The Bollywood Breakup Agency Read online

  Then again, it was probably nothing in comparison to what that vile Mr Trivedi would say about her. Neela hoped against hope he wouldn’t be attending the wedding, but that was like hoping it wouldn’t rain on Wimbledon. Futile and plainly stupid. Why would he be at the engagement and not the wedding? The wedding had the best food.

  V called to discuss when Neela was going to come and fix it so that Girish was horrified by her appearance.

  ‘Next time you’re due to see him.’

  ‘Maybe Tuesday, I’ll have to confirm.’

  ‘Okay, don’t worry. I’ll be there.’

  ‘You can’t do it before?’

  ‘Not if you want to keep your job, I can’t.’ Neela didn’t really have a firm plan in mind for V, but she knew what parents valued in would-be-daughters, and in V’s case, everything about her shouted ‘perfect daughter-in-law’. The hair, the figure, the ability to cook. It was time to undo all of that, for one evening, at least.

  ‘How is the bunny boiling going?’ Neela applied a thick layer of mascara to her eyelashes, and then another, as she spoke. Standing back, her light eyes popped out from the silky skin. Why bother looking good, though, when the best she could hope for in terms of an attractive, available man was watching Navin on TV.

  ‘Neela, are you listening?’

  ‘Sorry, what happened?’

  ‘It was bad. Really bad.’

  ‘V, how bad can a phone call be?’

  ‘He was on the toilet. There were noises.’

  ‘What? He answered the phone on the toilet?’ Were his family that great that V would have to put up for this for the rest of her life?

  ‘I think he answered it then went into the toilet.’

  Girish was worse, much worse, than she’d imagined. ‘Well, try to be as annoying as possible, and I’ll try to ramp up plan B.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Turn you into everything a good Indian family hates.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘A Western slag.’

  Neela and her family got to the wedding hall early to make sure they got a seat, and to see if Yogeeta masi and Indra masa needed any help.

  ‘Neela, you go, I want to talk to Aunty.’

  Which aunty, Neela had no idea, but she didn’t really care.

  She walked into the wedding hall and saw how beautifully decorated it was. There was a red carpet with marble pillars spread across the sides of the aisle. Every other pillar was decorated with red rose garlands spiralling around from top to bottom, and the other pillars were topped with Ganesh statues. The wedding mandap, where the ceremony would take place, was made up of delicately carved marble pillars and covered by a roof edged with roses and crystal chain droplets that hung along the entire perimeter. Two ornate, gold-coloured chairs were placed opposite each other under the mandap, beside each one, two intricately decorated wooden chairs for the bridesmaid and best man. There was a final seat placed behind the couple, and was reserved for Nikhil’s sister Rani, who was given a small decorated metal container in her hands. Her task was to shake it, making a line down the respective backs of the bride and groom. The idea was that it prevented the couple from falling asleep during the two-hour wedding ceremony.

  Dragging herself past the flowers in the entrance hall, Neela looked about for a quiet corner. She made her way to a dark part of the hall near a ridiculously large sound system and willed herself to become invisible. Best to stay out of the way, and avoid another meeting with Mr Trivedi. According to Daadi-ji, the gross son was supposed to come to the wedding, but was stuck in Mumbai at work and couldn’t make it. Slightly less humiliating then, Neela supposed. God knew what Trivedi Junior did in Mumbai. By the looks of the father it was likely call centre work or something. An annoying job; stalking people for a living.

  ‘Neela, where are you?’ Her mother’s voice managed to pierce through all other conversations in the huge area – an undeniable feat.

  Moments later, Neela was sitting alongside the mandap, with the rest of the close family. Nikhil’s nearest and dearest on one side; Seema’s on the other.

  ‘Neela,’ Soorbhi hissed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stop looking so miserable. This is a happy occasion.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Neela mumbled to herself. All weddings were happy unless your family were bugging you about your own. In which case, weddings were an awful reminder of what you had to look forward to.

  Neela was sitting on the side of the mandap, waiting for the celebrations to start.

  ‘Don’t forget to put your shawl down, we need to save our seats before we greet Nikhil into the hall.’ Soorbhi was talking about the common seat-saving measures required at all Indian celebrations, where there were too many guests and not enough chairs.

  Doing as she was told, Neela laid her shawl across three seats, and then walked outside with her mum and about thirty other family members.

  Nikhil was almost there. Musicians were banging on giant dhol drums. He got out of the car that had taken him to the hotel venue, all the family surrounding him. The noise was quickly becoming louder and faster and the whole of the groom’s side of the family walked towards the hall. When they got to the entrance they were all dancing, including those elderly aunties and uncles who normally just sat on the sidelines and talked about everyone. Even Neela, who was in an awful mood that morning, finally got into the swing of things and began moving to the beat.

  Her cousin got to the door, wearing an amazingly decorated red sherwani, the traditional Indian wedding outfit worn by men, and was greeted by Seema’s sister, carrying a decorated metal pot on her head. She held the pot with one hand and with the other put a red dot on his forehead. Then she threw some dry rice at him. Before Nikhil had time to defend himself, Seema’s sister reached forward and pinched his nose so hard that he yelped. Seema’s entire family cheered and laughed at him in response.

  Finally, the bride was brought to the door. Seema offered a garland to Nikhil, but he dodged her, making it hard to hand over and moving just out of reach whenever she got near. She laughed at him just as much as he laughed at her, because when he finally let her drape the garland around his shoulders, and it was his turn to place one over hers, all Seema’s cousin brothers surged forward and lifted her onto their shoulders so that Nikhil couldn’t reach her. Suddenly, someone in the back started to feel uneasy and the bride nearly feel forward on her face.

  ‘Put me down!’ Seema screamed.

  When she was finally stable and safe on the ground, Nikhil gently put his garland around her neck and they held each others’ garlands in their hands and smiled for the photographers.

  Next, Seema was swiftly spirited away, and her mum next greeted her son-in-law in another small ceremony at the door. Nikhil stepped hard on a very small clay pot, smashing it into small pieces. He walked down the red carpet towards the mandap.

  Nikhil walked towards the mandap with his entire family following him. Before he stepped inside, all the cousins crowded around him and took off his shoes. They were placed them into a plastic bag, which in turn was placed into his grandmother’s very, very large grey vinyl handbag. Seema’s family were supposed to steal the shoes from Nikhil, but his cousins had got to them first. In order to prevent the retrieval of the shoes, their plan was to give the shoes to an elderly person who needed a walking stick. That way, any person seeking the return of the shoes would be met with a swift smack from the walking stick to stop them. The whole thing was a traditional blackmail, designed to extract money from the groom. Without his shoes, he couldn’t go outside and take their sister away, so he’d have to pay the cousins for the privilege of getting them back.

  Nikhil then sat inside the mandap with his cousin Raj. In the next part of the ceremony, Seema’s parents sat on the floor next to Nikhil and prayed to the Lord Ganesh, the elephant God, who was always called to rid obstacles to success and provide good luck. Ganesh featured heavily in weddings: he was always on the front of weddin
g invitations too. The priest called out a prayer and Seema’s dad washed Nikhil’s right foot in a mixture of milk and honey.

  A white cloth was then held in front of him by Raj, acting as his best man, and one of the priests, so he could not see Seema, who was about to come down the aisle.

  Seema entered the wedding suite. A Bollywood love song played as she was carried down the red carpet in a doli, a decorated carriage, by her mum’s four brothers. She looked like a princess in an exotic, heavily embroidered white and red sari.

  Finally seated on the other side of the cloth, there was an extended delay in removing the cloth, in order to make an impatient Nikhil wait even longer for a glimpse of his bride in full wedding regalia.

  Then the cloth was taken down.

  Nikhil could do nothing but stare, and Neela had to admit Seema looked so amazing it made her a little jealous for the same attention from someone, anyone. Any nerves that the groom might have had before the wedding were gone in a second.

  For a moment, Neela wondered if Kiran might look at her like that, if they were getting married. And she considered what she might wear. The jewellery that would adorn her neck and face.

  Stop it! She told herself. She didn’t want Kiran. Weddings usually didn’t make her soppy, though. Perhaps it was her new business that was inviting such stupid thoughts?

  Neela cast a worried glance into the crowd, but noted, with relief, that there was no sign of Mr Trivedi.

  The couple exchanged garlands once again and then Seema’s parents took her hand and placed it in Nikhil’s. They were tied together with a cotton loop and the end of her sari was tied to some white cloth, which in turn was attached to the scarf of his sherwani outfit. Sitting together, facing the guests, they lit the sacred havan fire and carried out a small ceremony in front of it where the priest would recite prayers and they would put in spoonfuls of ghee into the fire.

  Seema and Nikhil then circled the wedding fire four times together, Nikhil leading the first three, and Seema leading on the last. They then had to sit down on the chairs, the one who sat down first would rule the marriage. Seema sat down first, to no one’s surprise and everyone’s laughter.

  For one last time, they circled the wedding fire, carrying out Saptapadi which represented the seven vows that they would take for each other as a married couple.

  The end of the ceremony was drawing near. Nikhil put red powder in Seema’s hair parting and a Mangal Sutra wedding necklace around her neck and it was over. Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief. Months and months of talking and planning and visiting were about to be over.

  Neela, watching from the side of the mandap, noticed a fairly pretty cousin of Seema’s. She must have been in her early twenties, dressed in a turquoise and silver outfit, her hair curled, the makeup was subtle, but the telltale sign that she was available and on the market was the hands of an elderly female relative on her shoulders, directing her movements, showing her around the wedding room to prospective in-laws.

  Neela thought back to when she was 21 and just about to graduate from university. Soorbhi had paraded her around the room in the same way and it had been humiliating. Neela made a mental note to remember to keep an eye on the pretty young thing – there might be a business opportunity in de-arranging whatever frightful union came out of cousin Nikhil’s nuptials.

  Afterwards, a quick registry wedding was carried out so that the couple were married in law, as well as by God.

  Next a heavy meal and blessings from both sides of the family. Just as the couple were due to leave, Seema’s family played a famous old Bollywood song about shoe stealing. They stopped Nikhil and Seema at the door, and her female cousins held up a pair of shoes and taunted the groom with them. Nikhil just winked at them and pointed to his feet.

  He was wearing shoes! Neela laughed out loud. Nikhil wasn’t a doctor for nothing.

  ‘That’s not fair!’ the cousins shouted. ‘You’re not supposed to bring extra shoes.’

  ‘Those are my shoes,’ his cousin Raj said, even though he was wearing shoes too.

  They accused him of lying and said: ‘Whatever, you have to give us some money for them.’

  ‘What for?’ Neela said, getting into the fun of it. ‘You’re supposed to take them so that he can’t take your sister away. Now he has shoes and your sister!’

  Just as Nikhil was about to run out of the hall with his bride in tow, a little seven-year-old niece of Seema’s looked up at him with classic puppy dog eyes. Poor kid had apparently been looking forward to the shoe stealing part of the wedding. Seema gave her husband a look that said: please give the kid some money. Already the dutiful husband, he passed over a ten pound note.

  There was no room for a swift exit now. As soon as it dawned on them that Seema was now leaving the family, her parents, sister, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all started crying and hugging her. Even though Seema was not much of a crier, seeing everyone so emotional made her burst into tears. It didn’t help that the DJ had started playing that age old Bollywood song about leaving the family home, the song guaranteed to make any bride burst into tears at her wedding. The fact that she would be seeing them at the reception the next evening made absolutely no difference.

  The couple finally got into the wedding car and even more girls, who had now wiped away their tears, swarmed around the front of the car to stop them from leaving. In exasperation, Nikhil gave all of them cash too and finally, it was over.

  Chapter F ifteen

  NIKHIL’S PARENTS HAD PAID FOR some hotel rooms for close family, so that they wouldn’t have to drive back and forth before the next evening’s wedding reception.

  Neela was sharing, typically, with her grandmother. And even more typically, the first thing Daadi-ji did was check if the hotel had cable. And PAL.

  ‘Look,’ she called out, as Neela carefully laid her wedding clothes on a chair. ‘It’s on. They have Indian channels in the hotel!’

  Neela realised that sharing meant an early morning, no matter how much she wanted a lie in. Daadi-ji woke up at six to catch the newest instalment of her soap each day. Unlike Eastenders, PAL was on every day. 365 days a year. No such thing as holidays in Mumbai.

  The next day, the hooded woman had started work at the big house, as there were now two people to look after full-time: Dadaji, the grandfather of the house; and Mummy-ji. That morning the hooded woman’s first duty was to clean the house. As she dusted the floor, a conversation could be overheard as clearly as if it was on loudspeaker. It was coming through the dining room door, which, conveniently, had been left wide open.

  ‘Why was the zeher not working?’

  ‘Was it not administered correctly?’

  ‘They had spent the entire day at the hospital.’

  ‘Payal has to be stopped.’

  ‘There must be something that we can do.’

  The hooded woman peeked through the door and saw that it was the evil cousin Navin and his wife Ishika arguing. She stopped her work to listen properly to the conversation. Further plans were unfolding about how to rid of the new sister-in-law – Payal.

  ‘And the sooner that she is gone, the quicker the inheritance will be ours.’

  Their father had already died, and now it would not be long until Dadaji and Lohit would go as well, leaving all of the fortunes of the family’s Ramchand Business Group to them, and their unborn child.

  The hooded woman’s hands began to tremble with shock. After a moment, she carried on with her work, fearful of what had been overheard.

  As much as Neela wanted to stare at hot Navin looking angry and sexy in that over- the-top, Indian-soap kind of way, her phone starting ringing, and she needed to go into the bathroom to answer it. Daadi-ji was totally absorbed in PAL, so she probably wouldn’t miss Neela. For a minute or two, at least.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Jai.’

  Ah. ‘How did it go tonight? Are you free?’

  ‘No, I am not free. She’s even worse than before.
’

  Neela couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘How? I told you to invite girls you’ve shagged.’

  ‘They turned up. One slag even knew her best friend, and told Rupali exactly what I’ve done.’

  ‘Then it couldn’t have gone better.’

  Jai spluttered out a couple of swear words. ‘Except that she didn’t care.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘Said I had an addiction and that she would help me.’

  ‘A sex addiction?’

  ‘Alcohol, I think, but who the hell knows? She banged on about me asking her to marry me, because I wanted to cure myself. That’s not what I want.’

  Yeah, thought Neela to herself. What he wants are one night stands with vacuous bimbos.

  ‘Said she would defend me against any vicious rumours. That she understands.’

  ‘Unbelievable.’

  Daadi-ji was motioning from the bed. She had accidentally muted the TV, and because it was a different model from the one they had at home, she was confused and couldn’t get the sound back.

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go, Jai. We’ll talk later. And don’t worry, there are plenty more things we can do to get rid of her.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Neela thought quickly. Then remembered Girish.

  ‘Okay, this is gross, but foolproof. Have her catch you biting your toenails.’

  ‘What?’

  Neela repeated herself.

  ‘That’s friggin’ disgusting. Who does that? In fact, how do you do that?’

  ‘I don’t know, try yoga. All I know is that if you can achieve it, one little incident of toenail chewing can work miracles.’

  *

  You are the sun, the moon, the light of my life.