Club You to Death by Anuja Chauhan (books to improve english .TXT) 📕

of Valentine’s Day cards catches his eye. ‘I am with Archie’s Gallery, akchulli. We are doing a survey. How much interest do you get in consumers for Valentine’s Day?’

Her eyebrows rise. ‘This is a kirana shop,’ she replies. ‘We don’t get much excitement on Valentine’s Day. Some of the younger crowd – green card members or dependent children – come in and buy chocolates and a few cards or a single-stemmed rose. That’s it.’

Padam Kumar nods, starting to feel quite pleased with himself. ‘I see, I see … and you, ma’am? What are your plans for Valentine’s Day? Do you, uh … have a date with somebody special?’

She doesn’t reply, just crosses her arms in front of her chest and stares at him steadily for so long that his face starts to turn red.

‘Should I call security?’ she says finally. ‘Or would you prefer to leave quietly with your dignity intact?’

‘I … uh … no, no, I’m not a … You are misunderstanding!’

Her eyebrows rise even higher. ‘Really? You’re from Archie’s Gallery? Can I see some ID?’

Stung to the quick at being taken for some sort of cheap Lothario, he sullenly pulls out his police ID and lays it on the counter (though not without a flourish).

The change in expression is dramatic. Her face pales. She seems to shrink. Eyes wide with apprehension, she looks at him as one would a poisonous snake.

‘What … what do you want?’

‘Nothing,’ Padam Kumar says, now feeling rather flustered and foolish. Bhavani sir didn’t specify if he should reveal his identity to the girl or no.

She stares back at him, uncertainly, dark eyes wide.

‘Is it … about the murder?’ she asks. ‘Because I don’t know anything about it!’

‘Are you married?’ He gathers the shreds of his dignity to ask.

Her hand goes to her bosom, brings out the mangalsutra half hidden in the folds of her saree and holds it before her like a talisman. ‘Yes.’

Padam Kumar feels an entirely disproportionate amount of disappointment at the sight of the black and gold beads.

‘Okay,’ he says curtly, then turns on his heel and walks out the shop, his cheeks flaming red.

DIRTY TRICKS CLUB?

Elections at the uber exclusive Delhi Turf Club, once a dignified affair, have been turning murkier and murkier in the last decade. This year’s election has already been in the news with stories of one of the candidates for president, Lt Gen. Mehra (retd) PVSM AVSM Yudh Sewa Medal, holding large, lascivious parties with fancy alcohol and fancy women to woo the two thousand-odd permanent members of the club, doing the rounds.

And now his opponent in the election, Chrysanthemum founder -president Urvashi Khurana is in the news too, after her trainer, with whom she was rumoured to be having an affair, was found dead in the Club’s gym. A connection with the upcoming election cannot be ruled out.

Businessman Gagan Ruia, who was not allowed to enter the formal dining room at the DTC recently because he was wearing traditional Indian shoes, said, ‘It is clear that the rot runs deep in the DTC’s systems. It needs to be placed under some kind of government control.’

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]▼

SUB: DTC CORE COMMITTEE MEETING

Dear Members,

PFA the attached clipping from the India Post’s ‘Gossip and Gupshup’ section. We need to come up with an action plan to deal with this brewing crisis.

Equally importantly, a date needs to be fixed for the postponed Club elections. That will be the main agenda of today’s core committee meeting.

Please be at my residence at 12.30 p.m. sharp. I shall be serving snacks and lunch.

Warm regards,

Devendar Bhatti

President

‘What do you think we should do, Balbir?’

The core committee is sitting in Devendar Bhatti’s large, well-lit living room, sipping Scotch or nimbu pani as per their medical restrictions, in pleasant anticipation of more solid sustenance to follow. Their average age is sixty-five-plus.

‘I think you should postpone the election by a couple of months, sir,’ Brig. Dogra says at once. ‘I mean no offence to either candidate, but any one of them could be involved in this thing up to their eyeballs, and our by-laws state quite clearly that nobody embroiled in a criminal case can stand for Club election till they are clean-chitted.’

‘Or we could hold the election with two new candidates,’ murmurs Bambi’s father, industrialist Pankaj Todi – a short, fat, very fair man with a smoothly shaven head, long-lashed, beautiful eyes and fleshy lips. ‘Gen. Mehra and Urvashi can take their chances next time around, when this whole jhamela has blown over. What d’you say, Bhatti?’

Bhatti looks at Todi with open hostility. ‘You are the reason we are in this situation in the first place,’ he says. ‘If you hadn’t brought that clown Gagan Ruia to the Club, then he couldn’t have kicked up such a fuss about his ruddy juttis, and we would still be flying under the government’s radar like we’ve been doing for seventy years!’

Todi’s jaw drops at this blunt attack. ‘But I was just trying to … help the Club,’ he says. ‘Matlab, being on good terms with the current dispensation is important, isn’t it?’ He looks appealingly about the room.

There is a subdued, but unanimous murmur of agreement from the rest of the gathering.

Bhatti’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down agitatedly. ‘Crass commercialism!’ he says slightly incoherently. ‘Populism! Majoritarianism!’

Behra Mehra puts down his drink and sits forward. ‘You’re being a little naive, Bhatti,’ he says smoothly. ‘Like it or not, the IJP is firmly in the saddle now, and going to be calling the political shots for a while. A good club president would understand that it pays to be on their right side.’

Bhatti makes a sound that is half-snort, half-squawk. ‘And you’re that “good club president” I presume? Because Gagan Ruia’s father and you are as thick as thieves!’

Mehra bows. ‘I have been privileged enough to serve under Ruia bhai, and yes, we do have a good equation. I think that can only help the Club.’

‘He