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

‘Mahadev.’ Old Mrs Dogra smiles dreamily. Then she folds her hands and bows reverentially in the direction of the man on the stage. ‘Om Namah Shiva.’

Natasha smothers a snort of laughter. ‘He does look a bit like the hotter renditions of Shiva, actually,’ she whispers. ‘It’s the hooded eyes, and the man-bun, and the cobra-like muffler. D’you think Dadi’s nursing a crush?’

Bambi giggles. ‘On Leo?’

Kashi frowns. ‘His name’s Leo?’

She nods. ‘Leo Matthew. Isn’t he decorative? He’s part Jamaican, part desi.’

‘Oh, but—’ Kashi starts to speak, then goes silent.

‘What?’ Bambi prompts.

Kashi shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’

Leo is holding up another number now. His muscles ripple beneath his tightly fitted coat. Old Mrs Dogra sighs gustily.

The brigadier lets out a short grunt. ‘Ridiculous ape. Gigolo.’

‘Daddy!’ Natasha is scandalized. ‘That’s not nice.’

‘Yes, Balbir uncle, Leo isn’t sleeping with anybody for money as far as I know,’ Bambi chimes in.

‘I know a bloody Rasputin when I see one,’ the brigadier replies tersely.

‘What’s bloodyrasp you teen?’ Dhan asks interestedly.

‘Dhan, finish your drink,’ his mother snaps. ‘Leo’s a legit, highly sought-after personal trainer who conducts some classes in functional training, body combat and Zumba at the DTC gym. Daddy’s just being appallingly regressive, that’s all.’

‘D’you go for his classes, Nattu?’ Kashi asks.

‘My mornings are spent at The Wonder Years,’ she replies resignedly, ‘wondering where my years went.’

‘That’s my school,’ Dhan informs the table.

‘Wonderful.’ Kashi turns to Bambi. ‘What about you?’

‘I pay up regularly.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘But I barely go. They’re at six-thirty in the morning – who is even awake then?’

On the stage, Leo is now holding up a 0 and a 2.

‘Runner’s up, number two!’ says Mr Srivastava. ‘Only two, number two!’

‘We don’t have that either,’ Natasha grumbles. ‘On any of our ten tickets! How is that even possible?’

Right then there is a muted call of ‘Middle line’ and a portly man in a red-and-white striped sweater puts up his hand. The crowd wilts, then revives philosophically. There’s still the Full House, after all.

On stage, Mr Srivastava’s jowly face splits into a spectacularly dentured smile.

‘Ah yes! A claim for the middle line, which today, is worth ten lakh! Come right up here, sir!’

‘Who’s he?’ Mrs Mala Dogra nudges her husband.

He shakes his head. ‘Must be somebody’s guest. I don’t know the fellow.’

As the man in the red-and-white striped sweater starts to walk to the stage, smiling shyly, a nasal voice sounds triumphantly from the far end of the lawn. ‘Middle line! Middle line completed over here!’

The crowd murmurs, removes its designer sunglasses, and swivels around to look at this new claimant.

He is on his feet – a narrow-shouldered, wide-hipped man with thinning hair, a black shirt and yellow suspenders.

The brigadier raises his eyebrows.

‘Here’s a tamasha, I say!’ he murmurs. ‘That’s Mukki Khurana – Urvashi Khurana’s husband!’

His wife looks around interestedly. ‘What will happen now, Balbir?’

He grunts. ‘If they both have middle lines, they’ll have to split the prize. Fifty-fifty. So five lakh each, instead of a cool ten. Still, it’s something!’

On stage, old Mr Srivastava is looking unperturbed. ‘And we may have a tie!’ he exclaims. ‘Yes, yes, come forward, let’s check both tickets please!’

Both claimants hand their tickets to Leo, then stand beside the stage to await Srivastava’s verdict.

There is a discussion between Leo and Srivastava. It starts off quietly, but becomes loud and growly really fast. Finally, the Club Secretary snatches the two tickets from Leo in a manner that is so aggressive that the latter steps back haughtily, crossing his arms across his chest.

‘This is a shit show,’ he says, quite audibly.

The crowd begins to bubble and boil.

Mukesh Khurana steps forward, snatches the two tickets from Srivastava and compares them. Then he grabs the mic from the old man.

‘Cheating!’ he cries in a shrill, aggrieved voice. ‘Cheating! The two tickets are the exact-same!’

Consternation sweeps the crowd. Everybody turns to look at each other.

‘But that’s impossible!’

‘The game’s rigged!’

‘Ya, but there’s still no need to for Mukki to shout. He’s not selling vegetables in Azadpur mandi, you know.’

‘The gigolo has bungled it,’ the brigadier says disgustedly. ‘Too busy prancing around showing off his body to hold up the correct numbers properly!’

Kashi frowns. ‘Dad, don’t be rude.’

Mrs Mala Dogra shoots her husband a warning look.

He changes tack. ‘Or maybe the first guy got a bogey,’ he says placatingly. ‘He anyway looks like a bloody chaat-wallah.’

His grandson chuckles delightedly. ‘Bloodyrasp you teen! Bloody doodhwala!’

‘Balbir, please,’ Mrs Mala Dogra hisses. ‘It’s because you talk in that obnoxious way that Kashi thinks the club is snobbish!’

But Kashi’s mind is on something else. He shakes his head, confused. ‘What am I missing?’

‘There can’t be two identical tickets,’ Natasha explains. ‘Every tambola ticket is … has to be unique. Like a lottery ticket. Two identical tickets implies either an error – or deliberate rigging.’

On the stage, old Mr Srivastava holds up both hands. ‘One moment … one moment … we will just sort all this out …’

‘I was here first!’ the man in the striped sweater steps forward with tentative aggression.

‘So what?’ Khurana starts snapping his suspenders menacingly. ‘I also completed at the same moment you did!’

‘But fastest finger first.’ Sweater Guy sticks to his guns valiantly.

‘We’re not playing KBC,’ Khurana retorts. He turns to face the crowd. ‘Does Srivastava look like Amitabh Bachchan to you?’ he asks with a loud neighing laugh.

Kashi raises his eyebrows. ‘What a gem of a guy. Is his wife like this too?’

Bambi bites her lip. ‘Urvashi auntie’s really nice. I wish she were here …’

‘I was here first.’ Sweater Guy turns to appeal to Leo. ‘Wasn’t I, bhaisaab?’

Leo nods and pats his back. ‘Yes, indeed, you were.’

‘And even though I was here first, I don’t mind splitting the ten lakh with this gentleman!’

‘Or you could arm wrestle,’ Leo suggests half-jokingly.

‘Can I please speak?’ Bulldog-y old Srivastava struggles to re-establish his authority. ‘I have been calling out the tambola numbers these thirty years—’

Khurana swings around to face him, providing the crowd with a perfect view of the magnificent wedgie he has given