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

‘Bhai, it is really high time that the DTC replaced its tambola kit! Srivastava insists ki it is an antique piece, but if you ask me, calling any toota-phoota old thing an antique is just being pretentious! I told him ek naya set mangwaate hain, there are so many options available in the market today … If the Club is short of funds, then I will sponsor it personally, but he is just refusing to listen! And Bhatti is supporting him!’

‘That is because Bhatti is quite a toota-phoota antique piece himself!’

‘A lot of the members here are antique pieces too.’

‘Not me.’ Katoch guffaws loudly. ‘I have a young and perky “member”! Who d’you think all these blingy lingams are modelled upon?’ He winks.

Everybody cracks up, with Katoch laughing the loudest.

Meanwhile, in another circle, the DTC Zumba ladies are scarfing down focaccia and champagne and mourning the loss of their trainer.

‘Those lashes.’

‘So long. And that hair.’

‘So thick. Talking of thick, babe, we need to find a replacement trainer ASAP. How are Thapa and Thambi? Any good?’

‘You mean Thinsuk and Thampi,’ Urvashi Khurana corrects the speaker gently. ‘Mukki trains with Thampi. He says he’s good for sculpting and strength but not for cardio.’

‘Leo was great for cardio. Just looking at him set my heart racing!’ Cookie Katoch sighs.

Everybody follows suit.

‘He was so sweet, na? Noticed immediately if anybody was slacking off, or having some gynaec issue or using the wrong technique – paid so much attention to each and every one equally!’

Roshni pulls a wry face. ‘You make him sound like a gigolo.’

‘Are you mad!’ Cookie grabs another piece of focaccia and soaks it liberally in olive oil. ‘Leo would’ve made a terrible gigolo. Asking you to lay off carbs all the time, and tsk-tsking over your flabby triceps, and saying he was terribly, personally disappointed in you if you “finished” too soon! I like my gigolos plump and non-judgemental, please.’

This makes everybody scream with laughter.

‘He was so good with Arya also,’ Roshni Aggarwal says wistfully. ‘I had really high hopes that he would pull him out of his dark place …’

The ladies murmur sympathetically.

‘Don’t worry so much about Arya, Roshni,’ Urvashi tells her friend. ‘He’s making such an effort to improve himself – it’s too commendable! My God, I was such a mess when I was his age! What temper tantrums, what selfishness and drama – my poor parents were constantly at their wits end!’

‘Lies,’ Cookie Katoch declares roundly. ‘All lies. You must have been the goody-goody head-girl type since the day you were born!’

Urvashi smiles at her fondly. ‘Oh, it’s taken me a long time to get to this place, Cooks. You’ve no idea.’

Roshni’s tight face softens a little. ‘Maybe my boy will get over his … problems too. I’ll speak to Thampi, Urvi.’

Urvashi squeezes her friend’s hands. ‘Great.’

‘Oi Cookie!’ Katoch calls out from across the garden in a ringing voice. ‘Congruchulations! All your pieces have been sold! Young Ruia just bought the last and most expensive piece!’

‘Oh my God, girls!’ Cookie gives a little scream of delight and reaches out to hug her friends. ‘Thank you so much for coming to my exhibition!’

And then Bambi Todi comes running up to the ladies, dragging Gagan Ruia behind her. ‘Group hug!’ she shouts. ‘Three cheers for Cookie auntie and all her ShivBlings!’

The ladies crowd in, laughing and smiling as Ruia produces his phone. They pout and shout and pose as the camera clicks repeatedly. The bonhomie is palpable.

And yet, muses Bhavani Singh, munching his final mushroom-and-bacon canape of the day and wiping his hands on a napkin monogrammed with the DTC’s horse and jockey logo, and yet, one of this group of laughing, privileged people is a cold-blooded poisoner …

Bambi Todi, very buzzed from all the bubbly she has consumed, rushes into the Ladies to wash out the red wine somebody has sloshed onto her white jumper. She whips it off and lays it under the running tap in the wash basin. Wearing just a skimpy lace bra and jeans, she stares slightly unfocusedly into the mirror and smiles – a smile that Nattu would no doubt have called a chutiya smile.

Three times, she thinks dreamily. After ignoring me completely for three whole years, Kashi Dogra has managed to bump into me three whole times within a week! Sunday, at the Bumper Tambola, could’ve been a coincidence. Monday – okay so the cops called him in. But today? First at the memorial service, and now he’s hanging around at Cookie auntie’s penis exhibition! And he says he wants to be friends!

I can do friends, she thinks seriously, as she finger-combs her damp hair. I can totally do friends. I need a friend – especially with things so fucked up at home, and Leo dead, and the cops sniffing after poor Ganga and everything! And of course he has a girlfriend and shit, but I won’t intrude on the GF’s space – I will fully respect her superior claim on him. I’m more than happy with just friendship …

Because if they’re friends, then even boring conversations at the DTC become fun because they can both look up to meet each other’s eyes across the room in silent, shared laughter … They can redeem shitty web series by ranting against them together late in the night … She can reach across the table and pick up food from his plate and pop it into her mouth … She can fiercely contest points on a game of tennis and watch him throw down his racquet and lose his shit … She can edit his Instagram DPs for him so he looks hotter – not that he needs help looking hot any more given how lithe and muscly he is, with the shock of unruly black hair that falls onto his broad forehead, blatantly soliciting a pushback from female fingers …

It’s like a part of her had fallen asleep once she let Kashi Dogra leave