Momentum

The first thing I notice when Geet invites me in are the fruits in the big bowl – pat in the centre of the coffee table. Who puts a fruit bowl on a coffee table in the middle of a room full of dank blue sofas? She smiles. I nod with a smile back and she asks me to sit down. “Roger will be down in a minute,” she says and goes in to the kitchen. She’s dressed up. A painted face. She reminds me of the pictures of Geishas seen in certain magazines. The sun is just setting. I cross my feet and cannot help tapping the goggles on the sofa handle.

He’s not really Roger. He’s Romesh Gupta. She has even overtaken his nickname from us.

“Here, have some water,” Geet is back, looking chubbier and redder than ever in contrast with the silver thali and transparent Borosil glass. She goes back in somewhere again.

This time I hear murmurs in the bedroom.

When we’re finally in the car, there’s an awkward silence.

“I thought …bar but…we can go somewhere else.” I told Roger. Geet was in the backseat.

“Yeah, that won’t be her kind of place.”

I glowered at him. He glowered back at me. “Be nice,” he said, turning his eyes to the road. “There-that’s the right to Poonam’s-”

Five minutes later, I knew the evening would be a disaster. This Poonam – a friend of Geet’s – walks out of the dilapidated gate in a blazing magenta gown. Under the streetlight, I can’t make out her face, but in the dress the woman looks like Cinderella’s evil step sister. By the time she slides in beside Geet and they share their squeally hellos, the car is smelling like it’s been stuffed full with a meadow. I manage a “hi” through this smog of scent and girly squeaks.

“It’s quite hot in here,” I open the window wide and begin to drive. Roger knows I’m angry. He has seen my ears – they’re red with excess blood supply.

We finally decide on Indigo. I’m embarrassed to go with such company in that esteemed restaurant but Roger glares at me enough to shut down any opposition. The valet wants to handle my precious so I summarily let the rest of them off and go with him to check the parking space. We park, I chat up the guy who seems better company than the one I’ll get for dinner. We come back walking. He bids me goodbye with cheer as I give him a tip to keep an eye on the car. The diffused fragrance of chicken fillet, potato crumbs and wine; the bar, polished glasses and the clean linen fill me with a sense of comfort. I wink at the bartender and he points to the roof.

I climb the stairs and spot them immediately.

The horrendous magenta has softened to a halter neck of chiffon maroon. Damn the woman. Or is it the lighting. Was there a horrendous jacket on her before? Her earrings catch the light creating gentle rainbows. A slender chain at the end of which shimmers a heart pendant hangs from a shapely neck. Her wrist glistens.

Roger waves.

When I sit next to this new Poonam, his eyes are speaking volumes about how I was looking at her. I clear my throat, straighten my tie and ease into the atmosphere. We order our drinks - a Cuba Libre for Roger, a Screw Driver for Geet which seems the perfect choice for her, a Bailey’s for Poonam and a Long Island Iced Tea for yours truly.

*

Here’s the part where you get really interested non? But you have to wait for the next installment. ;)