One Indian Girl(68)

‘Even if it is with me?’

‘Do you have to staff me in particular?’

‘Greenwood wants to buy some more distressed hotels in Korea. They want us to look at some options. They liked your work. So. . .’ He left the sentence hanging.

‘Whatever you say,’ I said.

‘I won’t staff you if you don’t want to. Should I say you are not available?’

‘So I lose my clients now?’ I said.

‘Of course not. You are on. The target company is in Seoul. Let’s go there soon.’



‘I am looking for a sofa. A two-seater, please,’ I said.

‘Would you like a simple sofa or a sofa bed?’ the salesperson said.

I had come to IKEA, the Swedish furniture store, on the weekend. The huge, 20,000-square-feet IKEA store is located in Causeway Bay.

‘Sofa bed,’ I said. At some point, if I had guests from India, I would need to provide a place to sleep. The IKEA salesperson led me to the sofa bed area.

There were a dozen models, from Japanese futons to clever snap-shut mechanisms.

‘Do you have a colour preference?’ the salesperson said.

‘Not really. How about the steel grey right there?’ I pointed at one.

‘Oh, that’s a bestseller. Comfortable and minimalist,’ she said.

I sat on the sofa to see how it felt.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘I like it.’

‘Hi.’ Someone waved at me from a distance.

I looked up. ‘Neel?’ I said.

He stood at the other corner of the sofa section.

‘Hi,’ he said again as I walked up to him. ‘Good to see you here. We came for some easy chairs. Here, meet Kusum. Kusum, meet Radhika, from my office.’

An Indian woman, around forty years old, stood next to him. A three-year-old boy held one of her fingers. A seven-year-old girl sitting on one of the IKEA sofas played with an iPhone. A twenty-six-year-old girl, or me, wished for an earthquake that would swallow her deep into the bottom of the earth.

‘Radhika, so nice to meet you,’ Kusum said in an American accent. She extended her hand.

‘Oh, okay,’ I said as we shook hands. ‘I mean, hi, Kusum.’

‘This is Aryan. Aryan, say hi to Radhika didi,’ Neel said. Aryan extended his tiny hand as well. I shook it. My heart began to beat fast.

‘And that is Siya. Siya, say hi to didi,’ Neel said. Siya waved my way without looking up from her screen.

‘Not done, Siya,’ Kusum said in a firm voice. ‘Is that how you greet people?’

Siya recognized authority. She put the phone aside and came to me with dainty steps.

‘Hello, didi. How are you?’ she said, in a rehearsed formal routine.

‘I am fine. Thank you,’ I said.

‘That’s better. Siya, I don’t like bad behaviour,’ Kusum said.

I guess more than anyone, I was the badly behaved one. I avoided eye contact with Kusum. I did manage a side-glance. She was slim, elegant and had a straight, upright posture. She was wearing a long black dress with a diamond necklace and matching earrings, the ones you see advertised outside the Cartier store in Hong Kong. I noticed a fat solitaire on her ring finger. Three carats, I guessed.

‘Sorry, Radhika, just training her. She’s addicted to the phone,’ Kusum said and smiled.

‘It’s okay,’ I said, wondering what excuse would allow me the quickest exit.

‘Neel’s mentioned you,’ Kusum continued. ‘You recently moved to Hong Kong, right?’

‘Yeah, six months,’ I said, wondering what else he had mentioned.

‘We have been meaning to call the team over to our house. It’s my fault, never worked out a date,’ Kusum said.

‘Not a problem,’ I said. I spoke as little as possible to exhaust conversation so I could leave.

‘Shopping for home, is it?’ Neel said. Well, did he have to talk? I felt guilty just being next to him in front of Kusum. I wished I could hide beneath one of the IKEA sofas.

‘Yes. I needed a sofa bed,’ I said.

‘Where do you put up?’ Kusum said.

Is she going to come kill me? Will she knock me out with that diamond solitaire?

‘Old Peak Road,’ I said.

‘We are in Repulse Bay. Do come sometime. Do you miss Indian home food? Have her over, Neel,’ Kusum said.

Oh, please, please don’t be nice to me, I wanted to say.

‘Yeah, why not? You should come,’ Neel said, his face as blank as mine.

‘Maybe sometime. Anyway, I don’t want to impose on your family outing,’ I said, hoping to escape.

‘What outing? We just came for some errands. Are you by yourself?’ Kusum said.

Yes, I am. Single, alone and loveless. No wonder I borrowed your husband.

‘Yes,’ I said vaguely. ‘Sunday, so just thought will fix up the house.’

‘I love your dress, by the way,’ Kusum said.

God, she is actually a nice person. She had praised my simple white lace dress, even though she probably wore a designer Prada or Gucci outfit herself. She was not a bitch. And that just made me feel worse.

‘It’s just Zara,’ I said.

‘Well, you have the figure for it,’ she said. She seemed fit too. I looked at her face. She was pretty, fair and had high cheekbones. I would kill to look like her at forty. I noticed she had a small bust. My boobs were better. Okay, why on earth am I comparing my body to hers? Is that all we women are? I am a vice president at Goldman Sachs. Why doesn’t that make me feel as smug as knowing I have bigger boobs than Neel’s wife? And why am I comparing myself to her at all?