Blowfish Read online

  ‘It doesn’t necessarily need to be that bad Chaddha.’

  He wasn’t listening. ‘If only I had a real gun Bhandari, I would chop their heads off and clear the banquet grounds for you.’

  I wanted to point out that he needed a sharp dagger and not a gun. But, it was dangerous to do that, it was like asking a dormant volcano to spell ERUPT.

  ‘Don’t worry Chaddha,’ I said, ‘I’ll go, toss a bouquet at the bride and groom and run away man.’

  He picked his air-gun and aimed it at me, ‘Pick a gulab jamun for me on the way out,’ he said.

  I shaved and wore a bright grey suit. Sampu had forced me to buy it to wear at his wedding. ‘You’re my best man Mukund. You should wear a suit that shines like a snake. Look like a cobra, dance like a cobra, it’s my wedding man!’ he had said. I got carried away. It was a mistake. Chaddha sings ‘Shine on you crazy diamond’ each time he sees me in that suit.

  I bought a nice bouquet. I promised myself an early, painless exit.

  I met my old classmates. One of them was certain that the Indian real estate bubble was about to burst, someone else had gone to Machu Picchu and taken photos on their phone, a goateed chap had become a COO in an insurance brokerage, one balding CA, MBA had started a company that was valued at fifty million USD. I nodded, smiled and yes-yessed my way through it. What was going on with me? They asked. I told them I was on a break and excused myself. I didn’t feel like going through the standard rigmarole on why I quit. I could feel their eyes on me as I walked away.

  I hadn’t met the bride and groom yet. There was a long queue of people waiting to congratulate them. I didn’t feel like getting in the queue. I put the bouquet on a table where the gifts were piled. I’ll come back after a while, I told myself. I took Chaddha’s advice. I picked a hot kesar badam milk and walked out.

  I wandered about. I sipped at my drink and smoked a cigarette. I walked by a palm tree lined apartment complex and a parking lot that reeked of diesel. I reached Galleria. Someone honked at me. I got off the road and walked into the market. A man dressed as a cowboy stood outside a restaurant and gently strummed his ukulele. He gave me a big broad smile and handed me a flyer. I walked up a flight of stairs and stood in front of a magazine stand. I scanned the covers. I looked around. A mannequin in a red thong stared at me from a Marks and Spencer lingerie shop. I was about to turn away when a girl came out of the shop.

  ‘Mukund,’ she said.

  It was Nisha.

  ‘Hi,’ I heard myself say.

  ‘Hi, how are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m OK,’ I said, ‘I was at Gayatri’s wedding reception. It’s across the road.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come?’

  ‘I’m here only for a few days. Couldn’t make it.’

  I nodded.

  ‘So you’re going back soon?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I have a flight early next week.’

  ‘OK.’ I said. ‘When did you come?’

  ‘I came … let’s see …’ she looked up, absent minded as she had always been, ‘hmm … I think about two weeks back.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ I said.

  ‘How have you been?’

  ‘I’ve been good. Good, good … how about you?’

  ‘Settled in. Lots of work,’ she said. ‘Haven’t been able to travel too much. I had thought I’ll see Europe but no such luck.’

  ‘Hmm … I’m sure you’ll be able to make time soon.’

  ‘I hope so. Are you still with Gibbons?’

  ‘No, I quit.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Nowhere … I’m not doing anything nowadays.’

  ‘Hmmm … OK,’ Awkward silence, I shuffled my feet, she looked down and re-arranged her shopping bags. She had bought a lot of lingerie.

  ‘Accha, listen, I’ll need to rush. Will call you sometime,’ she said.

  ‘Sure, sure, take care …’ I said.

  ‘You too,’ a perfunctory hug and then she was gone.

  I wanted to run after her and ask her if she got my emails. I wanted to ask if her India number still works. I wanted to ask her if she really intends to call me. I wanted to ask her if there was still a chance. But, I stood there. My heart knew the answers to all those questions, especially the last one.

  I went downstairs. I looked around. She had disappeared.

  I went to the liquor store and bought myself a quarter bottle of Golconda brandy. A few gulps later, I felt courage returning to my cold, cold feet. I walked out and walked past the wedding venue. I got into my car and turned the key. What the fuck have I been doing? What did I expect? It’s over man, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

  The Cars was playing on the stereo. I tapped on the steering wheel. It was now or never, I told myself. I didn’t care if it made me look like a fool.

  I reached her apartment building in a few minutes. I didn’t have the courage to do this without another big swig from the bottle. I took one and emptied the bottle. I put the empty bottle in my coat pocket.

  I walked into the lobby. The security guard asked me who I had come to meet. I told him that a girl called Suman lives here, a girl who drives a yellow Getz. He was suspicious but I was wearing a suit and a tie. I told him I’m not a credit card salesman and gave him a good hard stare. He wilted. He dialled a number on the intercom. A man answered. The guard gave me the phone.

  ‘Hello, who’s this?’ the man said.

  ‘Hi, this is Mukund. Is Suman at home? I’m her friend from the guitar class.’

  ‘Wait a minute …’ the man said. After what seemed like an interminable silence he came back. ‘Come on up,’ he said.

  I wanted to be rid of all possible illusions that I had secretly harboured, and nurtured. It would make this day complete. I thought there was something between Suman and me. It would be good to know that it wasn’t true. I wanted her to throw me out. It was the least I deserved for barging in, and that too drunk.

  I got into the elevator and pressed the button to her floor.

  Sad Looking Man

  in a Shiny Suit

  She came to the door wearing glasses and pyjamas and no slippers.

  ‘Hi’ she said.

  ‘Hi, I found a good guitar teacher,’ I said mechanically. I looked down. My shoes were dusty. They looked terribly sad.

  ‘Ok, that’s good,’ she nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I swayed a bit and hoped it would go unnoticed.

  She noticed it. I searched my brains for something to say.

  ‘Also, I’m here for our first club meeting,’ I said.

  ‘Ah, yes, the club of confused people.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I dissolved it. I was the only member. You didn’t join. No one joined except me.’

  ‘I think they were not sure if they should or shouldn’t, they got confused.’

  She smiled. I smiled. It felt nice.

  ‘I really liked The Cars,’ I said after a while.

  ‘They are terrific, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, they are, I think Ric Ocasek is fabulous.’

  ‘He is, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ I was swaying again. I steadied the ship and smiled.

  She was quiet for a while. She was looking at me, studying me. I didn’t have the guts to look at her.

  ‘Have you been drinking?’ she asked.

  ‘Just because I agree with your taste in music doesn’t mean I’m drunk.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ she smiled again.

  ‘No, I haven’t been drinking,’ I lied.

  ‘All right. Come in.’

  ‘I’m lying. I have the bottle to prove it,’ I said. I took out the empty brandy quarter from my breast pocket and showed it to her.

  She didn’t react. ‘Where were you? A wedding?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, how do you know?’

  ‘This seems to be your standard wedding suit,’ she sounded amused.

&
nbsp; ‘You really know things!’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I do. The shine gives it away,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I have to play my part. No wedding album is complete without me.’

  ‘And what part do you play?’

  ‘I pose for those photos that have a sad looking man in a shiny suit lurking in the background.’

  ‘Oh, those.’

  ‘Yes, a sad looking man who stands with his hands in his pocket and his paunch jutting out proudly.’

  ‘That does seem like an important part. Good for you!’

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ I said and smiled. Our eyes met. I couldn’t look at her eyes. I wanted to look at her eyes. I looked down again.

  ‘If I were you, I would throw me out,’ I said to her.

  She took off her glasses and said in a low, gentle voice, ‘That thought did cross my mind.’

  I heard myself giggling. I couldn’t stop. She was grinning too. A kind, warm, radiant grin, a grin that made her big eyes crease at the corners. I felt like someone had thrown a warm blanket on my trembling heart.

  ‘Come in,’ she said and left the door ajar.

  How can you Mend

  a Broken Heart?

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked before I entered.

  She nodded. I stumbled into a brightly lit hall. Her father was watching the news on TV. A tall glass of whiskey and bucket of ice stood on the table. I said hello. He nodded and smiled. I wobbled a bit. The brandy had hit me hard. The whole thing seemed like a terrible mistake now.

  ‘I’ll introduce you to Appa later,’ she said casually and hurriedly led me through a short corridor to her room.

  It was a small bare room with a bed, a study table and a high stool. A laptop lay on her bed was playing Felix the Cat.

  She sat on the stool and pointed me to the bed. Three books and two CDs lay on the study table. The books’ spines faced the wall but I could read the CD covers: Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together and The Cars’ Greatest Hits.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be. It’s all right,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m truly embarrassed.’

  ‘Forget it,’ she said.

  I looked around, the walls seemed to be freshly painted, ‘How long have you been staying here?’ I asked.

  ‘Three months, I think. I took a long break from work,’ she paused, and then said, ‘I don’t live here. This is my parents’ house.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Hong Kong. Been there for around five years.’

  ‘Oh, Ok.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When do you leave?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m leaving day after tomorrow. It’s an early morning flight. Would you like some coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Some biscuits, something to eat?’

  ‘No, thanks. I think I’d better go. I’m sorry, this is not how I wanted us to meet.’

  She didn’t say anything. She was looking down at the floor. I didn’t get up.

  ‘I think I owe you an explanation,’ I said after a while.

  She shook her head. ‘No, you don’t have to explain. I think I understand.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded. Her feet moved back and forth like a kid on a swing.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘What is what?’

  ‘I mean what is it that you understand?’

  ‘Well … that you wanted to meet me,’ she was looking at me when she said that. Our eyes met. I shied away, this was embarrassing, I tried changing the subject, ‘This guy, the guitar teacher, is taking a class tomorrow. Would you like to come?’

  ‘Umm … I’m not sure. I’ll see if I can find time.’

  She’s leaving the day after. Why would she attend a guitar class? You are such a dumb-fuck Mukund!

  I searched for something to say. She was wearing a blue-striped fleece night suit, the ones you see in American sitcoms. I heard myself asking, ‘Where did you get these pinstriped pyjamas from?’

  ‘You mean these?’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, this sounds like a stupid question.’

  ‘It’s all right. They look pompous, don’t they?’

  ‘A bit. I mean, like a butler will knock on your door anytime now with eggs and bacon, and the morning newspaper.’

  She smiled. ‘I hadn’t planned this trip. I had my passport in my laptop bag. I just took a cab to the airport straight from office, I bought a ticket and before I knew I was in Delhi shivering like an idiot in a t-shirt and jeans. I got home, my teeth were chattering.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Yes, so my mom went off and got me lots of warm clothes. She got this from Marks and Spencer.’

  ‘Marks and Spencer? I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been standing in front of a Marks and Spencer store earlier today evening.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have been here?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t have had the courage to come to you.’

  ‘I thought drinking gave you that courage.’

  ‘Yes, that too, but Marks and Spencer played an important part.’

  ‘Hmmm …’ she said. She knew when not to probe further. She said, ‘So as of now, my worldly possessions include these books and CDs and a few clothes including this priceless night suit.’

  I smiled, ‘That I guess is all you need to be happy.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true.’

  ‘I’ve never heard Al Green,’ I said pointing to the CD.

  ‘Oh, he has an amazing voice. Appa is a huge fan. Should I play it?’

  ‘Yes, yes’ I said.

  She played a song called How Can You Mend a Broken Heart? He had a a great voice. I sat hunched on the bed. Her fingers played with the dust on the table.

  ‘What’s your surname,’ I asked after a while.

  ‘Pasupathy.’

  ‘Suman Pasupathy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That sounds pompous too.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she smiled.

  ‘My name is Mukund Bhandari.’

  ‘All right Mukund Bhandari. Would you like to have some coffee?’

  I said yes.

  She went to the kitchen. I waited in her room. I was curious to know what she was reading. I tiptoed to the table and picked up the books—Big Money by P.G Wodehouse, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte and a biography of the architect Laurie Baker. She had pencilled “SP” along with the date on the first page of each book.

  They were all bought on the same day about two months back. In Jane Eyre, she had written a quote from the novel: I am no bird; and no net ensnares me. This girl was going through stuff, I could tell.

  She came back ten minutes later with two cups. She told me her parents were insisting that I join them for dinner. Disaster! I told her I would love to but I was still feeling a bit high and it might be inappropriate.

  ‘My appa won’t let you go without having something to eat.’

  ‘They are very kind. Please make me a rope out of old saris. I’d like to jump out of this window.’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘I don’t have old saris. We’ll go in ten minutes.’

  ‘What will happen in ten minutes? Will your butler sound the dinner gong?’

  ‘Yes, he will,’ she laughed.

  I was a little apprehensive now. ‘I don’t appear respectable even when I’m not drunk,’ I said.

  ‘You seem fine,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure? I look like the villain’s henchman, the one with the mole on his cheek, the one who dies first when the hero opens fire.’

  ‘You don’t,’ she said.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You’re overthinking. Appa won’t notice, he’s had a few drinks—his Friday ritual. And Amma will be too busy stuffing us with food. The key is to distract yourself, to stop thinking that you’re drunk.’

  ‘Yeah, all right. Tell me something that would distract me.’

  ‘Ok … let me think …’ she clo
sed her eyes. ‘Ok, I have something, it’s a little weird but apt.’

  ‘The weirder the better.’

  ‘Ok … when I watch an item number in films, I tend to focus on the extras at the back and not at the hero or heroine.’

  ‘Weird but sensible, carry on.’

  ‘The ones with the put-on smiles and ill-fitting shiny suits, the ones who are dancing awkwardly in the back corner.’

  ‘I see where this is going. My suit has a bit of a shine to it and it’s ill-fitting.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘But you are thinking that, you said it was apt.’

  ‘Yes, in that suit you do look a bit like that.’

  They had served dinner for four. Her father was a shy, sweet man. He seemed a bit tipsy when he joined us at the table. He nodded at me, glared at the TV and said, ‘This Telangana debate gets my goat’.

  He didn’t say a word after that. I kept quiet too. I smiled and nodded a few times. Her mother was a great cook. She was tall, good looking and talkative. I could see a lot of Suman in her. She told me she misses Chennai. Gurgaon had been a bit of a shock for her. She didn’t like it one bit. I said she’s right but there is still one good thing about Gurgaon. She asked what it was. I said it didn’t have Chennai’s auto drivers. She grinned. I was pleased with myself.

  I tried to leave as soon as we were done. Her mother insisted we had some coffee. ‘It’s like dessert,’ she said.

  Suman came to the door. We exchanged numbers. I was so excited I even told her my address. I told her the guitar class is at 11 am and that it was not too far from her place.

  I said, ‘I know it doesn’t make any sense for you to come.’

  ‘Nothing makes much sense,’ she said.

  I nodded and said, ‘Yes, nothing makes much sense.’