One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

‘Eat the vegetables too, Siya,’ Neel said.
Siya didn’t comply. Neel moved over to her and began to feed her with a spoon. I ate my rice
in silence. Aryan ate butterfly-shaped pasta with red sauce from his lunch box. He smeared the red
sauce all over his face and hands. With every bite, Aryan looked messier. I could see Neel wanted to
attend to his son but had to feed his daughter.
‘Do you mind?’ he said and gestured to me. I looked around, took a deep breath and slid next
to Aryan. I took a tissue and wiped his face.
‘Eat slowly, Aryan, okay?’ I said.
‘You feedy me,’ he said.
‘What?’ I said.
‘You feedy me,’ he said again.
Neel smiled at me. Really, Neel, this is funny to you? Aryan jumped into my lap and handed
me his fork. I fed him with one hand and kept a tissue in my other hand to wipe his mouth.
‘I didn’t expect to run into you,’ I said.
‘Well, I had no idea you would be here,’ Neel said. Siya looked at both of us one after the
other, with an innocent expression. We decided not to pursue the topic further.
‘You go to daddy office too?’ Siya said.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘How about you? Which class are you in?’
‘Grade three,’ she said.
‘What’s your favourite subject?’ I said, as Aryan took a bite off the fork.
‘Math,’ she said.
‘Radhika didi is really good at it,’ Neel said. He looked at me and smiled, as if he meant not
just math.
‘Are you really smart?’ Siya said.
‘I am okay smart,’ I said.
‘Enough feedy,’ Aryan said to me, as he felt neglected.
‘No, you have to finish your lunch, Aryan,’ I said. I don’t know how I ended up feeding Neel’s
child. It was awkward, sure. Yet, somehow, seeing Neel taking care of his children made him more
real, more human. Is this what it would be like to have a family? I wondered what Neel thought
when he saw me feed Aryan. His favourite distressed debt analyst could wipe tomato sauce off a
toddler’s face too.
Neel looked at me and smiled. Do I make a good family person, Neel?
‘Found it,’ Kusum said as she held up her iPhone. She noticed me with Aryan.
‘Oh my God, I am so sorry. Aryan, you can eat on your own.’
‘I like didi feedy me,’ he said.
Kusum put out a hand for the fork. I surrendered it. She was staking her claim. She wanted her
family back. Aryan went into his mother’s arms. My lap, and even I on the inside, felt empty. I
realized I wanted this too. I wanted kids. I wanted messy pasta dishes. I wanted iPhone-addicted
daughters who had math as their favourite subject.
‘Say thank you to didi,’ Kusum said.
Aryan didn’t say thanks. He bent forward and kissed me on my cheek. He had his father’s
charm. I melted at the little boy’s display of love. I wanted to kiss him back. I didn’t. I couldn’t. How
could I? It’s somebody else’s family. Will I have a son like this one day? Will I ever have kids?
‘I better leave,’ I said. ‘I remembered my part-time help is coming. She doesn’t have the keys.’
‘Oh, you haven’t finished your lunch,’ Kusum said.