One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

‘I am sure. And what are your interests?’ he said.
‘I love to travel. I like music. I like exploring whichever city I live in. How about you?’
‘I mostly work. But I like watching cricket and Bollywood movies.’
Really? An Indian software guy who likes watching cricket and Hindi movies? Can it be
more stereotypical?
It seemed Brijesh had read my mind.
‘Yeah, so typical, right? Cricket and Bollywood. I am kind of boring.’
For the first time a guy had admitted a weakness to me on a Skype call. He was kind of boring.
But unlike super-bores who didn’t even know they were bores, at least he knew he was one.
I smiled.
‘If I go to sleep on this call then I am afraid you may be right,’ I said.
He laughed.
‘You have a good sense of humour,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Actually, I watch some English movies too. Have to develop a taste. You can suggest some
good ones to me.’
‘Sure,’ I said.
He can praise a woman’s sense of humour and even take advice from her—not bad.
He continued to talk. ‘I can’t pretend to be fake-sophisticated. I grew up in Naraina Vihar in
West Delhi and then Borivali in Mumbai. So I didn’t have much exposure. But now I want to learn
more about the world.’
‘Wait a minute. Did you say you grew up in Naraina Vihar?’
‘Yeah. Why? It’s a small colony in West Delhi.’
‘I am from Naraina too,’ I said, surprised. ‘H block. That’s where my parents live.’
‘What? I was in G block. G-478. My parents still have a house there. They live in Mumbai
now, of course.’
My bedroom door opened. Mom came in.
‘Naraina?’ she whispered, her face unable to contain her excitement. She had probably had an
ear to the door and heard our entire conversation. I shooed her away. I spoke to Brijesh again. ‘This
is uncanny. Did you shop from Modern Stores?’
‘Yes. That fat uncle who never had change?’ he said and both of us laughed.
‘Anyway, so yes. I wanted someone who has Indian roots but is better exposed to the world
than I am. You have been in New York, Hong Kong and now London. I felt you could be an asset to
me.’
I wanted to reject him. I wanted one solid reason to do so. I couldn’t find it.
He talked about meeting up towards the end of the call.
‘I go for work to New York sometimes. It’s midway between London and San Francisco. If our
calls go well, would it be possible for you to come?’
‘Let’s see,’ I said. ‘Skype is good for now. Speak soon.’
My mother entered the living room the second I disconnected the call.
‘You can’t snoop on me, mom. This is not fair.’
She came up to me and gave me a hug.
‘Sorry, my beta,’ she said and kissed my forehead. ‘But what a great boy. And Naraina? See
how Sai Baba’s blessed us?’