One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

Debu and I took a yellow cab to 28th Street and Lexington Avenue, in an area called Murray Hill.
‘It’s also called Curry Hill,’ Debu said as we stepped out of the taxi. I could see why. Indian,
Bangladeshi and Pakistani restaurants dotted both sides of the road. Some resembled roadside dhabas
back in India, complete with bright tubelights and plastic chairs.
‘Is this even New York?’ I laughed.
‘It’s Midtown Manhattan,’ Debu said. ‘You like it?’
‘I love it. In fact, you could have just brought me here first.’
‘Darn, wasted money at Tao. Didn’t realize you could be a cheap date.’
Date. He used the word date. I am on a date. I felt thrilled at the prospect of being on a date.
Even if at a ramshackle parantha shop called Lahori Kebab.
‘Can we have a parantha?’ I said.
‘Huh? Didn’t we just eat?’
‘I am Punjabi. Rice isn’t dinner.’
We walked into the shabby but brightly lit restaurant. Debu ordered two tandoori paranthas
with gobi stuffing inside.
‘Green chillies on the side, please,’ I said, my mouth salivating at the prospect. I noticed four
seedy-looking Indian guys in the restaurant. They wore neon construction-worker jackets. I caught
them staring at my legs.
Yes, finally I have an audience for all that effort, I said to myself.
‘Let’s sit down,’ Debu said as he noticed the workers.
Nobody has ever checked out my legs, I wanted to tell him. Let me enjoy the moment. Oh well,
better be the good girl, you exhibitionist, mini-me said.
The restaurant had Indian desserts. Post-paranthas, we had two rasgullas each.
You better skip lunch tomorrow, mini-me said, there is no point in waxing fat legs.
Elephants don’t wax, do they?
‘I love how you eat. You are enjoying this,’ Debu said to me.
‘Sorry. I haven’t had Indian food in weeks,’ I said.
He wiped my lips with a tissue. I smiled at him.
‘There are a couple of Indian restaurants in Brooklyn too, where I live,’ Debu said. He was
referring to another borough of New York, south of Manhattan.
‘You live in Brooklyn?’ I said. Most of my Goldman class planned to take apartments in
Manhattan. They considered Brooklyn too far.
‘Yeah. Told you. Advertising is glamorous only on paper. They don’t pay. That’s the only
place we can afford a decent apartment.’
‘We as in?’
‘I share it. Two other guys from work.’
‘Oh okay. I need to find an apartment soon too,’ I said.
The bill arrived. I paid this time, a total of eight dollars. We stood up to leave.
‘You want to see a movie next week? Shah Rukh’s Don 2 is releasing,’ Debu said.
‘They have Indian movie theatres here?’ I said in excitement.
‘Just a couple. But they do,’ he said. ‘Next Friday?’
I nodded. The food in my mouth prevented me from talking.
Date two, baby, I said to myself and mentally high-fived.