One Indian Girl(80)

‘Mom, if we are doing this, we are doing this my way.’

‘I am only trying to help. . .’

‘Thanks. But let me talk to them without you hovering around.’

My mother made a face and left the room. I resumed the Skype call.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘Hello. Must be quite late there?’

‘It’s midnight, yes. London is five hours ahead.’

‘Sorry. I just came back from work,’ he said.

‘You are a doctor, right?’

‘Yeah. And what exactly do you do? Your profile said banking.’

‘I am in Goldman Sachs. VP in the Distressed Debt Group.’

‘Oh,’ he said and became quiet.

‘So yeah,’ I said, wondering what to say next. I don’t know why I take responsibility for awkward silences.

‘What kind of doctor are you?’ I said.

‘I am a GP, general practitioner, in the Boston City Hospital. Doing my residency.’

‘I could never be a doctor. All that blood. I feel faint in hospitals,’ I said and smiled.

‘It’s a part of life,’ he said, his tone sombre. ‘People are dying. Someone needs to save them.’

‘Ah. Yes. Of course,’ I said. Okay, isn’t Dr Bakshi a little too serious?

‘How’s Goldman Sachs?’ he said.

‘Good. Hectic. But I like it.’

‘They pay people very well, I hear.’

‘It’s based on performance, but yes. It’s good money.’

‘If you don’t mind, how much do you make?’ he said.

Isn’t this too much too soon? What’s the protocol? He can ask me all these things in the first call? Can I ask him too?

‘Are we sharing compensation already?’ I smiled, to lighten his operation-theatre mood.

‘Sure. Why keep it hidden? I make 100,000 a year. Plus benefits,’ he said.

What am I supposed to do? Clap?

‘Okay,’ I said.

‘And you?’ he said.

I don’t know why I didn’t feel like telling him. Perhaps I was getting tuned into male pride. I could sense which guy could take it and who could not.

‘We can discuss all this later. So what do you want to specialize in? Or do you want to specialize at all?’

‘I want to be an ophthalmologist. Eye doctor.’

‘I know. Good,’ I said.

I had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going to work. How do you end calls like this?

‘So how much is your salary again?’ he said.

Okay, he asked for it. Thrice.

‘If you must know, I made half a million dollars last year.’

I heard his chair creak in response.

‘Five hundred thousand dollars?’ he said.

‘Yeah. That’s what half a million is,’ I said. I kicked myself for that patronizing comment. It wasn’t funny. I had a feeling nothing was funny to Dr Stuck-up Bakshi anyway.

‘Okay,’ he said.

Okay? What the fuck is a singular ‘okay’? They should ban this one-word reply in conversations. How am I supposed to take it forward from here?

‘So yeah. What else do you do apart from work?’ I said.

‘Excuse me. But I have to go.’

‘Oh really? What happened?’ I said. I hate being rejected. Even by boring men doing their residency in Boston.

‘Nothing. . . Okay, I will tell you. This is not going to work. Your salary is too high.’

‘How can you get too high a salary?’

‘I mean for me. I mean compared to me.’

I realized this was a dead end. Why not end it with a bit of fun?

‘Oh, so you mean you are not man enough to handle it?’ I said.

He hung up without saying bye. Oops, strike one I guess. Ha ha.



Three weeks later we had struck off all the ten shortlisted names from the list.

‘It’s not going to work, mom,’ I said.

We had come to Dishoom, a quirky modern-Indian café in Covent Garden.

We ordered pao bhaji and masala chai, a rare delicacy in London.

‘I told you not to mention your career too much,’ she said, upset that I had rejected all ten suitors.

‘I can’t hide who I am,’ I said.

‘Why can’t you be like your sister?’

‘Because I am not Aditi didi. I don’t want to be her.’

We came back home. She came up with another idea. She wanted to upgrade our shaadi.com membership to the VIP category, where special agents help you get grooms.

‘We have special needs. We need special help,’ she said.

I guess I was special. Specially fucked up. No wonder she needed an army of specialists to trap a man for me.

She sat on my bed. I lay next to her and turned the other way.

‘Do whatever you want, mom,’ I said.

‘One of my daughters got settled so easily. I just hope and pray God helps us,’ she muttered to herself and raised her folded hands to the sky.

‘What’s with invoking God? Am I some illness? A misfortune?’ I said, without looking at her.

‘Will you stop being so touchy? It is a fact Aditi’s marriage happened so quickly. She has whiter skin, which helps. But she also had a good attitude. You should have an even better attitude.’