‘First you, and then you bring your sister to places like this!’

  Kunal tries to intervene. He walks up and says, ‘Sir, can we please move towards—’

  ‘Madarchod!’ he bellows at Kunal. ‘You will tell me where to move! Hain? You will tell me?’

  He starts to charge at Kunal, but I come up and stand between the two of them. ‘Papa,’ I say, pushing him back slightly. ‘This is between us. Just go home. I’m warning you.’

  ‘Between us? This is between all you people and me!’ he says, gesturing wildly at the crowd.

  ‘No one’s interested in what you have to say,’ I tell him even as I fight all the memories flooding back to me. All those times when we had those screaming matches where he would remind me of all the fucking sacrifices he made for me. How I used to acknowledge his dumb arguments.

  ‘Papa, please—’ Shilpi whimpers.

  He ignores everyone and starts wildly pointing at the girls. ‘All your parents know that you are here?! Looking for sex!’

  ‘PAPA. ENOUGH,’ I shout.

  He turns to look at me and locks my gaze. Then he digs his finger into my chest. ‘And you! Pimping out your sixteen-year-old sister!’

  ‘Papa, please stop,’ Shilpi cries, trying to shrink away.

  ‘You heard her,’ I say, anger bursting through my veins. Only he, only he can use this language for Shilpi. And he dares to project righteousness. This asshole. What a uniquely sad thing. To so easily think of abuses for your father.

  ‘Stop? I haven’t even started!’

  He tries to move towards Shilpi, but I push him back harder this time.

  ‘You will touch me?’ he asks, his voice incredulous.

  I stride towards him, barely anything separating us. ‘If you say anything else, I will lay you flat out. Don’t push my boundaries.’

  He stares me down. He knows I will do it. I wish he pushes me, pushes me enough so I can do it and put the final fucking nail in this farce of a father–son relationship. ‘Of course, you will hit me, behenchod. Because you have gone crazy,’ he grumbles.

  ‘Has there ever been a more shameless man than you?’ I spit on the ground. ‘That’s what you are. You, your wife . . . your entire fucking family is worthless. A blot.’

  It ticks him off. I love it. I enjoy every fucking bit of it.

  ‘You have gone crazy! Behind all these women!’ Then he points at Aditi. ‘Especially this one. This is the kind of life she teaches you! Look at these people!’ He turns to point at a girl in a skirt that ends just above her knee and roars, ‘Half-naked, drinking, looking for someone to take home for the night! No values, no shame, just . . . lust!’

  ‘Sir, please, let’s take this outside,’ Kunal says, trying again, his voice firm but calm.

  There are people with their phones out now, recording. It’s even better. I imagine him watching these videos on his WhatsApp group and then hanging himself from a ceiling. But I hope he convinces my mother to do the same because who wants to deal with that? She’s an equal opportunities villainess in this. I remember her upturned nose every time I talked about Megha—the jokes she and Maasi cracked, the memes she sent despite being technologically illiterate. Fuck them.

  ‘And who are you?’ my father spits, jabbing a finger at Kunal. ‘Dalle saale? Is that what you are? A pimp for all these sluts? Is that what your mom taught you to do?’

  Sluts.

  Ah!

  Again the same word he used for Megha. The same word he used to try and break us. A white-hot rage washes over me. The noise of the crowd, the flashing phones, the music from the bar—it all fades away.

  ‘You talk about values?’ I say, my voice dangerously quiet. ‘You? Saale, if I start telling people what you do, how you and your brother talk about women . . . fuck off, Harish.’

  ‘Saale, you will take my name?’ he yells.

  ‘No, I will not take your name. I will call you what you are.’

  ‘WHO AM I?’ he shouts.

  ‘Chutiya hai saale tu. That’s what you fucking are. Chutiya. Sun raha hai, Harish? Write it down, get it tattooed on your face because that’s what you are.’

  I watch him shake his head. He turns to look at everyone.

  ‘Look at all of you! Modern people? Thoo!’ he spits on the ground. ‘No respect for anything. All you guys need is your parents’ money and sex.’

  A few people in the crowd giggle. This ticks him off even more.

  He continues angrily, eyes popping from his sockets, wagging his finger like a mad man, ‘That’s what you are. That’s what this is . . . coming out to these places . . . drinking . . . finding people to go home with . . . what’s this? This is the lowest point . . . ALL OF YOU!’ He starts pointing at everyone. ‘All of you are broken . . . you . . . you and you . . .’

  He points at Shilpi and Aditi.

  ‘She’s not broken,’ I roar back. gesturing to Aditi. ‘And Shilpi’s not broken. You’re the one who’s broken. You’re so twisted up in your own pathetic pride. And pride for fucking what? What the fuck have you done?’

  ‘I do it because I love you!’ he screams, his voice cracking with a sudden, pathetic self-pity.

  ‘Oh, fuck you.’

  ‘I sacrificed my whole life for you kids, and this is the respect I get?’

  I start to laugh. ‘Fuck your sacrifice. Without you, WE WOULD BE HAPPY! That’s what we would be. Now fucking get out of here.’

  He takes a step closer, his face inches from mine. ‘I am your father.’

  ‘And I am your son,’ I spit back. ‘And I am telling you to get the hell away from us.’

  He looks from me to Aditi, then to Shilpi, his eyes filled with impotent rage. He’s lost control. He knows it. And then I look past him. At the crowd. At the ones with their phones. A strange calm settles over me.

  ‘Please,’ I say to the ones with the phones in their hands. ‘Fucking upload this. Upload this. This chutiya who calls himself my father—’

  ‘OYE!’ he roars. ‘Bandh kar ise!’

  ‘He thinks he’s right,’ I say to the crowd with a shrug. ‘So upload this. Let’s see how many think he’s right. That he’s right to disown his son because his girlfriend was not of the community. To force his daughter to do what he wants her to do . . . just upload this . . .’

  ‘Haan haan!’ says my father at a girl taking a video. ‘I don’t care! Yeh lo, get a good angle!’

  I laugh at my pathetic father. The excuse for a man and say, ‘Show everyone what a real family looks like.’

  I turn to Aditi and Shilpi. ‘Let’s go,’ I say quietly.

  ‘YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!’ he shouts.

  ‘Sir,’ says Kunal, stepping forward again.

  I step right up to my father and wind up for a punch. ‘Saale, I will put you down right here.’

  He must have seen the rage in my eyes and that I would do it, because he steps back and mumbles angrily. ‘The girls have made you crazy!’

  I don’t deign to answer that. I put one arm around Shilpi, who is still shaking, and with the other, I take Aditi’s hand. Her hand is ice-cold in mine. We walk through the crowd of silent, staring faces. We don’t look back. I can hear Kunal’s voice trying to talk my father down.

  I hear the man still shouting behind us, and for the first time, I know what I always believed deep down: he’s nothing but a stranger.

  34

  Aditi

  The next morning, the apartment is a tomb. There’s a thick, suffocating silence. Last night, after a very long time, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see Raghav’s father . . . his eyes full of rage, his fingers trembling . . . and then I started seeing my own father . . . my own family. And despite everything, I missed them.

  What a joke, right? An unfunny one at that. A joke, nonetheless.

  I missed Didi, and I missed Bhaiya, and I missed Maa. I had trained my mind not to think of them and of late I had been doing a good job but it came undone yesterday. I was this close to calling them again. This close.

  And why? Because what am I without them in the world? What tethers me to this life? I tortured myself thinking of how things could have gone differently. The only way things could have gone differently was if I was brainwashed completely. If I’d led a life that they wanted me to live.

  So slowly, I started reminding myself of the worst versions of them, not the nice ones. People at their best are easily likeable. It’s at their worst when you truly know whether they love us or not.

  What would Maa have said if she knew I was working with Connect? Facilitating love stories? She would see me as the same: a pimp for unapproved relationships. My brother would see a sister who sometimes drinks. My father would see a girl who lets a guy hug her. My didi would see an immoral girl who stays out till late, gets into cars with boys, lets them almost kiss her.

  When a family can’t see your truth, what use are they? Except biologically, they aren’t related to you at all.

  I kept reminding myself of this to be more angry than sad. Anger is dirty fuel that you can function on. So I just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the scene at the brewery over and over in my head: the flashing phones, his father’s contorted face, the cold, hard grip of Raghav’s hand as he pulled us away.

  How easily could this be my father?

  I finally drag myself out of bed. Shilpi’s not around. I can only imagine the state she’s in. I find Raghav in the kitchen, staring into a mug of black coffee. His shoulders are hunched, and the back of his neck is rigid with tension. His knuckles tap absently against the ceramic, the tiny sound filling the silence.

  I fill up my water bottle, the sound of it filling up unnaturally loud.

  ‘How is she?’ I ask. ‘Shilpi?’

  He doesn’t look at me. He just continues to stare into his mug. Steam curls up, fogging his glasses for a moment. Then says, ‘She cried herself to sleep. What did you expect?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I whisper.

  ‘You can apologize,’ he says, his voice flat.

  ‘I . . .’ My fingers tighten around the cold steel bottle.

  ‘You took her outside. You posted a picture with her on Instagram,’ he says in a low voice and turns to look at me. ‘How do you think Papa knew where she was?’

  ‘But . . . I didn’t know,’ I say.

  ‘You should have,’ he mutters, turning back to his mug.

  ‘Sorry, but your Papa could have come here too,’ I argue.

  ‘But he didn’t? Did he?’ he says. ‘And you should have asked me before taking her out.’ He drops his voice even lower. ‘She is my sister. My responsibility. You don’t get to make decisions about her safety.’

  ‘What safety?! I was with her all the time!’ I snap. My voice bounces off the tiles, louder than I intended.

  ‘You had no right!’ he roars. His fist slams the counter, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. ‘Why did you take her out?!’

  ‘She was feeling sad, Raghav,’ I say, my voice rising. ‘I was helping her out because you clearly are so wrapped up in your own misery that you can’t see it. I was trying to help!’

  ‘You’re not helping her.’

  ‘I am! At least she’s willing to be helped!’

  He scoffs. He runs a hand through his messy hair, tugging at it. ‘Please go back to finding people love, okay? No need to meddle in my business.’

  ‘You’re being unfair, Raghav.’

  ‘Oh please, don’t tell me what I should do,’ he scoffs. He pushes the mug away with a clatter.

  ‘Because you know what to do?’ I say, and my eyes drop to his phone.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he says, grinding his teeth.

  ‘You don’t have any clue!’

  ‘And you do?!?’

  ‘You’d rather live in a fantasy than deal with anything real,’ I say, taking a step closer.

  ‘Yes, yes, you’re the queen of healing, right?’ he says bitterly.

  It ticks me off. ‘You know what your problem is?’ I ask, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

  ‘Yes, please tell me what my problem is! Because, clearly, you’re the all-knowing!’

  ‘You hate that I can be normal at times.’

  ‘I don–’

  ‘You hate that Shilpi had one real moment of fun, because it reminds you that you’re just . . . stuck.’

  ‘I AM NOT STUCK!’ His voice cracks, his chest heaving.

  ‘Rotting with that app on your own. You’re in a prison of your own making.’

  ‘Her memory is not my prison,’ he snarls. ‘It’s the only real thing I have left.’

  ‘No, Raghav,’ I say, my voice trembling. My throat tightens but I force the words out. ‘My career is real, not an escape. The work I’m doing is real. Shilpi’s pain is real. What you have is an echo of a time that won’t come.’

  ‘Oh fuck off. How long have you been planning this speech—’

  ‘You fuck off, Raghav! You’re so in love with looking at yourself in pain, you can’t stand the thought of yourself or anyone else moving on.’

  ‘You think I like seeing Shilpi in pain.’

  ‘I . . . am . . .’

  The way he looks at me makes me regret what I said, but it needed to be said.

  Just then, my phone rings.

  ‘Please take that,’ he says. ‘And stop talking to me.’ He turns his back to me, shoulders rigid.

  It’s Kunal. I take the call because, what am I supposed to do? Lose another part of me because he doesn’t see anyone else’s perspective than his? If he’s so fucking intelligent, why can’t he see what everyone else sees so clearly?

  I walk to the balcony and answer, my back to Raghav.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, my voice a tired whisper, what I had just said still echoing in my head, wondering if I could have phrased things differently for him to get it.

  ‘Hey,’ he replies. His voice isn’t angry. It’s worse. It’s practical. Worried. ‘Are you okay? Is Shilpi okay?’

  ‘We’re . . . fine,’ I lie.

  He’s quiet for a moment. ‘Aditi,’ he says, and I can hear the stress in his voice. ‘The videos are everywhere. All over the Gurugram WhatsApp groups. People are sharing them like crazy.’

  ‘It’s a good thing, right? Any publicity—’

  I can’t even complete the sentence. I close my eyes, pressing my forehead to the cool glass of the balcony door. Of course they are. And what a trite, stupid thing to say. Any publicity—

  ‘I’m getting calls from our sponsors,’ he continues, his voice still calm, still practical. ‘They’re worried about the brand.’

  ‘I know—’

  ‘Connect is supposed to be a safe, positive space. A public screaming match about . . . whatever that man said . . . everything else . . . it’s not exactly . . .’

  ‘On-brand?’ I say. ‘Is that the word you’re looking for?’

  I hear his words. I know they are reasonable. I know he’s just a founder trying to do damage control. But reason always doesn’t cut it. What I hear is that he’s giving up on me. He’s abandoning me. When things get difficult, people leave. That’s the only truth I know. I understand his abandonment, and yet it doesn’t make it any better.

  ‘So what are you saying, Kunal?’ I ask, my voice turning defensive, sharp.

  ‘I’m trying to tell you what’s happening right now.’

  ‘Are you telling me this is my fault? That I should have handled my personal crisis more discreetly so it wouldn’t spoil your brand?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying at all,’ he says, a hint of frustration finally entering his tone.

  ‘That’s exactly what you’re saying!’

  ‘I’m saying this is a mess. But it’s a mess that can be solved.’

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘I mean . . . it’s not good publicity, but the kids are on our side,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  He sighs. ‘What I’m worried about is us.’

  ‘What us?’ I say, my voice barely a whisper.

  ‘I think I will get my heart broken with you,’ he admits.

  ‘What are you talking about? I don’t—’

  ‘All that’s going on in your life, I think I’m imposing and getting ideas about the future . . . while you’re still healing . . . your friends are healing . . . I think I want to step back from this.’

  His words are just fog. ‘So, what are you saying?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m saying that . . .’ he says nervously. ‘I’m going to say this bluntly, okay? I think I should stop hitting on you and be a founder. We work together, that’s it.’

  ‘Because of . . .’ I trail off.

  ‘Raghav . . . his sister. There’s a lot of complication around you. And I don’t want to get hurt, or be overwhelmed by it all. Maybe when the time is right . . .’ his voice trails.

  ‘You mean the time will be right when Raghav’s not around, is it? That’s what you think,’ I say, my voice sharp again.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he says. ‘. . . I don’t think we should make it tougher than it already is. For you and for me.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say. My free hand grips the railing. ‘I can live with that.’

  There’s a short silence.

  ‘Cool,’ he says. ‘If you need anything, let me know. And chill about the work. We will handle the next few days. You come back when you’re okay.’

  ‘I’m okay right now. We have a Zoom at three. I will join.’

  ‘Cool,’ he says.

  ‘Cool,’ I say and hang up.

  I turn around, and Raghav is standing there, leaning against the doorframe, a smirk on his face. His arms are crossed loosely, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘What?’ I snap.

  ‘Nothing,’ he says, that slow, toxic smile spreading across his face. ‘He dumped you, didn’t he?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ I say through gritted teeth. Heat rises to my face, my jaw tightening.

  ‘Things got tough for him, didn’t they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘See?’ he says, pushing off the doorframe and taking a slow step towards me. The floor creaks under his weight. ‘This is what people are. This is what the real world is.’