Bathinda to Bangkok Read online

  I made face as if I’d swallowed big tablet (not Samsung, medicine) and continued talking. ‘Mr. Mues…I mean, Mr,’ I struggled to remember his name but failed. ‘I know you cannot offer Indian cuisine, but what else can you offer apart from Thai? Chinese? Italian?’

  ‘Lembla’s Chinese chef lan away.’

  I slapped my forehead inside me head. Phitte muh! His chef had to run away now only.

  ‘Okay… what about Italian?’

  ‘Chinese chef lan away with Italian chef.’

  I slapped my forehead actually this time.We were stuck with only Thai food. It was problem, big problem. Andeep’s Jungle Brigade had to be fed Indian or they would go wild.

  ‘Your website said international cuisine,’ I accused Muesli. ‘Or did your website designer lun away too?’

  I was justified angry. It was thee heights. Writing lies on website. Taking inno-cent customers for rides. I wanted to open Trip Advisor and give them zero-star review.

  I gave Tarzan, ‘Now please don’t say everyone lies on website’ look.

  He gave me, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll manage’ look.

  ‘One second, Paul, we’ll just have a quick word. Mahi?’

  We stepped away from Muesli to have personal talks.

  ‘Okay, you know what, why don’t we call someone from Ludhiana?’ Tarzan suggested.

  ‘And who’ll finance that, Arun Jaitley?’ I growled. ‘My budget’s limited.’ Uncleji had given me only one suitcase of cash, but it wasn’t fully packed like they show in movies.

  ‘Mine’s not,’ he said with shrug. ‘I don’t mind paying from my own pocket.’

  ‘Next, Muesli will say there’s no photographer, then? What-what will you pay for?’

  ‘A wise person once told me, “Food’s the most important thing at a wedding”, and…’

  I stared at him, shocked. Wise person hadn’t told him that. I had.

  ‘…so, whatever it takes…’ Tarzan continued. ‘You’re not the only one who wants the wedding to be a super-duper hit, you know…’

  My mind wheel had stopped turning only. He remembered my dialogue. Dialogue that I’d said many months back. Flashback came flashing to my head. And my mind went flying back to that day.

  It was late in thee night. We were in his flat. Tarzan had just come back from work.

  I was sitting on thee sofa, box of vanilla ice-cream with chocolate syrup in my hand, watching TV. He came and sat down next to me.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves.

  Even thee sight of his muscles-shuscles didn’t cool me down. I was irritated means irritated. Every night was late night. Every night it was same story. Every night he said sorry.

  I stayed quiet like kneaded dough.

  ‘What you thinking, baby?’

  ‘I’m thinking that you’re thee night-watchman of your bank.’

  ‘I’m thinking someone’s pissed off,’ he said, giving me melty smile.

  ‘Right answer,’ I said, acting like reality show judge and giving him three slow claps.

  ‘Are you going to ask me if I’ve eaten?’

  ‘Are you going to ask me to cook if you’ve not?’ I asked.

  My shoe only I was going to cook in thee middle of thee night. I’d not cooked for myself also. After thee client meeting at Rajouri Gardens, I’d finished two plates of momos.

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Lavith replied. ‘If you want to eat at twelve in thee night, call restaurant, not me.’ Don’t worry, I know your instructions by heart.’

  ‘Good.’ I turned my attention back to TV.

  ‘What I don’t know is what you told Mrs Kothari,’ he said casually adjusting his sleeves.

  I’d given that useless Mrs Kothari good in thee evening. I knew thee news would reach Tarzan, but I didn’t know it would reach so soon.

  ‘That she’s chutiya of thee first order,’ I replied in calm voice, without removing my eyes away from TV screen.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said, placing his legs on thee centre table. I snatched thee remote which was lying in thee middle of us. ‘Dare I ask why?’

  ‘Because food’s thee most important thing about thee wedding.’

  ‘I thought the couple’s the most important thing about the wedding. But perhaps I’m wrong.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘Well, you’re the expert,’ he agreed.

  ‘I am. And when I say Minakshi Kothari’s butter chicken is rubber chicken, you better believe.’

  He reached for my hands. I didn’t pull them away. ‘I do believe you, Mahi, but I don’t understand –

  ‘What don’t you understand?’ I cut him. ‘People come to weddings to eat…also to get jealous and to pass bitchy comments…but most importantly to eat. And I don’t want my reputation as wedding-planner to go down because thee food is shit.’

  ‘Wedding planner?’ he teased. ‘I thought you were going to be a party-planner and nothing else but a party planner.’

  It was true. I planned weddings only as exception. But Neeru Aunty, Tarzan’s mother had asked me to organize her close friend’s daughter’s wedding. And I was trying my best to do it.

  ‘At thee ladies sangeet, thee food was yucks. I didn’t want flop show at thee wedding also.’

  ‘I get it, totally understand,’ he nodded. ‘Am not saying you’re wrong. But did it have to come down to this? Fighting and name calling? Couldn’t you have talked things over, you know, in a more civilized fashion?’

  I was really bugged up. I didn’t know why Tarzan was acting like bapu (not my father, Father of thee Nation).

  I snatched my hands away. ‘Oh, ya? And what happened last week. When thee traffic signal near your office stopped working and there was big jam and you got stuckum-stuck? You acted in civilized fashion?’

  ‘That’s different. I was venting because nothing works in this damn country, nothing.’

  ‘Hello, you’re also part of this country,’ I said crossing my arms over my chest.

  ‘For now,’ he said it voice lighter than idli.

  I became stiffer than cardboard. It was touching topic for me. Tarzan never wanted to live in India. Never wanted to live in. Never wanted to get married. Because he was real life bastard. Father made mother pregnant. They didn’t marry. After many years, when she asked him to accept them, he refused. Made her do DNA test. Finally, they got married last year. When their child was of marriageable age.

  Many other things had happened last year. Oho, I’d saved Tarzan’s life. We’d said love you love you to each other. He’d said bye-bye to New York and moved to Delhi. I’d said bye bye to Ludhiana and moved into his flat in Delhi.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking that he’d go back to thee States. That he was in India only because he felt guilty. That he was living in with me only because I’d saved his life.

  My heart and face both shrank like clothes, like badly dry-cleaned clothes. But thanks to God Tarzan didn’t notice. His eyes were on thee TV.

  ‘What’s that crap you’re watching on TV?’

  ‘Better than thee crap you keep watching on your laptop, Lav,’ I replied sweetly.`

  He turned to give him unbelieving look. ‘You’re calling Game of Thrones crap?’

  ‘You’re calling Sasural Simar Ka crap?’

  ‘Doesn’t it have that same mother-in-law-daughter in-law nonsense?’ He went snort-snort.

  I also gave loud artificial laugh. ‘As if your Game of Thrones is any different. What was that chudail mother-in-law in it doing? Making her daughter-in-law walk nangu pangu in thee whole city.’

  ‘Cersei and Marjorie!’ Tarzan chuckled. ‘Touche. I didn’t know you were paying attention, baby.’

  ‘Arre, it was on full blast on thee laptop, how could I not pay attention?’

  ‘Right now, I can pay attention only to one thing,’ he said, rubbing his nose on my neck.

  My heart started banging my chest. I knew what he meant from my experience.

  ‘The ice
-cream.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, offering thee bowl to him. ‘Here, have.’

  Tarzan shook his head. ‘Not like this.’

  He dipped his finger in thee bowl, brought some out and spread it on my neck. Then he leaned forward and slowly started licking it…

  I was still tasting him – mean, tasting thee ice-cream when Tarzan clicked his fingers and forced me to come back to thee present. To Hawa-Hawai island. My yummy flashback melted then and there.

  ‘Mahi? Mahi?You there?’ he asked.

  I came out of my coma. ‘Ya – yes, I-I’m here only. Where else will I be?’

  ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘I can’t think,’ I said, pressing one side of my head. ‘My head’s blank.’

  ‘No way! Your head’s always buzzing with ideas and thoughts and possibilities.’

  It was true. My brains were like our Prime Minister. Very active and always on thee move. My heart became softer than Sagar Ratna idli. I was touchum-touched at thee compliment.

  ‘So, are you okay about flying the caterer out from Delhi?’

  ‘But where he’ll put up,’ I asked. ‘There are only eleven rooms in thee resort and –’

  ‘We’ll figure it out, okay?’

  I was not at all sure, but what could I say except, ‘Okay’.

  Tarzan looked so relieved as if he had full glass Eno after wedding food. ‘Great, so we can cross out catering from the to-do list. What’s next?’

  ‘Photo-grapher,’ I informed. ‘Please tell me you’re not planning to offer thee job to Horsey.’

  Last year in Goa, he’d called photo-grapher friend of his. She’d long face like horse, but used candid (not powder, shots) nicely. I didn’t want to call her. Not last year, not now also. Oho, not because she was always touching and feeling Tarzan.

  ‘I’m not. After the hard time you gave her, I’m sure she’d shoot the offer down.’

  I made a face. ‘I just wanted her to do her job. But she was interested in other jobs.’

  Tarzan shook his head, his lips twisting.

  ‘What?’ I asked, my eyes challenging him to say what he was thinking.

  He turned down thee challenge and turned to look at Muesli. ‘Your website said something about an in-house photographer.’

  Muesli moved his head like he was bobble doll. ‘We’re using the services of a freelancer, very good one.’

  ‘Freelancer?’ I asked. ‘What’s his full-time job?’

  ‘Funeral photography.’

  I burst out coughing.

  ‘She nearly died at that,’ Tarzan maaroed joke.

  ‘Can we please have other option?’ I begged desperately.

  ‘Option?’ Museli asked like he just couldn’t understand why on earth I wanted option when death photographer was already there.

  I expected at least Tarzan to understand that people were starting new lives, it would be unlucky, but even he joined Muesli. ‘Why do you need an option?’

  ‘I don’t want someone who clicks dead bodies,’ I hissed softly.

  ‘Why not?’ Tarzan argued. ‘After all, marriage is the death of singledom. And think about the experience the funeral photographer will have clicking close ups,’ Tarzan chuckled at his own joke.

  ‘Funny joke.’

  ‘I’m not being funny. For all you know, he’ll have deadly photography skills…’

  I didn’t want to hear another death joke. ‘Stop it, Lavith!’ I hissed, covering my ears.

  ‘We can’t fly everyone down to Bangkok, Mahi.’

  ‘So you’ll decide whom we should fly and whom not?’ I challenged him.

  ‘Do you see anyone else around here?’ he asked rudely.

  ‘Ya, me,’ I growled. Then I turned around and started walking away.

  In two long steps, Tarzan reached me and grabbed my wrist. ‘We’re in this together, okay? Together. You can’t just walk out of things, each time you don’t like what’s going on.’

  9

  In which dying embers are stoked and old fires are relit

  I looked into his eyes. There were like Ajay Devgn’s. Black, instense, burning with anger. I knew that he wasn’t talking about thee wedding.

  I shook my hand free and ran away. I went straight to our room – means, to thee room and locked thee door.

  I picked up thee cell. There were ten WhatsApps from Raj. He still wanted job from me very badly. I didn’t know how to make him understand. There was no place for him in my life – means, in Ludhiana to London.

  I sighed and called Niku. The phone rang and rang, there was no reply. I called Bhooto, no reply. I called Dingy, no reply. I called Dumpy, no reply. Everyone who had place in my life was too busy to talk to me.

  I sat like prisoner in thee room. I was so bored that I could only eat or sleep. I did both. First, I opened mini bar and ate all the chips and peanuts and chocolates. Second, I jumped on thee bed and straightened my back.

  When I woke up, I decided to go for relaxing walk around thee resort. The walk was relaxing, till I saw Tarzan coming out of thee spa. He was wearing bath gown and towel-type slippers. Bas, I felt volcano of anger erupt from my body.

  He was enjoying his international holiday, while I was sadoing (oho, rotting) alone in thee room.

  Bas, then and there I decided that enough was enough. I wasn’t going to spend more time thinking of thee past or thee future. I was going to live in thee moment. Only problem was, I didn’t know how to. Either I was busy feeling guilty about thee past or feeling tensed about the future.

  ‘Someone appears to be in a foul mood,’ Tarzan commented.

  ‘If I’d spent whole afternoon in spa, my mood would be good too,’ I replied sweetly.

  ‘So why didn’t you?’ he asked. ‘You know, you deprive yourself too much.’

  ‘You know, you pamper yourself too much. Too much money, have to spend on something, no?’

  His lips pressed together and became papad thin. Hai, I toh wanted to bit my tongue for saying that. It was not his fault that he was rich. Okay, it was little bit his fault that he was rich. He did have family money, but he’d also worked for many years in thee States and earned in dollars-shollars.

  ‘I don’t know why I said that,’ I said, biting my lip.

  ‘I know. Because taunting me seems to be your favourite sport. It comes to your naturally. And if it were an Olympic event, you’d win gold –’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lavith,’ I said in small voice.

  ‘It’s okay, Mahi, I’m used to it,’ he replied.

  Hai, was I really giving him solid all thee time?

  ‘Bye,’ I said feeling little guilty.

  I spinned around to walk away, but banged my toe hard against thee rocky landscape outside thee spa.

  ‘OWWWWWWW!’ I cried, painfully hopping on thee injured foot, trying to rub it at same time. I cursed myself for wearing rubber slippers and not my usual juttis with my Patiala salwar and short kameez.

  ‘Sit,’ Tarzan barked.

  ‘Where? Here?’

  ‘No, on the moon. Where do you think? On that rock. NOW!’

  Tarzan gave command like circus ringmaster. I obeyed like trained lioness.

  I sat on thee rock. He sat down on thee grass.

  ‘May I? He asked.

  I nodded, my heart racing faster than all thee Ferraris, Mercedes, BMWs in Ludhiana.

  With gentle fingers, he took my foot out of my jutti and put it on his thigh.

  SSSSSSSSSSSSIZZZZ!

  Our bodies didn’t contact each other directly – we were wearing clothes – but my skin started burning like I was walking on top of hot burning coals. I looked down. Straight into his eyes. They were like hot coals, too. But his hands, they were like cool water (not perfume, liquid).

  Slowly, softly, expertly, he massaged my legs.

  ‘You went to thee spa to get massaged or to learn how to massage?’ I said jokily, because thee silence was killing.

  ‘Shut up, Mahendar,’ Tarzan whisper
ed, ‘Just shut up and relax.’

  So I did. I closed my eyes and leaned back and let his fingers do thee magic.

  ‘Stars up, handsome man down on you. Nice,’ familiar voice broke into thee moment.

  Tarzan dropped my foot like it was on fire. I opened my eyes to see Muesli smiling down at us.

  ‘Jeez,’ Tarzan muttered, ‘your Muesli says the darndest things.’

  ‘He’s not my Muesli,’ I protested, my voice rough.

  ‘Madame? Sir?’ Muesli leaned forward, trying to hear what we were saying.

  ‘Nothing, nothing,’ I said in hurry-burry, sitting up straight.

  ‘Madame, Sir. If you’ll follow me, ‘I’ll show you the album for the flower arrangements?’

  I turned my nose up. ‘Hello, Mister Mues –’

  ‘Paul,’ Tarzan supplied.

  ‘Mr. Paul, I’m not going to use any ghisa-pita –’

  Museli looked confused.

  ‘Stale type idea,’ I explained, ‘for thee flower arrangement. It’s my BFF’s wedding, after all. I already have brilliant idea –’

  ‘Then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind going through the album,’ Tarzan interrupted smoothly. ‘Unless you’re worried that your idea might suddenly pale in comparison?’

  ‘Worried? Me?’ I said like one proudy.

  ‘I thought as much,’ Tarzan said, pointing hand in thee direction of reception. ‘After you, Paul.’

  I put hand on my thigh and made effort to get up.

  Tarzan and Muesli both offered me their hands. But I made wise decision and took Muesli’s. Tarzan’s eyes flashed angrily. He was acting as if I’d accepted Muesli’s hand in marriage. How could I explain that I wasn’t insulting him, I was just protecting myself. Touching Tarzan was like opening hot oven without gloves. And no Burnol, Boroline, Boro Plus could soothe that burn.

  I limped to thee Reception, my feet and heart both heavy.

  By thee time we finished going through thee bore flower arrangement album, it was dark.

  ‘Dinner time,’ I announced.

  Tarzan’s eyebrows went up. ‘In some part of the world, yes.’

  ‘In my part of thee world.’ I had to, throw something down in my stomach.

  ‘Dinner this early? Since when?’

  ‘Since I left Del–,’ I became red, ‘since some time,’ I changed my statement.