One Indian Girl(39)

‘I am buying a round of drinks. Harry’s at 7,’ he said to Craig and me in the afternoon.

Craig did thumbs up from his cubicle.

‘Radhika, you on?’ Jonathan said. I gave him a blank stare. In the last month I had worked on autopilot. I showed up at the Goldman office in the morning, sat in my seat, worked on my computer and left post 8 in the evening. I wanted to reach home as late and as tired as possible. If I had spare time or the energy to think, I would message and call Debu. He had stopped taking my calls or responding to messages sometime back. But it didn’t deter me.

I didn’t socialize with anyone. I ate cereal with milk from tetrapacks for breakfast and dinner. I skipped lunch. I spoke very little to mom. And when I did I asked her meaningless questions like what she had made for dinner or what the temperature was in Delhi.

I slept no more than two to three hours a night. The rest of the time I stared at the bedroom ceiling or watched American TV infomercials about slimming products promising eternal fitness and happiness.

Hence, when Jonathan asked me a simple question, it didn’t register with me.

‘You don’t have plans this evening, do you?’ Jonathan said.

I shook my head. I didn’t have plans. I will never have plans.

‘Come for drinks at Harry’s then. Luxvision deal-closing drinks.’

‘Sure,’ I managed to say.

Of course, heartbreak, alcohol and I are an explosive combination. Everyone celebrated the end of all the hard work on the China deal with champagne and martinis. I drank my glass of wine to kill the pain that just would not go away. I couldn’t believe I loved this guy so much. I tried to find reasons to hate him. How he used to sit watching TV doing nothing. How he would not shower on weekends until the evening. How he would scan the menu to order the cheapest dishes. Yeah, he isn’t worth it, Radhika, I tried to tell myself. It didn’t work. In fact, the things that annoyed me about him made me miss him more. I slipped to one corner of the bar with my second glass of wine. I watched my colleagues chat and laugh from a distance.

I listened to the song playing in the bar. It was Passenger’s Let her go.



You only need the light when it is burning low Only miss the sun when it starts to snow.



How did Passenger know what I was going through? God, I missed Debu. I wanted him to hold me like he did every night. It meant more to me than any stupid job or stupid deal.

‘What’s up, Radhika?’ Jonathan came up to me. ‘Come join us.’

‘In a bit. Taking it easy. Plus, I like this song.’



Staring at the ceiling in the dark Same old empty feeling in your heart Cause love comes slow and it goes so fast.



Jonathan raised his glass. I raised mine as well and touched it to his.

I could quit this job. Sure, that’s what Debu wanted.

‘Enjoying yourself in the distressed group?’ Jonathan said.

I shrugged. I couldn’t pretend to be cheerful anymore.

‘What?’ Jonathan was puzzled.

‘I don’t know. I can’t really say.’

Even though Jonathan was a colleague, my boss and I totally should not have done this, I burst into tears. Fuck, why do I cry so much these days? I swallowed hard to curb my tears. I am not going to make a fool of myself in front of my coworkers.

‘Anything we can help with?’ Jonathan said, surprised.

I shook my head, keeping my gaze down.

If there is one thing Americans understand, it is not to invade someone’s personal space. Jonathan figured something was amiss.

‘I am going to let you be. Join us if you want to. Okay?’

I nodded.

‘Thanks,’ I mumbled.

I decided to quit my job. No deal or company or job was worth it. I only enjoyed all this when I had Debu. I needed love. Unfortunately, Goldman doesn’t hand out love at bonus time. I debated whether I should tell Jonathan now. However, he seemed to be having a fun conversation with Craig. I didn’t want to spoil anyone’s mood.

I did bottoms-up on my third or fourth or fifth glass of wine. I tried to call Debu to tell him about my decision to quit work. He didn’t pick up. I decided to tell him face-to-face. I gestured to Jonathan that I needed to go. He gave me an understanding nod.

I came out of Harry’s. The wine made me feel weightless, airborne. At a florist kiosk on Wall Street I bought a dozen dark red roses. I checked the time—7.30 p.m.—and hailed a yellow cab.

‘Tiffany on Fifth Avenue, please,’ I said.

I reached the Tiffany store just a few minutes before its closing time.

‘Rings, for men,’ I said.

The polite salesperson took out several gold and platinum rings. I chose a classic men’s platinum band.

‘Excellent choice. That would be 2,000 dollars,’ the salesperson said.

I took out my credit card.

‘Thank you. Would you like it gift-wrapped?’ he said.

‘Yes, please,’ I said.

I rushed out of the store and hailed another cab.

‘Brooklyn Heights, please.’

The taxi took the FDR, crossed Brooklyn Bridge and entered Brooklyn. It took me forty minutes to reach Debu’s building. He had moved back to his apartment with his old roommates. The elevator of his building had shut down for temporary repairs so I climbed up the five floors to reach his apartment. I was about to ring the bell but paused. I wanted to give him a complete surprise. I had come with news of a resignation, a bouquet of roses and a ring. I wanted him. I was ready to be his girl, just the way he wanted me to be. I lifted the potted plant outside his flat. I found the bunch of house keys under it.