One Indian Girl(20)

‘Really?’ I said, my tone as casual as possible, even as I fished for more.

‘Yeah. You don’t mind me saying that, I hope.’

Do I mind? Bring it on, dude. We have ten more minutes to reach the hotel. Please keep praising me. The shallower the better. Make it only about clothes, looks and legs. Those are the compliments I miss. Of course, I have to say it in a way that he doesn’t think I am too keen.

‘No, I don’t mind. Usually we talk about more intellectual and work-related stuff. It is strange but no, it’s okay. Curious to see how you men think,’ I said and giggled like an idiot.

‘I think you have a nice figure,’ he said.

Which part, which part? I wanted to scream in excitement. Do you like my waist? Boobs? Ass? Be articulate, Debu.

‘Really?’ I said, dragging out the word, as if I never expected this. I punched his shoulder—subtle encouragement and fake shyness all rolled into one.

‘Yeah. Your legs, I mean. . .you have nice legs.’

‘Oh, so that is all you like about me?’

Desperate, lame, stupid. What was that, Radhika? I told myself as I fished. Oh I didn’t just fish. I sent a fishing team with a trailer to catch a shipload.

‘No, no. I like your face too. Your hair. Your eyes. Your whole personality, actually.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Now you will say all this. It’s about the legs, right?’

It better be about the legs. I paid 100 dollars to Completely Bare.

‘No, no. Sorry. . . I mean. . .’

‘Relax, Debu. I am kidding,’ I said and squeezed his warm hand. I didn’t want to let go of it. However, I didn’t want it to count as a move either. Why do we girls have to follow so many rules? If he likes my whole personality, why can’t I be fully me?

I released his hand. We walked past a Barnes and Noble bookstore and had to cross a traffic signal. He used it as an excuse to hold my hand. We crossed the road together. He didn’t release my hand afterwards.

I gave him a sideways glance. He smiled at me.

‘My sister is considered the prettier one, actually,’ I said.

‘I find that quite hard to believe. Unless she is Miss Universe or something.’

I smiled at his indirect compliment. I felt like running my fingers through his curly hair.

He continued, ‘Actually, even if she is Miss Universe. I find you really pretty.’

Sweet lies, they do have a place in life. I sighed.

‘Thanks, Debu,’ I said.

We reached the Benjamin Hotel. We had made some progress. We had held hands, but only that. Did I intimidate him? Did he totally lie but actually not find me attractive? Is he scared?

‘So this is where I live. Train stop is right there.’ I pointed at the subway sign.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I had a great time. Thanks for the treat.’

‘You are welcome,’ I said. ‘Bye.’

My heart sank a bit. I didn’t want him to go.

‘Hey, just one thing. Doesn’t have to be today,’ he said.

‘Yeah?’ I said.

‘You have your sister’s photo in your room? Wanted to check. I am sure the claim that she is prettier is false,’ he said.

Was that a move? He mentioned my room. Did he want to come upstairs? Or he could technically want me to go up and bring down some pictures. Heck, I had Aditi didi’s photos on my phone. So is this a move? Will someone tell me, please?

I smiled at him.

‘No, really,’ Debu said,

‘That’s sweet. So are you.’

‘Pretty?’

I laughed. ‘No. Handsome. Smart. Creative too.’

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Okay, I think I have some photos on my laptop upstairs. You want to come up?’ I said.





8


‘No way,’ Debu said. ‘She is not prettier than you.’

‘Oh, come on,’ I said. ‘Aditi didi is so nice-looking.’

‘Listen, sure she is, but not more than you. No way. You have better features.’

‘That’s not what my mother led me to believe,’ I said.

‘Must be the Punjabi thing. The whiter the skin, the prettier the person. Nonsense,’ he said, somewhat agitated.

We sat on the edge of the hotel bed, my laptop in the middle. I had a two-year-old family album open on the screen.

‘All my life I have been this nerdy, studious girl. Aditi didi is considered the looker.’

‘Sorry, she’s your sister, but she dresses like she is going to a party even for random family pictures at home.’

‘She is like that,’ I said.

‘You did wear horrible glasses though,’ Debu said.

I laughed.

‘I switched to contacts a year ago,’ I said, and pointed to a picture of my family in our living room. ‘That is dad. Simple, quiet man. Just doesn’t want people in society to say anything critical of him. This is my mother. Dominates dad totally.’

Debu examined the pictures as I spoke again.

‘I miss home,’ I said. ‘Seeing these pictures I miss India. I want to watch TV serials with my mother and do nothing.’

‘Says the new hotshot distressed debt banker. Too late, girl.’ Debu laughed.