Part-Time Devdaas... (23 page)

“Film school...” I said.

In the next three hours, the first bottle we called for gave way to another and that to another as conversations veered from LA to India, to engineering, to my career, to her career, to Hrida, to Aneesh, to Raghu, Shashank, Radhika, and to the time we spent together in college. I realised nothing had changed between us in spite of all the time that had passed. We took off exactly from where we had left things ten years ago.

“You know, I waited for your call after the evening we fought,” she said swinging my hand back and forth holding it by its pinky finger as we walked towards her home through the quaint deserted alleys of LA.

“I kind of did too.”

“Shit... I should have called you...” she smiled.

“We were fun together... I mean guys are usually bitches, especially to hot babes like me. All they want is get into your pants and once that happens, all the excitement disappears and all that is left are the whys and whos and other ridiculous questions which fuck you sore. It was different with you,
tu mast tha
...”

“Ya, I know,” I said and wrapped my hand around her, as we walked in silence.

“Just so you know, I never cursed you.” I began to laugh, “So your heartbreak is not on my head.”

“Oh... like that!”

“Here we are, home boring home.
y
ou wanna stay over tonight?” she said fishing for keys in her purse. “It’s too late to travel back to Artesia, plus you are too drunk and it’s not safe.”

She slurred.

“Won’t your boyfriend mind your ex-boyfriend staying over?”

“He has his fair share of fun in NY, so this would pass. Don’t worry, stay!”

She opened the door.

I stayed.

I
was home. The real one. Two years of staying away from it, I had forgotten how it felt to come back home to people who had brought you to this planet.

“Baba?” I said as I opened the door with my key, “Aai?” No one responded.

I should have called before coming, I thought.

Then suddenly, I heard a man scream his lungs out. I rushed to the living room where the voice had come from.

“Thank goodness!” I muttered when I realised it was Sunny Deol screaming on the television.

I saw Dad sitting on the couch in a get-set-go position gritting his teeth and miming Sunny’s dialogues. Minutes later, when Sunny started punching holes in the goon’s body with his
‘dhaai kilo ka haath’
my dad began mimicking his action by throwing punches in air. A few kicks followed. Dad had a penchant for Sunny Deol and Dharmendra movies, so whenever the television channels played them, me and Radhika would get to see our father transform into an action hero. He would get so involved in the fights that he’d practically have ferocious expressions on his face.

I stood there leaning on the wall, enjoying the show while my Dad bit his lower lip and moved his body in sync with Sunny Deol as he kicked the shit out of the villains. By the end of the sequence, tens of goons were left limping and whimpering in pain as Sunny Deol left wiping his bloodied lip.

“Why did you beat them up so badly?” I asked. Dad’s face flushed the angry look, his fists still in fighting position.

“What did they do?” I said as I sat beside him. He took a sip of whiskey from his glass.

Silence...

“Aai’s not home?”

“No, she’s at the club.”

“That explains.”

“You saw all of it?” he said.

“No no, just some of it.” Both of us began laughing.

“You have to agree… no one fights better than the Deols.”

“Totally agree.”

“How are you, Dad?” I asked as the laughing subsided.

“How do I look?”

“Really fit,” I said, pressing his biceps.

“Your mom is to be thanked for this,” he said and walked to his liquor cabinet to make a drink. “With you and Radhika gone, I was the only one left to be harrowed with her rules.”

“Scary!”

“You bet. Should I make you a drink?” he asked before capping the bottle.

“No, I’m good.”

“Cool, I’m going to get wasted, it’s my drinking day. I’m just allowed to drink once a week.”

“No!”

“Yes, beat that.” I began to laugh.

“She’s getting worse by the day.”

“Radhika is no different. Does the same to Viren.”

“I know, the poor guy was whining on Skype the other day.”

“Dad, six months I lived with her in LA, I felt like strangulating myself. Always finicky about what I wear, what I eat, matching clothes, combed hair, constant nagging. Arrrggghhh!” I said, fake-pulling my hair. Dad got up to fetch some ice.

“I pity her kid, there is no escape for her.”

“How is the baby? These video chats don’t do justice!”

“She is out of this planet. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than her.”

“I’m glad at least you were with Radhika.” I heard the door shut as soon as he said it.

“Are you done wasting yourself?” Mom said as she entered the living room.

“Hi Aai!”

“Poncho... Hi...” she stared at me for a while and left the room. I could clearly see the sadness in her eyes.

“Run before she starts crying.” Dad nudged me. I rushed to the kitchen behind her.

“Aai...”

“You want to wait for dinner, or you’re leaving?” she asked pulling bowls out of the refrigerator.

“I’d love to wait. I’m starving.”

Silence…

“How are  you?” I asked.

“Good.”

Silence and the sound of chopping carrots.

“Did you miss me?”

“No...”

Silence again.

“Ask Baba to wrap up. Dinner is ready.”

“How was film school?” Dad asked breaking the silence at the dinner table.

“Hectic, but really good. Learnt a lot, plus now I’m not an undergrad anymore,” I said the last part looking at mom.

“I’m proud of you,” Dad said.

“How did you manage the fees?” Mom asked.

“I had saved some money and Radhika sponsored the loan for the rest of the amount.”

“Big you kids have gotten… don’t need your parents anymore,” Mom mumbled.

“Heard about Raghu’s wedding?” Dad said ignoring Mom.

“Ya I met him a couple of days back for lunch. He seems really happy.”

“Happens when you let your parents choose the girl for you,” Mom said and Dad gave her a foul look.

“I know Aai... that is why I am here...”

“What do you mean?” I finally got her attention.

“I mean that I am done with all the stupid and immature behaviour. I’ve been upset at life for being unfair to me, but it took me a while to realise that while doing it, I was being unfair to the people around me. I’m sorry Aai, Baba.” I looked at both of them, “I know nothing I say or do will make the hurt I caused you both to disappear, but I’m sorry, really sorry.” Mom stared at her plate. I looked towards Dad for help.

“You cannot just say sorry and expect us to simply forgive you. You have to pay the price,” Dad said faking a frown.

“Fair enough, so will saying you too can choose a girl for me to get married to be enough price?” Both of them looked at me incredulously.

“I’m serious, I want to get married.” It finally did the trick; Mom smiled.

I might have been a bit hasty about opening my mouth about getting married, but if that meant winning ‘the Mother’ back, I was ready for it. Besides, even though I had no plans of saying what I said, somewhere deep inside I meant it.

“Poncho, what’s your height in centimeters?” Mom asked as I snuggled between her and Dad that night.

“Why?”

“They need all sort of details on those matrimonial websites. I’ll start enrolling you on them first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You are so doomed, buddy!” Dad whispered to me.

“And also give me your latest pictures. You look fit now compared to your earlier pictures.”

Shit, I’m doomed indeed!
I thought.

“And...” she continued.

I fell asleep.

I
t was Nth time that day that I had cancelled Hrida’s call, but there was no way I could take it. I was already two minutes late. Any more delay in delivering his cappuccino meant getting verbally whipped by him. Him who? My Director, my boss, my master, my pharaoh or whatever that means the owner of slaves. Rizwan Qureshi, the seven time national award winner, highest paid and most sought after film director in the country. I was the happiest person the day I landed a job of his DA. Two years of begging and scraping my shoe soles finally bore some fruit. I was going to be an assistant of the biggest director in the country. Being so closely associated to him meant getting to learn the craft from the master himself. But all my happiness disappeared the moment I walked in his office six months back. The problem was – his definition of a Director’s Assistant was poles apart from mine. A DA to him was simply a glorified servant, who could speak English to attend his calls (mostly from his angry ex-wife), make perfect cappuccinos, time his medicines, order his food, remind him to eat, then get it heated when it went cold, at times serve him, hold his luggage, buy him gutka, clip his write-ups, clean his desk, stack his scripts, make playlists for his i
p
od, nodding a yes to whatever was asked and be a punching bag and get ranted upon by him whenever he wished to vent out his negative energy. But I had no complaints because one film with Rizwan Qureshi on your resume could make your career go ballistic. It had been three months now that we were shooting his war biopic in the remote forests of Himachal Pradesh and more than a week since I had spoken to Hrida.

“Lemme know if you’ve found someone new because I am about to”
and a teasing tongue, the message from her beeped in. I smiled as I read it.

“Arjun! Where the fuck is my cappuccino?” I heard Rizwan scream on the PA system. I ran with the latte.

“Rizwan coff...” I swallowed rest of my words, looking at his furious eyes.

“What? Do I look funny to you?”

“No...”

“Then why the fuck are you smiling?” Shit! I had forgotten to wipe the smile of my face.

The worst part of the location was the place where our residential tents were built. It had no cellphone reception, so for anyone to make a call, they had to walk a kilometre uphill through a dark rainy forest. It was a night shoot, so after dinner, Rizwan went for his power nap, I made a wild run for the hill for the network. I just had a twenty minute window but I had to take the risk as it was her birthday
and
my only chance to call her. I dialled her number covering the phone from the rain.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up...” I muttered as the ring went through.

“Are you calling to break up?” she said goofily.

“Happy birthday, Sona...”

“So you remembered!”

“Please lose the sarcasm, I don’t have much time.” I checked my watch. I just had three more minutes to talk after the run uphill had already burnt my eight minutes.

“Okay, sorry sorry,” she said. “How you been, kiddo?”

“I’m good... specially... now after listening to your...”

“Yuck, cheesy bitch!” she giggled. I smiled.

“I love you...” she said. I felt my heart skip a beat. The intensity of the wanting to be with her right at that moment was unexplainable.

“I love you too...” I said exhaling heavily. My tone gave away the sadness.

“What’s wrong, Arjun?”

“Nothing, I’m just missing you too bad...”

“And?”

“And the mosquitoes, and rains, mucky location, bad food, back pain… that’s it!”

“And?”

I paused.

“And, I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. I don’t know how running behind him with his coffee and holding his snot-dipped tissues will help me. I feel like his servant. As for the money, the roadside labourers earn more money than me. I sometimes feel I made a mistake quitting engineering.”

“Shut up... I know how you feel but you knew this would happen. No one jumps to the director’s chair that easily. Your father is neither a Kapoor nor a Khan so chill, things will take their own course. For now you are doing great, trust me, not many people have the guts to break free and chase their dreams. I’m proud of you. Just switch off the brain and slog, bitch!” I smiled at the love and assurance in her voice.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to botch your birthday with my ranting.”

“You are more important to me than the birthday. Just don’t lose your shit.”

“I love you...”

“Ya thanks... Don’t you have a shoot to go to?”

“Shit! I am screwed, bye bye bye… I’ll try to call you soon...” I said beginning my run back to the tents.

Splashing and stumbling through the dark mucky woods I reached Rizwan’s tent. I ran so fast that I could barely breathe, but thankfully I was in time.
i
n fact, I was thirty seconds early. I waited for the alarm on my wrist watch to go so that I could go and wake my lord up. Waking him a second before he wanted me to could mean abuses for dinner, or maybe a few slaps too. The alarm beeped and I entered his tent. My heart stopped beating and dropped in my stomach when I saw the empty bed.

“Holy fuck! He woke up before time!” I felt a lump in my throat. I ran hysterically towards the set.

“Rizwan sir?” I asked a spot boy on my way.

“Set pe gaya hai, dhoond raha tha tereko!”
he slurred with gutka stuffed in his mouth.

They had already begun shooting when I reached the set. How long had he been up or didn’t he sleep at all? I waited silently behind him thinking of believable excuses to make to him once he was done. But what good are reasons if he doesn’t even listen to them.

“Cut, OK, moving on,” he yelled on the PA system.

“Where is my phone?” he asked me coldly. I handed it over to him. He glared at me before staring into it. My eyes were glued on him studying his mood.

He said without looking at me. “Give my stuff to production, and leave,” and got back to explaining the shot to the actor. I rushed to his tent and gathered all his things and put them in a bag. I handed it to the production manager. I had no idea what leave meant so I went and took my place behind him again. It felt incredibly light after my body was relieved of all the slinging bags.

“Why are you still here?” Rizwan asked after ignoring me for a while. “Didn’t I ask you to leave?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Allah! Leave means leave. Go, go home. You are fired,” he said raising his voice.”

I was dumbstruck, and perhaps my expression said the same. He asked again, “Do you understand now?”

“Rizwan, please listen to me at least...” I managed a whole sentence without him cutting me short. Unfortunately, for me that lit a cannon aimed straight at me.

“Listen to you? Listen to you?” He mock laughed. “No my friend, I don’t listen to anyone. I paid
you
to listen to me which you didn’t and that’s what’s gotten you fired. His rising volume got more and more attention from the busy crew. When I asked you to wait outside, you were supposed to fucking wait outside and not wander off.”

“Rizwan but I...”

“When I say leave,
you leave, just fuck, the bloody off
...” he ragingly turned to me and pushed me to the ground screaming hysterically at me in front of four hundred people.

“You...” He caught hold of a spot boy.

“If I see him on my set ever again, you will be fired. Drag him out of here right now,” he said and stormed off. All the eyes stared at me with sympathy. The guy assigned with the job of kicking me actually walked to me to carry his orders out. Rizwan had left no
kasar
to strip me of my dignity, so I hurriedly got up before I was actually dragged out of the location.

After five long hours of an agonising drive in the clattering old jeep from the location in Himachal, I was dumped at the Chandigarh airport and left to fend for myself. I sat there with my soiled clothes and broken dignity, wondering if my mistake deserved such a brutal affront. Three more hours at the airport, two hours in the flight and one hour in cab from the airport to my house later, I still couldn’t understand whats and whys of what had happened to me.

Cut to 2004:

I ignored the whirring of the phone as I stared at my marksheet. I was still a subject short to make it into the third year. I had again flunked five of the ten subjects I had appeared for. But somehow, I felt relieved about losing another year for I had no intention of going back to the hellhole. The phone started whirring again and I finally picked it up.

“Where the fuck were you all day?” Raghu screamed. “Are you alright?”

“Ya I am.”

“Don’t worry… we’ll work something out next time.”

“There is no next time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m quitting.”

“Tell me you are kidding.”

“I am not.”

“Chal theek hain...”
he said.

“Poncho! Dinner!” my mom yelled.

“I got to go, man,” I said.

“Ya okay.”

“Bye.”

“Listen...”

“Bol...”

“I broke up with her finally!”

“Kanya??”

“Ya, bloody mind molester,” he said, and I laughed.

“See you at James
’
after dinner?”

“Yep, bye.”

“I’m telling them tonight...”
My message to Hrida read. I hit send as I pulled the chair at dinner table.

“Luck with it...”
came an instant reply.

The dinner was served and according to Mom’s new rule book, no one was allowed to talk at the dinner table. Apparently some health guru had advised against it in an article that she read in a magazine. So from that day on, I was yelled at and Dad was cold stared at if we tried to talk. Hence it was a silent table. It took me three miserable years in engineering to muster the courage to tell my parents that I wanted to quit. And now when I had decided, I just wanted to get done and over with it as soon as possible. I stared at both of them earnestly gobbling food. Dad caught my eye and bounced his eyebrows at me to ask what happened.

“I dropped another year.” I heard Mom’s spoon crash on her plate as I said that.