Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)(6)

“Wait!” Bindu said. She ran over to the bag she’d carried in with her and held it up for Kareena. “Two things. First, I’m taking Dadi’s car to an interview tomorrow. It’s with a local TV show. They’re talking about dating, and I need someone to drive me so I can prep my notes and makeup and things like that on the way. Will you do it?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever.” She would have agreed to anything at that moment to make her escape.

“Great! Second, I got you a gift.”

“Bindu, I’m really in a terrible place right now. I’ll open it when I get home tonight.”

“No, open it now!” Bindu said. “It’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

Kareena eyed the bag. The last time her sister had brought her a gift, it was homemade brownies that made her so paranoid, she had to have her friends spend the night to convince her that aliens with Mumbai accents weren’t going to abduct her in her sleep and take her to an ice planet.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as she opened the bag and pushed aside the tissue paper. She was praying for a wad of cash but that was doubtful.

It took Kareena a moment to realize what was inside. The white box was labeled Asian Sensation and pictured a large, tan colored, U-shaped vibrator. It was a modern design that didn’t look like a penis. Quote bubbles read “waterproof” and “rechargeable.”

“Bindu, please tell me this is not a—”

“Yup!” Bindu said. She tossed her hair back and let out a screeching laugh. “You’re always so uptight, so I knew this would be the perfect gift.”

“What? What is it?” Dadi asked. She hurried over from the table.

“You know,” Kareena said as she pushed the tissue paper back in place to cover the brown sex toy. “One day I may find this hilarious. Today is not that day.”

Bindu doubled over, wheezing.

Without a second thought, Kareena passed it to her grandmother. “Why don’t you take this, Dadi? Bindu knows it’s not my style. Bindu, you’re going to tell her what it is, right?”

Bindu’s face went sheet white.

Kareena shoved her glasses up her nose and turned to leave the kitchen. “I hope all of you realize how truly shitty you all are acting right now.”

Her father’s expression turned thunderous. Her grandmother looked appalled at her language, and her sister was still pale now that Dadi was holding the vibrator gift.

Kareena strolled out of the house and started walking toward the train station before anyone could say another word to her. “Happy thirtieth birthday to me,” she said in a tear-soaked voice. “Happy fucking thirtieth birthday to me.”





Interstitial




Indians Abroad News Dear Readers, It’s important to remember that your single children are born in a generation that is different from yours. To start, you must first learn why your children are against marriage. It is then your responsibility to convince them that they are wrong.

Mrs. W. S. Gupta Columnist Avon, NJ





Chapter 2

Kareena





Aunty WhatsApp Group



Farah Aunty: Happy birthday, darling!

Falguni Aunty: Happy birthday, sweetheart. Your mother would be so proud of you and all you accomplished.

Mona Aunty: I have money for you, beta!

Sonali Aunty: ::religious birthday meme::

Sonali Aunty: ::religious birthday meme::

Sonali Aunty: ::religious birthday meme::





“I have no idea what I’m going to do,” Kareena said as she took another sip of her drink. “You guys know how important that house is to me. To my mom.”

“Here, let me call for another cocktail,” Veera said. Kareena watched as her friend gracefully lifted a hand and grabbed a server’s attention.

Phataka Grill, the brand-new restaurant right in the middle of Jersey City, was a charming throwback to an old-fashioned Indian canteen. Bollywood movie posters hung haphazardly on exposed brick walls, and the chairs were painted bright colors with aluminum backing. Sexy seventies Bollywood remixes were barely audible over the sound of conversation from packed tables. It was the perfect place to get inebriated.

“Thanks,” Kareena said as freshly made drinks were placed in front of them. “I need this. And you two.”

“I still think that you should’ve let me throw you a party to help get your mind off things,” Bobbi said, swirling her lychee martini. “We could’ve rented a limo to take us into the city where we would sweat our asses off dancing at a club, then hook up with sexy men we regret in the morning. Oh! And cupcakes. Cupcakes after dancing and hookups.”

“I’m just not in the mood, guys.”

“The last time we went was what, five years ago?” Bobbi asked. “Right before your dating moratorium. God, does your waxer find cobwebs in your coochie?”

Kareena threw a napkin at her best friend. “Oh, shut up. You work more than I do, and I don’t see you getting regular checks for your jalebi.”

Their server arrived with plates piled high with biryani, butter chicken, veggie tandoori platters, and naan. “Here you go, ladies,” he said, his New Delhi accent as thick as his full head of curling black hair. “Let me know if you need more drinks.”