The Reluctant Matchmaker

by Shobhan Bantwal

  Akka chuckled. “Don’t tell your mother that. She will not invite me to your house anymore. She thinks I’m a bad influence on all the children.”

  “That’s what makes you different. You’re a hell of a lot more fun.”

  By the time we got onto the highway Akka was fast asleep, reminding me that despite her young and modern ways, she was still an old lady.

  I put the car on cruise control and started to plan my meeting with Ajit Baliga for the next day.

  Chapter 27

  Despite having done the blind-date thing before, I was a little tense about meeting Ajit. Thrusting my gloved hands deep into my coat pockets, I walked out of the train station and toward the restaurant.

  The temperatures had dropped drastically since the previous day’s rain, and the wind was brisk. It whipped my hair about my face, ruining the carefully washed and blow-dried look I’d accomplished.

  At least it wasn’t raining. A skinny man dressed in a Santa suit and fake white beard stood outside a grocery store, ringing a bell for donations.

  Pedestrians were aplenty, but like me, most seemed to be in a hurry to get out of the cold and to their destinations, so they mostly ignored poor Santa. Besides, it was way too early in the season to think about Christmas. The appetizing aroma of Chinese food wafted toward me from somewhere. It reminded me I hadn’t eaten breakfast.

  Looking at my watch, I realized I had about five minutes to spare before my appointed time. I hoped I could duck into the ladies’ room and fix my hair before I faced my date.

  When I had told Mom and Dad that I was meeting Ajit that afternoon, Mom had given me an approving nod. “I have a good feeling about this boy. Try to refrain from expressing those strong feminist opinions of yours, at least the first time you meet,” she’d warned me. I think she secretly believed this was my last chance before the first gray hairs started to pop up.

  Dad was more casual about it. “Be careful in the city,” was his terse advice.

  Akka was the only one who knew what was going on. She winked at me before I left. I was depressed about her leaving for Shabari-pachi’s house the next day. Her two weeks at our house were now over, and my mom was to drive her to my aunt’s place. Although she had visited us like clockwork every year, this was the first time Akka and I had become really close.

  As I approached the restaurant, I knew I’d lost my chance to fix my hair. A man wearing a brown leather jacket stood outside the building, hands in his jacket pockets, absently watching the traffic. Perhaps to keep himself warm, or from impatience, he was rocking on his heels. I was pretty sure it was my date. The wind was ruffling his short, dark hair.

  He must have heard the click of my high-heeled boots, because he turned to face me and stopped rocking.

  It was him.

  I approached him with a smile and a toss of my head to get the hair out of my eyes. “Hi. Are you early or am I late?” With my three-inch heels I could look him in the eye without having to lift my chin too high. He was an average-sized man.

  He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and held it out. “I’m early. Didn’t want to take a chance on being late and making a lousy first impression,” he said with a grin.

  Good sense of humor, I thought as I shook his hand.

  He inclined his head toward the restaurant. “Shall we go in?” Opening the door, he ushered me in and shut it behind us.

  “Oh, good, it’s warm in here.” I took off my gloves and put them in my coat pocket.

  “And smells great. The aroma of chimichangas was driving me crazy while I stood outside,” he told me.

  While we waited to be seated, I looked around. The place wasn’t very crowded, perhaps because of the blustery weather. Only half a dozen tables were occupied, mostly by young couples. An older man who appeared to be the owner approached us and led us to a table, telling us that a waitress would be with us in a minute.

  “Are chimichangas your favorite Mexican food?” I asked Ajit. I slung my coat on the back of my chair while Ajit did the same with his.

  “I like anything as long as it’s spicy enough to strip a layer off the roof of my mouth,” he replied, waiting for me to get seated. As he pulled out his own chair and sat down, I took a quick inventory. He wore a thick, gray sweatshirt and jeans. His hands were square, with a dusting of dark hair on the backs and wrists.

  He looked like a clean-cut, wholesome Indian man—everything Madhuri-pachi had said he was.

  “In that case, we’re at the right place. They make some killer hot food here.” I combed my fingers through my tangled tresses and patted them into place, hoping the effort made me look somewhat presentable.

  On the other hand, I noticed Ajit hadn’t bothered to do anything with his hair. It looked windblown, but he didn’t seem to care. I rather liked that in a man, the lack of vanity. I couldn’t stand men who constantly fussed with their hair and clothes—a feminine trait.

  That’s what I liked about Prajay: He was always well-groomed, but never fidgeted with his hair or his tie or buttons. I tried to shake off the thought. I had to put an end to that kind of wistfulness. Prajay was probably having a courtship weekend with his date.

  A young waitress approached us, thankfully dragging my thoughts away from Prajay. She came with a couple of menus and a basket of nacho chips and a bowl of salsa. “Can I get you anything to drink?” she said, glancing at us with the usual polite ennui that comes with seeing hundreds of customers every week.

  As the waitress hurried off to fetch our drinks, we studied our menus. It gave us both a chance to let certain facts about each other register. It was typical: meet, greet, assess, and deliberate. Both Ajit and I would more or less make up our minds within the next twenty minutes whether this initial meeting would go somewhere or not.

  So far, so good, I concluded. He seemed nice enough and was decent looking. Whether there’d be any spark of chemistry between us was yet to be seen.

  “I think I’ll have the taco salad,” I said, finally looking up from my menu. I’d known I wanted the taco salad even before I’d walked into the restaurant.

  “Is that all you’re going to eat?” Ajit dug into the chips and salsa. “No wonder you’re so slim.”

  “You haven’t seen the size of their salad,” I told him, thinking he was on the slim side himself. “I bet I won’t even finish half of it.” His shoulders were narrow compared to Prajay’s.

  Oops, I was having silly thoughts again.

  The waitress came back with our drinks. “Ready to order?” After taking our orders for my salad and Ajit’s chimichangas, she disappeared.

  Now that the preliminaries of food and drink were out of the way, it was time to get down to the basics of getting to know each other. “So, how was your trip to Washington?” Ajit reached for another nacho chip. In fact, he had already made a dent in the mound of chips.

  “Very productive.” I took a sip of my refreshing sangria. “My work isn’t all that exciting, so tell me about yours.”

  He laughed. “You think my work is exciting? I buy and sell stocks and bonds.” He took a swallow of his beer. “I’m glued to a computer and a phone all day. Some days, I work ten to twelve hours, and others less than six. It all depends.”

  “Madhuri-pachi says you’re very successful; you must be doing something right.”

  “I live comfortably.” He was no fool. He went back to eating chips, hinting that was as far as he’d go in revealing his financial status. “Your pachi tells me the same about you. I’ve heard a lot of good things.” His tone was light, teasing.

  “Madhuri-pachi is a bit prejudiced when it comes to her family. In her book, we’re all wildly successful and good-looking.”

  “She was right about your looks. You’re even prettier in person than you are in your pictures.”

  My cheeks warmed. “Exactly how many pictures of me did my aunt share with you?”

  “Oh, six or seven ... or eight.” Maybe because I rolled my eyes, he added with a chuck
le, “Actually I saw two. And they were nice.”

  “Had she mentioned to you how short I am?” Konkani boys were usually obsessed with tall girls. I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression because of my high heels.

  “She did say you were petite.”

  “Petite is a polite term for midget.”

  “That’s okay, Meena. I’m not exactly a tall guy myself, so I have no problem meeting a petite girl.” He grinned in between sips of beer. “In fact, I like petite women.”

  Well, this was a first. It was refreshing to come across a guy who didn’t have grand notions about his own height. Right then and there I sort of made up my mind that Ajit Baliga was an all-right guy. But I was still waiting for the elusive spark. “So, have you dated many petite girls?”

  He stared at me. “Didn’t your aunt tell you?”

  Uh-oh. “Tell me what?”

  “That I used to be engaged to someone?”

  “No ... she didn’t.” I should’ve known Madhuri-pachi would conceal something significant like an ex-fiancée from me.

  “I’m sorry. I was under the impression you knew.” He was silent for a moment. “Does that mean you don’t want to continue with this lunch?”

  “Don’t be silly. I have nothing against past relationships.” I didn’t want to tell him that I’d dated a few guys myself, even if I hadn’t been engaged to any. “This is America. Dating is something guys and girls are expected to do.”

  He nodded his relief. “Glad to hear that. For a moment I thought you’d get up and walk out.”

  Our food arrived just then, giving me an opportunity to get my thoughts together for a suitable response. The combined scents of cumin, hot peppers, onions, and tomatoes made my mouth water. The taco shell looked fresh and crisp. Ajit’s chimichangas looked wonderful, too, with curls of smoke rising from the dish.

  I glanced at Ajit. “Why did you think I’d walk out?”

  “Your aunt tells me your parents are very old-fashioned, so naturally I thought—”

  “—that I was a conservative little fuddy-duddy?”

  “Not quite like that.” His expression told me that’s exactly what he’d assumed.

  I laughed. “That’s okay. Madhuri-pachi is right about my parents, but my brothers and I are hardly like that. My brother ...” I wasn’t sure if Maneel would appreciate my discussing his affairs with a total stranger. Moreover, Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve of my telling such stories to a potential groom. It would automatically render me ineligible in the eyes of most Konkani men.

  “What about your brother?” Ajit pressed, leaving me no choice but to tell.

  Oh, what the heck, everyone would learn soon enough about Maneel and Naseem anyway. “My older brother, Maneel, who’s a stockbroker like you, is more or less engaged to a Muslim girl.”

  “Really? Your aunt didn’t tell me that either.”

  “I know why,” I said blandly. “She wouldn’t want you to reject the idea of meeting me because my brother’s about to marry a Muslim girl.”

  Ajit looked amused. “Just like she didn’t tell you I was engaged once.”

  I gave a mock groan. “Aunts can be so sly and manipulative.”

  Now that we’d laughed about how absurd it was that Madhuri had deliberately withheld information, a level of comfort began to settle over us. As we ate, we chatted about our hobbies and favorite movies and music. Ajit’s food started to disappear at a brisk pace. The guy had a hearty appetite.

  Between bites I cocked an eyebrow at Ajit. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  He paused. “I’ll try to answer.”

  “Why aren’t you engaged anymore?”

  “She didn’t want to marry me after all. She was in love with a classmate of hers and started seeing me only because her parents wanted it.”

  “You mean they forced it on her like they do with some girls in India?” I was beginning to feel full, so I pushed my half-eaten salad aside.

  “I don’t think they forced her as such. I believe they tried to convince her it was better to marry a Konkani rather than a Polish guy.”

  “She didn’t have anything to say about it?” What American-bred young woman in her right mind would agree to being manipulated like that?

  Ajit finished his food and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Not in the beginning. We saw each other for about five months. It was expected that we’d get engaged, so I proposed, and she accepted. One day, she just flat out told me it would never work between us because she was still in love with her Polish boyfriend.”

  “Oh, wow. Must have been rough.” I could only imagine.

  “At least she was honest.” Why was he defending her?

  “But not in the beginning,” I pointed out. “Was she still seeing him while you guys were dating?”

  “I believe she was sincerely trying to forget him to make her parents happy. But then ...” Ajit shrugged. “Who knows? She might have stayed in touch with him on some level.”

  I felt sorry for Ajit. I wondered if he had loved this girl. And who was she? I’d have to ask Madhuri-pachi. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Ajit,” I said.

  He made a face. “Better to know before than after we’d been married.”

  “Were you ... uh ... did you love her?”

  “I don’t know if it was love. I liked her a lot, and we got along well, so naturally I was furious when she broke up with me.” He paused for a moment. “Everyone in the community knew about us. She was pretty and bright and a lot of fun. But I always felt like she was holding something back from me. I didn’t know what it was then, but it made sense afterward. She was in love with someone else.”

  “So, did she marry the boyfriend?”

  Ajit nodded. “Soon after we split up. I understand she’s expecting a baby in the spring.” He spoke in detached terms, but I could see a lingering something in his dark brown eyes. Was it sadness? Regret?

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “It’s been over two years. I wish her well,” he said, assuring me he was fully recovered from whatever feelings he’d had for the other woman.

  I admired Ajit’s ability to forgive and forget. Most men wouldn’t be quite so generous where their egos were concerned. He really had to be a decent person to have done that.

  However, despite my sympathy for Ajit, I felt a certain camaraderie with his nameless fiancée. When a girl fell in love, she fell hard. No matter whom I ended up marrying, a part of my heart would stay with Prajay. It was silly to assume that now, but at the moment, it was the truth. Not even a devastatingly good-looking and charming man could come close to Prajay.

  Our waitress came back a second time to check on our progress and, seeing we had finished eating, asked if I’d like to take my leftover salad home, to which I shook my head. Ajit asked me if I’d like to share a fried ice cream if he ordered one.

  “Okay. Maybe a little,” I said, wanting to make him feel better. My sympathetic vibes and the maternal instinct to soothe a bruised ego were still humming. Poor, poor Ajit. Although he hadn’t been deeply in love and he looked none the worse for the episode, his heart had been damaged a little.

  The fried ice cream was excellent, so I ate nearly half of it, surprising both Ajit and myself. We had coffee with it, too. Whether it was the beer that warmed him up or something in my attitude, I couldn’t say, but he seemed to open up to me some more. I learned that he had been working for the same company for six years. He owned a house in an upscale part of Connecticut, and he drove a Jaguar. Not bad for a thirty-two-year-old.

  Since it was too windy and cold to take a walk outside, we lingered over coffee. Our lunch date went over two hours—closer to three. Since it wasn’t crowded and we ordered more refills of coffee, the management didn’t seem to want to shoo us out.

  And Ajit Baliga seemed to become more appealing. Of course, it could have been a combination of the sangria, the good food, and the rich dessert that was making me more accepting of a man who wasn
’t Prajay. Whatever it was, it was a good feeling.

  When I asked if I could split the bill the waitress handed him, Ajit flatly refused. “I never let a lady pay,” he assured me.

  And that was fine with me. I thanked him for an enjoyable lunch.

  It had been a fun date. I’d liked the sense of comfort I’d felt with Ajit. It was different from what I had felt with the other Konkani guys I’d gone out with. This man didn’t seem full of himself.

  I wondered how he felt about our meeting. He’d been pleasant and talkative and attentive, but he hadn’t mentioned whether he was having a good time. Oh well, if nothing ever came of this, at least it had been a perfectly pleasant afternoon with a pleasant guy.

  Outside the restaurant, Ajit smiled at me warmly. “Thanks for suggesting this place. The food was excellent.”

  “Spicy enough for you?”

  “Oh, yes.” He thrust his hands in his pockets and looked around, as if at a loss for words.

  I stood awkwardly, with the wind wreaking havoc on my hair once again. “Thanks for a nice lunch, Ajit.”

  “So ... um ... you want to do this again sometime?” he said finally, breaking a long silence.

  “I’d like that. Call me.” I pulled out one of my business cards and a pen from my purse and wrote my cell number on the back of it for him. Then we started walking back in the direction of the station.

  The wind was worse now, and thick black clouds were beginning to gather directly above us. “Looks like it might start raining any minute. Let’s get a cab,” he said.

  We flagged down a cab, hopped in, and settled in the seat, grateful for the warmth, all the way to Penn Station.

  My train was earlier than his, so he saw me safely to mine. “I’ll call you soon,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said with a wave.

  Ajit Baliga had potential. But why hadn’t I felt anything other than warm skin against mine when Ajit had shaken my hand? Why had I been comparing him to Prajay in every way possible? Why had I kept recalling the meals I’d had with Prajay sitting across the table from me?