Page 88 of 12 Years
‘It’s just a dinner. I won’t let them call it a roka. Please be patient, Saket. Let me see what can be done.’
‘If you say so …’
‘Okay, Mom’s calling. I have to go. Bye,’ she said, ending the call.
‘Bye. I love you,’ I said to a disconnected line.
‘Bro, where were you? I’m hanging out with plumbers here,’ Mudit said as I walked back into Janata Bar.
‘Sorry, Mudit. I had to speak to Payal. Where’s my drink?’
‘Here,’ Mudit said, topping my glass up with a lot of rum and a little bit of Coke.
I chugged it all down in one go.
‘Bro, easy,’ Mudit said. ‘This isn’t one of those protein shakes you have after the gym.’
‘One more,’ I said.
Shaking his head, Mudit made me another drink. ‘I’m guessing the call didn’t go well,’ he said.
‘I took your suggestion. Asked her to move in. I said, come to Bandra right now. Move into my apartment, and don’t leave, like ever. Told her I’ll handle the rest.’
‘Well done. That’s my brave best friend. What did she say?’
I told him the entire story about her parents going into full-on Anna Hazare hunger-strike mode.
‘Are they nuts?’ Mudit said, stuffing his mouth with a fistful of spicy peanuts.
‘Yeah. And tonight, Parimal and his extended family are visiting them. And some of Payal’s relatives too.’
‘What? It’s her freaking roka? Tonight? And you’re sitting here with carpenters and electricians, drinking Old Monk?’
‘Fuck,’ I said. ‘It’s a roka, right? That’s exactly what I told her.’
I knocked back another drink. The rum inside the Old Monk bottle had receded to a dangerously low level. I picked up a piece of the tandoori chicken and tore the meat off with my teeth.
‘Yeah, I’m not a Jain. So what? This is who I am. I drink rum and eat chicken. Make me another drink,’ I said to Mudit.
‘We can’t just sit here and drink away, bro. We have to do something,’ Mudit said.
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. You’re just going to let this roka happen? Because if it goes through, your game gets three levels harder.’
‘Exactly what I told her.’ I stared at my drink for a few seconds. Then I stood up.
‘What?’ Mudit said.
‘You’re right. We need to do something. Let’s go.’
‘Where?’
‘Ghatkopar, baby. Let’s take this party there,’ I said, taking a sip of the rum directly from the bottle.
The Uber driver took us to Riddhi-Siddhi Niwas in forty minutes.
A security guard stopped us at the entrance. ‘Who do you want to meet?’
