Nosedive

Khushbu stood between her sisters, Mansi and Sonam, in the line-up—not inside a cop station but in the compound of the next building. All three were wearing nothing but their night suits. In front of them, swaying, lurching, railing and ranting was their father, Shyamsunder Dixit. 

Powered by all of ten cheap, large whiskies.

The scene had all the ferocity of the Serengeti. 

Only, in nighties!

Father lion raged at the young ones in what had become a routine fixture. The neighbours looked on curiously… like wildebeests.  Among them, peering shiftily was Kirit Patel.

For the nth time Shyamsunder shouted. ‘You are not my daughters. Where’s the proof?’ 

Finally, losing all patience, the mother lioness, Sarita roared from the balcony of their small flat on the first floor. ‘Because I was the one in labour—’

‘So what? These girls are not mine. Everybody knows—’

From a height of eleven feet, a bucket of water was upturned over his head. And another late night show came sadly to its close. Soaked from the torrential shower, father lion and the three cubs padded upstairs while the wildebeests retreated to watch prime-time telly. Yours truly did the same.

Oh-ho-no! In my haste to tell all, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Karan. Khushbu and I were a thing, had a thing, looked like a thing. You get what I’m saying? We used to be like… a thing.

Perhaps it was just cosmic coincidence, but after that night, Khushbu dropped by quite frequently. I even had the fleeting impression that a rekindling was on the cards, but the idea soon faded. 

Leave it! This one has skipped forth.

Those days of getting white wash off the walls and onto the backs of our clothing—a direct outcome of using the steps for more than walking up—were gone. She had a writer boyfriend. Truth be told, whenever she came over, our meetings were more athletic in shape and form. Pigtails flying, Khushbu would dash through a can of beer. And when her mouth wasn’t fizzing, she’d agitatedly talk about relationships and fidelity. Another trait she’d acquired was to refresh her previous visit’s vocab with a brand-new stock of big words and catch phrases. For my part, I’d eye her cunningly. 

This little cub, with her ever-expanding lexicon, shouldn’t be straying this far away from the pride.

Now, to what happened the last time she was over. Plain shocking! 

No! No making out. Told you she has a boyfriend.

Selecting her words carefully, Khushbu confessed her mother had been exploring the vast world of horizontal gymnastics with Kirit Patel. This, she said, had been going on for years. 

Oh-ho! Papa lion had a bloody point.

Small wonder Kirit was always looking over his shoulder.

‘So which one of you—’

‘I asked mom. She slapped me,’ replied Khushbu, adjusting the glasses on her sharp, almost aristocratic nose.

I made a sympathetic sound. Mine never turn out right. This one swung in like the bastard offspring of a grunt and a kiss. 

About Kirit: he was this fifty-something, single guy whose father, Ramniklal, had just died of whoring. At his death-side, in the midst a congregation divided by pain and relief, the doctor spoke of how dangerous certain bacteria could be. Skillfully, he went on to avoid any mention of syphilis or Ramniklal's penchant for cash and carry.  The point I’m making is that Kirit was now flush with bucks and looking for ways to spend them. 

Within striking distance,an acrobatic lioness licked her chops.

A second can of beer was popped open. Khushbu rolled on. ‘Mom wants out. She’s sick of paying for dad’s booze. Dad has to be kept in. He’s already shouted out enough in the compound.’

In the aloof yet worried manner perfected by successful loan applicants, I explained. ‘Your dad’s broke. He’s frustrated. He knows his wife is getting jiggy with it. And he can’t do anything. This late night drunken drama is, to his booze-addled mind, a way of taking revenge. He thinks he’s humiliating your mom.’

‘Addled?’ 

And I’ve burst out of the back to break into the main bunch of runners. The writer boyfriend could be left behind, licking his quill. ‘To confuse or become confused.’ 

Her eyes flared with respect. ‘I get what you’re saying. I mean if it’s embarrassing for us, what must he be going through?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘It must be mortifying for him.’ 

Mortifying?She wasn’t going to take this lying down, was she? 

‘The point is your dad’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Your mother provides him with the bucks to survive. Unfortunately, he also knows where she gets them from.’

‘What do we do? Sonam, Mansi and I are sick of this. We can’t be paraded every night.’ She paused tense; then she whispered, ‘Rock and a hard place?’

Rubber’s burning! This man-machine has never travelled this fast. 

Keeping it the right kind of smooth, I continued without explaining. ‘It’s pretty simple. Replace mom—’ 

‘What?’

‘Take him aside in the morning. Give him a bit of affectionate chatter and pop some cash in his hands. That way your mom won’t have a hold on him. Put the fat back in father.’

‘The deviousness of your stratagem!’ 

Stratagem? It made the hair at the back of my head prickle—no, not the pretentiousness of the word but the promise in her smile. 

She added, ‘Money’s not an issue. All three of us have jobs.’

God! Her nose has so much character.  

With a flourish, I brought out the third beer to signal that festivities were only just beginning.

After one week of monetary support and pep talks, Khushbu’s father, Shyamsunder, was able to ride his scooter into the compound without rebounding off the other parked vehicles. The wildebeests saw this. They spoke respectfully of his sobriety. The action-packed line-ups in nightwear also ceased. Instead, leaving the Serengeti behind, father lion took on mother lioness in the living room. The words he used were those that had maximum impact at minimum volume.

Two weeks later, at 2 am, a car glided into position at the compound gate. Sarika Dixit, Khushbu’s mother, carrying a suitcase in both hands, got into the front seat. Kirit helped her in. I know. I saw them.  

One more week down the line, the image of Khushbu’s mother getting into the car replayed itself in my head. Kirit had turned to help her. The memory was vivid. The flickering streetlight had shown me something I’d never paid attention to before. 

That was one hell of a nose! 

Seven days later, Khushbu received a call from her mother. I know this too because Khushbu called me immediately after. Anyway, returning to the first call, her mother mentioned she'd been to the doctor's. He had recommended two tests: one to screen, the other to confirm. The results had just come in. The lioness was syphilitic.

The doorbell has just rung. I closed the medical website I was on and put my phone aside. Through the keyhole, I could see Khushbu. There were so many things I had planned to say, but only one foot would fit the glass slipper...

Do you know the bacterium that causes syphilis is known as Treponema pallidum?