One Indian Girl(70)

Neel looked at me and smiled. Do I make a good family person, Neel?

‘Found it,’ Kusum said as she held up her iPhone. She noticed me with Aryan.

‘Oh my God, I am so sorry. Aryan, you can eat on your own.’

‘I like didi feedy me,’ he said.

Kusum put out a hand for the fork. I surrendered it. She was staking her claim. She wanted her family back. Aryan went into his mother’s arms. My lap, and even I on the inside, felt empty. I realized I wanted this too. I wanted kids. I wanted messy pasta dishes. I wanted iPhone-addicted daughters who had math as their favourite subject.

‘Say thank you to didi,’ Kusum said.

Aryan didn’t say thanks. He bent forward and kissed me on my cheek. He had his father’s charm. I melted at the little boy’s display of love. I wanted to kiss him back. I didn’t. I couldn’t. How could I? It’s somebody else’s family. Will I have a son like this one day? Will I ever have kids?

‘I better leave,’ I said. ‘I remembered my part-time help is coming. She doesn’t have the keys.’

‘Oh, you haven’t finished your lunch,’ Kusum said.

‘I am quite full. Really, thanks so much,’ I said.

‘Really?’ she said. ‘We hardly spoke.’

‘I am sure we will meet up soon,’ I said.

‘Of course,’ Neel said, adding a comment when there was no need to.

‘Bye, Siya. Bye, Aryan,’ I said.

‘Bye, Feedy Didi,’ Aryan said and everyone laughed.

Feedy Didi dashed out of the food court.





29


For most women, it is that time of the month. For my mother, it is that time of the week. The time when she goes hysterical on the phone and wants one thing more than anything else in the world—my marriage.

‘Not today, mom, please. Any other day,’ I said.

‘Why? It’s Sunday. It’s the only day you are relaxed and can talk properly.’

‘I am not relaxed today,’ I snapped. I opened my laptop and logged on to Facebook.

‘Why? Are you working?’

‘No.’

‘So? You are at home, right? Did you go to that Ikka shop to get the sofa bed?’

‘IKEA. Eee-Kee-Aaa.’

‘Whatever. Did you get a sofa bed?’

‘No. I went there this afternoon. I liked one. I didn’t get a chance to buy it.’

‘Why?’

‘Leave it, mom. I told you. Not a good day.’

‘How will we come if you don’t have a sofa bed?’

‘I’ll get it, I promise.’

‘Why are you so irritated?’

‘Because I know what you are going to say.’

‘What?’

‘Register your profile. See some boys. Mom, why are you obsessed with me getting married?’

‘If I don’t care what will happen? You will continue buying sofas alone. Is it even a woman’s job? To buy furniture?’

‘Don’t start, mom,’ I said. I searched for Debu. He had kept his profile private. I don’t know why, I wanted to see his profile picture. Maybe he was single again.

‘Okay, listen to just one proposal,’ she said.

‘See, I knew it. That’s the only thing you talk about!’

‘Chemists.’

‘Chemists?’

‘I know what you are thinking. But this is a family with six chemist shops in the heart of Delhi. They even have one opposite AIIMS. Do you know how much business that can do?’

‘Mom, you want my husband to sit in a chemist shop?’

‘He manages the shops. He doesn’t just sit there dishing out strips of Crocin.’

‘What’s his qualification?’ I said.

‘You have this hang-up about qualification.’

‘Mom, how is education a hang-up? I am an MBA.’

‘So he has done BPharm. He is thinking of doing an MBA,’ she lowered her volume, ‘through correspondence.’

‘Correspondence?’

‘You can even do it online these days.’

‘Mom. Bye.’

‘They have a kothi in Bengali Market. The boy’s own floor has four bedrooms.’

‘I don’t care. I am not looking for real estate.’

‘Talk to him once?’

‘Why? Mom, you know I am working abroad. Why would I quit and come for this?’

‘What do you want then? NRI? I can look.’

‘I don’t want anyone. Please leave me alone.’

‘What has happened to you today?’

‘I have to go. Bye.’

I ended the call. I saw the Facebook page in front of me. Avinash was still Debu’s friend. I could ask him. I called Avinash in New York.

‘Hey, Radhika. Been ages,’ he said.

‘Yeah. What’s up?’ I said.

‘Just woke up. Sunday morning here. How’s Hong Kong? Work?’

‘It’s good. Busy. Hey, Avinash, can I ask you for a quick favour?’

‘Sure.’

‘Promise you won’t judge me, or tell anyone.’

‘Sure.’

‘I want you to check Debu’s profile on Facebook.’