Things at gym had been weird today.
First his key card didn’t work. Then someone slashed at his sneakers. His towels were all missing. And now as he was working, he had the distinct feeling of being watched. Oblivious to his worries, the client continued to prattle along. She giggled, she flirted, and she enjoyed her massage vociferously.
Amar was counting the notes, his tip, when he heard her voice again, more specifically her moans. He rushed outside the locker room, where Priya was leaning across the door, holding her phone up.
“I have a great video here. I was hoping it would be dirtier, but it’s good enough.”
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
The glint in her eyes told him it was nothing good.
“You stole my clients, you stole my tips. I had to do something about it.” Her voice was hard and angry. “Here’s what we’ll do. You continue this,” she waved the phone towards him, “and you split your tip like a good boy. If you don’t, this gets emailed to everyone, including the client, her family, your family, and of course, your college principal.”
She blew him a kiss and walked out.
For the first time in his life, Meet kept his wits about him.
He walked into the staff room and addressed the professor. “Leave me alone; forget I exist. If you do, I promise to leave you alone too. If you don’t”, Meet said, “I know the way to the dean’s office, and if pushed, I’d have no problems filing an official complain.”
With that, Meet turned and walked out the room, and away from the institute. He had lost all his love for nude art. As a beautiful young student waved at him at the main entrance, he realized, with much agony that he had lost all love for artists as well.
“Yo douche bag,” Prem sauntered across the parking lot towards his nemesis, with a slow smile. “You must be wondering what I have to smile about. Well, see that day after you threatened me, I spoke to some of the guys at work. Rather, some of the girls. One of them mentioned a bachelor party she worked a month ago. Yeah, I see you remember. Well, see there was photo. A photo you don’t know about. I’ve seen it, and trust me, there’s going to be a gigantic alimony cheque, once it gets out. So here’s my deal: leave me alone, the photo doesn’t come out.”
With that Prem walked away. He promised himself this was the last muddle he’d get himself into. He was done – no more grand ideas, no more weed, no more shots, no more shortcuts.
Amar did the only thing he could, he went to the boss.
The owner was concerned. “There’s a lawsuit here, and bad publicity, and possible jail time; there’s too much trouble.”
Priya was summoned. She paled when she saw Amar in the office. “What’s happening?” She asked.
An employment contract was placed in front of her, specifically the paragraph about client privacy. They made sure the video was deleted right there. If it got leaked, the boss promised to take her to court and fight her to bankruptcy. If she behaved, he was willing to write her a letter of recommendation.
It was her choice to make. She chose the latter.
As she walked out, Amar blew her a kiss; he didn’t tell her that he had been fired too, without a letter of recommendation.
The boys sat huddled in their hostel room, nursing their various scars.
The new month had rolled over and fresh allowances had been credited into their bank accounts. Over a round of hot tea and crackers, they recounted the last three weeks.
“Never again,” Amar’s voice was a mixture of relief and regret.
“Never again,” Meet and Amar repeated after him.
Meet’s usual carefree facade had cracked. He was in major trouble this time.
Last month’s credit card bill had earned him a call from daddy dearest. “A little lesson for you, son: money, contrary to your beliefs, does not grow on trees. The next time you want to burn it away, earn your own,” he spat out. “Don’t make me come down there Meet. I don’t have that kind of time to waste.”
And what had he done?
Just that – he had swiped and swiped and swiped away. Thankfully, his father was travelling at the moment. At least the man wouldn’t be marching up to college and pulling Meet out of the classroom by his ears. Maybe time and distance would help quell his father’s anger. And by the time he returned, Meet would get his act together and show some swipe-restraint, proving to his dad that he wasn’t as much of a spendthrift.
Breathing a little easier, Meet climbed the steps up to his hostel. He’d draw up a game plan. He’d be responsible. This would be easy.
“Hello Meet,” a cold and clinical voice greeted him, a voice he despised with a burning passion. “Your father is busy, but he asked me to take care of your new mess.”
“Imran uncle, it’s nice to see you again.” Meet set his voice in the exact cold and detached tone as his father’s trusted money man. The last time this man had been sent down to the trenches, he had made Meet’s life miserable. This time it was going to be worse, of that Meet was sure.
“You know why I am here. Somehow you’ve managed to spend a small country’s income this month, Meet,” he said brandishing a credit card bill at Meet. “Your father is disappointed.”
“What’s new?”
“I am a busy man, Meet. There are real things, important things that need my attention. Instead I am here again, trying to clean up after you,” disproval dripped from every word. And even though Meet was used to it, it still stung. “You are going to sit down and explain each of these ridiculous expenditures. He pointed at a string of transactions that were highlighted by a neon marker.”
“Sit down Meet,” Imran repeated, and Meet did just that. He took in an unnecessary deep breath. It was time to suck it up and get this ordeal over with.
Down Rs. 10,000 ~Short Term Memory Loss
It was on the bucket list: be part of a gang war.
“Like the West Side Story,” Prem said, with bubbling enthusiasm.
“Like the Outsiders,” Meet cut in.
“Khoon-kharaba, maar-dhaad. Finally a chance to earn some scars,” Amar added.
And so on that fateful day, when the sun was at its brightest, the two gangs faced off in the woods behind the college campus. It was going to be intense; it was going to be brutal; it was going to be an afternoon full of hurt, pain and humiliation.
It was the boys against the girls.
