To make matters worse, Guru-bappa, my uncle, whose full name was Gurunath, started snickering. “Did the trick work?”
Mom sighed. “I wish.”
“Tsk-tsk,” clucked Shabari-pachi. “You should have made the most of the situation, Meena. Why didn’t you pretend to limp for a few more weeks?”
“I dislike deceit.” My jaw clenched hard.
“It’s not deceit,” Shabari countered. “You would have had a chance to use some of the hints in that book I gave you for your birthday.”
I frowned at my aunt. “All the hints in the world wouldn’t do me any good with this guy. He’s built like a monolith. He’s not for me.”
Shabari-pachi’s eyes took on a familiar, calculating gleam. “Then maybe he’s suitable for our Amrita.” Her gaze shifted to her own firstborn.
I grinned when I caught Amrita’s expression of cross impatience. The spotlight had landed on her. “Mom, stop trying to fix me up. I told you I’m too busy to look at potential husbands.”
“Nonsense. Kaveri, Madhuri, and I went through grueling residencies after we were married, and still managed to have kids. If we could juggle homes, husbands, kids, and demanding careers, I’m sure you can find the time to meet the right boy,” declared Shabari-pachi with the imperious air of a queen.
The rest of the conversation went on in the same vein, with talk shifting from Prajay Nayak to other eligible young men, then gradually to my brother Maneel. The sneaky devil suddenly got up, claimed he had work to do, and pushed his chair in.
Every time my family brought up the subject of his marriage, Maneel did a vanishing act. I had a suspicion he was seeing someone and wanted to keep it a secret from my parents. One of these days I’d have to pry it out of him. It wouldn’t be easy, but I had my ways.
Maneel made a quiet escape out the front door. Everyone laughed when Amrita made a face and said, “He-Man turns to Jell-O-Man when it’s his turn.”
I agreed. It was nice to be the teaser instead of the teased for a change.
Meanwhile Lalita, perhaps to avoid the topic of marriage, excused herself from the table and went to the family room. A bit more introverted than her sister and my brothers and I, she preferred to do things by herself. She resembled Amrita to some degree but was slimmer and even prettier than she.
Fortunately Shabari-pachi and her family left soon after the table was cleared and the dishes washed and put away. I’d had enough of my aunt’s third degree. I loved her dearly, but her interference in my life was a nuisance.
It was the Indian way. Playing matchmaker was every Indian woman’s prerogative; my mother and my aunts chose to exercise it freely.
On Monday, just as I was winding up for the day and getting ready to shut down my computer, I received a surprise e-mail from Prajay: Meena, I need to discuss something personal and confidential with you. I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention it to anyone. Please stop by my office after work if you can spare the time. Thanks. PN.
I read it once again to make sure I’d understood it correctly. There was no mistaking the intent: after work; personal and confidential; needed to see me in person; in secret.
A slow tingle of anticipation started to hum along my skin. It sounded mysteriously delicious.
Maybe he was interested in me after all. He hadn’t indicated it by a single word or sign. Had he been worried about sexual harassment and personnel policies and such? He seemed very proper in his behavior. So what had happened all of a sudden to make him come forward like this? Maybe it was time for him to return to DC and he wanted to find out how I felt about him before he left.
Whatever it was, it looked promising. I sent him a response: I’ll stop by today after my two colleagues leave. Is that okay with you?
His reply was instant: Sounds good. Thanks.
I couldn’t wait for Paul and Pinky to leave. Pinky left at her usual five o’clock because of her kids, but Paul took forever to make a move. He was on the phone with Jeremy for several minutes, writing down a list of items he was supposed to pick up from the supermarket.
Since our two offices were separated by a thin wall, I could hear every word of the conversation. By the time Paul had written organic spinach and mushrooms, farm-raised tilapia, high-protein pasta, and Asian sesame dressing with no MSG, I knew exactly what the two men were having for dinner that evening.
I waited for Paul to hang up the phone. Get it over with and get to the market already. I cracked my knuckles once or twice.
When Paul finally put on his jacket, slung his lunch bag over his wrist, and stuck his head in my office to bid me good night, I breathed a small sigh of relief.
“You still here?” he asked with a curious expression.
“I’m meeting a friend for drinks later.” I tried to sound casual. “Figured I’d go directly from work.”
“Have fun.” Paul took off, whistling under his breath. And why not? Jeremy was waiting to cook him a lovely gourmet meal.
I looked at the clock. Twenty minutes to six—hopefully most of the folks had gone home for the day. But then this was an IT company, and people worked the oddest hours. They pretty much made their own schedules. Well, I’d just have to work around it. This was an important issue for me ... and Prajay. It couldn’t wait.
Making a trip to the deserted ladies’ room, I fixed my hair and makeup and dabbed a little perfume on my pulse points. I regretted not having worn something softly feminine and pretty. But how was I to know that Prajay would drop this bombshell on me at the end of the day, especially since I hadn’t seen him or heard from him for an entire week?
This morning I’d chosen to put on a steel gray suit and a yellow shirt with silver buttons. Very professional, but hardly seductive. I was still in sneakers, too. But at least my face and hair looked fine.
I tried to practice various expressions in the mirror—just in case he said what I thought and hoped he’d say: stunned surprise, pleased astonishment, the dazed look, wide-eyed delight. Nothing looked genuine, so I gave up. I wasn’t one of those females who believed in putting on airs, anyway.
Besides, he’d seen me at my worst—flushed and swollen-eyed, runny-nosed, and flat on my back, hysterical with pain.
And yet he wanted to have a very private talk with me. Maybe Mom was right about fate’s throwing us together.
I locked the door leading into the main office and took the elevator to the penthouse. Now that I was headed in that direction, my heart was pounding. My hands were shaking, so I thrust them in my pockets. Perspiration began to form on my skin.
What was I getting into? All at once reality struck me with a punch similar to the collision I’d had with Prajay three weeks ago. Did I really want to see this guy socially? Was he my type? I’d probably romanticized my involvement with him only because it had happened in such a dramatic manner. Was it akin to a patient’s spinning fantasies around her doctor or therapist?
If I’d met Prajay the normal way, I’d have had a brief and formal meeting with him, and that would have been the end of it. He wouldn’t have carried me in his arms or driven me to work. I’d never have gotten to know him on a personal level. I wouldn’t be on my way to his office now. More like sneaking in after-hours.
The elevator doors opened. I stepped out very carefully and looked both ways to avoid a repetition of my fiasco. The hallway was deserted.
Prajay’s office was the closest to the elevators, so I didn’t have to pass by other people’s offices, thank goodness. I heard a male voice speaking somewhere at the far end of the hall on the other side. It sounded like a phone conversation. I heard the click-click of a keyboard. Ignoring all the familiar sounds, I kept moving.
Anna’s desk was unoccupied. Hopefully she was gone for the day. The efficient Anna was actually Annapurna. Everyone called her Anna for short. She was a perfect executive secretary—friendly and professional, yet very discreet—but I had the feeling Prajay didn’t want even her involved in whatever he was about to reveal to me.
Prajay’s door was wide open, and he was sitting at his desk, studying his computer screen with a slight frown. He looked totally absorbed. He seemed to be an intense man, highly focused on his work, and yet he seemed so easygoing on a personal level.
I observed him in silence for a moment. His shirt today was a light olive with a coordinated tie and gold cufflinks. It looked good on him. His dress habits were a complete contrast to those of his friend and partner, Nishant.
From what I’d gathered about the two men, Nishant was the shrewd money manager, while Prajay was the wheeler-dealer as well as the technical brain behind the business. They made an impressive team.
Prajay obviously hadn’t heard my approaching footsteps, so I knocked on the door.
He looked up. The frown vanished. “Hi, Meena.”
“Hi.” Overcome by nervousness, I hesitated on the threshold.
“Please come in,” he said. As I stepped inside, he motioned to me to take one of the guest chairs across from his desk. Then he did something that made my pulse take a disturbing leap. He strode toward the door and shut it before turning to me. “Thanks so much for coming.”
“No problem.” I sat down and wiped my damp palms on my skirt.
He actually seemed to blush. “I’m a little embarrassed.”
A tiny warning bell went off in my brain. What was I doing in this man’s office? Alone. After-hours. I looked at the closed door and a wave of panic hit me. I barely knew him. Five days of riding in a car with a man to and from the office didn’t amount to knowing what went on in his mind. He could be a weirdo, for all I knew. Maybe that’s why he was still single at thirty-nine?
Good Lord, what if he tried anything funny? I was too tiny to defend myself against a man his size. Nonetheless another part of my brain wanted him to touch me. How could I want that and yet be afraid of it?
But it was too late to run. I had to see this thing through somehow. Hopefully those comforting sounds I’d heard from neighboring offices meant there were others still working on this floor.
I took a deep breath. I was a grown woman with abundant confidence. I’d dated before, so I knew a little about men. I’d managed to shake off the kissie-poo Saint Bernard type and had successfully kept groping fingers at bay while at college.
No big deal. I could ... handle this guy, too.
Chapter 8
When Prajay returned to his own chair behind the desk, my racing pulse calmed a little. See, he didn’t have any intentions of attacking me or any such thing. He still looked like a gentleman. I felt foolish when I saw him get comfortable in his seat. Not a single sign of his being a predatory wolf.
So much for my fears and hopes of being ravished on the rug.
He leaned forward, braced his elbows on the desk, and clasped his hands, like he was praying. “I don’t even know where to start, Meena.”
It was too quiet in the room. Maybe he could hear my heartbeat. “Is this like ... uh ... Are you sure you want to talk about it?”
He sighed, long and loud. “I’ve given it considerable thought, and yes, I want to talk to you about it.” He picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. “I’m sure the gossip about me has reached your ears a number of times.”
“Gossip is part and parcel of any office. I don’t pay attention to it,” I informed him with a shrug.
He acknowledged my white lie with a slight smile that said he didn’t believe it for one moment. “I turned thirty-nine this year, and the pressure to get married and settle down is mounting. My family is beyond dropping hints now.”
“I see.”
“My father lectured me on the subject last night. Again.” He pretended to wince. “More like blistered my ears over the phone lines.”
“Um-hmm.” He was clearly struggling with the issue. Those long fingers were still twirling that pen. I knew all about parental pressure. I wondered if he had aunts and uncles like mine, people who pushed and prodded and poked and harassed. I bet he did. What Indian family didn’t have its share of meddlesome relatives?
“My older brothers were married by thirty,” he continued, “and they have wives and kids and homes of their own.”
“So you’re the odd man out?”
“That’s me—the odd man. What they don’t realize is that my brothers took up stable jobs after they got their degrees. A few years later they had enough savings to think of marriage and family. On the other hand, when I was that age, I was busy starting up a company. I was up to my long chin in debt.”
I nodded, trying to focus on his issues rather than mine, trying not to wonder where all this was leading and how it was going to affect me. “You had no time for anything other than work.”
“When I try to tell them that, they just point to other Indian businessmen my age, men who have families. They can’t understand why I cannot make time for a personal life. They’re worried that people might think I’m gay.”
“Are you?” I was sincerely hoping he wasn’t gay. Not when I found him so appealing.
“No. I’ve assured them of that.” He heaved another tired sigh. “But it makes them nag even more.”
Relieved, I nodded my agreement. “I know all about nagging parents.”
“You?” Prajay threw me a puzzled look. “But you’re so young; you have plenty of time.”
“Thirty-one’s not young for a woman, at least not an Indian woman.” From the way my aunts and my mom carried on, I was about to start menopause any day now. But I couldn’t tell Prajay that.
“You don’t look thirty-one. I figured no more than twenty-four, or five, at the most,” he said.
“Thanks.” Now that he knew my real age, maybe he’d stop beating around the bush and ask me out. All this hemming and hawing was making me ill.
“Well, getting back to me, I’ve been introduced to God knows how many women. I’ve tried my best to get to know them—taken them out to dinner, movies, dancing ... the whole dating scenario. But something or the other just doesn’t seem right.” He gave me one of those looks that said you know what I mean?
“I know exactly what you mean, Prajay.” Been there, done that.
“Then you understand how frustrating it is—meeting all these girls and realizing not a single one is right for you.” He threw the pen down and stared at something outside the window.
I was getting thoroughly impatient now. Where was all this leading? Was he saying that all those other women were unsuitable but I was the right one for him? If so, I wished he’d get on with it. A savvy businessman like him ought to be able to express something as simple as that.
“Well, let me get to the point, Meena,” he said and picked up his pen once again.
About time. “I’m listening.” The perspiration was beginning to bead on my upper lip. What was I going to say if he came right out and asked me out on a date? Sure I was impatient to hear it, but what was I to do about it? Accept? Say thanks but no thanks and get out of there? But then his male ego could get bruised from the rejection and consequently I could end up losing my job. On the other hand, dating one’s boss was clearly a conflict of interest.
Damn, there was no right answer. “Exactly what is it that you’re looking for, Prajay?”
“Since every woman I’ve met so far hasn’t quite measured up to my height requirements, I’ve decided to do something about it.”
Hallelujah! He was going to say he didn’t mind my puny stature, that size had nothing to do with personality, that it was what was inside a person that mattered, that good things often come in little packages, and that he had recognized my potential the day he’d first laid eyes on me ... and so on. I straightened my spine, put on my most receptive look, and braced myself for the truth.
“I’m planning on putting an ad in the matrimonial columns of a few newspapers and Internet matchmaking sites,” he said.
“What!” I nearly jumped out of my chair. I couldn’t have heard that correctly. Were those blasted painkillers still doing a numbe
r on my brain?
“I know, I know. It comes as a surprise to you, I’m sure.”
Try shock. I cleared my throat. “Uh ... yes.”
“I know what you’re thinking. An Indian guy with a successful business shouldn’t have to resort to such desperate measures to find a wife.”
“Hmm.”
“But I’ve given it a lot of thought ... and I think it’s the best way for me.”
I stared at my trembling hands. I’d been such a fool. How could I have been so blind? He hadn’t shown any interest in me by word or deed, and yet I’d been fantasizing like a giddy-headed schoolgirl. All that swooning in the larger-than-life hero’s arms and his falling in love with the petite heroine had gone to my head, along with Murjani’s pills.
I’d never ever look at those little white disks of idiocy again. They had killed off several gray cells in my head.
Somehow I managed to look up at him. “Newspapers and Internet matchmakers?” My voice came out as an anguished whisper.
“You know what I mean, sites like , , and print media like India Overseas, etcetera.”
I nodded dumbly. Yeah, I knew all about those sites. Some of my friends had posted their profiles on those. They got dozens and dozens of hits, but the quality of respondents was preposterous—great entertainment for us.
And this guy wanted to use those same sources? Oh well, he’d have to learn his lesson the hard way. He deserved to learn it the hard way for being so naïve. And so damn blind. “In that case, what is it you want me to do, Prajay?”
“You’re good at writing ads. I want you to create one or two good ones for me.”
I turned it over in my mind for a second or two. “So you want me to be your campaign manager in your quest for the perfect bride?”
He snapped his fingers, his face brightening up. “I knew you’d get the idea in a second.”
Oh yeah, eureka. I wasn’t dreaming this. It was really happening. “Why didn’t you ask Paul to do this for you, Prajay? He could do an outstanding job for you. And you’ve known him longer than me. You trust him.”
The Reluctant Matchmaker Page 7
