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

used to live when Ganga was cleaning for him. If I’d kept my head, and allowed them to take you away, Bhavani wouldn’t have been able to make anything stick.

But I’m glad I stood up for you.

Even if it was all a trick.

And you were in on it.

Hopefully it makes up in some small way for the shit I’ve dumped on you my whole life.

Leo put me off religion with all his chutiyamatic hypocritical sermonizing, but surely, confessing to clear your name was a sort of penance, after all?

Maybe it’s a promo code I can use in the courtroom.

Frankly, even bumping off Anshul Poddar should count as a promo code in the courtroom. I wish Cookie auntie had taken a video of THAT. Of the blue Shivling connecting with his saanp head and the blood spurting and the shards and the Swarovskis flying everywhere. NGL, I would watch that on repeat. I would watch that on repeat in SLOW-MOTION.

I love you, Kashi Dogra.

I don’t want to drag you into my fucked-up life any further, but d’you know any good lawyers?

Kashi folds up the sheets of paper, and hands them back to Bhavani. ‘D’you think I should defend her?’

Bhavani’s square, homely face is sympathetic but grave. ‘No.’

Kashi rakes the hair off his forehead and looks at the ACP bemusedly. ‘I think … I don’t know what to think, I guess! I feel foul for her – she was such a sweet little girl – entitled and privileged of course, but also so sunshiny and confident and eager to please, and then, somehow, she got so … Shit! It’s hard to find the word. So … so corrupted!’

‘Yes,’ Bhavani says sadly.

‘Poor little Bambu Todi. And look at Leo – growing up in an orphanage, with all sorts of grudges and inferiority complexes and a twisted view of religion, with bitterness gnawing at his heart constantly! Preaching and leeching, as Bambi puts it, and wanting to marry a murderess! The whole thing suck balls.’

Bhavani sighs. ‘Vakeel sa’ab.’

Kashi looks up at him, scowling. ‘What?’

‘Don’t take the case.’

‘I didn’t ask for your advice,’ Kashi says shortly.

Bhavani smiles. ‘Actually, you did. And so we’re giving it – your problem is that you are a Mother Teresa-type. Your heart is too big.’

Kashi flushes. ‘You’re making fun of me.’

No.’ Bhavani shakes his head. ‘But we will say this – make your heart a little smaller. Focus.’

‘Matlab?’ Kashi glares at him with resentful, defensive eyes.

‘Lighten up! Forget the world’s problems! Go to Kalahandi. To the lady who is building a roof. Tell her you have taken some time off to be with her, and that she should also take some time off to be with you.’

‘But …’ Kashi frowns. ‘But I start work today. And I have no tickets…’

Bhavani shrugs genially, his eyes twinkling. ‘So?’

Kashi stares at him, hope rising as sudden as a wildfire in his heart. Kuhu Bannerjee. Abrupt, simple, straightforward Kuhu. Talking animatedly about architecture, listening to him, laughing with him, walking with him, showing him her village, her school, her children, her famous roof.

‘I could check the flights,’ he says slowly. ‘Fly to Bhubaneswar and drive to Kalahandi.’

Bhavani chuckles and slaps him on the back. ‘Now you’re talking, vakeel sa’ab!’

Galvanized to action, Kashi leaps to his feet and starts throwing things into a bag. He barely even notices when Bhavani leaves.

It takes him just about half an hour to buy a ticket online, stuff some clothes, toiletries, Kuhu’s COD books, and his laptop into a cabin baggage–sized bag. Marvelling at how simple everything is if you want it to be, he calls an Uber.

Fortune is truly favouring him today. He’s connected to a driver right outside, dropping somebody off, who is game for an airport drop. Kashi slams the front door shut, hefts his bag and hurtles down the stairs like a maniac.

The passenger has still not quite exited the Uber when Kashi rushes up and throws his rucksack in.

‘What the fuck, bro!’ She says indignantly, in a strong, musical voice. Then her eyes widen. ‘Kash? Where’re you going?’

And Kashi just stands there and drinks in the sight of her – travel-weary, a little sweaty, her kajal smudged, her kurta crumpled and her eyes just a little unsure of her welcome. And his heart does exactly what Bhavani Singh had advised it to do – it becomes smaller and smaller until all it can hold is her. There is a tightness in his chest and the sting of tears in his eyes as he closes the distance between them with one hasty step and clasps her firmly to his heart.

‘I was going to you,’ he says gruffly. ‘Dammit Bannerjee! You’ve fucked up my travel plans again. Just how many tickets are you going to make me cancel?’

Meanwhile, Bhavani, almost home now, sits back in his official car and heaves a sigh of satisfaction.

The case has wrapped up nicely, all in all. The killer has been caught. The little love story has closed satisfactorily. An orphan has found a family. A hardened addict has gone back into rehab, swearing to his mother that this time he will come back clean and stay that way. At least one sinister plan of a megalomaniac defence minister has been foiled. A certain brand of bling encrusted ShivBling is poised to get a lot of free publicity, which will probably result in a huge peak in sales for Cookie Katoch. And judging from his chastened, sober demeanour, a certain young inspector seems to be pining for a young woman whom he considered, only three weeks ago, far beneath him.

Oh, and a hundred and eighty-year-old club seems to be well on its way to gaining its first female president.

There is just one more thing that remains to be done.

Bhavani leans forward. ‘Take it from the Khan Market side,’ he tells the driver. ‘We have to buy five stalks of pink Oriental lilies.’

Acknowledgements.

I’ll start with the clubs.

The Army Club in