Hellhole

The Golden Palace Hotel was a huge hotel. The architectural style resembled that of other five-star hotels, but the inside was more glorious than could be imagined by a spectator from mere external observation. It was a thirty-step walk from the entrance toward the reception. On the top of the ceiling hung something so giant and spectacular that the most beautiful chandeliers seemed pale in comparison. Shining threads of golden magic constituted this huge mass. It brightened the place like the afternoon sun, except that its presence felt like morning sunshine.

To the left of the reception was a cafe where Meera was sitting with an expensive cup of coffee. She smiled when she saw Simran arrive.

Everybody at the hotel knew Simran’s parents. That is why they let her in without asking for her membership card. Had they been aware of her present situation, she might not have been welcomed so graciously.

Simran almost started crying when she saw Meera. The two hugged and sat down opposite to each other.

“Another frappe, please. Low fat, no sugar, caramel on top,” Meera told the waiter.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Simran wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Nothing for me.”

After the waiter left, she turned to Meera, and said, “I can’t afford this. You know that, right?”

“I could have paid for you.”

“It’s fine.”

The two sat together in silence for a few minutes. Then, almost abruptly, Simran cried, “I want to leave, Meera. Help me. I can’t stay in that hellhole any longer.”

Meera softly replied, “Why did you do that? It was just a bet.”

“I KNOW THAT I LOST IT. I COMPLETELY LOST MY MIND. I KNOW,” Simran shouted.

The two people sitting beside them were discussing a potential client. The other person at the corner inside the coffee was slowly sipping hot coffee while chatting with his wife on call. The cafe was pretty much empty otherwise. Everybody was startled, but nobody had the courage to confront the two young ladies. What does, after all, one say to two women in their early twenties- one skipping college to meet the other, and one trying to break herself free from the bond of marriage to which she had agreed two days back- who seemed nervous and confused? One simply empathizes with their dilemma and hopes that they come up with a resolution to their problem.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Simran.

Meera nodded, and said, “What are you planning to do?”

“Divorce.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think it through. I thought my parents would pay for me. But those morons are just saving their asses.”

“Can you really blame them, though?”

Simran looked up with a pained expression. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I get it. We’re rich and we think that anything can happen. But everything that we want cannot happen if we act stupidly. You got the money? That’s a lot of responsibility. You shouldn’t have married that rickshaw-puller. That wasn’t an act of courage. It was downright foolish. It showed that you gave in to Sasha. Your parents are obviously unhappy, chum-chum. Do you expect them to be happy? You didn’t even consider everything that they’d done for you till now. They took care of every whimsical need that you ever had despite your stupidity. You just had to marry that poor ass to win the bet, didn’t you?”

“Don’t call him that!”

Meera raised her eyebrows, and exasperated, “You’re defending him? You just called his old shackle a hellhole.”

“Yes, but he’s a nice man. Hasn’t touched me even once.”

“Well, let’s see if that opinion changes after he finally does. He’s playing you, chum-chum. Don’t fall in his trap. He’s waiting for you to make up with your family and get money.”

Simran sighed, “Meera, you can’t possibly think that’s true. I know I told him I’d pay him after marriage for helping me win the bet, but he knows that my parents have kicked me out and he’s not complaining.”

Meera retorted, “Yet. He’s not complaining yet. And he’s not the one missing college. He’s not the one being made to experience hell in that hellhole. He’s not the one whose parents kicked him out of a perfectly beautiful mansion. It’s you. You’re the victim here. Stop defending him, and get out of that place.”

“How?”

The two women who were previously discussing a client got up to leave. The taller one in the blue shirt briefly smiled at Simran. The cafe felt emptier than before.

Meera bit her lip, and started, “I might have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

Simran’s eyes glimmered with newfound hope.

Their conversation ended on a peaceful note. The waiters were expecting them to leave each other as bitter enemies after the eruption of yet another argument. But the two resolved the dilemma and hugged each other before leaving.

That night, Sunil arrived home an hour before midnight. Dinner had already been prepared by his mother, who made sure to spit in Simran’s roti in front of her. Simran had no choice but to eat it peacefully.

Sunil’s mother was convinced that Simran was a devil sent by Krishna at her house. She had nobody but her son. Her husband had left her after her pregnancy, and she had tried to survive by cleaning eight different houses every day. It was with her small savings that she could finally arrange a second-hand rickshaw for Sunil when he turned eighteen. She didn’t seek to find out the worst in people, but she just couldn’t get herself to trust Simran. Her anger was fuelled at his kindness toward her.

Simran chewed the burnt pieces of roti silently. She knew that her roti was intentionally burnt, but she couldn’t afford to complain. Her parents’ unexpected boycott didn’t leave her with many alternatives. The society she lived in was already mortified at her act. Her neighbors visited her parents time and again to offer their condolences for her horrendous act. After all, she had dared to marry Sunil, even if she thought it would be a temporary inconvenience. She didn’t know her parents wouldn’t get past it. Nobody will get past it.

Five minutes after Sunil stepped inside the house, Simran announced that she had been hired as a waitress at a top hotel. Her promises of money brought a huge grin on her husband’s face. Her mother-in-law, however, seemed more bitter than ever.

Simran told them that her clothing would not be a problem since she had already managed to sneak out twenty pairs of dresses before leaving her house.

“We know all ‘bout that, you dog. Our place’s full of your trash. But madam, would they be happy with your smell? Cause you got no place to take bath here. Won’t you smell?” the old woman hissed.

“I have four perfumes, auntie. Besides, I can wash up in the staff washroom if I reach there in time.”

“Who’ll drop you there, missy? Your parents didn’t give us money for transport.”

Simran glanced at Sunil, who finally volunteered to drive her to work. It was a thirty-minute drive, but he didn’t complain.

The next morning, Simran got ready and reached the hotel at eight. When Sunil left, she marched inside the Paradise Hill Hotel. The receptionist greeted her warmly.

“I am here for Mr Gupta. Akash Gupta,” said Simran.

She was directed to room 224. She gently knocked on the door.

Akash was in his early thirties. He was short and plump, with a plastic smile glued to his face in his office. He worked in policy consulting and extensively talked about its importance and impact in various conferences where he was invited. But only the women he slept with knew that he sometimes moaned “Amma” during sex, and never liked being on top. Simran would become privy to these facts after their two-hour stay in room 224.

“You’ve done this before?” he asked.

“How does that matter?” Simran sighed.

“Just curious. Um, by the way, I know about your situation.”

“What?”

Akash laughed, “That you married a rickshaw-puller in some bet with Shasha or something.”

“Her name’s Sasha.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sasha. And then your parents kicked you out and you didn’t have money to end your stupid marriage. So now you’re here.”

Simran wanted to retort with a smart, sarcastic comment. But she couldn’t think of anything to say. She decided to stay silent: losing a golden opportunity, however disgusting it seemed to her, wasn’t an option.

Two hours later, she got up and started dressing up. Her husband would be back at the hotel in the next two hours, and she wanted to roam around for as long as possible. When she started rearranging her hair, Akash said in his sweetest tone, “You know you’re good. I might actually be in love with you.”

She scoffed, “Do you say that to everybody?”

“Nah. You’re the first,” he winked.

“Don’t worry. This, too, shall pass.”

Akash started laughing, and she left.

Two hours gave her enough time to think. She couldn’t wait to get out of her hellhole. The house just consisted of a big, white plastic roof. It seemed like someone had hastily arranged a dumpster bag on top of the ground to make a temporary home.

There were no walls. Simran was new to poverty, and she didn’t like her new ‘situation’ very well. Sunil’s mother wiped off the dust from the floor with her hands every morning, but the ground remained dirty. There was no equipment for cooking. There was just a packet of readymade rotis which was shared with three other families. Everybody ate a quarter of a roti twice a day. Simran knew that she would be deprived of the privilege of eating a full roti by the next week. Sunil would no longer be able to resist the constant protests of his mother. And, a packet of spicy chips for everyone was a weekly luxury. She wanted to leave them before the end of the week.

For five days, Sunil quietly drove Simran on his auto-rickshaw to the hotel, clueless that his wife made out with Akash for two hours in the morning. After that, she strolled around the city, while Akash drove to work.

She had received twenty-thousand rupees from Akash after their first encounter itself. Every meeting in room 224 ended with Akash handing out a bag full of money to Simran. Simran started keeping some of that money in an empty garage that she discovered while walking. However, she took back two-thousand rupees with her. Sunil was delighted to see all that cash, but his mother wasn’t.

“Who gives money on the first day?” she questioned.

But Simran didn’t have to answer because Sunil stepped in, and comforted his mother.

“The money’s here. That’s what matters,” he said.

“Sunni, I just want this bitch to leave. Just get the money she promised you before she fooled you to marry her. And make her leave.”

Sunil looked at Simran and made an apologetic face. Simran shrugged. The fact that her husband was nice toward her prevented her from bashing out at the old woman. She knew she didn’t deserve an ounce of his politeness because she had already betrayed him. The marriage was fake, and so were the vows. But, the matrimonial institution was polluted with her unfaithful behaviour.

But she was desperate for the money and desperate for an exit. She had no home left. She couldn’t think of living in the city and going to college without any external support. She had no idea about her future. All she knew was that she had to leave that hellhole.

She felt sorry for Sunil who had actually start adoring her. He didn’t like her romantically. Yet. But, he adored her for getting a job and earning two-thousand rupees a day. He could barely make four-hundred in one day.

On the fifth day, Simran decided to flee. Akash had given her enough to leave Sunil and his pathetic mother behind.

Two hours later, Sunil arrived outside Paradise Hill Hotel, but Simran wasn’t waiting for him. In the morning, he had asked, “Whenever I come back, you’re generally sweating. Don’t they have AC inside?”

But she hadn’t replied. He thought if his impolite question had annoyed her. He tried entering the hotel, but the guards wouldn’t let him inside. He decided to park his rickshaw somewhere and wait for Simran.

But Simran was near Pinala Road. She approached a park where she found Sasha playing with a dog. She called out to her enthusiastically.

“Hey, how are you?” exclaimed Sasha with surprise.

“You need to ask me that?”

Sasha flustered, “I didn’t think it would go this far. Sorry?”

Simran clenched her fists but calmly replied, “Forget it. It’s water under the bridge now.”

“It is?” asked Sasha, shocked.

Simran nodded, “Yeah. Now tell me if there’s a place nearby where nobody can see us. I want to show a tattoo I got on my butt from my first salary.”

Sasha chuckled, “You’re working? Where?”

“I’ll tell you only after you compliment my tattoo.”

They laughed.

Sasha guided her toward a deserted park. It started drizzling. The autumn leaves on the ground danced inside small pools of water collected in the cracks on the ground.

“We’re here! Hurry up and show me your butt,” chirped Sasha.

Simran smiled, “Close your eyes first.”

Sasha did. Simran took our the butcher’s knife that she had earlier purchased for two-hundred rupees, and used all her force to thrust it inside Sasha’s stomach. After Sasha fell unconscious, Simran started stabbing her face till the blood from peeling off her skin enveloped her hands.

She then lifted her skirt and pointed toward a cross on the upper part of her thigh. She had got it inked an hour before coming to Pinala Road.

She looked at Sasha, and said, “You see that? That’s my tattoo. Rot in hell, bitch.”

The rainwater erased the traces of Sasha’s blood from Simran’s body. She just looked like any twenty-two-year-old woman drenched in rainwater. She hid the knife inside the pocket in her skirt and took out her phone.

She sent a message to Meera: Sorry. I had to do it. You wouldn’t understand. Don’t tell anyone. Will meet again someday. Take care.

Simran looked at Sasha’s body for the last time and decided to leave it there. She walked back to the garage to get her money.