One Indian Girl(25)

Why am I not telling her? I should tell her. However, this Debu has to get his act together and tell me first.

‘You are not the boyfriend and love types. Aditi was like that.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ I said, my voice loud enough to startle two skinny girls sitting next to me.

‘Nothing. You are the studious types. What boyfriend and all you will make? We will have to find someone for you.’

‘Really, mom? You would do that for me? Thank you. How can I ever repay you?’

‘It’s okay. We are parents. It is our duty.’

She doesn’t get sarcasm at all. I wanted to lash out more. I wanted to say, Sure, thanks, mom, do hook me up with someone. For who else would take your unlovable daughter?

I chose not to aggravate the situation. I took a deep breath instead.

‘My station has arrived. You made tea?’

‘Yeah, I did. I can talk some more. Your father is still in the bathroom.’

I stepped out of the train. I climbed up the stairs and came out to Chambers Street. My house was a six-minute walk from here.

‘How’s dad?’ I said.

‘Waiting for his tea. He still has to figure out what to do with his retired life.’

‘Did you get the money?’

‘It was too much, beta.’

‘Just tell dad to change his car, please. At least get a Honda City. That Maruti belongs in a museum.’

‘I will tell him. We feel bad taking money from our daughter.’

‘Why? If I were your son it would be okay?’

‘Yes. But you are not, no?’

‘So what? I am your child. Why can’t I help improve your lifestyle?’

‘With sons it is different. It’s like your right.’

‘Mom, you know all this stuff irritates me a lot. I have had a long day. I was in office for thirteen hours. Can you please say something nice?’

‘We miss you.’

‘I miss you guys too.’

‘We feel bad. Our daughter is working thirteen hours a day and sending money home. We may have limited means after dad’s retirement, but things are not so bad.’

‘Again, mom,’ I said, my voice upset, ‘you have to stop. Let me do things for my family.’

‘Don’t shout at me. It’s early morning here.’

‘Well, you have to stop irritating me.’

‘I am not irritating you. You keep saying “family”. If you don’t get married how will you have a family?’

‘Bye, mom. I don’t want to lose it. Please go have tea with dad.’

‘Did I say anything wrong now? It’s a fact, no?’

‘I have reached home. I have to take the lift. I will talk to you later.’

‘As you wish. All you kids behave in this hi-fi manner now. Call whenever. End whenever. Shout whenever. I am just your mother.’

I took three deep breaths.

‘I am sorry for shouting at you,’ I said.

‘You are becoming too aggressive. If you stay like this who will. . .’

Before she could say that my aggression would hamper my chances of getting married, I had to end the call.

‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I am sorry.’

‘Go rest. Don’t work so hard.’



I entered the apartment. Debu sat in the living room watching football on TV. He wore a loose grey T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. He held a can of beer in his hand.

‘Hey,’ he said, his eyes not moving an inch from the screen.

‘Hi,’ I said, my voice curt. Is it too much for him to get up from the sofa and give me a hug?

I removed my jacket and placed it on the dining table. I saw takeaway bowls from Mr Chow, a Chinese restaurant in Tribeca.

‘You ordered in?’ I said.

‘Yeah. Felt too lazy to make anything. Plus, there was this game.’

‘This food is too greasy for me. You could have ordered something healthier.’

‘Mr Chow is cheap. Have you seen the portion sizes? It will last us two days.’

I dumped my handbag on the dining chair. Sometimes, I wished Debu wasn’t so obsessed about saving a few bucks.

‘I fought with my mother. I called her to have a chat and ended up yelling at her.’

‘Uh huh,’ he said, eyes on the TV. ‘That’s not nice.’

‘Debu, can you please shut the TV off for a minute?’ I said. Screamed, in fact.

Debu looked mildly surprised. He didn’t switch off the TV, but muted it. He turned to me.

‘What happened, baby?’

‘I’ve come home after a long day. Can you just pretend to be happy to see me?’

‘Of course I am happy, baby.’

‘Give me a hug. Don’t just say “hey” when I enter the house.’

He sprang up from his seat. He came up to me and hugged me.

I pushed him away. ‘Not when I have to ask. And be interested. My mom and I had a huge argument.’

‘What about?’

‘Guess.’

‘Your marriage? Her whole “who will marry my poor daughter” routine?’

‘Yes, Debu,’ I said, glaring at him. ‘You are so clever to figure it out. But seriously, who will marry her poor daughter?’