One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

He didn’t respond. He looked searchingly at me.
‘What makes you think I am not happy?’ he said slowly.
‘I feel you put on a mask. This perfect mask. Hard-working family man, controls his diet,
exercises regularly. It’s almost too perfect. Like your perfectly ironed shirts, there isn’t an out-of-
place crease. You know what they say in due diligence, right?’
‘What?’
‘If it is too good to be true, it probably is too good to be true,’ I said.
He looked at me, his eyes wide in surprise. He put his glass down.
‘Did I cross the line?’ I said, a little anxious.
He shook his head.
‘No, no. It’s okay. What else makes you feel this way?’
‘You never talk about your family.’
‘I do. I told you. Kusum. My two kids.’
‘Factual stuff.’
‘Meaning?’
‘It’s like data. No feelings.’
‘Okay,’ Neel said. ‘Wow. You learn something every day. So that’s what you think about me.’
‘I am sorry if I said something inappropriate.’
‘No, it’s cool,’ he said and smiled.
The waiter cleared our dinner plates. He brought us mango with sticky rice as dessert. I cut a
piece of mango with my knife and ate it with a fork.
‘Your wife is happy for all your success?’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ Neel said, after some deliberation. ‘She is. We have been together twenty years. She
has seen my entire journey.’
‘Twenty years? Wow, so you guys met when I was five,’ I said.
‘Ouch!’ Neel grinned. ‘Now you make me feel really old.’
‘What is it like being married for so long?’ I said.
‘It’s nice. You build a life together, a lot of memories together. You bring kids into this world.’
‘Yeah, does sound beautiful.’
‘And yet, because you have been with a person so long, it doesn’t stay the same. Issues crop
up. Many issues. Many, many issues.’
I sensed Neel had stuff bottled up.
‘Okay. Well, you can talk about it if you want,’ I said.
‘I am not going to bore you. I don’t have an exciting story with iPhones being thrown off the
Brooklyn Bridge. Just stupid domestic stuff.’
‘Hey, I had an old iPhone. I would have upgraded to a new model anyway.’
Both of us laughed.
‘You are funny,’ he said.
We finished our meal.
‘I ate too much,’ I said.
‘Me too. Let’s take a walk?’
‘Another walk? You are Mr Hyperactive, aren’t you?’ I said.
He grinned. He picked up a flashlight—there was one on every table. I lifted two glasses and
the unfinished third bottle of champagne.
‘What?’ Neel said.