One Indian Girl(37)

‘I didn’t say that, but why do I have to choose one of the two?’

‘I get it.’

‘What, Debu?’

‘You make more money. I should quit my job, right, not the high-flying you?’

‘Will you stop it? Stop calling me high-flying or whatever. When you do well I am happy for you. Am I not? Why can’t you be?’

He looked at me once and then sideways. I let out a deep breath and spoke again, as calm as possible.

‘Nobody needs to quit if they don’t want to. We can still have a good happy family,’ I said.

Debu kept quiet. I could tell my words did not convince him.

‘Say something,’ I said, putting my cutlery down.

He remained quiet, continued to eat in silence. Tears welled up in my eyes. I wiped them with a tissue.

He placed his hand on mine.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said.

‘Don’t make me cry and then say “don’t cry”,’ I said, my voice breaking.

‘Leave all this banking and morning meetings. You are stressing yourself out.’

‘I am fine,’ I said as I continued to cry. ‘I am fine.’

‘You are this simple Indian girl. You need to love and be loved.’

‘Yeah, I am,’ I said, sniffling as I composed myself.

‘I will take care of us. Don’t you just want to be there for me and our future kids?’

I checked the time.

‘It’s 7.20. I really need to rush.’

I walked towards the bathroom. Debu spoke behind me.

‘See. This is what you do. I am discussing something with you,’ he said.

I turned to him at the bathroom door.

‘I have a morning meeting. I am presenting a deal. I told you.’

‘But I am discussing something important. Leave the meeting today.’

‘I can’t. I have to present the China deal.’

I went into the bathroom, took a quick shower and changed from my nightclothes to a white shirt and black trousers. When I came out Debu was still sitting at the dining table.

‘This is what I fear. Even as a mother this is what you will do. Then what?’ he said.

I didn’t respond. I stared at him for five seconds. He cowered a little, nervous at what I would do next. I reached the entrance door and opened it. I stepped out of the house. I glared at him one more time and slammed the door shut.





15


‘Whoa, big party night yesterday?’ Jonathan said. We sat in the meeting room waiting for others to arrive.

‘No, I was at home. We had the China deal call, right?’ I said.

‘But your eyes. They are red.’

‘I didn’t sleep well, actually.’

‘Deal stress?’

‘Life stress.’

Jonathan smiled.

‘I know the feeling,’ he said.

Craig, Jon and a few other VPs and associates from the Distressed Debt Group arrived in the next few minutes. I presented the Luxvision deal to get everyone’s views.

‘I would get a local Chinese property developer involved soon,’ Jon said.

He was right. China had too many regulations; you needed a strong local partner to navigate the system.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Hong Kong office is visiting the factory. Will ask them to talk to a few developers too.’

I finished my presentation and sat down. Another team presented their deal. My head hurt from lack of sleep. I was trying my best to pay attention to the speaker when my phone buzzed in my trouser pocket. I ignored it at first. It buzzed a few more times. The meeting room was dark as the speaker made a slide presentation. I slid out my phone and held it in my hand beneath the table. I had several messages, all from Debu.

‘Radhika, I can’t do this anymore.’

‘Think whatever of me but this is not what I want.’

‘Trust me. You are not an easy person to be with.’

‘I want a simple life. I just want a simple Indian girl.’

‘I want to break up. I will move out.’

‘Will leave the rent for this month on top of the fridge. Bye.’

My face froze as I stared at the screen. I couldn’t react in front of the team. I clenched my teeth so my eyes wouldn’t stream.

‘Excuse me,’ I whispered to Jonathan next to me and stood up.

‘I need to step out,’ I whispered and tiptoed out of the meeting room to confront the darkness I faced in my life.

I went to the ladies’ room and re-read the messages.

I called Debu. He cut my call. I called twice again.

‘Can you call me?’ I sent him a message.

He didn’t respond. I came back to my cubicle, sat in my seat and covered my face with my hands. Tricia, a sixty-year-old American secretary in our group, glanced at me.

‘You okay?’

I nodded, my lips a flat line.

‘Just tired,’ I said with effort.

‘Are you going to call me?’ I sent a message again.

‘There is nothing to talk about,’ he replied.

I called him. He cut my call again.

‘Am busy,’ his message said.

‘What could be more important than this?’ I responded.

‘Can you leave me alone, please?’ came his answer.