Grand Masti - Fun Never Ends

“I’ve always been a little shy, and they don’t they say the best way to get over it is to plunge right in?”

The girls in the art class told Meet.

Meet usually had to do all the heavy lifting, so he was savouring this moment. He enjoyed being pursued. He enjoyed being wooed.

“We love your abs”, the women at the kitty party winked at Prem.

No one had said that to Prem before. Between Meet’s fitness regime and Amar’s almost-doctor status, he tended to get sidelined. He grabbed this opportunity with both hands and each of his four and a half abs. He flashed a smile their way. “You are welcome to touch, but if you break it, you buy it.”

The women were not shy, and Prem even managed to learn a couple of new things.

Members had started asking for Amar by name. Where they’d come once a month before, they were suddenly willing to splurge on weekly sessions.

He manages to do things I haven’t felt in years, he caught one regular whisper into her phone. He paid a little extra attention to her that day. He enjoyed watching his clients come with an extra sway to their step and leave on wobbly feet.

Meet spent so much of his focus on the sexy art students, he didn’t notice the very interested art professor lurking in the corners.

Prof D, as he was called around the campus, was smitten by this beautiful young man. He had attended every class, and he could say positively he had never enjoyed it as much. He could tell Meet was not all about vanilla, but he knew it would be a challenge.

There was a photo that Prem didn’t know about. It was taken about three days back at a kitty party he worked. It was a shot of a particularly feisty lady taking a shot off of his abs; it was her idea. The photo was sent to a friend in confidence, and from there on it was shared in confidence.

That photo had completed its trek around the social circuit and was now sitting in front of her very pissed off husband.

Amar packed up his kit, stuffing his shirt and shoes in without a care. If he paid a little more attention, he’d notice something amiss. Slinging his bag across his body, he stepped out with a spring in his step; today had been particularly profitable.

He didn’t notice his colleague Priya, or her death glare, on his way out. Priya balled her fists in anger. She had lost eight clients since this newbie started. If he is going to steal my clients, I might as well get a cut of his tips, she reasoned.

The following week was weird.

Meet noticed Professor D everywhere he went. At first, he brushed it off as coincidence. But very soon he realized this was something else.

When the professor finally approached him, Meet was reminded of a hunter approaching its prey. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to notice me. But I guess better late than never, right?”

Meet just stared at him.

“Look, I know this isn’t your usual scene, but I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Think about it, that’s all I’m asking.”

The professor remained within his perimeter, inserting himself into any situation he could. Clearly, he would not back off. It was worse when class was in session.

Now that Meet knew what was going on, he wasn’t as comfortable. Unfortunately he had already been paid for the next two sessions. Not turning up meant returning money already spent.

Prem noticed that a black Audi turned up where ever he went.

As he parked his bike outside a reception hall, the venue for today’s kitty, a heavyset man finally stepped out of the car. “Yo douche bag,” he called to Prem. “I’m glad I bumped into you.” He threw an envelope across to Prem.

Prem opened it and slid a photo out. The woman drinking a shot off his naked chest.

The man added in a dark voice, “that’s my wife.”

All the blood drained out of Prem’s system. How was he going to explain this? Would the clichéd ‘it’s not what it looks like’ work?

“I’m going to destroy you little by little,” violence radiated through the man’s pores. “There’s nothing you can say or do to change my mind. You mess with me, I mess you up.” With that he stepped into his car and right as he drove away, he shaped his fingers into a gun and mimiced pulling the trigger.

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.

BALANCE SHEET

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.

“Losers streak across the college cricket ground, twice if it’s with underwear on,” Prem said.

It’s not like the guys needed further incentive –they were paintball champions two years running now, but Prem didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

The boys were arrested on their second lap. They were slapped with a multitude of charges, including pornography for a video that some student recorded on his mobile of youngsters dashing across the cricket ground in stages of undress.

“There could be jail time. There might be a court case. These are dangerous charges. It’ll be all over the media,” the arresting officer warned them. “Your parents will definitely have to be called in to the station.”

He gave the boys a minute to understand the gravity of the situation before he added, “Of course, I could be convinced to forget this nonsense ever happened.” His face tuned smug as he saw hope flare up in their eyes, “for the right price.”

Down Rs. 17,500 ~Of Utilities & Other Essentials

Everything was in order. The Playboy magazines were hidden under the raddi; there wasn’t a single pair of underwear in sight; curtains and sheets were introduced to the living quarters; scented candles sat on the nightstand; food had been ordered. They needed just one more thing to make this a real moving-in party: alcohol.

“Hello Sir, we’ve moved into the flat upstairs. “We are having a small moving in party, and we’d like to invite you. And um, sir, I’m sorry about this but we didn’t realize today was a dry day. Do you have any alcohol to spare? We’ll pay for it, of course.”

“If you’re willing to pay, I am willing to help; we are neighbours after all,” the short. Oily man from the third floor said; his eyes were wide with excitement, whether it was from the invite or from the prospect of extra cash, they weren’t sure. “I’m looking forward to your party. What did you say your name was again?”

They only had 12 more flats to go.

Down Rs. 30,000 ~The Fall of Romeo

“Hi Mom,” Prem said, weighing every word carefully.

“Yes, I am fine. We are having a really good time here.”

“Yes, Goa is lovely right now. It’s not too hot.”

“Meet and Amar are swimming right now, but I’ll pass on your greeting.”

“I think we’ll stay for another week at least. And then head back directly to college.”

“Yes, I’m sorry for not making it home this time around. But we were exhausted after the exams and just needed to chill.”

“Thanks Mom, I love you too.”

As he cut the call, Prem hissed in pain. His cracked rib had protested quite violently through the conversation. The three friends had learnt an important life lesson this week: broken bones are expensive. Hospital rooms that don’t smell like medicine are even more so. And if you’re in the habit of chasing after the wrong girl, it’s prudent to check for unmentioned boyfriends beforehand, if you want to avoid both.

Down Rs. 16,500 ~Kiss of Death

The kiss was soft and sweet, and it tasted of peppermint. He could feel her lip gloss on his own lips; he could feel her breath twirling around with his. Her hands rested lightly against his chest, her perfectly manicured red nails popped against the jet black of his shirt. He barely heard the cheer that erupted behind them.

Her little giggle gave away her nerves. She brushed a strand of her hair away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Looking at him square in the eye she said, “It’s your turn to spin the bottle.” Those words brought him back into the room, back into the circle which included his now very pissed off girl friend. He’d have to make up for getting lost in that kiss. He’d have to make up with something shiny and expensive.

Down Rs. 15,000 ~Investing in the Future

As finals week approached, Meet, Amar and Prem locked themselves in a room with their study material. Outside the room, a tower of empty pizza boxes was coming up, one that was guarded by a platoon of used teacups. For anyone that passed by, the sign was clear: men at work.

The overheated Playstation was a testament to their hard work and persistence. Next week’s Call of Duty playoff was in the bag; they could already smell victory, worth Rs. 15,000 for each player on the team. Those IIT geeks wouldn’t know what hit them.

Down Rs. 71,000 + ~ The After Party

That night was a blur. Sure Meet had an occasional flash: the toast; the fireworks; the dancing; the swimming. But the sharp pain in his head, refused to let him remember anything else. He remembered the morning after: getting off the couch he was sprawled across and making his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He had been reeking like an illegal toddy distillery. And by the look of things around the room, the others would have been in a similar state.

Meet had invited a few friends over to his family farm house in Lonavala to celebrate his birthday. They had planned on chilling at the bungalow –dinner, drinks, movie night and maybe a trek after breakfast the next day. That was before someone found the bar. The night had taken a distinctly hazy turn after that.

He had hoped they didn’t do too much damage; he was already in the dog house as far as his father was concerned, he didn’t want to add to the misery.

Meet had taken a sip of the bitter coffee he had just brewed and walked around the house. What he had seen had taken care of his hangover instantly: there had been an empty bottle of Cristal laying on the floor – the bottle his dad was saving up for an upcoming anniversary; the couch had been partly burned and totally ruined; the Ming vase in the corner had a big crack running from top to bottom; and for some reason the garden furniture had been floating in the pool.

That’s when the flashes had begun to make sense:

“Happy birthday Meet, my friend, my brother! Happy…. oooh look Cristal. Pop!”

“We didn’t start the fire, it was always burning, oh shit! It’s burning, it’s burning! Oh god, we killed the couch; where do we sit now?”

“Whoooooo, crack. Oh god, this thing isn’t real is it? Don’t worry, it’s just a tiny crack, if you turn it around, no one will notice.”

“Swimming is so tiring; we should have chairs to sit in the pool. Oooh! We should have chairs to sit in the pool!”

Sighing, Meet had drained the rest of his bitter black coffee. This birthday was going to cost him his youth.

“Meet, I’m going to do you a favour, I will not share these astounding tales with your father. The man has enough on his plate without courting a heart attack,” Imran told Meet once he recounted all his ‘adventures’. “And I’ll tell exactly what he is going to decide: he is going to cut you off for a while. You’re going to be on a very tight leash from here Meet. I’d recommend you get your act together, and quickly.”

“Was that Imran Uncle, Meet? So what’s the word? Are you in the clear?” His friends asked once Imran left the room.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.