One Indian Girl(82)

‘Any nonsense you say.’

I read his name. Brijesh Gulati.

‘Ugh,’ I said. ‘Ugh. Rejected. I am not marrying someone called Brijesh Gulati.’

‘Why? It’s a nice name. Gulatis are Punjabis. Don’t you know that restaurant on Pandara Road?’

‘Exactly. I am not marrying someone whose name resembles a Punjabi restaurant.’

My mother stared at me.

‘What?’ I said.

‘What name you want? Amitabh Bachchan? Akshay Kumar?’

‘It’s not that. It is just that he’s just so. . .’ I thought of the right word, ‘typical.’

‘I think you are looking for negatives. And you can’t find any. So all this name and “typical” nonsense. Tell me one proper thing wrong?’ my mother said.

‘Exactly. There’s nothing wrong with him. But he doesn’t have like, any wow or thrill factor.’

‘You are choosing a husband. Not taking an amusement park ride for thrills.’

Ah, but love can be thrilling, mom, I wanted to say. Love can mean passion under the moonlight on remote islands. The thought of that night with Neel made me flinch.

‘Okay fine,’ I said in a brisk fashion and chose the ‘accept’ option. I put my phone aside. Ten minutes later my phone made a ‘ting’ sound. I picked it up.

‘I don’t believe this. He already sent a “Hi” with his Skype details. Mom, this is desperate, no?’

‘This is a good sign. It means God wants both of you to connect,’ my mother said. It is amazing how mothers can justify any action as divine intervention as long as it suits them.

‘Set up a call,’ my mother said in her most royal tone.

I typed back a message.

‘Skype call fixed for tomorrow,’ I said to my mother.



‘Hi,’ I said, as cheerfully as possible. One of the most awkward moments in world history has to be speaking to a shortlisted arranged marriage candidate for the first time. I sat in my living room near my window, on Skype with Brijesh.

‘Good morning,’ Brijesh said. ‘Or sorry. Good afternoon.’

‘So I am Radhika. You already saw my profile.’

‘Yes, I found it quite interesting.’

‘Really? Which part?’ I said, to enable more conversation.

‘I like that you have a good career. Investment banking is hectic, though, isn’t it?’

‘It is. But I am used to it now.’

‘I am sure. And what are your interests?’ he said.

‘I love to travel. I like music. I like exploring whichever city I live in. How about you?’

‘I mostly work. But I like watching cricket and Bollywood movies.’

Really? An Indian software guy who likes watching cricket and Hindi movies? Can it be more stereotypical?

It seemed Brijesh had read my mind.

‘Yeah, so typical, right? Cricket and Bollywood. I am kind of boring.’

For the first time a guy had admitted a weakness to me on a Skype call. He was kind of boring. But unlike super-bores who didn’t even know they were bores, at least he knew he was one.

I smiled.

‘If I go to sleep on this call then I am afraid you may be right,’ I said.

He laughed.

‘You have a good sense of humour,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘Actually, I watch some English movies too. Have to develop a taste. You can suggest some good ones to me.’

‘Sure,’ I said.

He can praise a woman’s sense of humour and even take advice from her—not bad.

He continued to talk. ‘I can’t pretend to be fake-sophisticated. I grew up in Naraina Vihar in West Delhi and then Borivali in Mumbai. So I didn’t have much exposure. But now I want to learn more about the world.’

‘Wait a minute. Did you say you grew up in Naraina Vihar?’

‘Yeah. Why? It’s a small colony in West Delhi.’

‘I am from Naraina too,’ I said, surprised. ‘H block. That’s where my parents live.’

‘What? I was in G block. G-478. My parents still have a house there. They live in Mumbai now, of course.’

My bedroom door opened. Mom came in.

‘Naraina?’ she whispered, her face unable to contain her excitement. She had probably had an ear to the door and heard our entire conversation. I shooed her away. I spoke to Brijesh again. ‘This is uncanny. Did you shop from Modern Stores?’

‘Yes. That fat uncle who never had change?’ he said and both of us laughed.

‘Anyway, so yes. I wanted someone who has Indian roots but is better exposed to the world than I am. You have been in New York, Hong Kong and now London. I felt you could be an asset to me.’

I wanted to reject him. I wanted one solid reason to do so. I couldn’t find it.

He talked about meeting up towards the end of the call.

‘I go for work to New York sometimes. It’s midway between London and San Francisco. If our calls go well, would it be possible for you to come?’

‘Let’s see,’ I said. ‘Skype is good for now. Speak soon.’

My mother entered the living room the second I disconnected the call.

‘You can’t snoop on me, mom. This is not fair.’