday. Tarzan was working. But I was paying thee price. I cursed his boss, his bank, his job, everything and everyone, for spoiling one more weekend.

  Instead of burning blood unnecessarily, I thought why not do some cleaning-sheaning? It would bring thee dust plus my temperature down. So I changed into my old white Patiala salwar and faded flowery kurta. Tied my hairs up on head and my dupatta below eyes.

  Then I cut Tarzan’s purple tee shirt, the one I hated. Oho, not because I was angry with him, because I wanted new dusting cloth. If I’d used thee one our maid was using, I’d have made thee furniture more dirty. It was so old, so old, bets it was Dhiren Uncle’s childhood tee shirt.

  TING TONG! TING TONG!

  I left dusting thee dining area in the middle and went to open door. Two old ladies were standing there.

  ‘Lavith Sahni?’ Oldy Number-One asked in doubtful ‘Have-I-come to-thee-right-address’ voice.

  I nodded, pulling dupatta down from my nose. They looked like they had come straight after robbing jewellery store. Thee way diamonds were shining from all their body parts, I toh needed sunglasses.

  ‘May we come in?’ Oldy Number-Two asked.

  Immediately, I was alerted. Why did they want to come inside thee flat? What if they were robbers/attackers/kidnappers? Part of big gang that rang bells of innocent people and robbed/attacked/kidnapped them? Wasn’t there a write up in Gurgaon Times about Buddhiya (oho, oldy lady) Gang?

  I quickly slammed thee door on their faces, put security chain and then put my neck out.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  Oldy number One put her hand inside her bag.

  Immediately, I was tense. She was taking out her gun! Hai, Oldy Aunty had no heart. She was going to kill me in full jawani. She’d seen life, done
full masti, become ripe, but I, I was youngy-young. Hai, I toh hadn’t told Tarzan sorry for fighting with him like anything in thee morning.

  ‘No! Wait – don’t,’ I cried in panic, closing my eyes instead of door.

  I watched in slow motion as her hand came out with gun…

  ‘I’m Rachna, Neeru’s friend. I wanted to give Lavith my son’s wedding card.’

  No gun! Card! There was wedding card in her hand. I almost fell down with relief. Same time my memory bell rang. Article in thee Gurgaon Times was about Buddy Gang. Hai, simply only I’d called them criminals.

  I took thee card from her fingers. Then I took thee chain out and opened door wide. As wide as my smile. ‘You’re welcomed.’

  They stepped inside, looking around.

  ‘Come, come,’ I pointed to sofa.

  ‘Lavith’s not home?’ They asked sitting down.

  ‘Lavith’s gone to office,’ I replied, sitting down on thee sofa opposite them.

  Like all normal humans, Aunties looked fully surprised. Arre, who worked on Sunday?

  ‘Is he expected back anytime soon?’

  That’s it. All my frustration came up to my mouth and I exploded. ‘Only God knows. Actually, not even God knows. I toh have stopped expecting anything from him. I’m toh tired of thee same shit. I also work – I’ve been working for thee last six years. But this is too much –’

  Thee Aunties looked shockum-shocked at my frank talks.

  ‘Anyways, leave. What will you have to drink? Tea, coffee, juice? There’s beer also.’

  Thee Aunties looked at each other, funny expressions on their faces. Hai, so sweet, they were feeling shy, drinking in front of someone half their age.

  ‘Don’t worry, Aunties,’ I winked. ‘You don’t tell anyone, I won’t tell anyone.’

  I walked to thee fridge and grabbed three cans of Heineken. I was going to throw thee cans at them, helpless from habit. Then I remembered. They were old. And they were guests. I picked up plate from thee dining table and used it as tray to serve thee Aunties.

  I went and sat opposite them on thee sofa.

  ‘Have, have,’ I encouraged, putting my feet up. I opened thee can, and took one sip. ‘Mmm, heaven,’ I sighed. ‘After all thee cleaning, I badly needed this.’

  Thee Aunties jumped to their feet. ‘We – we’ve got to leave –’

  ‘Why, what happened? Have beer, yaar, give me company…’

  Thee Aunties were old, but with what speed they reached thee door. They shut it behind their backsides, not bothering to look back.

  ‘And they call thee youth rude and mannerless,’ I grumbled, gulping down thee beer.

  By thee time Tarzan came home, thee flat was shining. My mood was better. I’d taken long bath, shampooed, worn new night-suit and was feeling fresh.

  ‘Hello, Mr. Hard,’ I smiled, before naughtily adding, ‘worker.’

  Instead of replying, he sat down on thee sofa, put his legs on thee centre table and switched on the TV.

  I sat down next to him.

  Loud crying came from thee TV.

  ‘Every single time. Some fucked up serial or the other,’ he grumbled, pressing thee remote.

  Nothing happened. Same channel stayed on screen.

  ‘God, why won’t this shit ever work?’ he growled, pressing it harder.

  Along with loud crying, woman on TV started beating her chest too.

  ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ He hit thee remote hard against his palm three times and pointed it. Still same channel.

  ‘Now what will you do, Mr. Phoren Returned?’ I snatched thee remote.

  ‘Not now, Mahi,’ he snapped, pulling away, ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘You’re never in thee mood,’ I said in same tone. ‘I told you, quit your job, start your dream company. But no. See how frustrated you are.’

  ‘Can you blame me? I haven’t exactly been sitting on my arse, chilling all day –’

  Bas, I couldn’t take it anymore. Thief was scolding thee police.

  ‘Neither have I, okay? I dusted thee whole flat –’

  ‘Great, spoil Vimala some more, why don’t you…’

  Vimala was our maid. Sorry, our domestic help. Tarzan always kept telling me ‘be politically correct, be politically correct’.

  ‘Poor thing, she also needs break-shake,’ I said in sympathy.

  ‘God, do you even know what she’s up to behind you back, Mahi?’

  My ears went up. ‘What?’

  ‘Apparently, she drinks in our absence.’

  ‘Vimala?’ I toh couldn’t believe. She was not thee type. At least, she didn’t look like boozard.

  ‘Yeah,’ Tarzan continued. ‘And the woman has expensive taste. Heineken beer, no less…’

  Tarzan was so hysterical, he didn’t notice my expression change. Understanding look came in my eyes.

  ‘I used to wonder…the beer always seemed to disappear from the fridge…I mean, the cans don’t drink themselves… mystery solved…and get a load of this…woman’s got a problem with my working hours…what a fucking joke…bitches about my working hours to our guests, can you imagine? Precisely what she did this afternoon.’ He turned to look at my tomato face. ‘You’d stepped out?’

  I sat with zip lips.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Tarzan frowned. ‘Isn’t it Vimala’s day off from work…did she…?’ He didn’t complete thee sentence. He took thee facts, did fast addition in his head and gave me ‘I don’t believe this’ look.

  ‘Oh!’ He said at last, ‘they thought you were…’

  I knew I was badly dressed, but who dresses like queen and sits at home?

  ‘Hai,’ I cried out, ‘how could they think I was thee mai – domestic help. How, how, how?’

  Tarzan started looking uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know.’ But his eyes told another story. So he thought it was easy to make that mistake?

  ‘Sauteli ma ki @#$%! Bhons@#$! Chu!@#$’ I burst.

  ‘The way you talk, Mahi –’

  I was so shockum-shocked, words got stuck in my throat, world turned upside down, heart stopped beating. Tarzan was saying that Aunties thought I was thee maid because of the way I talked? Because of my English, because of my accent, because I wasn’t as educated as him? Hai, I toh never knew he thought like that.

  ‘I didn’t know you were ashamed of me, Lavith,’ I said quietly.

  ‘What? What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘My English, you’re embarra –’

  ‘What nonsense, I never said that,’ he denied it thoroughly. ‘I know you’re spoiling for a fight, Mahi, but –’

  My heavy heart squeezed like wet towel and water started coming out from my eyes. But I wasn’t going to cry, not over something stupid like this. Ya, Tarzan was hi-fi, but I was no paindu (oho, loser-shoser). I was from different world, he was from different world. That’s it. I never thought I was lesser than him. Or anyone else in thee bloody world. And in my dreams also I never thought he was ashamed of me.

  ‘I never knew you were so judgemental, Lavith. So what if I can’t do chutter-putter in perfect English? As if you’re perfect –’

  ‘Don’t you dare project your shit on to me. If you’re so bloody conscious about your diction, take bloody classes or something –’

  Bas, my self-control’s dam broke.

  ‘You’re a bastard! Bastard, bastard, bastard! That’s what you are!’ I shouted, before I could stop myself.

  His face, it changed – became small, white, blank – in one second flat. That’s when I realised. Hai, I toh was only giving him English gaali. But he’d misunderstood. He thought I was taunting him about his past. Arre, why would I blame him for what his father had done? What was his fault in that? He was poor innocent child trapped in thee middle of tatti life.

  That’s why, that’s why mother-tongue gaalis are the best. They don’t create confusion.

  Thee boat bounced up suddenly and that was thee end of my flashback.

  ‘Mahi,
are you okay?’ Raj asked, looking at me with concern.

  I nodded, scared to speak. I didn’t want to burst like water balloon in front of them.

  To make thee matters more worse, last night’s conversation came inside my head. Simran had felt bad because Dumpy had kept many things secret. I’d not taken her complain seriously then, but now I understood how she felt.

  I was just like Simran. Thee only difference was that Simran loved Dumpy openly. And I cared for Tarzan hidingly. Oho, why to lie, I was in mad in Tarzan’s love. So what if we couldn’t be together? My feelings for Tarzan would always remain thee same. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, next birth.

  Bas, I couldn’t control anymore. My feelings came up from my heart and reached my eyes, making them watery.

  ‘Are you crying?’ Simran asked, inspecting my face like Masterchef inspects junior’s dish.

  ‘Mad or what?’ I gave fake laugh, quickly wiping my eyes. ‘It’s thee salty air, it’s hitting my eyes.’

  Simran gave me understanding look and hanky. Thee same hanky Tarzan had given to her. I took it and touched it to my eyes.

  She put her hand out after I finished, but I dropped it on my lap. Oho, not because I didn’t want another girl to have Tarzan’s hanky, because I wanted to reuse it later.

  ‘Look, we’ve reached,’ I distracted her, pointing at thee land ahead.

  Simran clapped, looking more excited than Mister Columbus when he reached Um-reeca.

  13

  The one with the heart to heart and chest to chest

  I was more tired than Sumo wrestler after big fight, but I was satisfied. Thee day trip to Bangkok had been success on professional and personal front. I’d met and locked Pandtiji, given him thee advance. Raj had taken notes like he was going to appear for Assistant Training Exam. Simran had shopped like malls were getting banned from the next day.

  We reached thee resort late in thee evening. Raj fell down in thee drawing room, oho, on thee settee. Simran and her shopping bags fell down in thee bedroom. I fell over thee wash-basin in thee bathroom.

  KNOCK! KNOCK!

  ‘Room service.’

  ‘Who ordered room service?’ I asked, walking out of thee loo in bath gown. ‘Not me.’