Sam Brahmachari is sitting impatiently on his beige-coloured leather chesterfield. Sweat pearls appear on his forehead as he mutes another phone call on his iPhone X. He fidgets with his fingers and pulls out a gold cigar case from the pocket of his Givenchy Rottweiler-printed sweatshirt. He opens the gold case, pulls out a Cohiba Behike single stick, lights it and puffs sombre black rings of smoke that fills his chandelier-studded luxe living room. The smoke fails to alleviate his anxiety. He gets up and totters about on his Persian silk carpet.
Unable to control it any further, Sam unlocks his iPhone X and dials the number of Mr Dharmadhikari, personal assistant of his friend, Bhaskar. Bhaskar is facing sexual harassment allegation charges and has been to court in response to a legal notice. Sam is perturbed, not
because of the turmoil Bhaskar is in. Instead, he frets about what awaits him next.
Sam is a Gujarati and came to Mumbai four decades ago as a nobody. His astute business sense and knack for making high-profile connections soon made him uncover the gold mine of his business.
He is a man of rich tastes, drives a Cadillac, wears expensive tuxedos, travels to exotic locations, dates supermodels and A-list Bollywood actresses and gives away lavish gifts of Ballantine’s Scotch and Ralph Lauren perfumes to his guests. Brahmachari is a moniker given by best friend Bhaskar because of his eternal vow to remain unmarried.
But today, his life has come to a standstill. Bhaskar is facing harassment charges after a fallout with a senior colleague of his. Sam is a man who cannot live without sex and multiple partners. He is
bisexual and loves group sex, BDSM, threesomes and foursomes. But he hates masturbation. He calls it ‘poor man’s sex’, but has he become a poor man? Sam calls his therapist friend and sobs on the phone.
“I can’t live without wild sex or work either. And I can’t bear to see my hard-earned reputation tarnished by a bloody witch any time she likes. Are my fun days over?”
The therapist friend has been with Sam for over a decade and knows all his ills and wills. He comforts Sam on the phone and tells him not to worry. Sam disconnects the phone and waits for his next call. He gets the urge to call Shayna, a struggling B-town actress with a round face and large bosom. Ah! But Shayna? No, she has named Dinesh Bhavnani, who proposed that she sleep with him to get his next film contract. Not her, he thought.
The therapist friend had promised he would call Sam back before lunch. It is now five past four. Sam rings up his friend. He is about to scream on the phone as the therapist answers the phone.
“Hey Bonney! I have good news for you,” the therapist exclaims. He calls Sam Bonney when in sheer delight. Sam is relieved when he hears himself being called Bonney. “Tell me, what is it?” Sam is now getting more curious than anxious.
“My dear friend, nothing will change for you. You don’t have to make any compromises. Trust me, it pained me to know you had to curb your urges for the whole day today. I’m so sorry to let this happen to you, but I promised I’d find a way, an alternative. And I did just that. Oh! Sam, my bro. I’m coming to your home to show you something. Just wait for 15 minutes.”
Ding-dong, the bell rings. Sam jumps up from his Chesterfield and strides towards the anteroom. He turns the brass doorknob and there! his friend is standing with a sheaf of papers in his hand. Sam ushers his friend in, opens his Meneghini La Cambusa refrigerator, picks up a Glenfiddich and serves it in crystal-cut tumblers.
“I can’t wait anymore. Tell me, what have you found?” Sam asks him impatiently. The therapist gives a lopsided grin and hands over a rugged, brown envelope. Sam unwraps it and pulls out a bunch of
papers. It is captioned: ‘Not #MeToo agreement’ and its contents read:
“Hey Sam, you look so hot and I can’t resist letting you have me. I wish I could have you for a nocturnal date of unbridled, wild, passionate adventure. Let me know if you’re available in Suite No. 4-0-3 of Freemont Hotel in Milan. I’ll wait for you, come fill my desires.”
(Story : Pallavi Barnwal)