One Indian Girl(8)

‘Don’t call me. I told you I am busy. There are people around.’

‘So just reply to me. Where is the wedding?’

‘Why?’

‘Just curious.’

‘Whatever,’ I typed back.

‘I can call friends around and find out. So why don’t you just tell me?’

‘Goa.’

‘Wow! Destination wedding and all.’

I didn’t respond. To distract myself I asked Aditi didi a deep existential question: ‘What shoes are you wearing with this?’

‘Oh see, now that’s an issue too. I have these four-inch-heel red stilettos, but that’s definitely attention-seeking.’

‘Yeah, plus we are going dancing. Would be difficult in high heels. I am wearing flats.’

My sister feels her deepest bond with me when I discuss clothes and shoes with her. She came up to me and pulled my cheeks. ‘You can’t wear flats for your bachelorette. How cute you are. You don’t know anything.’

Yes, I may be a distressed debt specialist. I may have rescued bankrupt companies and structured complex takeovers. I may be a vice president at Goldman Sachs. But if I prefer flats because they are comfortable, I know nothing. I had kept a black dress for tomorrow’s party. Didi had a look at it. ‘Too simple,’ she said. She went on to accessorize it for me. As she opened her jewellery box, I checked my phone again.

‘Where in Goa?’ Debu had sent me a message.

‘Why?’ I said.

‘Can I call, please?’ he said.

‘No.’

‘It’s at a resort?’ he said.

‘Debu, you are in New York. Focus on your work there. Didn’t you have a girlfriend?’

‘Who?’

‘Never mind.’

‘I am sorry, Rad.’

‘It’s okay. Life goes on. It has gone on.’

‘Yeah, true. But I made the biggest mistake. And you are getting married now. Like now!’

I sent a smiley back.

‘Where will you live after your marriage? Hong Kong?’

‘No. I moved to London from Hong Kong a year ago.’

‘Oh. So London?’

‘San Francisco.’

‘Ah. IT guy?’

‘I have to go, Debashish.’

‘Still mad at me?’

‘No. I really have to go. I have to get ready for dinner with the guests.’

‘Okay. I am just asking casually. Where is the wedding?’

‘Marriott,’ I said.

‘Nice! Must be beautiful.’

‘Stop chatting on your phone. Who are you talking to anyway? Everyone we know is here in Goa for the wedding,’ Aditi didi said.

‘Huh? Nobody. Just. . .work,’ I said, keeping my phone aside. After the bridegroom, the bride had lied to her sister.

‘Take this, my body necklace. Your dull dress will liven up,’ she said.

‘My dull dress is Prada, didi,’ I said.

‘I don’t care. It needs to have a get-up, no? It is too sober. You are too sober.’

I didn’t think I was going to remain sober. Not after Debu’s next message.

‘I am coming,’ he said.

‘What?’ I typed back, mouth open.

‘I am coming to India. Let me check flights.’

‘Are you nuts?’

‘No, really, I want to talk to you.’

‘Debu, calm down, okay? This is not funny.’

‘At least you called me Debu again.’

‘Whatever. I have to go. Please don’t message.’

‘See you soon. Bye.’

‘Go to work. Bye.’

‘Again you are lost in your phone. What is wrong with you?’ Aditi didi said.

I looked up as I re-entered the real world.

‘Everyone’s meeting for dinner soon. Get ready.’

‘Can’t I go like this? I just wore this.’

‘No. You are the bride.’

‘So? I have to change every two hours?’

‘Just go shower, okay? And don’t take your phone inside.’





3


‘Didi, let’s go, the bus is waiting,’ I said. Aditi didi had spent the last two hours changing in and out of a dozen dresses. Finally, she wore the red one she’d always wanted to wear.

‘Is it showing too much cleavage?’ she said.

Isn’t that what you want? I am the bride, goddammit. It is my bachelorette party. Can’t you make me the priority at least for this week?

The room phone rang. I picked it up.

‘Hey,’ Brijesh said. I had started to recognize his voice. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?

‘Hi, Brijesh. All set?’

‘Yeah, my gang is on the bus. I am calling from the reception.’

‘Oh, you boys go ahead. The driver knows Club Cubana, right?’ I said.

‘Yeah, he does, it is in Arpora. Your bus for LPK is here too. Coming?’

‘Soon.’

‘I wish we were going to the same place,’ Brijesh said.

I laughed. ‘That’s sweet, Brijesh, but that’s the point of a bachelor party. Your last night out without the annoying spouse. Boys and girls go separately tonight.’