How to Screw Up Like a Pro

by Abirami M. Krishnan

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Most families have their share of rebels, adulterers, addicts, ambitious actors, reformed playboys, lovers of exotic animals, and the occasional mute, right?' akola suresh, recently returned from the us, finds that in the three years that she's been away, 'home' has become more unravelled than ever. Surrounded by ever-bickering parents whom she addresses by their first names, aged grandparents struck with all manner of old-age eccentricities, a brother who is narrowly skirting the path to social pariah-hood, and a younger sister aspiring to be the hottest new star in kollywood, akola is quite sure of one thing - 'bonded' is a word they could never entirely apply to themselves.but when old, hurtful secrets are revealed and a frightening incident shakes them all to the core, it's time for the sureshes to abandon their happily dysfunctional lives and, finally, be family.

Release date: May 20, 2014

Publisher: Hachette India

Print pages: 236

Sample

prologue

‘A KOLA, DID HE SAY SIX THOUSAND PER SQUARE FEET? We’d need two crores to buy  an apartment near the city?’ Akola heard her sister’s pained murmuring in her ear. Anjana was not usually up to speed with mundane things like the land values the real-estate agent had been spouting in the course of his spiel.

The realtor probably heard Anjana, because he jumped in immediately. ‘Dr and Mrs Suresh, six thousand is very cheap for ECR. And woodwork full included. No other agent in Chennai will take you to such great flat.’

Akola breathed in deeply and looked out of the window into the blue beyond. She had been cooped up for months in their old, damp house, she realized. The salty breeze blowing in from the sea directly into the flat was already lifting her mood. Then the wretched agent’s grating voice intruded again.

‘This amazing view, you will never get anywhere else, Dr and Mrs Suresh,’ the man kept saying, glossing over the hard facts that the people gathered around him actually wanted to know.

‘Why would we even see a flat on the tenth and topmost floor of a fancy building on this beautiful stretch of the East Coast Road, prime real-estate area in Chennai, if we didn’t know about the “amazing” view?’ Akola wanted to say. He was irritating her, this man – more so because he kept glancing at her legs whenever she moved, or leaned on Anjana for support.

They were five of them, the entire ambulant portion of the family, but the man was addressing only the parents. She hated when that happened. They would be out with their parents – yeah, they still did that sometimes, and though they grumbled that it was ‘uncool’ the three siblings took turns to go out with their folks so that they didn’t feel too rejected – and people would talk through them, presuming that their parents were the decision-makers, without a thought to modern software-development-induced economic growth. The half-wit agent clearly did not realize that Akola’s brother Arjun, who at that moment was measuring the breadth of the drawing room’s far wall with a slight smirk on his face (possibly with the idea of fitting it with the biggest ever projection screen he could find), was going to take the decision on buying the apartment – not the serious-looking, greying-at-the-temples but still handsome older gentleman, Dr Suresh. The agent’s mentors in the business had evidently taught him that repeating the client’s names often in his sales spiel would guarantee a sale. That was irritating her too. And what was with the ‘Mrs Suresh’ crap? ‘Mrs Suresh’, their mom, never went by their dad’s name, and was known in her grateful patients’ circles all over the southern part of the country as ‘miracle uterus-worker, the goddess herself, Dr Parvati’. She was a gynaecologist–obstetrician and now renowned reproduction specialist. Can’t conceive? Come to Mommy, Akola grinned to herself.

Anjana still reeked of the previous night’s whisky binge. She had had alcohol after a long time and, hence, had a hangover. The real-estate agent, who had leaned forward to greet her when they arrived, had turned his face away after a  couple of  double-takes and an incredulous look at their parents. Akola could almost see his thoughts. Doubt would come first: Do they not have noses? That is some serious amount of alcohol fume coming off the girl! Then another doubt, stronger than the first. She looked very familiar. Had he seen her somewhere before? Did they live in his locality? And then finally, Anyway, what kind of parents take their still-drunk daughter along on a Sunday morning family outing? In the next instant he had shrugged and launched into his speech. It wasn’t his problem if the family was a little peculiar. They had arrived in a big fancy car, smelling of cool air-conditioning and expensive perfume. They were Potential Buyers – that was certain. So what if the son looked like a snobbish smart-ass, one daughter appeared to be lame in one leg and the other one a full-time drunk?

Akola hoped Arjun would decide to buy the flat. It had already been vetted by Priya, his wife. This might be just the thing, the change, they needed. A kick in the butt, a new beginning, to heal and become a stronger, more resilient family – the way they needed to be to assimilate all that had come to pass in the past year. So what if they were considered a crazy family by everyone else, including this numbskull realtor?

Her thoughts were interrupted as Arjun peeped out from another room and cut in on the realtor’s incessant talk about the neighbourhood’s many advantages. ‘We’ll take it. You can stop now.’ Unabashed, the realtor turned his obsequious smile and attentions to Arjun, much to everyone’s amusement and Arjun’s dismay.

1

PARVATI WAS TOWELLING HER HAIR DRY IN THE DINING room and trying to keep an eye on the cook’s activities in the kitchen when Arjun came up to her.

‘Mom, do you remember the girl I introduced you to at the Museum Theatre?’ Getting no reply, he prompted her. ‘You know, Priyadarshini?’

A few grey and black strands of hair remained on the towel as Parvati removed it from her head and answered her son a trifle absently. ‘The one with the pink streaks in her hair?’ She glanced up at the clock. It was already well past eight and she was getting late. ‘Is the chutney ready?’ she hollered towards the kitchen as she resumed drying her hair, a little less vigorously now. Small droplets of water sprinkled on Arjun’s face. She looked at her son apologetically. He glanced at her and then lowered his gaze, looking rather ill at ease.

‘Oh, we’re going out tonight. It’s Mirnalini’s mother’s birthday,’ she said under her breath and again yelled in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Dinner only for three people, okay?’ After hearing a faint, ‘Okay, madam,’ she turned back to face her firstborn. ‘What were you saying?’

‘Sri Venkateshwara Suprabhatham’ in M.S. Subbulakshmi’s voice played softly from the living room stereo, auspicious background music that marked the beginning of each day in the house.

‘Priya and I have been kind of dating for a while now... almost six months...’ Arjun’s explanation was cut short by Anjana’s entry.

She headed to the dining room, dishevelled hair poking out in every direction, and began rattling around in the crockery cupboard. ‘Six months?’ she said over the clatter, sounding incredulous. ‘Really? You’ve been going out for six whole months with that girl with the fake American accent?’ Anjana’s voice was edged with acid.

‘Yeah, the exact same accent as Akola’s...’

Anjana rolled her eyes and was about to retort when Parvati admonished her. ‘No cereal when hot idlis are being made for everyone. Plates, not bowls.’ She continued crossly, ‘We’re going to Mirna’s tonight. Arjun is coming too. I assume you won’t be joining us...again.’

Anjana went around the table setting out Ever-Silver plates and serving a couple of idlis on each from a blue hot-box, seemingly oblivious of her mother’s grumbling. A blender screamed in the kitchen, protesting as it ground coconut and spices into a thick chutney.

‘Why must you behave like a brat with the one family who still calls us friends?’ Arjun asked and then added, ‘Did you even brush your teeth yet?’

Anjana scowled in reply as she stomped back up the wooden stairs to her bedroom and shut the bathroom door with a slam. Suresh sauntered in with the newspaper as the blender screeched again for thirty seconds.

‘What were you saying, Arjun? That this relationship is serious enough to tell your parents about, and not just an office fling?’ Parvati asked her firstborn and raised her eyebrows at her husband. Her forehead transformed into lines and furrows as she visualized Priyadarshini’s fuchsia hair extensions in horror.

‘No, no. This isn’t about that. Well, not really. But, yes, it is kind of serious.’ He stopped stammering and glanced at his father, as if to gather strength. Parvati sighed and tilted her head to resume towelling her hair.

‘Spit it out already,’ Anjana said as she returned to the table, toothbrush in her mouth, white foam visible at the corners of her lips, and grabbed the newspaper supplement out of Suresh’s hand. He glared at his daughter.

‘Er. Okay. She’s pregnant.’

The rustling of the paper stopped as Anjana swung mid-step to look at Arjun, a frown on her face, like she expected there to be more to the last two words he had uttered. The towel slipped from Parvati’s hands and fell in a heap at her feet, her bare hands still held loosely around her wet hair. It would’ve looked funny had the situation been anything but this, Anjana thought, her laughter stuck in her throat as her brother’s declaration sunk in. The cook, Latha, who had come into the room with the bowl of chutney, backed out as discreetly as possible, her eyes darting to Arjun. The others stared, their jaws dropped open.

Parvati was the first to snap out of paralysis. Wordlessly, she closed the door leading to the kitchen. She came up to Arjun and whispered in a shaky voice, ‘Is it yours?’ Her question was barely audible, uttered like one would ask their doctor if their cancer was terminal.

‘Ma, what kind of a question is that!’ snapped Anjana. She spit toothpaste foam into the wash basin in the alcove near the kitchen door. ‘Why would he tell you if it wasn’t? He doesn’t exactly seem thrilled with the news.’ She gesticulated towards Arjun, who had stopped staring at his feet and was now staring at the ceiling instead.

‘Is she going to keep the baby? Are you going to get married now? What did her parents say? Have you met them after...?’ Parvati’s voice rose with each successive question, and ended on a high, quavering, unsure note.

‘Parvati!’ Suresh sputtered, looking dazed. He put the newspaper down on the table, then wondered if he should have banged it down instead.

‘What? Why should I keep quiet? I did not bring up my son to impregnate girls like some shady movie villain. I did not bring up my son to have bastards running around like a bloody zamindar!’ Her voice broke.

‘The child needn’t be that,’ Suresh told her gently. He stared at his son. ‘Does it?’ he asked, conscious of his own loud and pointedly belligerent tone.

Arjun was now staring out through a window at the trees and bushes. ‘I offered to marry her,’ he sighed dully. ‘She hasn’t said anything yet.’

‘Why hasn’t she agreed? What is there to think about?’ Parvati’s voice was now competing with a soprano’s pitch.

‘Shhh, Parvati! Do you want Latha to carry the gossip to every other house and bungalow in the area? And do you want your father to walk in on this? It’ll only upset him,’ Suresh said in his let’s-keep-the-fight-for-later, Dr Phil voice.

‘Why are you being so calm about this? You’re supposed to be telling him off, not trying to keep me quiet!’

‘She just said she needs to think about this before taking a decision,’ interjected Arjun before Parvati could rally support for her wrath. He really wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from his father.

‘Heh. You guys should have been cautious about jumping into things. Specifically your bed.’ Anjana couldn’t resist. She turned the screw further, taunting him. ‘Were you even on a bed?’

Arjun gave her a dirty look. Parvati turned to glare at Anjana for making light of a grave situation, tears pooling in her eyes, while Suresh looked pityingly at Arjun. A strained silence fell over the dining room, the proverbial calm before the storm. The idli cooker, steaming the second batch for breakfast, whistled loudly in the kitchen and starchy smells wafted into the dining room. The ‘Kantha Shasti Kavasam’, more devout and righteous, had taken over from the ‘Sri Venkateshwara Suprabhatham’.

‘Who else knows about this?’ Parvati’s ferocious tone made Arjun take a step back.

‘Mom, this isn’t murder; you can’t just hide the dead body and throw the knife in the river and hope that no one will ever find out. It’s a pregnancy. It’ll start showing in a few months,’ Anjana snapped.

‘I know what a pregnancy is, thank you very much. I went through three of my own, and have seen more than anyone’s share of them,’ Parvati said icily.

‘I haven’t told Sandhya yet, but Ansh knows,’ Arjun admitted reluctantly.

‘So where is this all going, ultimately?’ Suresh asked Arjun.

‘That she might decide not to marry me.’

‘Why?!’ cried Parvati in righteous outrage, her loyalty to her son over-riding her anguish at the state of affairs.

‘She thinks I’m not committed enough.’

‘Which is a natural feeling to have, considering it’s you we’re talking about.’ Anjana had always been dismissive of her brother’s tendency to act like a player. ‘Have you tried talking to her, as in also listening to her, not just talking at her?’

‘Yes. But I think that she’s still swaying towards refusing.’

‘Let us talk to her then.’

‘She’s refusing to talk to me. I can’t subject her to you, Mom.’

‘You have to fix this. I can’t begin to tell you what the fallout of this will be if it gets out that my son has an illegitimate child. Not only is your future gone, you will also be jeopardizing both your sisters’ chances of getting good proposals in our community. You hear me? You, you will fix this. I will not put…’ Parvati began to sob and her words became too incoherent to decipher. Arjun started looking panicked for the first time that morning as his mother unravelled in front of him.

Akola entered the dining room just as the drama was winding down. She looked around, taking in the unnatural silence, her incongruously sobbing mother and a frightened Arjun. ‘Oh, it’s over already? From what I heard from the stairs I thought the fight would last much longer.’ She smiled brightly, inspected the table, and sauntered to the kitchen to retrieve the missing chutney. She continued talking in the same light vein as she served the chutney on the plates on her return. ‘Why does this remind me of Ross and his pregnant lesbian ex-wife?’ She smiled, trying to break the tension that seemed to be swirling around the room.

‘This is not a TRP-raising plot twist in a sit-com. This is real life. And this is India. How many people do you know who have illegitimate children, not counting politicians?’ Suresh glared at his daughter. He still hadn’t begun to admonish Arjun. He couldn’t figure out where to begin.

Akola made a face at him and started eating, no longer pretending to bother with the sullen faces around her. Arjun left the room, leaving his plate untouched.

‘This is rich,’ Anjana’s voice interrupted everyone’s independently frenzied trains of thought. ‘This didn’t develop into half the drama it would have if one of us girls had got pregnant. You wouldn’t have let us just walk away from long lectures on the immorality of pre-marital sex. The sermons would probably have continued till we delivered the eff-ing baby. Bloody unfair.’

She flounced out, taking her plate with her.

2

A MONTH EARLIER, IF ANY FIGHTING HAPPENED AT all in their family, it would be attributed to one of the siblings grabbing more chocolates than the others or someone monopolizing the remote control. But now the battleground was prepped and sides drawn – something that hadn’t happened before, surprisingly, in a house that had two grandparents, two parents and three fully grown children.

One of the grandparents hadn’t always lived with them, because he was Parvati’s father. It hadn’t really worked out earlier, when Parvati’s parents were staying with them many years ago while the very eccentric Ramaswamy Thatha’s long-nosed wife, Parvati’s mother, had been alive. Suresh’s mother had, of course, been living with them since her husband died when Arjun had still been a kid. It was still a bone of contention between Parvati and Suresh whether her parents had left of their own accord – or if he had driven them out, or she had.

But the events that had them bickering for months when they were in their thirties had grown unimportant over time. They had bigger things to worry about now; their days seemed to be filled with: ‘You will not ride a bike in this city. With this kind of traffic, I might as well feed you poison and make death easy for you and others’, or ‘I may be modern and broad-minded but you cannot be my daughter and come home after midnight. It is unsafe’, or ‘I don’t care if everybody is doing it, you are absolutely forbidden from getting a tattoo or a belly-button ring!’

Almost every night a little drama would play out in the parents’ bedroom. Suresh and Parvati would be in bed. There would be some sleeping involved, but mostly they would just toss and turn. They would note the sound of the first set of keys turning in the lock, then the second. They would fidget some more until they heard the faint sound of a car pulling up downstairs, the main door opening and closing again for the third time, someone fiddling around in the kitchen. Before Parvati looked up at the clock she would know it was past 3 a.m. Once the rummaging stopped, an. . .