had no doubt at all now: she was up against the dreaded might of the Maoists, albeit their most genial public face, the CPI (M), Communist Party of India (Maoist). But the genial party face was just the front for the hydra-heads of the biggest grassroots-level violent armed rebellion India has faced in its history. And if she didn’t lie back and take it now, the main body would rear up and crush her like a mite. That much had been made clear to her this day itself.
She stood for a moment on the gym floor, letting the events of the past several hours sink in. She had spent the whole day running from one bureaucratic office to the other before finally ending up back in front of the same asshole, Raghuvendra Choudhry, who had laughed uproariously when she entered his cabin, and had then proceeded to lay out the facts of the entire affair. She had still not absorbed everything he had said, and that was why she had returned here – to try and make sense of the whole mess. If things went badly for her – and by today’s reckoning, they had already hung a sharp turn past Fucked and were well on their way to Totally Fucked via that picturesque old detour Royally Fucked – then she would probably lose the gym altogether. She had had to come back if only to try and figure out how things had gone pear-shaped so suddenly.
The glass windows let in enough ambient light to illuminate the outlines of the equipment. Without people working out, without the constant ambient chatter of voices talking and weights clinking, without the bright lights, pounding music and plasma screens flashing music videos and Bengali soaps, the gym was nothing more than a graveyard of hard-core branded tombstones. She’s Here had been proud of the fact that it was the first gym in the neighbourhood to stay open eighteen hours a day, and was shut only between midnight and 6 a.m. Situated on the edge of Sector V, Salt Lake City’s IT hub, it drew a number of members who worked odd shifts and liked to workout immediately before or after.
Sheila herself had grown accustomed to staying around till closing time, and even kept a cot, TV set and bookshelf in her office where she had begun routinely spending the night several times a week of late. Her flat in Sector I wasn’t that far, especially with the roads being good and the traffic in Salt Lake City being minimal at night, but she found the still, empty flat in a dull residential-only neighbourhood boring after the vibrant hubbub of the gym. Besides, she couldn’t cook to save her life, apart from the fact that eating alone only underlined the loneliness of her private life. She enjoyed eating in the locker room at night with whichever trainers and staff were on their dinner break, catching up on their personal updates, local gossip, or just chit-chatting and kidding around. At times they would discuss sexual matters and all the women’s voices would grow hushed until a new arrival entered and enquired quizzically if there was a séance in progress, which comment would be greeted by embarrassed peals of laughter. It was during these sessions too that Sheila learnt what was in fashion and what was not, which were the best places to shop for cheap accessories, or knock-off winter wear from Tibetan immigrants, cheap Chinese electronics on the grey markets, and even the latest Sabyasachi formalwear worn on the ramp by the season’s reigning supermodel. On one occasion her staff, egged on by a member who owned a beauty salon, had even attempted a makeover for Sheila. She had run laughing from the room when she realized they intended to turn her into a replica of the current Bengali actress who had recently scored a major hit in Bollywood; she had locked herself in the toilet and they had banged on the door of the stall and attempted to coax and cajole her out unsuccessfully for the next half hour.
She smiled now, remembering that horseplay. After her workout, that was her next favourite part of the day.
She stood for a moment on the gym floor, letting the events of the past several hours sink in. She had spent the whole day running from one bureaucratic office to the other before finally ending up back in front of the same asshole, Raghuvendra Choudhry, who had laughed uproariously when she entered his cabin, and had then proceeded to lay out the facts of the entire affair. She had still not absorbed everything he had said, and that was why she had returned here – to try and make sense of the whole mess. If things went badly for her – and by today’s reckoning, they had already hung a sharp turn past Fucked and were well on their way to Totally Fucked via that picturesque old detour Royally Fucked – then she would probably lose the gym altogether. She had had to come back if only to try and figure out how things had gone pear-shaped so suddenly.
The glass windows let in enough ambient light to illuminate the outlines of the equipment. Without people working out, without the constant ambient chatter of voices talking and weights clinking, without the bright lights, pounding music and plasma screens flashing music videos and Bengali soaps, the gym was nothing more than a graveyard of hard-core branded tombstones. She’s Here had been proud of the fact that it was the first gym in the neighbourhood to stay open eighteen hours a day, and was shut only between midnight and 6 a.m. Situated on the edge of Sector V, Salt Lake City’s IT hub, it drew a number of members who worked odd shifts and liked to workout immediately before or after.
Sheila herself had grown accustomed to staying around till closing time, and even kept a cot, TV set and bookshelf in her office where she had begun routinely spending the night several times a week of late. Her flat in Sector I wasn’t that far, especially with the roads being good and the traffic in Salt Lake City being minimal at night, but she found the still, empty flat in a dull residential-only neighbourhood boring after the vibrant hubbub of the gym. Besides, she couldn’t cook to save her life, apart from the fact that eating alone only underlined the loneliness of her private life. She enjoyed eating in the locker room at night with whichever trainers and staff were on their dinner break, catching up on their personal updates, local gossip, or just chit-chatting and kidding around. At times they would discuss sexual matters and all the women’s voices would grow hushed until a new arrival entered and enquired quizzically if there was a séance in progress, which comment would be greeted by embarrassed peals of laughter. It was during these sessions too that Sheila learnt what was in fashion and what was not, which were the best places to shop for cheap accessories, or knock-off winter wear from Tibetan immigrants, cheap Chinese electronics on the grey markets, and even the latest Sabyasachi formalwear worn on the ramp by the season’s reigning supermodel. On one occasion her staff, egged on by a member who owned a beauty salon, had even attempted a makeover for Sheila. She had run laughing from the room when she realized they intended to turn her into a replica of the current Bengali actress who had recently scored a major hit in Bollywood; she had locked herself in the toilet and they had banged on the door of the stall and attempted to coax and cajole her out unsuccessfully for the next half hour.
She smiled now, remembering that horseplay. After her workout, that was her next favourite part of the day.
Similar Books
