One Indian Girl(16)

‘You want it?’ Catherine said.

Maybe I can do this. This is not for Debu or tonight. This is for me. Enough of being a frumpy nerd, Radhika. Do it.

‘Sure, I’ll take the Brazilian,’ I said.

I don’t want to go into the details of what happened next. It started with Catherine examining bits of me nobody else ever had, while she shook her head in disapproval. After that she applied molten wax on body parts that were clearly never meant to ever come in contact with molten wax. Why do we women put ourselves through this? Why can’t boys. . .oww. . .oww. . .oww.

I think I would prefer the lashes in Saudi Arabia.

‘There we go,’ Catherine said after her ten-minute sadism experiment ended.

‘I might faint,’ I said.

‘You will get used to it,’ Catherine said. ‘Trust me, he will love it.’

There is no he, I wanted to tell her. I am only going to have wonton soup with him. Not wanton sex.

Catherine came back with a strip of crystal dots.

‘And as a special promotion, we are giving all customers who got a Brazilian a free Swarovski service. Allow me. This won’t hurt at all.’

I couldn’t believe what happened next. Catherine made a pattern with thirty crystals down there.

Once done, she told me to stand up and look into the mirror.

‘I look like a stripper,’ I said.

‘You look sexy.’

‘I can’t walk out with crystals on my. . .you know.’

‘Don’t worry. They wash off in a couple of days. Faster if you rub with soap.’

Debu called.

‘Hey, done with training? You will be on time, right? Or should we make it 8.30?’ Debu said.

‘I am done. Was just taking care of some. . .internal issues. See you soon,’ I said.



‘You look,’ he paused, ‘wonderful.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Your dress is lovely too.’

‘Look, no tag today,’ I said and turned around. Both of us laughed. I was wearing a military green lace dress I had picked up from Gap. It ended well above the knees, exposing enough leg. However, I still don’t think Debu noticed the hundred dollars I spent fixing my limbs. The dim lighting and the restaurant table covering my legs did no justice to the hour I had spent in the torture chamber.

Debu ordered a set dinner for us.

We sat down in the upper level of Tao, a large-sized restaurant by New York standards. Downstairs, we could see a giant Buddha and the Zen koi pond.

‘Nice place,’ I said.

‘Did you know they shot the Sex and the City movie here?’ Debu said.

I didn’t. ‘So how was your day?’

‘Good. We are pitching for this new sportswear brand called Under Armor. If we get the campaign it will be awesome. How’s Goldman?’

‘Still in training. Busy. It will get even more hectic after work begins.’

I told him about Neel’s distressed debt presentation. I recounted how I was questioned in front of the entire class.

‘So I am thinking, I won’t apply to distressed debt. It’s quite difficult to get anyway. Plus, the job seems too difficult,’ I said.

‘How can you not apply?’ Debu said. ‘You are from IIMA. You will crack it.’

‘People in my class are from top colleges around the world. Harvard, Stanford, you name it.’

‘So what? You answered the question the partner asked you in the presentation, right?’

I looked at Debu. He had listened to me with full attention. His deep black eyes flickered in the candlelight. I leaned back on my seat and crossed my legs. They felt unusually smooth. I remembered why and smiled.

‘Why are you smiling?’ he said.

‘Nothing.’ I shook my head.

‘Listen,’ he said and placed his hand on mine. ‘You have to apply. Too many Indians come to this city and get overwhelmed. Don’t be underconfident. You can do it. You will.’

‘Thanks. And you will win Under Armor,’ I said.

‘Cheers to that,’ he said and we lifted our water glasses. The waiter arrived with our food—chicken noodle soup and vegetable fried rice. The soup seemed a little too bland for my taste. I stuck to the fried rice.

‘You aren’t having the soup. You don’t like chicken?’

‘I eat meat, but I prefer vegetarian,’ I said.

‘I am vegetarian too,’ he said.

‘Really?’

‘I am a Bengali. For us, fish and chicken are vegetables.’

Both of us laughed.

We chatted through dinner. He told me about his parents in Kolkata. His father owned a printing press. It didn’t really make much money now. His mother stayed at home. Debu grew up dreaming about being a painter. He settled for commercial art as the practical choice. His parents had saved enough to send him to do a course in design and arts in the US. He secured his current job through campus placement.

‘Advertising sounds cool,’ I said, ‘that too Madison Avenue. Best place to do it in the world.’

‘It’s not as cool on the inside. There’s constant politics. The money isn’t great. I have been lucky to work on good campaigns. However, juniors don’t usually get much creative work.’