One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

outside the Cartier store in Hong Kong. I noticed a fat solitaire on her ring finger. Three carats, I
guessed.
‘Sorry, Radhika, just training her. She’s addicted to the phone,’ Kusum said and smiled.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, wondering what excuse would allow me the quickest exit.
‘Neel’s mentioned you,’ Kusum continued. ‘You recently moved to Hong Kong, right?’
‘Yeah, six months,’ I said, wondering what else he had mentioned.
‘We have been meaning to call the team over to our house. It’s my fault, never worked out a
date,’ Kusum said.
‘Not a problem,’ I said. I spoke as little as possible to exhaust conversation so I could leave.
‘Shopping for home, is it?’ Neel said. Well, did he have to talk? I felt guilty just being next to
him in front of Kusum. I wished I could hide beneath one of the IKEA sofas.
‘Yes. I needed a sofa bed,’ I said.
‘Where do you put up?’ Kusum said.
Is she going to come kill me? Will she knock me out with that diamond solitaire?
‘Old Peak Road,’ I said.
‘We are in Repulse Bay. Do come sometime. Do you miss Indian home food? Have her over,
Neel,’ Kusum said.
Oh, please, please don’t be nice to me, I wanted to say.
‘Yeah, why not? You should come,’ Neel said, his face as blank as mine.
‘Maybe sometime. Anyway, I don’t want to impose on your family outing,’ I said, hoping to
escape.
‘What outing? We just came for some errands. Are you by yourself?’ Kusum said.
Yes, I am. Single, alone and loveless. No wonder I borrowed your husband.
‘Yes,’ I said vaguely. ‘Sunday, so just thought will fix up the house.’
‘I love your dress, by the way,’ Kusum said.
God, she is actually a nice person. She had praised my simple white lace dress, even though
she probably wore a designer Prada or Gucci outfit herself. She was not a bitch. And that just made
me feel worse.
‘It’s just Zara,’ I said.
‘Well, you have the figure for it,’ she said. She seemed fit too. I looked at her face. She was
pretty, fair and had high cheekbones. I would kill to look like her at forty. I noticed she had a small
bust. My boobs were better. Okay, why on earth am I comparing my body to hers? Is that all we
women are? I am a vice president at Goldman Sachs. Why doesn’t that make me feel as smug as
knowing I have bigger boobs than Neel’s wife? And why am I comparing myself to her at all?
‘Th.. .thanks,’ I stammered, remembering she had given me a compliment.
‘You have lunch plans?’ she said.
‘Er, actually, I normally don’t eat lunch,’ I said, making up nonsense as I spoke.
‘We are just heading to the food court outside IKEA. Feel free to join us,’ Kusum said.
I looked at Neel. Can the great partner at Goldman Sachs use his brain to get me out of
this?
‘Yeah, join us. Because it would be great if you can join us,’ he rambled on, ‘but not if you
don’t want to.’
I glared at him. What do you mean, ‘not if you don’t want to’?
‘Have a salad. It’s not good to skip meals,’ Kusum said.
‘Oh okay,’ I said in meek submission.