Grand Masti - Fun Never Ends

“Shaadi hai barbadi, Amar ki hai yeh paaarty!” Meet chuckled.

“You guys aren’t going to keep this whole ‘Be-Single-We’ll-Mingle’ crap running through the night, are you?” Amar was resigned to the fact that they would. He still hoped to inspire some guilt in his friends, in the hope that they’d let him off easy.

“Of course we are,” Meet laughed as he pulled his jacket off.

Prem mimicked his actions, discarding his cardigan, before turning to Amar. Both guys wore ridiculous Cheshire grins on their smug faces.

“You guys made t-shirts! Unbelievable,” Amar muttered.

“We got you one too; put it on, and before you moan, our party, our rules.”

“So first up, we’re stopping by for an elegant soiree with delicate finger foods like masala nuts – you know cause you’re losing yours soon, tandoori wings – cause yours are getting clipped soon, and tangdi kabab – cause you’ll have to shun those for life soon, and to quench your thirst, over a 100 different beers to choose from – you know cause nothing says ‘we care’ like beer,” Meet offered.

NEHA PUNTAMBEKAR was smitten by the written word in the first grade, while reading the school prescribed ‘Peter and Jane’ series, and it didn’t take long to realize she preferred fiction to reality, something that holds true even today.

In the real world, Neha has dabbled with copywriting–she is partial to writing for radio, editing, social media management, travel and lifestyle features, and short fiction. She has been published in Mint Lounge, Hindustan Times, Indian Express, Elle India and more.

After spending six years in Zagreb, Croatia, she has recently moved back to Mumbai, where she lives with her husband. Neha also collects bookmarks, and is working on her first novel.

“GRAND MASTI – Fun Never Ends” is Neha Puntambekar’s debut book.

Maruti International, established in 1983, is one of India’s leading Bollywood Film Production Houses, headed by Mr. Ashok Thakeria and Mr. Indra Kumar. Having worked with Bollywood Superstars like Aamir Khan, Madhuri Dixit and the internationally acclaimed Anil Kapoor on multiple projects, this production house boasts of a number of successful and iconic films produced from their stable such as - “MOHABBAT, KASAM, DIL, BETA, RAJA, MANN, RISHTEY, MASTI, PYARE MOHAN, DHAMAAL, DADDY COOL, DOUBLE DHAMAAL, GRAND MASTI and SUPER NANI (currently underproduction, starring Rekha and Sharman Joshi)”.

The dynamic duo Ashok Thakeria & Indra Kumar have always believed in versatility & dabbled across various genres.

Ace director Indra Kumar is one of the very few directors in the industry to have four back to back blockbusters to his credit with ‘Dil’, ‘Beta’, ‘Raja’, and ‘Ishq’ each hitting the Golden Jubilee mark. Characters & unforgettable dialogues from their films are part of Bollywood folklore.

Dear Readers,

“It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

These short stories about friendship, love and the exploits that follow are, at the end, about one thing: having fun. It’s been fun penning these down, and I hope you have just as much fun reading.

Neha Puntambekar

Grand Masti
Fun Never Ends
Neha Puntambekar

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Meet The Boys

Teacher’s Pet

Part Time Jobs

Balance Sheet

My Friend, The Chemist

The Pretty Village Belles

A Great Idea

Shaadi Barbaadi Weekend

A Himalayan Retreat

Hitting a Marital Pause

The Price of a Wager

The One that Got Away

A Saturday Experiment

Doctor, Doctor!

Happy Anniversary Darling

Reader Contest Story

Copyright

MEET THE BOYS

Amar

Meet

Prem

TEACHER’S PET

There was only one reason Prem attended all his Biology lectures and her name was Rose. She was the super sexy professor who had replaced that old fart Dhawan at the end of last term. Since then, this 8am lecture had become top priority.

Ms. Rose, as she insisted students refer to her, was stunning. Prem was sure she was pretty too, but it was hard to focus on her features when there was so much more to see. What he really liked about Ms. Rose was that she left very little to the imagination. She taught biology with a passion, and also believed in a full and proud display of her subject(s).

“Theory is all well and good,” she announced during her first class in that delicious husky voice, “but biology is about touch and feel,” to demonstrate, she ran her fingers across her arms before bracing them, thrusting her chest forward. This alone set the boys on a thin edge. “It is about experiencing and engaging the senses. All the senses!” She spoke in a drawl; each word intimate, and drawn out in leisure; each word designed to pull a layer of goose bumps across your arms, amongst other reactions. And true to her words, that’s what she continued to deliver week after week. Everything Ms. Rose offered was tight and bright and very upright.

And so boys like Prem couldn’t help but fall in love with biology – with every aspect of biology. It was but natural. This was the only class where Prem had a 100% attendance and was fully focused. No, he didn’t take notes; but he listened, watched and learned. Sometimes, he used his camera phone to capture important elements of the class; it was more effort than he put in any of his other classes combined.

Yes, Prem was very serious about his love for biology. This was the only class where you’d find Prem attentive and in the first row. With Amar and Meet flanking his side, he was often seen fighting off his competition on a weekly basis for this prime spot. The boys had lost friends, made enemies and had had to sacrifice a few potential conquests in the process, but the best views came at a price, everyone knew that.

Today, Ms. Rose was wearing an impossible black number: a tight black pencil skirt that clung for dear life to her voluptuous hips. It stopped just below her knees, and showed off those creamy legs of hers, all the way down to her red stilettos. Her blouse was black too, a wrap-around, gathered tightly and pulled into a modest bow to the side. It teased the class incessantly. Every boy in the room, and a few girls too, could think only of tugging at that bow. Tugs like that were known to unravel worlds. Would one pull be enough, or would it take two? Amar said two tugs; Meet’s money was on one. Prem didn’t care as long as it came undone.

Ms. Rose turned to the blackboard, chalk in hand. This view was just as good too, all curves and blind turns. “S-P-I-N-E,” she said, writing the same for the class to read. “Let’s talk about the human spine, and the pressure it has to carry.” Right on cue, she turned around and leaned her frame forward against the table. She displayed only a hint of cleavage; she was having one of those rare modest days, but it was still enough to fuel fantasies across hostel rooms later that night. Prem felt the pressure pull at him too, and he reciprocated by leaning forward as well.

It was an action she didn’t miss. Ms. Rose fixed her green-brown eyes to his for a second before addressing the class again. There was a small mysterious smile on her face. Prem wondered what it meant, and if anyone else noticed. It wasn’t the first time she had caught him ogling at her. In fact, each time she caught him, she gave him a quick look over as well.

When he’d mentioned it to Amar and Meet earlier, they had laughed at him. “Dude, you’re seeing things. The wonder twins are messing with your brain. Besides when have you ever made it all the way up to her eyes?” They laughed, but Prem was certain of it, well, almost certain. There was a thing though, for all the entertainment Ms. Rose offered, her class could be excruciating to sit through. The problem was sitting still while she displayed her oh-so-enormous talents, like right about now.

When the bell rang, a good forty minutes later, possibly the quickest passage of forty minutes in the history of time, there was a collective sigh that ran through the class. No other lecturer could boast of this reaction.

Prem told his friends to carry on. “I’ll catch up with you soon”, he waved.

They smirked and walked out. It was customary now. This was how every biology class played out. Prem took his time packing up. He savoured the extra seconds of observing her.

Ms. Rose was at her desk, bent over a set of papers; he wasn’t sure what they were, maybe he was supposed to submit something too. Her tight ponytail dangled from her shoulder, hovering over the desk. He wondered what it would feel like to have her bent over him like that.

It was right then that Rose looked up and caught him mid-stare. She wore that small smile again. What did it mean? It gave Prem a tingling sensation at the base of his stomach. A sensation that grew much more intense when she crooked her finger and beckoned him to her desk.

“Mam,” he asked, trying to build his voice. He didn’t want to come across as a silly, infatuated college boy. He wanted to come across as confident and suave, the kind of man he imagined a woman like Rose would like to tangle with.

“Hang on,” she says still wearing that smile. “We don’t want an audience now, do we? No, not yet, anyway,” she added with a cheeky grin. She followed the last couple of students as they filtered out of the class and latched the door shut behind them.

The classroom was empty except for the two of them. The only sound came from the rickety old ceiling fan. And Prem’s thumping heart!

Rose was a confident, smart woman, quick to take charge. As she sauntered up to him, Prem tried desperately to play it cool. It was not so easy though. He was having trouble breathing as she closed the gap between them. It got worse when she began to run her perfectly manicured bright pink nail along his chest. “Breathe baby,” she cooed at him. When a button came in the way of her travelling finger tip, she popped it open, and continued down the trail. Prem simply forgot to breathe. When all the buttons were undone, she discarded his blue shirt, throwing it somewhere behind her. She took a small step back and gave him a long simmering look over.

“I’m going to teach you lessons you’ll never forget, Prem,’ she said closing the gap between them once again, her voice heavy and dripping with promises.

He had dreamt of this scenario since last term: him in the classroom, on the teacher’s desk, under the teacher. He wanted to call out to Amar and Meet. Wanted to tell them he was right. He wanted to tell them they were right too, the wonder twins were messing with his brain. But mostly he wanted to yell out that he might just get some gulab jal today.

Wait! Why was he thinking about those two idiots when he finally had the college cannon at his disposal? Amar! Meet! I have the college cannons at my disposal!

Rose planted her palm on his bare chest and pushed him closer towards the table, and once he was sitting on it, she threw her leg across him, semi straddling him. He slipped his arm around her waist almost immediately, fumbling, securing her to his frame, before pulling her closer, his right leg between both of hers. And her chest was at eye level. He followed its rise and fall. It was the most glorious thing he had ever seen.

She grabbed his chin and pulled his eye towards her face. “Come on tiger, what are we waiting for?”

Without wasting any more time Prem reached for that damn bow and gave it a tug. Voila! One pull was all it needed to come loose. Just the one pull, Amar, not two! He should have put some money on that. Her blouse fell open, taking his jaw with it. She was all cream and black lace underneath. He pulled the dangling blouse off and threw it on the floor. Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands across her back and towards the hooks encased in frill. One, two, unhook. Slowly he slid the delicate straps off her shoulders, one at a time. He wanted to plant kisses along her the trail, but he couldn’t bear to pull away from this magical sight unfolding before him. Damn! Gravity had been kind to her.

His friends were going to hate him. He could almost see their faces. One and two, with jealousy- peaked pouts. All he could do was grin in return. He knew he was behaving like a boy, but as Rose swung her other leg over him and pushed him flat against the table, he felt his control slip. Oh boy! I can’t reach the finish line before the race has begun. He took one deep breath and then another. No, he wouldn’t leave her mid-tango. I will be the student she deserves, he decided. I will get her to scream my name.

“Prem! Prem! PREM! How many times do I have to tell you to stop wasting my time in this class? PREM! Stop daydreaming.” Ms. Rose sounded angry.

Her voice pulled Prem out of his fantasy. Amar and Meet were giving him quizzical looks and he caught the sniggers tumbling from around him. Prem looked up to see Ms. Rose standing next to him, by his bench, fully dressed. He was fully dressed too. This was confusing.

“Do you see this Prem?” Ms. Rose asked him, holding up a sheet; it had an angry red ‘D’ scrawled across it. “Prem, another ‘D’ and you’re failing the class, which means you fail the year,” she continued even as the bell rang in the background.

As the class, and his friends, filtered out, Prem remained seated, staring at the test paper, before looking back at her. There was that small smile playing along her pink lips again.

“Listen, Prem, you are such an enthusiastic and … um … gifted young student,” her eyes dipped towards his belt, ever so slightly. “I want to see you succeed. I want to see you come out on top,” she drawled, leaning slightly towards him.

“Why don’t you join me for a special tutorial class in the staff room after college, huh?” Her voice barely a whisper now, and yet her intentions loud and clear. “I’m sure I could help you improve your skills, and maybe you can share your daydreams with me, maybe we can make them work?”

Prem was stunned, but he recovered well. He wore a cocky smirk and nodded his head. “That’ll be great Mam. I’ve a few doubts that you might be able to nail.”

“See, that’s why I like you so much, Prem,” she laughed a rich throaty laugh, running her finger across his face.

“Thank you, Maam,” he smiled back.

“Come see me later today, at 3 o’ clock. Don’t be late, Prem, but don’t come too early either.” She walked away, with a little extra something in her sway.

I won’t. He would work hard and hopefully she’d shower him with all the attention he needed. Prem finally understood the purpose of college and the role of a good, grounded education. His Dad’s words come filtering through: “Prem, everything I know today is because of college. I had such committed teachers; they never gave up till I was perfect. Round after round, in class, through private tuitions, they kept going. Now it’s your turn. Just remember to be attentive.”

And he would be. He’d be attentive and thorough. After a whole year of being mediocre, Prem had found the perfect incentive to score well, and score he would.

PART TIME JOBS

“Never again,” Amar’s voice was a mixture of relief and regret.

“Never again,” Meet and Prem parroted him.

“From now on, I will toe the straight line,” Prem added in earnest. “Do you guys know where I can Google stuff like that?”

“Can’t be too hard, everyone else seems to have stumbled on it,” Meet suggested, “It’s like a template they hand out, I think: study, graduation, find proper jobs.”

“A proper job? Like in a bank, or something?” Prem asked.

“Yeah, or something sounds about right,” his friends added, their expressions sombre.

It had been an exhausting three weeks for the three friends. Of course, they were always broke. What else could be expected of student life? But then they swung from broke to flushed to broke again, from carefree to careworn, from wanted to hunted, from boys to slightly more grown-ups. Some would call these three weeks life changing. Meet, Prem and Amar called it Monday.

They had blown their allowances on some low grade weed – there literally was more grass in it than anything else, peddled by a six-foot-four, well-built Russian exchange student. Unfortunately, one of him could break all of them, so there was no getting their money back. Despite the hunger pangs, none of them called home for a refuelling. Even idiots like them knew never to poke the angry bear.

They were passing a packet of Parle G around, savouring every bite, when Prem came up with a solution, another one of his ‘grand ideas’. He was holding open the classified section of a tabloid, grinning like a maniac. “I found it guys, I found a way to have our pot brownies and eat them too.”

The plan was simple. They’d sign up for slightly risqué jobs – jobs they were guaranteed to love; jobs that’d get them money, honeys, and some masti. What could possibly go wrong?

Fitness was a passion for Meet. Not too many people knew of his pudgy teen phase, where he was mocked and picked on by the popular kids. After his 10^th exams, he swore he’d never get out of shape again. He was proud of what he had achieved. And he had no qualms about dropping his clothes off to put his work on display.

He found his perfect job when the professor at an art school told him, “We’ll require you to pose in the nude for an hour every day”.

The money more than made up for it, but what he really enjoyed was the class full of hot chicks, running their eyes across his frame every day. He hoped in a couple of days he’d be able to convince at least a few of them to explore him a bit more intimately. Really, could he have found a more enjoyable job?

Prem was born with two right feet. It was true. His mom was fond of saying Prem could dance before he could walk.

“We cover entertainment at local sangeets, kitty parties, hen parties, that sort of thing,” the events manager told him. “Do you think you can manage?”

Prem took to it like a fish to water.

Given his particular brand of charm, he got fast-tracked to kitty parties, and Prem couldn’t be happier. He got to dance for cougars; cougars were his fourth most favourite thing in the world after his friends, Baywatch reruns, and beer. And the cougars really liked him too. He was delighted when they turned out to be a handsy bunch, handsy and rowdy to boot. Prem had found his calling.

When you came from a family of Doctors, you ended up learning quite a about the human body without even trying. It was this awareness that had pushed Amar towards the family trade; he had been studying medicine for a while now. The road to getting licensed to practice was a long one. But one of the many advantages of being a future-medical-intern was that people had no objections to being touched by him. He got away with a lot in the name of a full body massage.

The local ladies’ gym was the perfect excuse of a job. He had more fun ‘working’ over the last three days, than he had had in the entire last month. He had helped unknot more than a few tensed muscles, and the tips, mixed with phone numbers, had been phenomenal. Thank you, scary Russian, for helping me find my way to heaven.

“I need more practice with the gluteus maximus, maybe we can have a one on one session later?”

“I’m a little stuck on the lips, but I think it’s just about working on it.”

“I’ve always been a little shy, and they don’t they say the best way to get over it is to plunge right in?”

The girls in the art class told Meet.

Meet usually had to do all the heavy lifting, so he was savouring this moment. He enjoyed being pursued. He enjoyed being wooed.

“We love your abs”, the women at the kitty party winked at Prem.

No one had said that to Prem before. Between Meet’s fitness regime and Amar’s almost-doctor status, he tended to get sidelined. He grabbed this opportunity with both hands and each of his four and a half abs. He flashed a smile their way. “You are welcome to touch, but if you break it, you buy it.”

The women were not shy, and Prem even managed to learn a couple of new things.

Members had started asking for Amar by name. Where they’d come once a month before, they were suddenly willing to splurge on weekly sessions.

He manages to do things I haven’t felt in years, he caught one regular whisper into her phone. He paid a little extra attention to her that day. He enjoyed watching his clients come with an extra sway to their step and leave on wobbly feet.

Meet spent so much of his focus on the sexy art students, he didn’t notice the very interested art professor lurking in the corners.

Prof D, as he was called around the campus, was smitten by this beautiful young man. He had attended every class, and he could say positively he had never enjoyed it as much. He could tell Meet was not all about vanilla, but he knew it would be a challenge.

There was a photo that Prem didn’t know about. It was taken about three days back at a kitty party he worked. It was a shot of a particularly feisty lady taking a shot off of his abs; it was her idea. The photo was sent to a friend in confidence, and from there on it was shared in confidence.

That photo had completed its trek around the social circuit and was now sitting in front of her very pissed off husband.

Amar packed up his kit, stuffing his shirt and shoes in without a care. If he paid a little more attention, he’d notice something amiss. Slinging his bag across his body, he stepped out with a spring in his step; today had been particularly profitable.

He didn’t notice his colleague Priya, or her death glare, on his way out. Priya balled her fists in anger. She had lost eight clients since this newbie started. If he is going to steal my clients, I might as well get a cut of his tips, she reasoned.

The following week was weird.

Meet noticed Professor D everywhere he went. At first, he brushed it off as coincidence. But very soon he realized this was something else.

When the professor finally approached him, Meet was reminded of a hunter approaching its prey. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to notice me. But I guess better late than never, right?”

Meet just stared at him.

“Look, I know this isn’t your usual scene, but I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Think about it, that’s all I’m asking.”

The professor remained within his perimeter, inserting himself into any situation he could. Clearly, he would not back off. It was worse when class was in session.

Now that Meet knew what was going on, he wasn’t as comfortable. Unfortunately he had already been paid for the next two sessions. Not turning up meant returning money already spent.

Prem noticed that a black Audi turned up where ever he went.

As he parked his bike outside a reception hall, the venue for today’s kitty, a heavyset man finally stepped out of the car. “Yo douche bag,” he called to Prem. “I’m glad I bumped into you.” He threw an envelope across to Prem.

Prem opened it and slid a photo out. The woman drinking a shot off his naked chest.

The man added in a dark voice, “that’s my wife.”

All the blood drained out of Prem’s system. How was he going to explain this? Would the clichéd ‘it’s not what it looks like’ work?

“I’m going to destroy you little by little,” violence radiated through the man’s pores. “There’s nothing you can say or do to change my mind. You mess with me, I mess you up.” With that he stepped into his car and right as he drove away, he shaped his fingers into a gun and mimiced pulling the trigger.

Things at gym had been weird today.

First his key card didn’t work. Then someone slashed at his sneakers. His towels were all missing. And now as he was working, he had the distinct feeling of being watched. Oblivious to his worries, the client continued to prattle along. She giggled, she flirted, and she enjoyed her massage vociferously.

Amar was counting the notes, his tip, when he heard her voice again, more specifically her moans. He rushed outside the locker room, where Priya was leaning across the door, holding her phone up.

“I have a great video here. I was hoping it would be dirtier, but it’s good enough.”

“What are you doing?” he asked her.

The glint in her eyes told him it was nothing good.

“You stole my clients, you stole my tips. I had to do something about it.” Her voice was hard and angry. “Here’s what we’ll do. You continue this,” she waved the phone towards him, “and you split your tip like a good boy. If you don’t, this gets emailed to everyone, including the client, her family, your family, and of course, your college principal.”

She blew him a kiss and walked out.

For the first time in his life, Meet kept his wits about him.

He walked into the staff room and addressed the professor. “Leave me alone; forget I exist. If you do, I promise to leave you alone too. If you don’t”, Meet said, “I know the way to the dean’s office, and if pushed, I’d have no problems filing an official complain.”

With that, Meet turned and walked out the room, and away from the institute. He had lost all his love for nude art. As a beautiful young student waved at him at the main entrance, he realized, with much agony that he had lost all love for artists as well.