Chapter 1: The Card Game Begins

When I visited my uncle's house in Lucknow for a family gathering, my eldest cousin Kabir dragged my father into a card game.

The air in the house was thick with the aroma of garam masala. The ceiling fan creaked overhead, making the curtains flutter, and the clink of steel glasses mixed with the laughter of distant aunties. My father, never much of a gambler, let himself get swept up in Kabir’s enthusiasm. In the time it took to finish a meal of biryani and paneer tikka—served hot on steel thalis with raita and onion rings—my father lost all our family's savings—eighty lakh rupees. In the end, he even touched his forehead to the marble floor at Kabir’s feet, the way one might at a temple—except this time, it was humiliation, not reverence. The sight made some of the elders whisper among themselves, shaking their heads in disapproval, but no one dared speak up.

Kabir slapped three red notes onto my father's face and sneered, "Uncle, out of respect for you as an elder, here's your auto fare to get home."

The slap of currency against skin echoed louder than the pressure cooker whistle from the kitchen. Some of the younger cousins giggled nervously, their eyes darting between Kabir’s smug face and my father’s bowed head.

Watching my father being humiliated, I shot a cold glare at Kabir. "Bhaiya, let me play a few rounds with you."

Kabir looked at me in disbelief and mocked, "Arre Chote, ab toh tumhare paas kuch bacha hi nahi. Kya daav pe lagaoge mere saath?"

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his rings on the table, as if he already knew the outcome. There was that familiar glint in his eyes—a mixture of arrogance and the thrill of dominance. The whole family watched, some biting their lips in anticipation, others feigning interest in the muted TV blaring an old Shah Rukh Khan movie in the background.

"Rohan, don't gamble with your cousin..." My father opened his eyes weakly, reached over to pull me back, and pleaded, "You can't beat Kabir bhaiya."

My father's grip was weak, his palm sweaty. The way he looked at me—hopeless, defeated—reminded me of the time he’d come home early after losing a job. The shame in his eyes was deeper than words.

"Don't gamble," my mother Meera also came over and tried to hold me back.

She twisted the end of her dupatta around her finger, knuckles white, as if hoping the fabric could hold her together. My mother’s eyes, always so expressive, looked cloudy now. Her lips quivered, the lines on her forehead deepening.

I glanced at my mother. Her eyes darted away, avoiding mine, as if she was too ashamed to meet my gaze.

She pretended to smooth out her saree, her bangles jingling faintly. The weight of her silence pressed down on me, heavier than the humid Lucknow air.

Ignoring my parents, I turned around and sat down at the plastic stool near the card table. "Bhaiya, I still have three lakh rupees in my PayTM wallet."

The cousins snickered. One cousin nudged another, whispering, “Ye PayTM waale ladke bhi na, kuch bhi karenge.” Someone whistled under their breath, making a joke about digital money in a house full of cash-loving relatives. But I didn’t care—I knew what I was doing.

Kabir curled his lip in disdain. "Chote, three lakh is nothing. Here, let me help you raise the stakes."

He flicked ash into the steel ashtray, his voice oozing mock sympathy. The room felt even smaller now, everyone hanging onto Kabir’s every word.

"Go ahead," I said, curious about what my cousin would try.

The tension was electric, like before the first monsoon storm. My hands trembled, but I kept my chin up.

His greedy eyes shifted to the door, where a tall girl in a black saree sat—my girlfriend Ananya, quietly looking at her phone.

Ananya sat with her back straight, the pleats of her saree perfectly in place. She looked every bit the dignified outsider, scrolling through her notifications, but her jaw was set tight.

"How about this? Use your girlfriend as collateral for a thirty lakh rupee bet. If you lose, let her spend the night with me." Kabir bit his cigarette and blew a smoke ring at me.

Several aunties gasped, clutching their saree pallus to their mouths, and someone dropped a spoon on a plate. The younger kids, sensing the shift, fell silent, eyes wide. It was outright humiliation.

His words made my blood boil.

A hot flush crept up my neck. For a moment, I wanted to jump across the table and punch him. But I clenched my fists under the table instead.

The relatives all muttered that Kabir was drunk, but he just threw a briefcase of cash on the table and barked, "I'm rich—I do as I please! If you can't afford it, just keep quiet."

A hush fell over the crowd. Even the servants paused in the doorway, unsure whether to step in or melt away. No one dared challenge Kabir, the self-appointed king of the house.

His words left everyone embarrassed. After all, Kabir had just won eighty lakh from my father—he now outclassed the whole family.

A few cousins exchanged uncomfortable glances, quietly backing away from the table as if physical distance could save them from the disgrace.

"Rohan, don't gamble!" My father rushed over, grabbed my arm, and begged, "I'm begging you, let's just go home."

He tried to pull me up, but I stayed put. The veins in his hands stood out, his nails digging into my skin. He was trembling so much, I thought he might faint.

If I really lost, my girlfriend would be humiliated by Kabir. My father would rather die than let that happen.

The idea alone sent shivers down my spine. I could feel my mother’s silent sobs behind me, her dupatta pressed to her mouth.

"Papa, I have to gamble!" I stared at my father and shouted hoarsely, "If you don't let me, I'll smash my head against the wall and die right here!"

My voice cracked, raw with desperation. For a moment, everything froze—the playing cards, the judgmental stares, the old ceiling fan spinning lazily above. My threat echoed in the silent room.

An aunty gasped, clutching her mangalsutra, while someone muttered, “Tauba tauba, aise bolte nahi.”

Seeing my stubbornness, my father slumped to the floor in despair.

He sat back, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut. My mother moved to help him, but he waved her off, defeated.

"So you're really going to gamble?" Kabir's face lit up with glee.

He licked his lips, eager for the drama, as if this were some filmy climax playing out for his personal entertainment.

I looked over at Ananya by the door.

She clutched her phone tighter, her knuckles white. I caught her eye for a brief moment, searching for some sign of reassurance. But she only shook her head, biting her lower lip.

Her phone slipped from her hand, landing with a soft thud on the sofa. She looked up, eyes brimming with disbelief.

She lowered her head, her voice trembling with tears. "Rohan, you’re so heartless. I never thought I’d be worth just thirty lakh for a night."

Her words hit me like a slap. Her kohl-lined eyes shimmered with tears, and I wanted to tell her everything would be alright, but the words wouldn’t come.

"Bhaiya, let's start." I fixed my gaze on him and spoke in a low voice.

My fingers tapped nervously on the edge of the table. The cards, greasy from so many hands, felt slick between my palms.

Kabir grinned. "Since bhabhi agrees, I'll give you thirty lakh in chips." He pushed the chips my way.

The chips clattered, red and green, the promise of hope and ruin. Some distant relative whistled in mock admiration.

I gathered the chips and agreed that the minimum bet would be one thousand rupees, with each round starting from the previous winner.

The relatives nodded, murmuring about the rules, as if any of this could make the game less dirty.

Soon the dealer dealt three cards to each of us.

His hands moved quickly, expertly shuffling, while sweat trickled down his brow. Even the ceiling fan’s whir did little to break the tension.

I looked at my hand—three Queens. Not bad, a strong set right off the bat. Only three hands could beat this: 2-3-5 (the lowest possible straight), three Kings, or three Aces. I doubted Kabir’s luck could top mine.

A flutter of hope rose in my chest. I tried to keep my face blank, just as my father had taught me during Diwali teen patti nights.

Just as I was about to make my move, Kabir suddenly said, "Fold," and tossed his cards away.

It felt like punching air.

The momentum I had gathered fizzled out. I could almost hear the universe laughing at me.

"Chote, nice hand—three Queens right away!" While I was distracted, Kabir reached over and snatched my cards.

He waved them around, as if showing off a rare trophy. Aunty Vimla clutched her saree pallu to her mouth, while Uncle Dev just smirked, as if enjoying the spectacle. Some of the aunts gasped, whispering, "Nazar lag gayi!"

The whole room was shocked—I’d drawn three Queens right off.

An auntie muttered, "Aaj toh kismet saath hai Rohan ke," but no one seemed sure whose side luck was really on.

I frowned. I’d watched Kabir’s expression when he first saw his cards; he’d clearly been excited, so his hand must have been good. But he folded immediately and mixed his cards back into the deck. As for me, I’d kept a poker face the whole time. Kabir was bluffing.

A trickle of doubt crept in—maybe he was just playing with me, testing how far I’d go.

"Rohan, you can’t beat your Kabir bhaiya. His card skills are way above yours," my father whispered, face ashen with despair.

He looked like he’d aged ten years in ten minutes. His words came out broken, barely above a whisper.

"Uncle, you flatter me," Kabir mocked, glancing at my father. "But there’s no family at the gambling table, so don’t blame me."

He took a long drag, letting the smoke drift lazily toward the old tube light, as if daring anyone to challenge him.

"How can you talk to your uncle like that? So rude." My eldest uncle, Uncle Dev, came over, smiling as he scolded Kabir. He took out a pack of Classic cigarettes, lit one, and blew smoke right into my father’s face.

Uncle Dev always thought himself a big man, lighting up as if he owned the place. My father coughed, waving away the smoke with the back of his hand, eyes watering.

My father coughed from the smoke.

He reached for the glass of water on the table, his hand shaking so badly he nearly knocked it over. Someone snickered, and I burned with anger.

"Deal again," I said to the dealer.

My voice was sharper this time, almost a challenge.

The dealer dealt again.

The cards slid across the table, face down, as everyone leaned in, breath held.

I opened my cards—6, 9, and King of hearts. Not great, not terrible.

My stomach churned. Aunty walked by, placing a fresh cup of chai near my elbow, the steam swirling between me and the cards.

"Ten thousand." I bet ten thousand rupees straight away.

The table creaked under my elbow as I pushed the chips forward.

"Who are you trying to scare?" Kabir laughed. "One lakh. If there were no betting limit, I’d crush you in a single hand."

He flashed his teeth, eyes wild, almost daring me to back down. The elders murmured, some whispering about the old days when gambling was just for fun.

This round, the rule was you couldn’t raise more than ten times the previous bet. Since I bet ten thousand, Kabir couldn’t raise more than one lakh this round.

Ananya looked up from her phone, her gaze flitting between the chips and me, worry written all over her face.

I glanced at him in surprise, then tossed my cards in. "Fold."

It felt like admitting defeat, but I knew I had to choose my battles.

"Rohan..." My father stomped his feet anxiously.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, mumbling prayers under his breath.

"See, chote? That’s my card skill." Kabir raked in my one lakh chips.

He smirked, stacking the chips with unnecessary flair, as if to remind everyone who the real player was.

"Rohan, stop gambling. You can’t beat Kabir bhaiya."

My father’s voice cracked, almost pleading now. Some of the aunts exchanged worried glances, whispering about how I’d inherited my mother’s stubbornness.

"Just let your girlfriend go have a couple of drinks at the bar with Kabir. As for sleeping together, that was just a joke—we’re all family," Uncle Dev said with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

He winked at the younger men, acting as though his words were harmless fun, but everyone knew the undercurrent was cruel.

Other relatives chimed in, trying to persuade me to stop. Some of them were good at this card game too, but they’d all lost a lot to Kabir.

They patted me on the back, murmuring, "Bas, Rohan. Enough now. Don’t throw your life away over pride."

"Chote, you’ve only got two lakh left. If you lose, your girlfriend really will have to spend the night with me," Kabir mocked.

He waggled his eyebrows, making lewd gestures. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see how much it bothered me.

"Enough talk. Deal again," I said, sitting with both hands in my pockets.

I steeled myself, pretending not to hear the snide comments. My heart was beating so hard, I was sure everyone could hear it.

"Hmph, you’re really stubborn," Kabir snorted, signalling the dealer to deal again.

He flicked his cigarette onto the floor, crushing it under his heel, his eyes never leaving mine.

As soon as he picked up his cards, a look of ecstasy flashed across his face. He shoved all his chips onto the table—a full five lakh rupees.

A collective gasp rose from the family. Even the old servant stopped mid-step, balancing a tray of chai and samosas.

The crowd gasped. No one expected Kabir to bet five lakh at once—such a show of force.

A few cousins exchanged glances, some secretly rooting for Kabir, others just wanting the drama to end.

"Call or not? Oh, I almost forgot—you don’t have the money to call." Kabir looked at me with ridicule. "Chote, if you can’t pay, just fold."

He tapped the table, his gold bracelet glinting in the tube light, his lips curled into a smirk.

My father stepped back, hopeless. There was no way our family could come up with that much money.

He sank into a nearby chair, burying his face in his hands. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and tension.

"See? I told you to quit earlier. Now it’s too late," Uncle Dev mocked.

He leaned in, smoke drifting from his cigarette, voice low and venomous. "Some people just don’t know when to stop."

"Who says I won’t call?" I pulled out my phone and started applying for online loans.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. One of the younger cousins peered over my shoulder, eyes widening as he saw the loan app on my screen.

Soon, I borrowed ten lakh rupees online, transferred it to my mobile bank, and had the casino staff bring me ten lakh in chips.

The staff, hired for the evening, exchanged uncertain looks before handing me the chips, their eyes darting to Kabir for approval.

"You’re crazy!" My father stormed over and scolded, "If you lose, your life is over!"

His words echoed the fear in the room. My mother clutched her hands together, her lips moving in silent prayer, whispering, "Hey Bhagwan, bachao."

"Don’t stop your son—he has to go all in now or he’ll lose everything," my mother said, holding my father back.

She looked at me, her eyes red-rimmed, torn between love and desperation. The elders clucked their tongues, but no one dared contradict her.

My father trembled with anger.

His breathing was ragged, and he kept shaking his head, muttering, "Bas, bas, bas. Yeh sab paagalpan hai."

I ignored him and called the five lakh.

The chips clattered as I pushed them forward, my hands cold and clammy.

"Chote, I didn’t expect you to get ten lakh in online loans."

Kabir’s surprise was genuine, for once. He sized me up, as if seeing me for the first time.

"But ten lakh is nothing to me. Let me show you what real wealth is." Kabir stood up, pointed at my face, and sneered.

He made a show of adjusting his expensive watch, the glint catching everyone’s eye. "Ab dekho asli paisa kya hota hai!"

He bought one crore in chips and stacked them high on the table.

The room fell silent. The tension was thick, and everyone stared at me with pity.

It was so quiet, you could hear the faint buzzing of mosquitoes. Even the TV in the drawing room seemed to pause mid-scene.

In their eyes, I was pathetic—my father had lost eighty lakh, I’d lost several lakhs, and my girlfriend was about to be humiliated.

Some of the younger cousins averted their gaze, unable to bear the shame unfolding before them.