Cheaters: A short story by Anuradha Dev

The app calls it – Pub crawl. Well, I’m new to it. To be honest, it’s not my thing, but when you’re married, you do things you don’t necessarily want to. It’s our twenty-fifth anniversary trip, and my husband, Shashi, loves partying. There’s no way he’s leaving Amsterdam without a taste of it.

The concept is simple — gather strangers, play some icebreaker games, and eventually go pub-hopping in a foreign country. Our group leader, Eliza, is a young Hispanic woman in a tube top and pants. She’s assisted by another girl who doesn’t look old enough to drink.

On one end of the table two Black women in their thirties sit chatting. On the other end, near the glass window, two hot young guys — a Black man and a Chinese man — are deep in conversation. Thankfully, the music isn’t too loud, so we could talk. We take the seats next to them. A few minutes later, two young men, who look Indian, join us. When Shashi asks, it turns out they’re Pakistani. By the time the whole group assembles, I realise we’re the only Indians.

Eliza places a Jenga tower in the centre.

Yay! A chance to flex — I played a lot of Jenga when the kids were young. But there’s a twist — some blocks have tasks written on them. Whoever pulls a block must complete the task. If it’s a group task, everyone participates.

The first Black woman starts. Her block’s task? Everyone must name a sport. Easy. A relief. This won’t be too intrusive.

The Chinese guy gets a task to say two truths and a lie.

“I’m American. I’m married. And I’m a doctor.”

Easy. He looks twenty at best.

“You’re not married,” I say confidently.

“I am, ma’am.” He grins, eyes twinkling.

The next task falls to the other Black woman. She has to guess everyone’s age. When she gets to me, she guesses twenty-seven.

I burst out laughing. “No way! I’m forty-seven. We’re here for our twenty-fifth anniversary.”

“Oh my God! You don’t look that old!” she exclaims.

“Yeah, well, hair colour and makeup have done their job well,” I say, raising my glass to her. 

She’s way off the mark for almost everyone, but it’s fun. We’re warming up to each other.

On my first turn, I get a blank block — saved. Shashi pulls a block that requires him to choose a drinking buddy. He picks the young Black guy.

As the Jenga tower thins, the questions deepen. We still don’t know each other’s names, but we know the reasons for each other’s first breakups.

On my fourth turn, the tower is on its last legs. Time to flex. Everyone holds their breath as I push blocks gently, testing their stability. Finally, I pull one out successfully. Applause.

But wait — what’s written on it?

‘CHEATERS.’

I turn to Eliza. “What does this mean?”

“Oh! Have you ever cheated on your boyfriend? If you have, just take a sip of your drink.” She chugs hers like it’s no big deal, like it’s not a loaded question to answer in a group of strangers — with my husband sitting right beside me.

If I refuse to answer, I still answer.

The guys — oh my God, they’re all laughing. Except Shashi, of course.

“So you mean... I just have to take a sip, if I have? I mean... I don’t have to say anything else about it?” I blabber.

Sitting next to me, Shashi watches. The others struggle to keep straight faces.

“We’ve all cheated at some point... let’s move on,” Shashi says casually, reaching for another block.

I know he’s just trying to save me from answering, but oddly, it annoys me. I don’t want to be saved. I don’t know what I would have done — maybe just sipped and let it slide — but it feels like he didn’t want me to answer.

Why isn’t Shashi upset? Does he think I’m incapable of a passionate affair? Of course, why would anyone be interested in a middle-aged mother of two? But then, if he’s so sure, why did he feel the need to save me?

The game continues.

One idealistic American guy swears he’d never marry someone with opposing political views. Another confesses he’d marry for money — if the amount is big enough. Shashi bonds with them like he’s one of them, like they share some divine connection. And the Pakistanis? Soulmates. It always happens. At home, they’re enemies, but abroad, they’re just proud desis.

When the games end, Eliza announces it’s time for the real fun.

As Shashi fetches our wristbands for the pub crawl, the hot Black American guy — the idealist — slides beside me.

“So where in India are you from?”

“Indore.”

“Oh! I have a friend in college from Indore.”

Turns out he’s just a year older than my daughter.

Icebreakers worked. We all chat and tease like old friends. Another woman, my age, shares how her twenty-one-year-old son just got married and she hates her daughter-in-law.

Wow. Not looking forward to getting my kids married.

The music starts as soon as we board the bus.

Unfortunately for me, the best part is over — I hate loud, crowded pubs. But Shashi and the others think it’s fun.

The first pub is bearable. There’s space. To our delight, the DJ plays Bollywood.

You can’t not dance to that.

The young Black guy appears beside me again and takes my hand. Flattering, but I can’t stop thinking — he’s my daughter’s age. I glance at Shashi. He’s fucking recording us.

As the crowd thickens, the loud music grates my ears and skin. It’s getting hot and claustrophobic. I lose interest and find a barstool. Shashi finds me in a few minutes.

“Why aren’t you dancing?”

“Where’s the space? And anyway, you know I like this only for a while. My time’s up.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Um... no. You go and enjoy.”

“No. I’ll watch with you.”

We watch two Black girls from our group perform synchronized hip-hop.

“Are you going to ask me about what happened earlier?” I say.

“What happened?” He’s still watching the crowd.

“Why I hesitated on ‘cheaters’?”

“I know you’ve never cheated.”

“That’s the point. I have.”

“Uh-huh...” He doesn’t look at me.

“Shashi, look at me.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. And it’s not like I’ve never cheated. Who am I to ask questions?”

“You told me what you did. I never told you.”

He’s silent.

“It was nineteen years ago. Annie was two. I was stuck at home. I started talking to a guy online.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“No. Just online.”

“You call that cheating?”

“Oh, believe me, it was. I know what we talked about — it wasn’t decent.”

He takes a long sip. “Do me a favour?”

“What?”

“Spare me the details.”

I laugh. “Of course.”

He sets down his glass. “Refill.”

“One Sangria for me too.”

He grins, and we turn back to the crowd.

“Let’s watch these idiots.”

His arm comes around my shoulder. We clink glasses.