Dil Beparwah | ✔

fifty four

||CHAPTER 54||
《¤》

┊V A R U N┊

Apart from sharing the same bunk beds in boarding school, Sid and I shared the same city to call our hometown. Once a noodle legged, skinny boned kid who'd bat sixes that would crack glass windows and bail when angry uncles showed up with the balls, he now sported a pot belly and an appetite for beer that put Pammi Auntie to shame.

Jiya, his wife and my classmate from college days, glared at him, but Sid and Pammi Auntie pretty much shared the same bubble of obliviousness when it came to parties, people, and pegs. Clinking their sixth shot together, Pammi Auntie barked her infamous laugh, reminiscing her successful history in matchmaking. "Lo batao ji, idea te wadiya dita hai tu, agency khol leni chaiye. Par ki karen na puttar, ab wo sab phone-shone naal shaadi ki baat karde hai, business profitable nahi rahega."

"Pam, meri baat suno aapke skill de saamne, koi dot-com nahi tik paana. Arey, humko hi dekh lo. Aap nahi hoti toh Jiya mujh jaise acche launde ko kabhi pata pati kya?"

That impressed Pammi Auntie thoroughly. Appreciation from her matchmaking alumni bloomed her double chin, and looking around the room to catch her next victim, she patted Siddharth's shoulder. "Ae gaal te sahi kiti tune, tere Pam ke aankhon mein te baata che, done mein jaadu hai. Kundli ki bhi zarurat nahi padti ye jaanne ke liye ki ye jodi jamegi ya nai!"

The epiphany struck me suddenly and I turned to Jiya, "Pammi Auntie ne tum dono ko introduce karaya?"

Jiya squinted her eyes at the sour tang of the lemon, and looked at me as if I'd grown two heads. "Dude, how do you not remember? Five years ago, Diwali party, isi ghar mein? I have been suffering since."

Mhm, perhaps that was a better explanation than the unholy deduction my brain had conjured up on seeing them shuffle out of Dadu's storeroom all that time ago. Speaking of, I probably was better off not knowing.

"Kyu oye Varun, sunn raha hai na tu?" Sid pushed the conversation in my directiom. "Pam di judgement te bharosa rakh."

The fùçķèr was lucky I respected Auntie too much to flash him a finger in front of her.

"Meri nai teh Siddu nu baat sun le, hein? Vani ke sath kya badhiya jodi jumegi teri, mai keh rahi hoon."

Jiya craned her neck to give me the look, "Kabhi Shirrin, kabhi Vani, janaab irada kya hai?"

"I don't know what she's trying to say."

"Accha? So why haven't you called her back yet?"

A squealing duo cut her off, one landing on my lap, the other climbing my shoulder, "Chaaachooooo!"

"Maaamoooooo!"

And then together, "Hum aa gaye!"

If the aunties' constant prating hadn't done enough to hinder my hearing, my screeching nephews and nieces had now arrived to fill the gap. These energetic goofballs never failed to turn a party up with their tantrums and wild requests. For example, "Mamu, mamu, Aap spiderman nu mile? Woh na iss baar Mumbai aaya siga!"

"Hatt, bewakoof," the niece responded, "Spiderman real nahi hota. Chachu, aap Alia Bhatt nu mile? Aapne kaha thha aap mere liye oda autograph laoge!"

That triggered a ferocious debate on who was real and who wasn't without an iota of my contribution, and while on normal days I'd very much love to indulge them, Pammi Auntie's targeted conversation interested me more. It was the beady-eyed gaze which she used to scan her prospects, that fell upon the hallway, and while it was crowded at the moment, I knew very well what her mind was plotting, for I could hear my mother introducing Arvika to my cousins.