One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

‘No. Not really,’ I said. I guess telling her about my live-in status with a guy for the past one
year would be too much to share at one go.
‘Meaning?’
‘I have friends. Like this guy, Debashish. He is also from SRCC.’
‘Debashish who?’ she said, her voice curious.
‘Debashish Sen. Senior in college. Didn’t know him then. Works in Manhattan at an ad
agency.’
‘Bengali?’ she said, a tinge of disgust in her tone.
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Nothing. They are smelly, no? They eat a lot of fish.’
‘What nonsense!’
‘Anyway. I hope he is just a friend.’
I had an urge to tell her that we had contraceptives on our grocery list.
‘Yes. I hardly get time. But I have met him.’
‘Met him?’
‘In groups, nothing more,’ I said hurriedly.
Why am I not telling her? I should tell her. However, this Debu has to get his act together
and tell me first.
‘You are not the boyfriend and love types. Aditi was like that.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ I said, my voice loud enough to startle two skinny girls
sitting next to me.
‘Nothing. You are the studious types. What boyfriend and all you will make? We will have to
find someone for you.’
‘Really, mom? You would do that for me? Thank you. How can I ever repay you?’
‘It’s okay. We are parents. It is our duty.’
She doesn’t get sarcasm at all. I wanted to lash out more. I wanted to say, Sure, thanks, mom,
do hook me up with someone. For who else would take your unlovable daughter?
I chose not to aggravate the situation. I took a deep breath instead.
‘My station has arrived. You made tea?’
‘Yeah, I did. I can talk some more. Your father is still in the bathroom.’
I stepped out of the train. I climbed up the stairs and came out to Chambers Street. My house
was a six-minute walk from here.
‘How’s dad?’ I said.
‘Waiting for his tea. He still has to figure out what to do with his retired life.’
‘Did you get the money?’
‘It was too much, beta.’
‘Just tell dad to change his car, please. At least get a Honda City. That Maruti belongs in a
museum.’
‘I will tell him. We feel bad taking money from our daughter.’
‘Why? If I were your son it would be okay?’
‘Yes. But you are not, no?’
‘So what? I am your child. Why can’t I help improve your lifestyle?’
‘With sons it is different. It’s like your right.’
‘Mom, you know all this stuff irritates me a lot. I have had a long day. I was in office for
thirteen hours. Can you please say something nice?’