‘I trust you to make the right choices, beta. Don’t embarrass us.’I sat on the bed, well past midnight. Aditi didi lay down next to me.
‘Weed? Grass? You did grass with Brijesh?’
‘One shared joint. Still we got into so much trouble.’
‘How did you even get the stuff?’
‘Brijesh scored it from the lanes in Anjuna.’
She turned to me, surprised.
‘I thought both of you are the studious types.’
‘We are not that dull, didi,’ I said.
‘Proud of you, little sister,’ Aditi didi said.
I heard two knocks on the door. Didi and I looked at each other.
‘Wait,’ Aditi didi whispered as she stepped off the bed. She went to the door and looked
through the keyhole.
‘Who is it?’ she said out loud.
‘Oh, sorry. Excuse me, wrong room,’ I heard a faint voice.
Didi came back to bed.
‘Who?’ I said.
‘I don’t know. Some man in a suit. Anyway, tell me more about the police station drama. It’s
too funny.’
‘One-two-three-four. Come on, start,’ Mickey, the choreographer, shouted as he switched on the
music. The song London thumakda filled the room. Five of my aunts, including Richa mami and
Kamla bua, were practising on stage with the choreographer.
‘Follow my moves,’ he said.
Mickey had a lean body. In black tights and a black T-shirt he looked like an insect compared
to my well-fed, substantial Punjabi aunts. The aunts moved. The makeshift stage groaned under the
pressure.
‘Don’t bang your feet so hard. Grace, grace,’ Mickey called out. Placing his right hand on his
head he twirled.
I practised in another corner of the function room, along with my cousins. Mickey’s assistant
Vikram was to teach us our moves.
‘Faster, faster, match the beat of the song,’ Mickey said and clapped on the stage. The aunts
moved their bottoms left and right twice, before circling around. Kamla bua made a face. She hated
so much action this early in the morning.
‘Ladies,’ Vikram said to my group, ‘I will show you once and then you follow.’
Vikram played DJ wale babu. The rap song required us to be jerky to match the erratic beat.