One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

‘Everyone is above eighteen,’ didi said firmly.
‘Some people in your group do look underage, ma’am,’ he said.
‘It’s okay. Give them soft drinks. But get my sister drunk tonight.’
‘No, didi,’ I said in vain as the owner brought a round of tequila shots. I had to take two. Jyoti
asked for another round. Rajni, our neighbour’s daughter, wanted the music louder. Shruti, my
childhood friend from school, wanted Honey Singh songs. Saloni, Aditi didi’s best friend, felt we
should play drinking games until someone puked. There is nothing as crazy as fifteen Punjabi girls
determined to go out of control. I took out my phone. I had a message from Brijesh.
‘Club Cubana is nice. Thanks.’
‘You are welcome. How is it going?’ I said.
‘Three drinks down. And you?’
‘Was made to consume tequila shots.’
‘Wow. Wait, the boys are teasing me for chatting with you.’
‘Ha ha, go have fun.’ I kept my phone aside.
Aditi didi wanted to raise a toast. Two waiters arrived and poured champagne for everyone.
‘For my only darling sweetest sister. Someone who only studied and worked hard. She did
nothing naughty in life. Nothing bad ever.’
Yeah right, I thought but simply smiled as Aditi didi continued, ‘Oh yes, she’s the good girl. If
I barely passed, she topped. If I became a housewife, she became a hi-fi banker. If I had the boobs,
she had the brains.’
All the girls laughed. The muscular bouncers blushed. My phone buzzed. Must be Brijesh, I
thought. He’s sweet. He’s trying to make a connection.
‘Hey, am at JFK airport. Figuring out last-minute tickets,’ Debu had messaged instead.
‘What?’ I typed back.
‘Fifteen hours to Mumbai. Then a quick connection to Goa.’
‘Debu, are you serious? Stop it, will you?’
Aditi didi caught me staring at my phone.
‘Look at my baby, chatting with her husband-to-be. At least leave him on your girls’ night out,’
she said. Everyone laughed. Aditi didi took a big gulp of the champagne. I gulped at what I saw next.
Debu had sent me a picture of the Air India counter at JFK. He followed it up with a smiley.
‘Take another shot,’ one of my cousins egged me.
Yeah, just shoot me instead.
‘Miss you,’ said another message.
‘Will you shut the fuck up and go home?’ I typed in response. Damn, I almost pressed send
before I realized the last ‘miss you’ message had come from Brijesh.
I deleted what I had written and retyped, ‘Aww, sweet,’ adding a few smileys. I couldn’t think
of anything more imaginative. With care I switched chats from Brijesh to Debu.
‘Please don’t bother me. Go home,’ I said.
‘Girls,’ my sister made an announcement, ‘what say we take away the bride’s phone for the
evening?’
‘Huh? No, didi, no,’ I said in vain as Aditi didi snatched my phone from my hands and placed
it in her handbag.
‘It’s your last night out as a bachelorette. You better do crazy things and not waste it on the
phone,’ Aditi didi said.
I wanted to tell her I had enough craziness happening on the phone.