From what your dad talks about you, and he talks a lot, you are not the kind of girl who would marry a random guy, even if he happens to be an IIT, Stanford graduate. I myself haven’t thought about marriage yet, so let’s be friends. You can read more about me and my life at www.dgblahblah.com.
Deepak Goyal
P.S. Please don’t send me a Facebook Friend Request yet. I only add people I know well, and like, to my friends’ list.
Who did he think he was? Ranbir Kapoor? Some guts he has telling me not to send him a friend request like I was desperate to increase my friends count. And what was Dad doing? Giving out my biodata to guys in his guitar class! Eyes still glued to the computer screen, I took a bite of my bagel with a large helping of cream cheese, while pretending to do some research work.
‘Any guess on how many calories that bite has?’ quizzed Jay, as he walked up to my desk in the computer science lab.
‘235 based on a 2000 calorie diet, 10 per cent saturated fat, 5 per cent cholesterol,’ I mumbled, recalling the count from our last discussion on the topic.
Realizing that I was reading the suitor guy’s email, he flirtingly asked if I was checking out the new guy. His distraction spared me a lecture on Omega-3 and healthy fats. For the time being, at least.
‘Just clearing my Inbox,’ I clarified. ‘I couldn’t possibly delete the mail without reading, in case Pa inquired about it.’
‘Jesus fucking Christ! I didn’t know you have so many aunts and uncles,’ exclaimed Jay, as he skimmed through the first few lines of Deepak’s mail. ‘Don’t they sell condoms in India?’
Jay sounded genuinely surprised, but I was least interested in discussing the size of my extended family or birth control measures in India. I felt humiliated at being valued in the marriage market on the basis of my uncles’ wealth and my cousins’ academic achievements.
‘What kind of a guy ridicules a girl’s family and comments on her looks in his first mail?’
‘He is quite witty, if you ask me.’
‘Do you think he is …?’
‘No, he is definitely not gay.’
‘How dare he look at my FB profile pic?’
‘Honey! It’s public info, and last I checked the dictionary, public meant belonging to people.’
Jay didn’t realize that the issue was not just that Deepak had looked at my picture. I was also addled by the cheap IIT guy’s joke.
‘Does he mean I look very nice in the suit and nice in the spaghetti or …?’
‘Very nice in the spaghetti! I mean, look at that cleavage!’
I was miffed that Deepak had dared to stare at my cleavage in my very nice public profile pic. Even more annoying was his implication that I was trying to cheat him with a sati-savitri matrimonial picture.
‘How can he assume he doesn’t like me? He doesn’t even know me,’ I rambled, still on my own trip.
‘To be fair, he is simply saying he doesn’t know you and hence can’t like you or add you to his friends’ list.’
‘Wouldn’t make friends with him if he was Wilson, the volleyball, and I was Tom Hanks in Cast Away,’ I continued to curse.
‘Frankly, this Deep-Ache-Go-Hell chap doesn’t seem that bad.’ Jay was finding it all very amusing and for once, I found Jay’s anglicized pronunciation of Indian names funny.
‘Wouldn’t marry him even if I was single at forty,’ I vented.
Unable to see any signs of improvement in my mood, Jay squeezed my hand comfortingly and pushed off. ‘See ya for Frisbee at six,’ he communicated with lip movements from across the room.
Finishing off the rest of the bagel and cream cheese, I moved the email to Trash. I didn’t know whether to like Deepak’s sense of humour or hate his spunkiness, but I was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how his email had irked me.
I glossed over the day’s schedule. The next lecture was in an hour’s time. I did a quick scan of the room to see if someone was up for a chat. Four Indians, two Chinese, one Korean and two Americans. All PhD students, all guys, and all were hammering away at their laptops. I got up from my chair, straightened my little-above-the-knee black skirt, and proceeded to the coffee machine in the adjoining room. The overpowering fragrance of hazelnut-flavoured coffee wafting out of the room tantalized my tastebuds. As a master’s student, I was lucky to have an office space and access to free coffee. This was thanks to my advisor! I glanced towards his room at the end of the corridor. It creaked open and I saw the tiny frame of Professor Girpade materialize in front of me. Reminded that I ought to be working, I tiptoed back hurriedly to my desk, careful not to make too much noise from my click-clacks.
I examined my to-do list, and rearranged the items one through thirty-five while sipping the coffee. Satisfied with the re-prioritized item list, and unable to concentrate any longer, I saved and closed the file. Feeling restless, I again surveyed the room. Barring some minor shifts in positions, I felt like I was at Madame Tussauds, surrounded by wax figures. Sitting in a lab full of dummies, I could not engage in shopping, socializing, or sex. So I decided to watch the song Crazy kiya re on YouTube to jazz up my spirits. The boys slowly began to glide towards my laptop. It can hardly be my fault if the wax statues got aroused by the sexy lady on the floor. Guys, I tell you! I bet Professor Girpade also watched Aishwarya Rai sway her hips and seductively glide her hands over her curves, before making his presence known.
Generally speaking, Professor Girpade, BTech IIT-D, PhD CMU, currently working as the associate professor, EECS department and my advisor, was a good-natured and lenient man, especially compared to professors back home. You could eat, drink, sleep and even walk out in the middle of his lectures. Understandably then, I was scared when he called me to his room and shut the door behind him. In the next five minutes, he made it clear to me that he will not tolerate any behaviour that causes distraction to his other students. He even threatened to cancel my research assistantship if I didn’t complete my master’s thesis in the next twenty days.
First Deepak and now Professor Girpade! My horoscope for the day must have read, ‘Watch out for attacks from IIT-D alumni. You are likely to incur emotional setback and financial loss.’
It’s not like I was a good-for-nothing slacker, tarnishing the image of Indian students in a US university. Although people did often mistake my ‘Live each day—Kal ho na ho’ attitude as a sign of my incompetence and lack of dedication. Just like you need a healthy mix of vitamins and minerals for a balanced diet, I preferred a healthy mix of alphabets in my grades to maintain my work–life balance. The balance, however, came with a fair mix of good and bad days, and today was turning from bad to worse. Any chance I could win a settlement suing Aishwarya Rai or YouTube for stripping me off my hard-earned scholarship?
‘Guess I better work on my thesis topic then!’ I resolved, albeit grudgingly, to take a break from YouTube and focus on work. I needed the moolah to survive the rest of this semester and complete my master’s. Although I had a provisional job offer starting next February, I doubted Lehman Brothers would allow a master’s-incomplete, funds-withdrawn candidate to join their IT division. Of course, no one could have predicted that twenty days later, I would still have the scholarship but not the job.
All work and no play, freaked my boyfriend Jay, and he put me on a low carbs diet. Other than that, the next three weeks passed without any mishaps. Fortunately, Deepak didn’t report my ‘no-reply’, and Dad continued to believe that Deepak was slowly on his way to becoming my chocolate-cream soldier. Thesis submitted and my self-imposed entertainment ban lifted, I was watching a new episode of Friends, when my mobile rang.
‘The new guy who joined us last week is so damn cute!’ I heard Tanu di’s cheerful voice say. Almost ten years elder to me and still waiting for her soulmate, Tanu di, my tauji’s daughter, was my icon for the Woman of Today. However, right now, she was an accomplice of my dad in the husband-hunting crime.
‘Fuck him!’ I said reproachfully, least in
terested in casual boy talk. ‘Five unanswered emails, ten missed calls and fifteen SMSes. Where have you been absconding for the last three weeks?’
‘Balike,’ she addressed me in a calm, saint-like manner, ‘I was away in the hills, looking for the sanjeevani booti to save your love life.’
‘You could have saved yourself the trouble if you hadn’t verified that IIT suitor’s credentials to begin with. First you create a bug and then you try to find its solution. I thought only Microsoft is allowed such flimflam.’
‘I am innocent My Lord. I was victimized,’ said Tanu di in a theatrical courtroom voice now. ‘I was led to believe that the suitor inquiry was for one of our many unmarried, wheatish-fair, working but family-oriented cousins Pinki, Chinki or Dinki.’
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out at her melodrama. ‘Anyhow, I think the situation is under control. Dad hasn’t bothered me …’
‘Chachu will … exactly after a week!’ she prophesied confidently.
‘You asked Professor Trelawney or what?’ I joked.
‘Better still, I sneaked on his Muggle phone. He has a reminder set for 15th of every month to check on the Suhaani–Deepak progress.’
‘I don’t understand. Why has Dad suddenly gone off-track, searching for a groom?’
‘Babes, but of course you realize that Chachu simply wants you back home. Once you finish your studies and start working in the States, chances of your coming back are poorer than me having sex with that new, cute trainee.’
‘Well, an underwired bra, stilettos and some Viagra can help increase your odds,’ I teased.
‘I will certainly work on your suggestion, ma’am, but you will need more than sex toys to fight your battle.’
She then explained her comprehensive combat strategy, starting from Deepak’s debacle to my subsequent marriage with Jay. For now, I was supposed to just dilly dally on this marriage proposal. She would ensure the discovery of some gross flaw in Deepak, fabricating a pregnant girlfriend or a history of smoking pot if required. Basically, Deepak was go, went, gone as far as I was concerned. I will stay put in the US for another couple of years, unable to take time off for an India trip due to my new job. My parents could visit me instead and also get to see a new place. Over the next two years, I will gradually get my parents to doubt my sexual orientation and fuel their paranoia about my marriage. Occasional, accidental Facebook comments, a kiss here, a hug there, and a few random girlfriend pictures would do the trick. Once convinced that their daughter has homosexual inclinations, my parents would be glad I married a GUY, even if he was Jayant Guy.
Impressed by Di’s plan and convinced that trying to mislead parents doesn’t amount to lying, I told Tanu di to start a consulting service on ‘The Art of Staying Single’. She agreed it was an awesome idea and we both hung up, me with a satisfied grin. Super-excited, I dialled Jay’s number. It went unanswered. He must be at the gym, I figured and started dressing up for the evening bash.
Getting Laid
‘Someone is looking ravishing tonight!’ said Ashraf, as we exchanged a sideways, cheek-to-cheek kiss.
Ashraf was the host for the evening. Having managed to convince Neetu’s parents about their inter-community marriage, he was celebrating his DDLJ moment. Dressed in a crisp, white, lucknawi kurta and churidar, he seemed all set to climb the ghodi and take the vows.
‘Sorry we are late, AshRough,’ apologized Jay. ‘I was busy exercising.’
‘With a girlfriend like Suhaani,’ said Ashraf, raising his eyebrows and giving me an obvious once-over, ‘I can understand your temptation to (s)exercise.’ He winked at Jay and showed us inside his uncle’s house.
The place was teeming with students from all parts of the world. A self-serve bar, stacked with expensive wines and high-class liquor, was set at the corner table. Plates full of cocktail samosas, veg pakoras, tandoori paneer and chicken lined the snack counter. Ashraf was known for his lavish tastes, wide circle of friends and amazing inter-personal skills, all of which had helped him woo his in-laws. While the desis were guzzling liquor like their bodies were composed of 70 per cent alcohol, the goras gorged on the spicy Indian savouries.
I was searching for familiar faces in the crowd when my eyes locked with Denise’s, Jay’s ex-girlfriend and my sworn enemy. She was one among the many bimbos surrounding Neetu, admiring her bejewelled, backless blouse and designer saree. I wanted to look away but couldn’t stop myself from eyeballing her. She was wearing a short, strapless, body-hugging dress that could barely contain her assets from spilling out. The outfit was a fashion disaster if you ask me, but men rarely notice such stuff.
She gave me a contemptuous smile, turned away, and glided effortlessly in her high heels towards her destination. Next moment, I saw her ‘accidentally’ fall on Jay. I could see a helpless Jay, holding glasses in both hands, unable to stop her body from touching his. Then she flashed her boobs at Jay, while casting a smug glance in my direction. Now, I considered myself reasonably broadminded as far as staying in touch with an ex was concerned. And, I appreciated that Jay shared similar views, but Denise always managed to evoke the worst in me.
Before I could uproot myself and go slap her, she had disappeared among the many people thronging the bar and Jay was standing next to me with two glasses of wine. Feeling furious at her sleazy act, I gulped down my wine in a single shot, and kissed Jay fully on the lips to establish my claim on him. Pleasantly surprised by my public display of affection, Jay shoved me, through the thick of the grooving crowd, to the centre of the dance floor. I wondered what he was doing, for he had two left feet, but a quick look around cleared my confusion. Most couples weren’t dancing. They were dirty dancing! Their bodies grinding against each other, they were gyrating to the beats of music. I felt uneasy. I was cool with casual physical contact in public, but my outdoor limits were governed by what I was comfortable with uploading on Facebook. Today, high on wine and fuelled by jealousy, I had already violated my boundaries. Jay’s fingertips were lightly tracing circles on the exposed skin above my lehenga. The coolness of his touch sent shivers of excitement down my spine. I tried to pull away but Jay tightened his grip around my waist. Pulling me closer to his body, he started gyrating our hips together in a rhythmic fashion. His other hand was exploring its way up, under the lower hem of my choli. I was struggling to control my own desires and stall Jay’s advances, when suddenly the music stopped and the room was filled with bright lights. Sobering up a little, I managed to get off Jay’s hand from under my blouse.
Ashraf was standing with a mike, in the centre of the room, thanking everyone for their presence. He made a toast to his and Neetu’s togetherness and announced that we would now play a game of ‘Truth or Dare’ and he would have the prerogative to decide the questions.
‘I will start the game and my Dare will be decided by my high-command.’ He stood in front of Neetu, and bowed towards her with exaggerated gestures, making us all laugh. Like a queen, she demanded that he sing a Bollywood number for her. Now that, I thought was unfair. Neetu knew Ashraf couldn’t sing to save his life, not even in the shower, and how he hated being embarrassed in front of other people. Or maybe, that was the bachelor Ashraf I knew! For this recently engaged Ashraf was anything but hassled by Neetu’s demand. He held both her hands in his, looked affectionately into her eyes, and started singing the song, ‘Chaudvin ka chand ho, ya aaftaab ho/Jo bhi ho tum khuda ki kasam, lajawab ho …’
Whether this was a temporary ‘I will do anything for you’ phase or a more permanent ‘who cares how I sing, the girl is mine now’ take-for-granted attitude, or unabashedness caused by alcohol, the moment was full of love.
The song ended to a huge applause, as Neetu rewarded Ashraf with a passionate kiss. He had sung horribly, even unbearably, but I couldn’t help feel envious of Neetu. I looked longingly at them. This is what I wanted. This is what every Indian girl wants. To have a lover who would praise her and sing for her. To marry the guy she loves, with the co
nsent of her parents. I felt a sudden sadness in my heart, like if I married Jay a part of me would stay empty forever. While Tanu di’s plan could get me my parents’ blessings, I knew Jay would never be able to sing like a Bollywood hero. Damn the wine! I shook myself out of the self-pity. This was my choice.
The next guy decided to tell the ‘Truth’ and Ashraf asked him to name a person that he could have had sex with, but chose not to and the reason for the same. His answer offended the girl concerned, who counterattacked by broadcasting that her current boyfriend was four inches bigger.
The next person opted to ‘Dare’ and was made to expose some body part. She willingly lifted her dress to bare the crawling scorpions tattooed on her butts. As the game progressed, it ruffled some more egos, broke a few couples, and revealed a lot more skin.
When the turn came to Denise, she chose a Dare. Ashraf asked her to kiss a person other than her current beau. ‘I am willing’, ‘I can lend my lips’, ‘Look here baby’—the cries came from many leering mouths. Fluttering her false eyelashes, Denise paraded the room, pretending to be in a fix. She then stopped by my side, gave me a wicked smile, and planted her wet, thick, pink lips on Jay’s. She snogged him for what seemed like the longest kiss ever, before she eventually let go of her grip on him. ‘I have already tasted him before. I thought this couldn’t hurt anyone,’ she explained. Smiling triumphantly, she strode back to her seat among roars of cheers and shouts of ‘good choice’.
Arranged Love Page 2