An Important Night

"There are more important things in the world than money," she said, taking a sip from her red wine, "It's another matter altogether that I can't think of one right now."

It was typical of her to make a statement like that, he thought, gazing fondly at her. He could never imagine her otherwise. "It's all right, you don't have to, darling. All you have to do is get rich quick, so that I can break your petite little shoulders, while you earn for the both of us," he laughed, raising his own wine glass.

Tinkle of laughter, or something of the sort. She wasn't the sort who tinkled. She had a raspy sort of snort that she emitted to indicate pleasure at something. Her features could not quite contain a tinkle of any sort, he mused, but gem that she was, she wasn't really concerned. While he tenderly described her as 'on the heavier side', Chandni would snort and call herself 'fat'. That was the kind of person she was.

“Fag!" she exclaimed, with mock disdain, “Blood-sucking fag! Who told you to go in for those airy-fairy NGO things in the first place?!”

“I’m the tender sort, love. Not made out to suck blood in true corporate fashion like you, at any rate,” he retorted happily. This was the sort of exchange they had missed, the sort of stupid laughs and stupid insults that somehow lost their bite over the phone or over the internet chat. It was the kind of evening that demanded personal presence, an almost full moon lording over the sky in its jaundice colour, and the clink of red wine glasses drained quite dry of their red wine.

“God, I’ve missed this,” she said suddenly, giving words to his stream of thought. And on impulse, she reached forward to hug him. It was an incomplete funny little hug, as they were both on cushions, legs splayed over the verandah floor, but it was a hug nonetheless, and that satisfied Chandni’s sense of closeness.

“Good grief, woman. You’re going to be a rich MBA. You can’t get all touchy-feely like this!” he laughed, placing the glass a little out of the way, where she would not crush the damn thing.

“Of course I can, “ she shot back, tilting her head back, and her nose up in the air, “I’m just getting ready for all those gorgeous men in the office I’ll be sexually harassing”, and she gave something that passed for a wicked cackle in her head.

“You’re drunk, babe,” he pointed out.

“I’m buzzed,” she nodded, and then looked at her empty glass mournfully. A split second later, she looked up again – “Fancy going out?”

He grinned. It was just the sort of thing that she would have come back with. It was just the sort of thing he wanted, too. Getting even more drunk. The excuse? Will ‘tomorrow is another day’, suffice, he wondered. Who cares! “Sure” – lopsided grin again.

*****2

"So, what’s more important than money?" he shouted in Chandni’s ears, over the loud music. He was rewarded by a smile of total absentia in her face, and he knew he had to shout louder in her brain for her to hear - "WHAT'S MORE IMPORTANT THAN MONEY?"

Horrible to think of Calcutta like this, a part of him pondered. When was the last time he had been down here to the city’s nether-regions, its hot spots and pubs? Never, really. Calcutta had always been the sane city for him. The place of his origin, where he was the goody-goody boy next door. It had taken his sojourn in Delhi to realize his wilder side, so to speak. Wilder side – and he smirked quite absentmindedly – bloody corny like hell!

“I’LL TELL YOU WHEN I FIND OUT!” she yelled back. Chandni was drunk, hopelessly drunk, and he thanked his stars that she had the keys to her flat and he wouldn’t have to wake up her parents to put her into bed. He could almost picture the looks on Mr and Mrs Chatterjee’s faces when he brought their stumbling, lolling, slurring daughter back home. He cringed, and he found the idea vastly funny, so he laughed at her reply, while she had no idea why on earth he was laughing. O well, she thought, gay men do funny things. They’re absolute darlings, but they do do funny things!

For the moment, Chandni’s attention was focused completely on the demigod sitting two places away from her at the bar. He was tall and broad-shouldered, had long hair that curled sinfully at the back of his neck. He was wearing an ashen blazer over a black v-neck that emphasized the tanned skin of his throat. He had to be Marwari, no Bong could ever look so sexy, she smiled mischievously to herself. I want you, she mouthed, and then coloured when she realized from his grin (o, hell!) that she had spoken out loud, quite aloud in fact. While Abhi looked on mortified, V-neck actually came over to her side of the bar.

“Hey. I’m Deb.” O great – so he was Bong, in the end. So much for women’s intuition!

“Hi, Chandni here.”

“Hi, Chandni. Can I buy you a drink?” He had the most gorgeous grey eyes, she noticed, while tottering over their brink.

“Aaa.. no, thanks. I think I’ve already had one too many. Judging from that little display of mine” I’m colouring, I’m colouring, O god, help me now, Abhi, what the fuck are you doing now!

“Ahemmmmm – “ He coughed pointedly in their direction, and Chandni turned, grateful for the interruption to Deb’s laugh. “Hi, I’m Abhi, Chandni’s friend.” O my god, you idiot Abhi, did you have to stress that frikkin’ word?!

She was gratified to note that it was Deb’s turn to blush now. “O, I’m sorry, I didn’t think that you guys were together – I wouldn’t have – “

Laughs all around. “O we’re not!”

“We’re not!”

“I mean, we’re just friends. We really are just friends!”

“We’re just friends.” I feel like a frikkin’ echo – why the hell doesn’t she go away with him somewhere now?

Deb smiled, satisfied at the proceedings. He looked Abhi over: wild curly hair, silly poker smile on face, no paunch, but not well-built either, dark blue shirt with top two buttons undone, black stonewashed jeans and brown loafers. She wasn’t going to fall for him, he decided, and turned his attention squarely back to Chandni. “So, I haven’t seen you around here. Are you new in town?”

Abhi sighed, and settled back into his bar stool. Chalk another one up for the Great Tart. How did she manage, a part of him wondered in admiration, but then he smirked at the silly little name he had just called her privately and wondered whether he was actually jealous of her. He turned back to get a look at Deb’s tight black V-neck and his Gigolo Joe corduroys and told himself, Never! Thank God! That helped to make him feel better, and he smiled his most flirtatious grin at the bartender.

“A refill please. Double it, this time, will you?”

*****3

Chandni smiled beatifically, while Deb’s hands moved at her waist, up her sides, flirted suggestively at her bodice and then trailed back down to rest at her waist again. I’m not really fat, she told herself, I’m not really fat, Abhi always says I’m just on the ‘heavier side’. And Bongs like their women to be a bit... meaty (?) The adjective did nothing to satisfy her ever-probing MBA soul, however, so she simply kept on beaming at Deb, and wondered what he would look like, naked.

“So, are you going to specialize in marketing or finance?” he asked her, flashing his pearly-whites.

He really does have the longest lashes! Could he be... like Abhi…? But then his hands would hardly be going there! “Neither,” she replied happily,” I’m into HR.”

Deb grinned again, “You know, everybody blames HR for everything. You’ll be made the scapegoat for everything!”

So, he knew someone in the line and knew absolutely nothing about HR, she thought, but hell, I don’t really want his brains now, do I? “HR’s in charge of the purse strings. That’s what counts in the end, you know!”

He was trying to be clever now, and he roared in laughter, “So you’re after money, are you?”

“Of course. Aren’t you?”

It was as if she had said something wildly funny, and he tossed his head back to laugh, and then, when the slow number came back on, he pulled her close to him suddenly, and wrapped his hands around her waist. A startling development, Chandni thought, but on the whole, not very bad, as she felt his hot muscular thighs brush against her. I knew he likes ‘heavier’ women! Blush of joy and triumph.

*****4

“I’m sorry you got dumped,” the bartender winked at Abhi, pouring him his double vodka, with lemon juice and bitters, on the rocks. “The guy’s a regular here. Usually has a lot of the women falling for him. But you can warn your lady friend,” and he gave another conspiratorial smile, warm and flush, with just the faintest traces of Bacardi on his breath.

Abhi flushed himself. “O, no. You’ve got that wrong. We’re not together, the lady and I. I mean, we’re together, but not – “ He stopped, not very inclined to make a further mess of things, and feeling that the bartender had understood the gist of what he was trying to say, despite the creasing of his forehead in an effort to follow Abhi. So, he ended with a simple proclamation that is bound to have any bartender preen with joy – “I’m quite drunk, I’m afraid.”

This admission had the desired effect on Irfaan (for that was who his brass name-tag pronounced him to be), and he smiled brilliantly. “O, that’s quite alright. The guys here can get you a cab, if you feel unwell,” then hurriedly, as if to prevent Abhi from balking out the door and searching for a cab the very next instant, he grabbed his arm, and said – “But I think you’re ok. Not that far gone, at all. Here’s your drink, sir.” And he was gone, to the other side, as someone hollered for a martini.

Abhi sipped on his double vodka and smiled at Irfaan’s busy back. He’s pretty cute, and maybe he was coming on to me. Was he...? He laughed then, and took another drink. I’m so frikkin’ strange I keep on imagining men are coming onto me, when they’d probably want to keep me at arms’ length first thing, if they find out I’m gay, he laughed – pathetic! He turned to see that Chandni was apparently having a whale of a time, and Deb was making bull-faces at her with his index fingers, while she pretended to be some virtuous (?) Italian Madonna-cum-matador. On a wildly vindictive level, he wished with all his might that Mr and Mrs Chatterjee would suddenly appear out of thin air to see their daughter in the act – maybe the old fart would get a heart attack, he grinned – and was disappointed to see that God had denied him special powers. Or maybe, he had given him those special powers after all: Abhi grinned to himself, as a smiling Irfaan came back to him, after delivering the martini.

“Not usually so busy on a Tuesday night,” the bartender said, smoothening out his black apron. Abhi eyed it critically. It was a short one, not at all like the longish ones waiters at the Italian restaurants wore, while serving pastas, but it was hooked in the same style, and reminded Abhi something of what he expected a blacksmith in the Welsh countryside to wear (not that he had ever seen a blacksmith in the Welsh countryside). This was worn over some red shirt with ruffles with the pub’s insignia on top, and smart black trousers that clung to the man’s legs. Abhi licked his lips and imagined Irfaan wearing only the short black apron. “Isn’t it?” he replied, and his voice sounded raspy even to his ears.

The bartender smiled, poured himself a quick vodka shot, and gave Abhi a sly grin. “So, I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new in town? My name is Irfaan.”

Abhi chuckled for some strange reason, and touched his index finger to Irfaan’s name-tag. “I figured that out. My name is Abhi – Abhinay. Yea, I’ve been living in Delhi. I’m here on vacation, with my friend.”

The bartender flashed another smile and crept closer. “The lady? Do you have other friends in Calcutta? If you need anyone to show you around, I could – “

He was gone, as a fat businessman in a safari suit yelled out an order for two RCs, two gins-and-sodas, one Old Monk with coke, and one Absolut shot. Abhi was left contemplating the sleek black hair at the base of his head, when Chandni almost fell over him. “Hey, love – Deb wants to go to some sexy place in Tolly. Do you want to come along, or should we leave?” So she had noticed the way little (?) Irfaan had leant over the bar, Abhi thought, with a twinge of satisfaction. “You could stay here, if you want, and go over to my place to spend the night, if you want,” Chandni said again.

It was an attractive proposal, Abhi tinkered, and when Irfaan looked back over his shoulder to smile at him, he decided that he was going to take it. He changed his mind, when he turned back to find Deb’s hands wrapped firmly around Chandni’s waist, his lips nuzzling her ears, and Mr and Mrs Chatterje’s astral projections behind them staring accusingly at him. Abhi gulped and said, “No hassles, I’ll come with you guys.”

So, he popped off the stool, waved at a crestfallen Irfaan and shouted back, “I’ll be back some time!”, before hurrying after the fast-disappearing pair.

*****5

“I am so, so, SO drunk!” Chandni declared happily, pressing Deb’s shoulders. He turned to grin at her, and pat her head as if he was rewarding a puppy for doing something particularly cute and turned back to the wheel. Abhi snorted from the back seat – not very loud, he took care. Somehow, the insides of the Lancer had always seemed larger to him earlier, or was he drunk now, as well?

“Sooooooo – what was going on with the cute bartender, Abhi baby?” Chandni crooned from the front, and he wished he could shake her hard right there and make him forget that he existed. Deb was looking at him in the rear view mirror, he noted, and gave a silly laugh – “Bar tender? They had a female bar tender? I never noticed that – and I’m a regular there!”

I know that, you dick, Anhi snarled, but kept on smiling like a placid schoolboy, hoping that his silence would prompt Chandni to keep her mouth shut. But she was far too drunk and far too happy at being groped at, so she tittered at Deb’s remark, “No, silly! It was a guy, only – a verrrrry cute guy, too! Abhi’s gay, silly! Couldn’t you tell?”

O great, now I need to carry a signboard around my neck! Gay man walking – straight men, beware! He wondered why on earth Mr and Mrs Chatterjee’s astral projections hadn’t reappeared now to kill their daughter, and then wondered if they wanted him to do the dirty work for them.

But Deb’s face hadn’t changed to the all-too-predictable shocked visage Abhi had expected. His brows had furrowed, and then he burst out grinning as if he had known Abhi for ages and this turn of events was vintage-Abhi, something to be predicted only too well. “Aaa, we’re here,” and he eased the Lancer away into the private road that led to the private club.

“I am SO drunk, “Chandni announced again, as they entered the club, and she took in the red interiors with the bright light in her eyes of a child being offered a whole basket of sweets for herself. “This place is AMAZING!” she whooped, as the red laser beams danced off the red vinyl upholstery and the whirling red strobe lights on the walls, and she lifted a blood-red tequila shot off the tray that a waiting girl in a shining red miniskirt was carrying by. Abhi felt like killing someone, and settled for a place at the bar, instead.

“Stay away from the bartender, dude!” Deb winked at him, as a parting shot, before heading on to the dance floor with Chandni, and Abhi made a face. Why on earth could she never find a normal guy, like the boring pinstriped jerks she would work with at some boring pinstriped office, he groaned.

But the music was excellent, and he found himself shedding his Scrooge suit after a few minutes. It was the kind of music they play for people who know what good music is, he told himself, with the realization that he was quite a snob really: not the kind of brainless trance or hip hop that was quite the rage anywhere on the world, but a touch of exotica, a touch of strum and soul that would render the most incapable brute of stopping in his tracks and smiling in his motion. Poetic? – perhaps, but to him, it was natural. So, he drifted over to the dance floor, with his drink in hand, even without a dance partner, dancing with his tall glass, noting how the people around him made way quite automatically for him. It was intoxicating. Or maybe, he was getting drunk, too.

That’s one of the stereotypes about us, Abhi moaned to himself, while moving his body on the floor, the old stereotype about gay men knowing how to dance well. A woman with an extra-size bust, crammed into a tight knee-length black dress moved onto the floor beside him, and flashed him a quick grin. Maybe she knows, he thought, maybe she can sense it – but aaa, what the fuck do I care about it? It was all so unimportant, he decided, as his feet played to the beat, and he twirled Black Dress around on his arm.

“OMIGAWD! Abhiiiiiii,” - he recognized the shriek and turned to laugh, while Chandni pirouetted into his arms. Deb was laughing too, and he flashed a grin at Black Dress, who seemed a bit nervous now at the new entrants. But Chandni seemed unwilling to surrender her best friend back to Black Dress, and held fast onto him, dancing and laughing, letting Deb dance with her instead. A corner of Abhi’s mind wondered at this turn of events and whether everything was hunky-dory with them, but the greater part of him didn’t really care, and so he kept on twirling Chandni around.

She seemed to be having a great time, tanked up as she was. She turned and turned, and yelled on about how drunk she was, and what a great piece of ass Abhi was, when suddenly she groaned aloud, clutched her throat, and lurched to the floor. The greenish-grey vomit seemed red in here, a detached part of Abhi noted.

“Holy CRAP! Are you alright, Chandni? Chandni?” No astral projections of the parents to disturb him. Even Black Dress and Deb were hunched over her now.

Chandni nodded weakly, and tried to give a smile, not really succeeding. Most of the people around them still continued to dance, oblivious to anything at all. Somebody called for the management, and Abhi wanted to hit the person, when he made out the disgust in the man’s voice. “Baby, are you okay? You want to go to the loo? Baby?”

Black Dress knelt down now, and helped Chandni up. She was shivering suddenly. “I’ll take her. I’ll take her to the washroom. Can you walk?” She had a beautiful, soft voice, Abhi noted, suddenly exceedingly grateful.

Chandni nodded, and the two women moved slowly through the red hall packed with red people dancing in the red light to a music that had lost its charm to a now sobre Abhi. The manager had arrived now, and Deb was speaking to him, and then the attendant arrived with a bucket to wash the floor, while the manager put on his best Santa Claus imitation ho-ho-ho and asked the rest of the dancers to carry on dancing, as it was a minor glitch only. Abhi heaved a sigh forcefully in the red light, and brushed back his sweat-stricken hair with both his hands. There was a light slap on his back, and Deb boomed into his ear – “Wow, that was something, huh, champ?! Don’t think she’ll be back for more fun, do you?”

Abhi looked at his red face, which seemed to throb strangely in the music, even though the man was not moving, and saw the idiotic grin on his face, and turned away for the washroom, himself.

The loo was a bright white, something of what he expected of a secret FBI facility. Sparkling white, clinically spotless, great white square patches overhead that bathed the room in a white gleam, Parryware urinals that lined up next to each other like offering bowls in some futuristic temple, I have a morbid imagination, Abhi told himself, as he walked over to one of the urinals in a surprisingly steady gait, and unzipped his trousers. That was when he allowed himself to utter “Idiot!” out loud in the empty room.

As if on cue, Deb walked in, with his Gigolo Joe corduroys, black V-neck, and Lancer-matching shiny teeth. “I looked in on the Ladies, I think they’re almost done,” he declared, and came to stand at the urinal next to Abhi’s.

“So what have we got here?” – and Abhi started: “Excuse me?”

Deb laughed in staccato bursts, and said, “I mean, so what do you do, Abhi? I know that Chandni’s in the MBA thing. What about you?”

Abhi reminded himself to smile politely like all good Bengali boys are supposed to, and replied, “I work for a NGO. I live in Delhi.”

“O” silence, and Abhi hoped it would last, but it was not meant to – “So the gay scene in Delhi is supposed to be really rocking. You must be getting a lot of action there.”

Am I colouring? A part of him wondered in a detached fashion. No, I don’t think so. But it is strange for him to ask that. Why would he ask me that? What do I say now? Shall I keep quiet, or do I say something? Shall I laugh? I can laugh. I can laugh and blow it away. Shall I laugh?

The laugh died away on his lips, however, when he felt Deb’s hands touch his inner thighs just below his crotch, from behind, and Abhi’s entire body stiffened. Is this really happening? and the detached part of him started chuckling at the absurdity of the entire situation.

“Or maybe you don’t really get much there – or you prefer good ole Calcutta boys, mmmm?” Deb whispered fiercely in his ear now, pressing his body against his behind, so that Abhi could make out his state of arousal. This feels like a hilarious porno flick, Abhi started laughing inside, and there was the necessary interruption in such cases – the old, bald man in the safari suit who hurried in to one of the urinals, glancing suspiciously towards Deb and Abhi, as Deb quickly stepped back a couple of paces from Abhi. That was all the opening he needed. He stepped away from the urinals himself, flashed Deb a sardonic grin while passing him, and stepped out of the white room.

Black Dress and Chandni were standing right outside, and the music was still beating – “You ready to go home, babe?” Chandni nodded. Abhi turned to Black Dress and smiled his thanks, while Chandni touched her arm. They turned towards the entrance. “Chandni, wait – “ Deb’s voice came from behind, but neither of them stopped on their way out.

*****6

The cab wound its way towards Prince Anwar Shah Road, and Chandni settled in Abhi’s arms, in the back seat. The cabbie’s eyebrows were interested at the prospect, but a careening Maruti distracted him, and he yelled “Haraami, maalkhor!” at the driver whose tail lights were swishing in the dark, deserted city.

“I hope mum and dad are asleep,” Chandni murmured into Abhi’s shirt.

“I hope so, too.” There had been no more astral projections of the Chatterjees since they had left the pub, but he knew that as far as they were concerned, anything was possible. “Do you have the key?”

She felt around in her tiny black purse for a few seconds, and sighed – “Yes.”

Abhi looked at the closed shutters of the shops that were whizzing past, and imagined them a few hours from now, in the glinting sunlight, brimming with activity, with crowds of people in front of them, jostling for space, the roads swarming with busy, busy Calcuttans, on their way to work, on their way to a bit of gossip, anything that caught their fancy. And people said, it was a dying city! “So, how was your night?” he asked, after some time.

“Not bad. It was fun,” she mewed into his shirt, and then settled herself better so she wouldn’t suffocate into his chest – “I had fun,” she reaffirmed, “Didn’t you have fun?”

Abhi nodded. “I did,” he said, thinking about Irfaan’s dimples, and then, “What about your date? You took his number?”

Chandni shook her head and sniffed. “Nopes. Not interested. Felt me up too much,” and then she burst out laughing for some reason. He joined in. It was ridiculous, he thought, she was ridiculous – she had always been like this, for as long as he could remember, and he was suddenly laughing at all those times when he had laughed and laughed and laughed and…

They reached the house, and the lights were all off: Mr and Mrs Chatterjee were sound asleep in their beds, hopefully. He paid the fare, while Chandni unlocked the front door, and scampered up the stairs. He followed, taking care to be silent, even as he could hear her heavy footfalls dance above in the darkness. He thought about hissing a warning, but decided that his stupid hiss would probably wake up her stupid parents, so he kept silent, and followed her up to the terrace. Their red wine glasses still stood, tall and empty on the parapet, next to the candle that had flickered out, and the wine bottle that still contained some of the wine. Chandni switched on the terrace light and sat on the lawn chairs the Chatterjees lined their terrace with. There was an impressive view of the city around them, and Abbhi sauntered over to the edge to get a glimpse of the dark skyline. This was a quiet city, he mused, there was no glitter of fairy-lights in the distance, or tall sky scrapers on every road and gully, as in Delhi or Bombay, he thought. This was the city that was meant for you to come home to.

“Careful – don’t fall,” her baby-voice sounded through, and he turned to grin at her – “I won’t.”

She had poured herself some more wine, and was licking the fluted glass. She had been watching him, he realized, watching him watch the city, and the cloud of emotions and feelings flit continually over his face, wax and wane like some mutant moonlight. Chandni grinned now, her pixie grin, as he called it, and sipped some wine – “So, what’s more important than money?” she teased, scratching an imaginary spot on her long legs.

Abhi grinned, and gave her the answer she expected in her heart of hearts, “I’ll tell you when I find out.”