See, I can flirt back. Nerds can flirt.
He never expected a comeback. He took a second to take in my response.
‘Why don’t you try and find out?’ he said.
That’s enough, Radhika, this is going into dangerous territory,I told myself.Deflect, change the topic, fast. You don’t want to be judged as a slut on the first date.See, this is what I do. When I am with a man, I behave like I am sitting for a test. Answer the question properly. Act naïve as if I don’t understand his double meaning. Don’t just be. Perform.
‘Don’t know about the men. I’d love to have a rasgulla though,’ I said, my voice as innocent and dumb as possible. ‘Alas, this is Manhattan.’
‘Fear not. We Bengalis have left imprints everywhere. Would you like to go to a rasgulla place?’
‘Here? Now? In Manhattan?’
He nodded and smiled. The bill arrived.
‘Should we split?’ I said and took out two twenty-dollar bills.
He thought about it for a second.
‘Actually, no. Can I treat you this time?’ he said.
Isn’t that what dates are?I said to myself.But then, what about gender equality?
‘Why?’ I said. ‘We can split.’
‘No,’ he said as he took the money out of his wallet. ‘It’s not that much. You can buy the rasgullas.’
Debu and I took a yellow cab to 28th Street and Lexington Avenue, in an area called Murray Hill.
‘It’s also called Curry Hill,’ Debu said as we stepped out of the taxi. I could see why. Indian, Bangladeshi and Pakistani restaurants dotted both sides of the road. Some resembled roadside dhabas back in India, complete with bright tubelights and plastic chairs.
‘Is this even New York?’ I laughed.
‘It’s Midtown Manhattan,’ Debu said. ‘You like it?’
‘I love it. In fact, you could have just brought me here first.’
‘Darn, wasted money at Tao. Didn’t realize you could be a cheap date.’
Date. He used the word date. I am on a date.I felt thrilled at the prospect of being on a date. Even if at a ramshackle parantha shop called Lahori Kebab.
‘Can we have a parantha?’ I said.
‘Huh? Didn’t we just eat?’
‘I am Punjabi. Rice isn’t dinner.’
We walked into the shabby but brightly lit restaurant. Debu ordered two tandoori paranthas with gobi stuffing inside.
‘Green chillies on the side, please,’ I said, my mouth salivating at the prospect. I noticed four seedy-looking Indian guys in the restaurant. They wore neon construction-worker jackets. I caught them staring at my legs.
Yes, finally I have an audience for all that effort,I said to myself.
‘Let’s sit down,’ Debu said as he noticed the workers.
Nobody has ever checked out my legs, I wanted to tell him. Let me enjoy the moment.Oh well, better be the good girl, you exhibitionist, mini-me said.
The restaurant had Indian desserts. Post-paranthas, we had two rasgullas each.