In case you are more of a doer than a listener, try looking at your irresistibly attractive naked boyfriend or girlfriend from a 5-feet distance for over an hour. Exhausting, huh? I guess professional artists get used to looking at naked human bodies as just other works of art. But for me, painting was a passion and Jay was rather good-looking. Jay had got back into his knickers, so I opened the window shades and allowed the sunlight to fill my room with its own colours and hues.
Sitting side by side on the floor rug, we stared outside, admiring the onset of fall colours. The array of two-storeyed, white-coloured apartments with wooden sloping roofs, offered a picturesque contrast to the multitude of colours splashed on the trees around. I noticed the ducks swimming in the pond next to the community centre. Come winter and the pond would transform into an ice-skating rink for the neighbourhood kids.
The whole place would undergo bleaching, exchanging its colourful youth for white, serene maturity. Willowtree Apartments, where we lived, was about a ten-minute walk from the College of Engineering. The North Campus of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, housing the engineering department, was home to a large Indian postgrad student population. I could see a bunch of these students, carrying back groceries and utilities from Walmart in preparation for the week ahead.
A few of our friends were out to the gym while most others were busy in their apartments, slicing onions and frying masala for dinner.
I, on the other hand, was busy enjoying the moment, soaking in the vibrant colours of nature, while Jay gently rubbed the sides of my back with his thumbs. I took a large swig of the cool drink and let my head rest on his bare shoulders. I was woken up by the shrill ringing of the phone by my ears. I quickly picked the handset lying next to me on the side table. My mind quickly calculated that it must be early Monday morning in Delhi and suddenly a fear engulfed me.
The weekly call from my parents was scheduled for Saturday mornings, their time. A series of random fears crossed my mind in the fraction of a second and it took me some time to register what he was saying.
You sound asleep beta. Did I wake you up? My father typically sent me mails before he went to bed, so that I could check them during my daytime. I normally responded immediately as he hated to wait for my answer, but today I had been so absorbed analysing and tracing the male anatomy that I had forgotten to open my laptop.
My father had already hung up. I could see the humour. Besides, his parents were only a few hours away in Chicago and could drop by any time they wanted to.
Not that they ever did, at least not in the last year and half that I had known Jay. His interactions with his family were largely restricted to Thanksgiving and Christmas weekends. Facebook opened up on my browser as my default home page. I briefly stole a glance to see the status updates of my FB friends.
There was a picture of Neetu in a swimsuit, squeezed in the canoe with her boyfriend, his arms tightly wound under her breasts. A couple of funny one-liners caught my attention.
Now you know why I do it all the time. I had ruled out robbery, an earthquake or death as the reason for his urgent call and was back to my cheerful self. The mail had no content. I quickly opened the attached file, and found a repulsive-looking guy, falling on me, with a wide grin on his face. I impulsively moved my face away from the laptop screen.
The guy in the picture was still grinning at me. I noticed that he was standing on a rock, at the top of some mountain, his hands outstretched, perhaps to maintain his balance, as the cold, indifferent wind ruffled his neatly trimmed hair.
The shot had been taken by someone lying low on the ground, so it looked like he was falling forward. Jay prodded me from behind asking if I had asked my old man to send pictures of Gorilla-type Indian male models. I asked him to keep shut and stay away, as if my father could hear him over chat.
Unable to control his laughter, he wandered off to the kitchen to fix himself some salad. Dad: Horrible? Remember, you took three months before you started liking powdered milk? Me: Pa! I was six months old then! Dad: And you still love the milk powder sachets that come with tea-makers in resorts. Me: Very funny Dad: I met him at my guitar class. The boy is perfect for you. Me: You joined guitar class like only two months back! Dad: Oh! But I started liking the food your mother cooks from the day we were married.
Dad: That I am quick when it comes to liking things while you take your time to develop the taste. But once you like something, you like it forever. I was completely losing this battle of words and the speed of developing taste, so I decided to get aggressive.
Me: You want me to marry a guy whom you just met at your guitar class? Of course, I did the background check. Me: What the fuck, Dad! Dad: This guy is different. I am confident he will slowly grow on you. Me: I am still studying, Pa. Dad: Of course, we will wait for you to finish your studies.
Feel free to drop him a mail. In any case, what was I going to tell him? Is your dad trying to find you a lover? Any other time, I would have run behind him, hitting him and biting him for jeering at my dad. Today, I just sat motionless, hands under my chin, too confused and perhaps even a bit angry to defend my relationship with my dad.
Realizing that I was not in the mood for bantering, Jay came closer and started massaging my shoulders. He knew how I loved the firmness of his hands around my neck when I was tired and needed to relax. But right now, I needed to be alone. I told him I was not up to any more fun tonight. Bummed though he was at my sudden change of mood, he got dressed and left without making a fuss. Lounging on my soft, cushiony bed, munching my favourite cheese-flavoured corn chips, I gazed at the snapshots of my childhood pasted all over my room.
There was Dad holding me when I was just born. Dad giving me a bear hug on my first day of school. Dad lifting me in the air while he still could. Dad and I out-screaming each other on a rollercoaster ride. The two of us making a rangoli by the door on Diwali, cheering Tendulkar as we watched World Cup live and clinking glasses just before I took my first sip of wine.
These were all evidence of the special bond I shared with my dad. My mom would inquire once in a while, but my dad had never pried into matters of my heart and I had appreciated that about him. As an only child, I was never denied anything by my parents and I had done my best to live up to their expectations.
But everything has its pros and cons, its own free hits and leg byes. Having grown up without any siblings, I had never learned to confront, especially the people who mattered to me. This much was clear. I heard the SMS beep on my mobile. There were two messages from Jay. Message 1: Save your brains the burden of too many thoughts. Good piece of advice, I thought. Message 2: No more than ten pieces of chips. I immediately shifted my attention from my mind to my mouth, stopped chewing in mid-bite, and peeped inside the packet in my hand.
Somebody had stolen my chips while I was lost in reverie. The bag looked more like half-empty. Now I will have to run an extra mile tomorrow. Jeez, that suitor guy was still smirking at me! Not only was he a grosslooking IITian with a typical Indian moustache, his sense of dressing was hideous too.
Trust Dad to know how to get on my nerves! I clicked on the close button to give his jaws some rest and put on my favourite playlist. I was back in our little house; the aroma of freshly baked pizzas wafted from our open-air kitchen as my mom cooked and Dad and I huddled underneath a comforter listening to these songs. I was about to call it a day when I noticed a new mail icon blinking on my screen.
As my dadi would have said, it seemed like planet Saturn had entered my 7th house and even Kishore Kumar was having a tough time driving him away.
Your dad visited my house yesterday to meet my parents. He left a printout of your matrimonial profile, with some vital and some not so vital stats. There is also a studio photograph of a beautiful, homely, Indian girl in salwar suit. I took the liberty of checking your FB profile, and it shows a more free-spirited girl, in a sexy spaghetti top.
Wondering who is the real you? BTW, there is a joke among IIT boys that there are only two types of girls in this world—nice and very nice : From what your dad talks about you, and he talks a lot, you are not the kind of girl who would marry a random guy, even if he happens to be an IIT, Stanford graduate.
You can read more about me and my life at www. Deepak Goyal P. Who did he think he was? Ranbir Kapoor? Some guts he has telling me not to send him a friend request like I was desperate to increase my friends count. And what was Dad doing? Giving out my biodata to guys in his guitar class!
Eyes still glued to the computer screen, I took a bite of my bagel with a large helping of cream cheese, while pretending to do some research work. His distraction spared me a lecture on Omega-3 and healthy fats. For the time being, at least.
I mean, look at that cleavage! Even more annoying was his implication that I was trying to cheat him with a sati-savitri matrimonial picture. Unable to see any signs of improvement in my mood, Jay squeezed my hand comfortingly and pushed off. Finishing off the rest of the bagel and cream cheese, I moved the email to Trash. I did a quick scan of the room to see if someone was up for a chat. Four Indians, two Chinese, one Korean and two Americans.
All PhD students, all guys, and all were hammering away at their laptops. I got up from my chair, straightened my little-above-the-knee black skirt, and proceeded to the coffee machine in the adjoining room. The overpowering fragrance of hazelnut-flavoured coffee wafting out of the room tantalized my tastebuds.
This was thanks to my advisor! I glanced towards his room at the end of the corridor. It creaked open and I saw the tiny frame of Professor Girpade materialize in front of me. Reminded that I ought to be working, I tiptoed back hurriedly to my desk, careful not to make too much noise from my click-clacks. I examined my to-do list, and rearranged the items one through thirty-five while sipping the coffee. Satisfied with the re-prioritized item list, and unable to concentrate any longer, I saved and closed the file.
Feeling restless, I again surveyed the room. Barring some minor shifts in positions, I felt like I was at Madame Tussauds, surrounded by wax figures. Sitting in a lab full of dummies, I could not engage in shopping, socializing, or sex. So I decided to watch the song Crazy kiya re on YouTube to jazz up my spirits. The boys slowly began to glide towards my laptop.
It can hardly be my fault if the wax statues got aroused by the sexy lady on the floor. Guys, I tell you! I bet Professor Girpade also watched Aishwarya Rai sway her hips and seductively glide her hands over her curves, before making his presence known. You could eat, drink, sleep and even walk out in the middle of his lectures. Understandably then, I was scared when he called me to his room and shut the door behind him.
In the next five minutes, he made it clear to me that he will not tolerate any behaviour that causes distraction to his other students. First Deepak and now Professor Girpade! You are likely to incur emotional setback and financial loss.
Just like you need a healthy mix of vitamins and minerals for a balanced diet, I preferred a healthy mix of alphabets in my grades to maintain my work—life balance.
The balance, however, came with a fair mix of good and bad days, and today was turning from bad to worse. Any chance I could win a settlement suing Aishwarya Rai or YouTube for stripping me off my hard-earned scholarship? Of course, no one could have predicted that twenty days later, I would still have the scholarship but not the job.
All work and no play, freaked my boyfriend Jay, and he put me on a low carbs diet. Other than that, the next three weeks passed without any mishaps.
Thesis submitted and my self-imposed entertainment ban lifted, I was watching a new episode of Friends, when my mobile rang. However, right now, she was an accomplice of my dad in the husband-hunting crime. Where have you been absconding for the last three weeks? First you create a bug and then you try to find its solution. I thought only Microsoft is allowed such flimflam. He has a reminder set for 15th of every month to check on the Suhaani—Deepak progress.
Why has Dad suddenly gone off-track, searching for a groom? Once you finish your studies and start working in the States, chances of your coming back are poorer than me having sex with that new, cute trainee. For now, I was supposed to just dilly dally on this marriage proposal.
She would ensure the discovery of some gross flaw in Deepak, fabricating a pregnant girlfriend or a history of smoking pot if required. Basically, Deepak was go, went, gone as far as I was concerned. I will stay put in the US for another couple of years, unable to take time off for an India trip due to my new job.
My parents could visit me instead and also get to see a new place. Over the next two years, I will gradually get my parents to doubt my sexual orientation and fuel their paranoia about my marriage. Occasional, accidental Facebook comments, a kiss here, a hug there, and a few random girlfriend pictures would do the trick. Once convinced that their daughter has homosexual inclinations, my parents would be glad I married a GUY, even if he was Jayant Guy.
She agreed it was an awesome idea and we both hung up, me with a satisfied grin. It went unanswered. He must be at the gym, I figured and started dressing up for the evening bash. Ashraf was the host for the evening. Dressed in a crisp, white, lucknawi kurta and churidar, he seemed all set to climb the ghodi and take the vows. The place was teeming with students from all parts of the world.
A self-serve bar, stacked with expensive wines and high-class liquor, was set at the corner table. Plates full of cocktail samosas, veg pakoras, tandoori paneer and chicken lined the snack counter. Ashraf was known for his lavish tastes, wide circle of friends and amazing inter-personal skills, all of which had helped him woo his in-laws. While the desis were guzzling liquor like their bodies were composed of 70 per cent alcohol, the goras gorged on the spicy Indian savouries.
She was one among the many bimbos surrounding Neetu, admiring her bejewelled, backless blouse and designer saree. She was wearing a short, strapless, body-hugging dress that could barely contain her assets from spilling out.
The outfit was a fashion disaster if you ask me, but men rarely notice such stuff. She gave me a contemptuous smile, turned away, and glided effortlessly in her high heels towards her destination. I could see a helpless Jay, holding glasses in both hands, unable to stop her body from touching his. Then she flashed her boobs at Jay, while casting a smug glance in my direction. Now, I considered myself reasonably broadminded as far as staying in touch with an ex was concerned.
And, I appreciated that Jay shared similar views, but Denise always managed to evoke the worst in me. Before I could uproot myself and go slap her, she had disappeared among the many people thronging the bar and Jay was standing next to me with two glasses of wine.
Feeling furious at her sleazy act, I gulped down my wine in a single shot, and kissed Jay fully on the lips to establish my claim on him. Pleasantly surprised by my public display of affection, Jay shoved me, through the thick of the grooving crowd, to the centre of the dance floor. I wondered what he was doing, for he had two left feet, but a quick look around cleared my confusion.
They were dirty dancing! Their bodies grinding against each other, they were gyrating to the beats of music. I felt uneasy. I was cool with casual physical contact in public, but my outdoor limits were governed by what I was comfortable with uploading on Facebook. Today, high on wine and fuelled by jealousy, I had already violated my boundaries. The coolness of his touch sent shivers of excitement down my spine.
I tried to pull away but Jay tightened his grip around my waist. Pulling me closer to his body, he started gyrating our hips together in a rhythmic fashion. His other hand was exploring its way up, under the lower hem of my choli.
Ashraf was standing with a mike, in the centre of the room, thanking everyone for their presence. Like a queen, she demanded that he sing a Bollywood number for her. Now that, I thought was unfair. Or maybe, that was the bachelor Ashraf I knew! The song ended to a huge applause, as Neetu rewarded Ashraf with a passionate kiss. I looked longingly at them.
This is what I wanted. This is what every Indian girl wants. To have a lover who would praise her and sing for her. To marry the guy she loves, with the consent of her parents. I felt a sudden sadness in my heart, like if I married Jay a part of me would stay empty forever. Damn the wine! I shook myself out of the self-pity.
This was my choice. His answer offended the girl concerned, who counterattacked by broadcasting that her current boyfriend was four inches bigger. She willingly lifted her dress to bare the crawling scorpions tattooed on her butts. As the game progressed, it ruffled some more egos, broke a few couples, and revealed a lot more skin.
When the turn came to Denise, she chose a Dare. Ashraf asked her to kiss a person other than her current beau. Fluttering her false eyelashes, Denise paraded the room, pretending to be in a fix. She snogged him for what seemed like the longest kiss ever, before she eventually let go of her grip on him. I could feel the pitiful glares from all the girls around the room, while guys regarded Jay with new respect.
I tried hard to control my anger and keep from blushing. Taking a sip of the wine, I held the glass in front of my face to hide the anger flashing in my eyes and the humiliation contorting my features. I stole a quick look at what Jay was doing. He seemed absolutely normal, like Denise had cast an imperious curse on him and he was under her control.
He even looked back at me and gave me his usual smile. Be a sport. She has kissed me before, on my lips and elsewhere. Surely this was easier than differentiating between mauve and magenta. Men and their inability to understand the simplest of situations! Soon, it was my chance to take part in the hideous entertainment. Having lost my sense of humour and not feeling very bold, I opted for Truth. Just then someone switched on the TV and I knew the party was over!
Soon after that night, everyone around was talking about the market crash, lay-offs and debts. Shops were offering huge discounts to boost the economy and make people spend. My lay-off letter came in within a week. To be precise, it was a withdrawal of the provisional job offer due to unforeseen circumstances.
The only people celebrating were my parents. Unless I found another job in the next four months, enrolled for a PhD under Professor Girpade, or settled for delivering pizzas—all of which were unlikely—I was home-bound now. Papa had even started scouting for jobs back in Delhi for me. In those days, after my job offer was withdrawn, I tried all sorts of permutations and combinations on my savings with possible loans from friends. I did spreadsheet analyses multiple times. It all led to the same result: I could survive a maximum of two months after the scholarship ended before running out of cash.
Huge discounts in salary for early bird offers. I was reading an article on how arranged marriages were more successful and led to fewer divorces compared to love marriages in Indian societies. I had forgotten I was back at home in India, sitting in the living room with my parents. Uncomfortable, the nude groom in my imagination quickly got dressed. She was clearly against the notion of random, experimental sex that our generation was eagerly lapping up.
Sitting across the room on a sofa, with the laptop creasing her crisp cotton saree, she was busy harvesting crops and milking online cows on Farmville. Worst to come she finds him quite interesting and a great guy to get along The Whole Shebang Lalita Iyer. Some of them really made me laugh. Her father, who is more of a friend than a parent, calls her up to check her email where he has sent the biodata and picture of Deepak Goyal, an IITian, who he has selected as a potential suitor for Suhaani from his guita Arranged Love by Paul A Mittal is the story of Suhaani Agarwal, a twenty something girl, the only child of her parents, who is in the US.
Well, it is one more in the chic lit series without much of a plot and which more looks like an autobiographical account of the author. The best part about this book was its characters. Our Imperfectly Perfect Love. She reveals her innermost thoughts, feelings and experiences uncensored—I got turned on at several places! I liked the say she writes Free spirited, bold bindass heroines have always been a favorite, however, I could not warm upto Suhaani immediately, nor halfway through the book and tragically enough, even after I was done with it.
She decides that she will reject him but he does so before she even starts the conversation. Inter hostel competitions can be embarrassing especially when the boys purposely choose awkward topics and craft shameless clues. Jan 22, Saheli Roy rated it really liked it. Who Do You Marry? People have said that the new generation will be able to relate to it.
Overall if asked I would say Going steady with her half Indian boy friend Jay she is not ready to open up with her family. When I Found Infinity.
Books by Parul A Mittal. Mahz is currently reading it Apr 01, The story was goddamn predictable, highly weird and considerably annoying. The best part about this book was its characters. Yeah, am seriously admitting it. Very loove narrated and written, the climax has been portrayed well.
Did She Love Me? Item s unavailable for purchase. Elora Rath rated it mittla was amazing Mar 12, Mittal warns her children, in Acknowledgementsgo grab this book.
Showing of 2 reviews. Apart mmittal reading and writing fiction, she loves listening to old Hindi music, cannot resist jiving to dance beats, loves to party with friends and has a keen interest in staying fit.
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