Mrs. Jha could feel sweat dripping along her spine and wished she had opted for a lighter cotton sari. She didn’t want to give in to the pressure of this new neighborhood, yet she had worn one of her nicer handloomed saris today. But the houses here were so spaced apart that it was unlikely that she would encounter anyone. The only sign she had seen of people on this road was a passing blue Aston Martin with such darkly tinted windows there was no way of knowing if there was a dog driving the car. A year ago she wouldn’t even have known what an Aston Martin was.
Suddenly, Mrs. Jha heard voices. She looked up toward the closed gate to her right just in time to see a balding head vanish from above the gate.
“All the staff needs to wear uniforms. Not just the guard and driver.” Mr. Chopra burst into his living room. His wife had applied a mud pack to her face and looked like she had leaned into a pile of cow dung as she settled back peacefully on the brown leather sofa. The news was playing on television, but on the couch Mrs. Chopra was ignoring it and watching a YouTube video of a little child sitting on the ground shrieking with laughter every time his father tore a piece of paper.
“My weekly inspections are thorough,” she said. “They look just fine. Have you seen the remote control? I can’t find it and the television is too loud.”
“I’m worried that the new neighbors are from London. What if this is just a holiday home for them? We need to put more pressure on the builders in Dubai or put an offer on another property. Have you spoken to the real estate agent? Maybe we can also consider something in Singapore.”
“They have returned from London? How nice. I miss Harrods. Is it a family?” Mrs. Chopra said, and lifted her fingertips to gently feel the mask on her face. It was almost dry.
“What are you going on about Harrods for?” Mr. Chopra said. “You handle the staff uniforms and call the real estate agent tomorrow, and I will see about getting a swimming pool put in.”
“We are not getting a swimming pool. And where is Johnny? When are you planning to speak to him? He does nothing all day every day,” Mrs. Chopra said, allowing her mask to crumble.
“He’s fine. He has a tennis coach now. He’s improving.”
“He’s twenty-eight. He is not going to become a tennis star. Coach or no coach, I’ve seen him play—he has no talent. You promised you would talk to him about getting a job.”
“Shh,” Mr. Chopra said. “Your mask is cracking. I’m going to the club. After you are done with the uniforms, order one of those little round vacuum cleaners that goes around the house by itself cleaning everything. It looks better than having a maid pushing a huge vacuum cleaner around every morning.”
The Gurgaon Select Luxury Recreation Club (the LRC, as everyone called it) was barely a ten-minute drive from the Chopras’ home, and it had an eighteen-hole golf course, a driving range, an indoor swimming pool, an outdoor swimming pool, a full gym, tennis courts, table tennis tables, a bar, a formal dining hall with Chinese food, one with Indian food, and an outdoor casual restaurant with the best club sandwiches in all of Delhi. There was also a small Hollywood-themed mini-golf course, but that was used only by children and some of the women. There had been talk about installing an ice-skating rink.
As usual, Mr. Chopra felt himself relax as he pulled up to the gates of the LRC. The sounds of traffic were distant and workers with large pails were busy watering the plants that lined the driveway. They watered everything three times a day to keep the dust settled within the LRC. Becoming a member was no easy or affordable task, and it was unlikely that the new neighbors had a membership yet—you had to have a Gurgaon address, be recommended by someone who had been a member of the club for at least one year, and have another Gurgaon reference on file. Applications were only accepted twice a year, in January and July. Then, if your application made it through the first round, you had an interview with the board. And, if all that was approved, you had to pay a twelve lakh rupee initiation fee plus an annual eight lakh rupee. Even if the new neighbors were earning in dollars, nearly thirty thousand dollars was not cheap.
Mr. Chopra noticed Johnny walking down the long driveway chatting with Vivek, who doubled as a personal trainer at the gym and a golf caddie. As usual Johnny was wearing jeans that were so tight, they looked like they belonged on a girl. He was wearing one of his many collared shirts with the collar unfolded upward. And as Johnny walked next to Vivek, Mr. Chopra could clearly see how short Johnny was. Mr. Chopra knew he himself was not a tall man, but he always wished Johnny would grow taller. For men, it was one thing being short if you were successful. If you were short and unsuccessful, it was just embarrassing.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Mr. Chopra said to Nimesh. “What is Johnny doing walking along the driveway like some laborer? Stop the car.”
Once the car pulled alongside Johnny, Mr. Chopra said out the window, “What are you doing walking? Why didn’t you take the car? And push the hair out of your face. I swear you spend more time at the beauty parlor than your mother.”
Johnny looked surprised to see his father. “I was out, so I took a taxi. I don’t know why they don’t allow taxis into the LRC. This driveway is really long. Did you know they make all the workers park their cars and bikes next door and then walk in? Seems silly when this parking lot is usually half empty. Vivek is caddying for you today.”
Vivek looked over at Mr. Chopra and waved.
“Good evening, sir. Nice weather tonight. It’s easier to play when it’s a bit cooler.”
“It is indeed. I’ll see you on the course, Vivek. Johnny, get in the car. Where are you going?”
“The bar,” Johnny said, opening the door and getting into the front seat of the car.
“Get in the back,” Mr. Chopra said. “I need to speak with you.”
“I like the front. I don’t know why you don’t drive this car. It is so smooth. Nimesh knows.” Johnny patted Nimesh on his shoulder and smiled.
“Johnny, you are the only member of the club who walks in. It doesn’t look right.”
“It’s fine. Kunal will drop me home after.”
They had just about reached the main entrance to the clubhouse. Johnny’s best friend, Kunal Jhunjhunwala, son of Shashi Jhunjhunwala, was pulling up in a shiny new Lexus at the same time.
“He’s got a Lexus now?” Mr. Chopra said. “What happened to the BMW?”