#TornadoGiveaway 2 BFF by @vibhybatra
Disclaimer: This story is part of the #TornadoGiveaway posts by The Book Club and has been published as-is, in its unedited form on Tell-A-Tale.
Today we share a short fiction piece with you by the young and talented author Vibha Batra. A story about friends, marriage and love.
‘Why is she here?’ Anjana pouted as Sheetal swatted her hand away. ‘Why are you here?’ Sheetal retorted.
‘Hmm, let’s s-s-ee,’ Anjana slurred, ticking the reasons off her fingers. ‘I’m here to drink, to party, to have fun, to celebrate my closest friend’s wedding, to make it a bachelorette to remember, unlike some fuddy duddies,’ she added, glancing meaningfully in Sheetal’s direction.
‘Not today, guys, please,’ Megha said wearily, stepping in between her best friends, riding high on the success of the party.
She had cut a pretty picture in her emerald green Bebe dress, the pink Bride-to-be sash and the glittering tiara firmly in place. Her cousin had managed to pick up a firang (her cousin was on the rebound), the food couldn’t have been better, they had even spotted a Bollywood star.
But at the moment, all Megha wanted to do was dash into the adjoining room and crash on the inviting four poster bed. She was dead tired, her head was hurting as much as her feet, and the last thing she needed was to have those two going at each other’s throats again.
They say every girl needed to have two BFFs. One to gossip with and one to gossip about. In that respect, Megha was blessed, for she indeed had two besties, Anjana and Sheetal, for the aforementioned purposes. But as it happened, Anjana and Sheetal were firmly perched on opposite ends of the spectrum, with no chance of the twain meeting, ever. Chalk and chesse had probably more in common than these two. And that was putting it mildly.
Uninhibited, hot-headed, opinionated Anjana, was as easy on the eyes as she was easy going (the uncharitable would add ‘easy morals’ to the list, but never mind the cynical lot). Her choice of profession almost lived up to her colourful personality. She was a party planner. In fact, this whole bachelorette-in-Goa thing was her idea (oh, how original, the cynics had scoffed, but you know how cynics are). She wanted to impress Megha, she wanted to show the girls (a motley bunch that included two first cousins, a work colleague, two college friends, and a clingy pal from school) a good time, and of course, she wanted Sheetal to know who was boss.
Sheetal, on the other hand, could be voted Most Likely To Keep Her Cool, keep unsuitable men at arm’s length, keep her thoughts to herself, often all at the same time. Brilliant, broody and bookish (not charming in the Simran-in-DDLJ sort of a way, cynics would be quick to point out. Sigh, the cynics again), Sheetal often found herself at the receiving end of Anjana’s sharp tongue, Megha’s jokes, and all-round pity in social gatherings, present company included. The mole bang in the centre of her nose didn’t help matters. Nor did her single and so-not-willing-to-mingle status, though she was gainfully employed in a marketing research firm, and by all accounts, doing very well for herself.
Sheetal looked around the room and the words ‘Smug Marrieds’ leapt to mind unbidden. Helen Fielding was spot on, she thought, her lips curling with disdain.
‘So what’s plans, girlsss?’ Anjana slurred.
‘Plans?’ Sheetal repeated scornfully. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’
The rest of the gang didn’t answer. The needy chic from school had passed out on the couch, the others lay sprawled on the rug, in no mood (or shape, if truth be told) to answer. Megha being Megha was busy restoring some semblance of order to the room.
‘Tish, tosh! The night’s young, my could-have-been-friend, if only you were frickin’ human,’ Anjana hiccupped. ‘How about we play something?’
‘How about you grow up?’ Sheetal shot back.
‘I’ve got it! Let’s play Truth or Dare!’
How could people play that silly game? Surely close friends knew all there was to know, as for the others, the truth was strictly on a need to know basis. Sheetal was about to scoff when her cell beeped.
‘Ooh, somebody’s got a message,’ Anjana drawled, tottering towards the centre table in her sky high Louboutins.
Sheetal, who in her sensible ballerinas had a clear advantage, had no trouble beating Anjana to it. ‘When will you get the message, Anjana? Learn to mind your own damn business,’ Sheetal snapped. She read the text, her face impassive. Her cell beeped again.
‘Hmm,’ Anjana purred. ‘Who could be messaging Sheetu in the middle of the night?’
‘Oh, so now it was the middle of the night?’ Sheetal said sweetly.
Megha held up a hand. ‘Girls, cut it out. Really, I’m up to here…’
‘With wine,’ butt in Anjana with a giggle. ‘Aren’t you interested in knowing if Sheetu’s got a secret admirer? A mystery man?’
‘Believe me, I couldn’t care less,’ Megha declared, stifling a yawn.
Sheetal was stung. Like most people, she knew exactly how her so-called friends felt about her, of course, but she hadn’t quite counted on them publicly declaring their indifference. Eyes be-dewed with tears, she stabbed out a brief message on her cell phone.
Megha tiptoed her way around her comatose posse and swept Anjana up in a bear hug. ‘Thanks for tonight, babe. For the idea, for the theme, for the party, everything. I had the best time ever. Waiting to go back and tell Varun all about it.’
‘Aww!’ Anjana purred. ‘Varun’s one lucky dude. You guys make such a cute pair!’
Megha dimpled. It was true. They were crazy about each other, always had been. And now, they were getting married. She couldn’t help but feel lucky.
‘Come here you,’ she beckoned Sheetal over and enveloped her in a warm embrace. ‘Love you, girls. Am off to bed. Nighty night.’
‘Well, it’s just the two of us,’ Anjana said, sipping on her wine, her legs dangling over the hand rest of the chair.
By way of reply, Sheetal reached for her bag that lay trapped under one of the passed out cousins.
‘You know, your bag is just like you. So big, so roomy, so sensible, so last season,’ Anjana could not resist saying.
Sheetal had every intention of leaving the room in dignified silence. Megs would be married soon (translation, she would hang out more with Varun’s friends) which meant she wouldn’t have to put up with Anjana anymore. Their paths would hardly ever cross except once or twice a year when Megs threw a party. She couldn’t wait to be out of the room, out of Goa, out of the fake life her friendship with Megha had created, but not right away. Just as suddenly, she felt the need to get something off her chest.
‘Yeah, and your bag is so you!’
Anjana’s expression said it all. It was the season’s IT bag, after all.
‘It’s loud, it’s small, it’s empty inside,’ Sheetal hissed. ‘And yes, it’s so not worth the price,’ she added for good measure.
‘Why, you…’ Anjana began, her eyes narrow slits.
‘I wouldn’t say another word, if I were you. You wouldn’t want me to go in there and tell Megs about the real cost of the trip, now would you?’
The colour drained from Anjana’s face. ‘W-w-what the hell are you talking about?’
‘Oh, for god’s sake, just drop the ‘I’m pure as driven snow’ act. I’m not Megs, you know,’ snapped Sheetal. ‘I read your texts.’
Anjana slumped down on the couch.
‘Oh, yeah, when you were busy partying, drinking, I was having a little bit of fun on my own.’
‘Sheetu…’
‘Don’t Sheetu me. I’d suggest you watch your mouth, Anjana. One little dig, one little taunt, one uncalled for remark, and I’ll have no problem marching up to Megha, get it? So we’re clear?’
Anjana continued to stare at her, ashen faced. ‘You read my messages?’
Sheetal slung the bag across one shoulder, yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind her. Good thing, no one read her messages, she thought with a smug smile, before she went back to sexting Varun, Megha’s Varun, the mystery man in her life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Vibha Batra is an advertising consultant, author, poet, lyricist, and columnist. Her published books include: Sweet Sixteen (Yeah, Right!), Seventeen and Done (You Bet!), Eighteen and Wiser (Not quite!)—a young adult trilogy published by Penguin—Ishaavaasya Upanishad, a translation of her grandfather, Shri Vishnu Kant Shastri’s book published by Rupa Publications, a poetry collection titled Tongue-in-cheek and a collection of short stories titled A Twist of Lime. She has also contributed short stories (Indian Voices, Happy Birthday to Me, Urban Shots Love Collection, Down the Road, City of Gods, Vanilla Desires, 9.69 seconds, Chicken Soup) and poems (Dance of the Peacock, Suvarnarekha, 20-20) to several national and international anthologies and written for various magazines.
If you want to win her book
THE ACTIVIST AND THE CAPITALIST
try the #TornadoGiveaway organised by The Book Club or check out the Rafflecoper below.
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