One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

‘You were fabulous. You are a good, good dancer,’ he said.
‘Oh no, I suck. Those four minutes took four hours of merciless practice.’
‘I couldn’t do that even with four months of training,’ he said.
A waiter with drinks passed us. I stopped him and gave Brijesh a glass of whisky.
‘Drink up,’ I said.
‘Are you sure? We still have to meet so many people.’
‘You will need it. We need to talk,’ I said.
‘What?’
Before I could answer, lights dimmed in the function room. A DJ took over. The stage now
became a free-for-all dance floor. In Punjabi weddings this means first the kids take over the floor.
Then their elder teen cousins come and kick them off the stage. Next, all the uncles get drunk and
shove the teenagers off. Finally, the uncles get so drunk that they even drag their wives, or the aunties,
on to the stage.
Brijesh and I also danced to a few songs. Brijesh was right. He couldn’t dance. Imagine Bill
Gates or Mark Zuckerberg trying to do bhangra. You get the idea.
After three songs, I whispered in Brijesh’s ear, ‘Brijesh, let’s step out and talk.’