Chapter 5: Dancers and Dilemmas

From then on, the two of them became regular visitors to our bungalow.

I’d had few playmates my own age growing up. With the two of them, life gained some flavour.

Reading, riding, even sneaking out to play in the city—time seemed to pass faster.

When I went to see my mother, her expression was complicated. "Jaya, I hear Arjun and Kabir often come over—even… stay overnight?"

I was puzzled, so I leaned in and whispered, "Ma, didn’t we agree to befriend the Mehra and Singh families?"

She paused. "Of course, but you are different from them—"

I nodded. "I’ve known that for a long time."

She looked up sharply. I continued, "I’m the heir. Though I must be humble, there is a difference between leader and others. I understand."

Mother’s expression softened. "Yes, yes, your status is different. Except for me, Sunita, and Nanny Rukmini, never let outsiders near you—especially not when you use the bathroom or bathe."

I replied obediently, "Ma has taught me since I was young. I’ll remember."

She looked at me, still conflicted, as I bowed and left.

The night before my birthday, Kabir said he wanted to broaden my horizons and brought along Arjun.

They weren’t close, but since they often met at our place, they were at least familiar.

Standing at the entrance of the Lotus Club, Kabir waved. "Tonight’s drinks are on me!"

He strode in. "Call out the best dancers!"

His friend whispered behind us, "Sir, Arjun, our Kabir practised that line at home for ages. He didn’t dare come alone; today he’s relying on you two for support."

Arjun and I walked in slowly. Beautiful dancers greeted us, and the friend told the manager, "As arranged before."

No wonder the place was empty tonight.

She smiled brightly. "Gentlemen, this way, please. The girls are waiting."

A waft of jasmine fragrance—five or six dancers of different figures, all in bright lehengas, dupattas draped low, their bangles chiming, their hair full of flowers.

Arjun kept a stern face, whether from anger or embarrassment I couldn’t tell.

Kabir was completely dumbfounded.

I settled cross-legged on the diwans, just like Papa during family meetings, and immediately the two prettiest dancers nestled obediently at my feet.

Arjun, perhaps thinking I was a proper gentleman, sat on my left and whispered, "You are so self-restrained—I was overthinking."

Kabir immediately jumped to my right. "Jaya, that, that—"

The full-figured dancers began to dance to lively Bollywood music.

They deliberately bent over in front of Arjun, brushing his face with scented dupattas, making him blush deeply.

Kabir, seeing Arjun’s embarrassment, finally came alive: "Hahaha, your face is as red as a tomato!"

I tried to appear unfazed, but inside, I was startled by the dancers’ boldness. My fingers fidgeted with the strap of my watch, my glass of Limca untouched on the table as I tried to decide how to react. Their confidence was dazzling, and I felt exposed, unsure whether to watch or look away.

That morning, I’d felt a vague pain in my own chest.

I couldn’t help but look at Arjun’s chest—so flat, so different from the dancers’—a strange flash of confusion flaring inside me. For a moment, I envied his freedom, then embarrassment rushed in, and I quickly adjusted my dupatta to hide my discomfort.

One bold dancer twisted her waist and began to sing a filmy number:

"—Touch my soft, tender waist, touch the hero’s strong arms, bold and long—"

Arjun finally drove the dancers away and picked up a cup of chai to hide his embarrassment, his ears burning red.

I couldn’t help but ask, "What is a hero’s strong arm?"

Arjun choked on his chai, coughing violently. "You—You—Jaya—"

Kabir put his arm around my neck. "My good Didi, our precious leader, that’s… well—"

Kabir’s tone made it seem like I should understand, but I truly didn’t.

What treasure? Which thing?

It was annoying.

I sneered, "Not just one, I have ten."

The room fell silent.

Kabir solemnly declared, "Worthy of being our leader."

Outside the club, a stray dog barked at the night, and the auto-rickshaws rattled past. The air was thick with perfume and sweat, the floor sticky with spilled Old Monk and Limca. The girls giggled behind their hands. I stared at my own reflection in a silver tray—did leadership mean knowing everything about being a man? Or was it just enough to be fearless, to act as if you did?