Dil Beparwah | ✔

thirty four

||CHAPTER 34||
《¤》

┊V A R U N┊

Manohar Deewan was a card shark.

What his effervescent personality festooned to absolute perfection was his gambling alter-ego. He waved a thick finger over the extra spade of 8, and immediately the croupier pulled out another ace from the deck and placed it perpendicularly. A calculative grin dimpled his buoyant face, and he turned towards me with a flourish.

"You asked me why I don't invest like a shark?" Mr. Deewan began while the dealer tossed the rest of us a card each. "Well, Varun, here's an investment lesson the casinos of Las Vegas taught me."

Symbolically, he tapped the betting chips, a stack of 3 alongside 2. So far in the game, he had not insured any of the bets like the third player next to him. Needless to say, Manohar Deewan's quirky decision didn't fail him. Having observed his last move, I couldn't help but poke at the man. "That gambling is similar to daylight casinos—less frowned upon and practically non-existent?"

He scoffed good naturedly, flicking his thick cigar in dry humor. "Wheel of fortune, wheel of fate. What dealers aren't telling you is that, if the stakes are six to five instead of three to two, it's not a bet. It's a fùçķìñģ bait."

The laughter came naturally. He was a conversationalist, a bloody good one at that. I waved off my hand in the dealing, pretty confident I wouldn't bust. Blackjack was the only game so far that I had let myself delve into. The croupier wasn't done with his card tricks, brandishing what appeared to be a string of cards until our attention was drawn back to the one that was facedown on his end. One ludic reveal, and Manohar Deewan emerged as the winner, yet again.

Ice clinked against the glass as I raised it to meet his in good cheer. Against the backdrop of a jingling arcade of slot machines and several roulette wheels spinning the savings of men friskingly addicted to the mute felts and loud, neon gizmos. Manohar Deewan pulled himself out after three not entirely consecutive wins. The giant chandeliers guided us towards The Ether, which, contrary to its name, was very much of a closed-sky bar on the upper level of the Casino deck.

Wired lights ran over the banisters, bright blue and red complementing the dark of the night. Soft, jazz music floated in the air, the singer holding stage at one corner of the bar. Trombones and saxophones added the silky appeal.

It wasn't very crowded up here. Lazy, intoxicated conversations—that was how I spotted her finally. Hair let loose, in an off-white, sleeveless satin dress, nursing a drink on the counter, attention rapturously focused on my over-excited employee, I couldn't tell if it was the music or Esha's speech that was making her smile.

Her uncle was the first to interrupt the ladies, diving in for a hug that she complied easily into. A stiff round of Esha's introduction later, she turned back to him. "Chachu, you look like you've had a nice day! Iss casino ko bhi loot liya kya?"

"Yuhi nahi mujhe Jack of all trades bulatey hai beta," he patted her back. BlackJack apparently was his favorite sport. "Zindagi mein maestro banne ke liye mistry banna padta hai."

Arvika let out a tinkering giggle, slipping her gaze towards mine. Not that I had been searching for her, but if her intent was to avoid me throughout the day, now was a testing time for her. Reddened but laced with confidence, hints of her shyness buried under the whispers of a sly smile. "Esha agrees with that thought, don't you Esha?" Her palm pressed upon our infamous journalist who looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Chachu, aapko pata hai, Esha has her own weekly blog section now in BizNest. Varun is surely rewarding her laborious efforts."