Chapter 1 - Business Trip
I sat in the coffee shop, listening to "Dilli Wali Girlfriend" that played on the T.V. screen.
The waiter dropped my coffee off and left me to wait. Sadly, my people were late.
"Ms. Saini," a voice called behind me. I stood up, quietly, and gave my bosses forced smiles. They were two middle aged men and an older woman.
"Mr. Mehra, Mr. Sharma, and Mrs. Khan, good to see you," I said as they joined me.
"Oh, we're so sorry, Preet!" Mrs. Khan said, taking the chair next to mine. "You know Delhi traffic."
"Ah, of course. I do happen to live an hour away from here," I replied.
"Same here," Mr. Mehra nodded.
"I'm sorry, but I have another meeting after this. Shall we begin, then?" Mr. Sharma said, in an apologetic tone.
"Absolutely," I said, in a more professional manner.
We started to discuss the deal as the song "Badtameez Dil (Insolent Heart)" came on.
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"So, Ms. Preet Saini, you'd be the perfect person to represent us to the Khurana Company in America," Mr. Sharma concluded.
I looked at him and confidently said, "No, thank you. My parents hardly even let me work here, let alone go take care of business deals in America."
"Preet, I have full faith in you," Mrs. Khan said sweetly.
"But, it's only been a year since I became involved in business. Frankly, I'm still not fully aware of everything," I insisted.
"Ms. Saini, your confidence and diligence is great," Mr. Mehra praised. "Besides, you'll be going with a team of five including Piyali."
Piyali and my friendship was well known in our company.
"Let me guess, you don't have anyone else to go represent the company?" I said.
The three of them nodded with sheepish looks.
Sighing heavily, I sipped on my coffee. "What do I have to do?"
"Sell our company," Mr. Sharma said.
"What?!" I asked, shocked as I put the coffee cup down.
Mrs. Khan rolled her eyes and said, "By selling, he means trying to get the Khurana company to work with us. Make our company look good. If we become their fabric suppliers for even a few of their franchises, we'll make crores and crores of money!"
"What's in it for me?"
"A way better income and status," Mr. Mehra smiled.
Thoughtfully, I weighed my options. If someone else went, they would either fail and ruin everything, but if someone gets the deed done, we'll all get a better life. Personally, I wouldn't refuse a chance to leave India for America.
"I'll do it."
The song on the T. V. changed to some old song with lyrics like, "hum bhi hai josh mein, bate kar hosh mein . . . (we're prepared for everything, say something that sounds sane)."
"Great!" they said simultaneously.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
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"Mumma, please hat jao (please stop)! You're irritating!" I cried as she droned about her latest dream.
My mother was a lonely housewife who loved to gossip, but unfortunately, had no one to gossip with. Her most favorite hobby was sharing her latest dreams. Right now, she was talking about seeing her dead grandfather. Did she really believe I cared?
"But listen, Preet!" she insisted, "Your grandfather was trying to pick some man for me with a weird moustache and bald head!"
"I don't care!" I said frustrated.
"Is she telling her strange dreams again?" Papa asked from the kitchen.
"Yes!" I said as I got up from the couch to the kitchen. Papa was trying to find the box of peanuts and cashews. He really loved those little snacks. Knowing full well of its whereabouts, I found the box for him and both us got us bowls. We helped ourselves and then brought our snacks with us to the couch.
By now, Mumma had turned on the television and was watching her favorite soap opera: "Madhubala: Ek Ishq Ek Janoon."
"R. K. is really handsome," Mumma said, gesturing towards the main male lead. Rolling my eyes, I exchanged a glance with Papa. The actor was hot indeed, however the only thing he lacked was facial expressions. Luckily, I wasn't getting married to him, so I had nothing to worry about.
"You should have married him, then," teased Papa.
I laughed as Mumma gave him a flat look. "He would be suitable for Preet not me."
"Geez, I'm only twenty-three," I said rolling my eyes.
"So?" she challenged. "I got married when I was twenty-one."
"Sorry for your luck," I shrugged and ate some cashews.
"Oh be glad we're nice parents," Mumma said, "or I'd be looking for your husband right now."
"I thought you were doing that already," Papa said confused.
My mother gave him a glare and I looked at her appalled. "Are you serious? Mumma!" She knew how much I loathed the boys she found. Honestly, a vast majority of them were engineers who only looked for a maid in their wives. In no way did I want to become someone's housewife. My mother didn't get me educated for that scenario.
"Preet! I'm just looking!" she said defensively. "Preet de Papa, aap thoda sa chup hi rahiye (Preet's dad, just be quiet)," she said shushing Papa.
Papa didn't dare say anything again.
That's when I decided to drop the bomb.
Someone had to break the silence, right?
"I'll be going to America for two weeks in two days," I said casually as we all watched the repeat telecast episode.
My words took ten seconds to take effect.
"Why?" my parents asked. They didn't seem mad or angry . . . yet.
Sighing, I put down my bowl and started the explanation. It took me only five minutes to get everything across. My parents were quiet for some time, not allowing me read their true reactions.
"Please," I pleaded.
"Is anyone else going with you?" Mumma asked finally.
"Piyali and a team of four other people."
"But it's too long," Papa said.
"No more fourteen days, Papa. That's it. My career will be established by this," I insisted. "It's strictly for business purposes. I know my limits and won't do anything that might disappoint you. Please let me go."
"We'll let you know our decision tomorrow," Mama said in a voice that told me to not say anything else.
I simply nodded. We all went back to watching the T.V. show.
I had my fingers crossed the entire evening as we had dinner and then bedtime. I could hear quiet voices from the room next to mine and realized Papa had a slight issue, but my mother was convincing him for me. She was superb.
Maybe I could give her a break and start listening to her uncanny dreams.
The next morning, Mumma called me downstairs at seven-thirty--right before I had to leave for work.
"Your Papa and I have decided that," she gave me a small smile, "you can go."
I looked at her in disbelief. "Really?"
"You want us to change our decision?"
"Na na. Thank you so much!" I gave her a huge hug.
"Now, just remember. It's a different country. Behave yourself. We trust you enough to act like a mature human being," she said sternly.
"Of course," I nodded excitedly.
"Good, now, go to work. Don't want to be late."
I nodded, kissed her cheek, and left the house.
"America, here I come!"
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After work, my short brown-haired best friend Piyali and I decided to chill at one of the malls to get necessary items for our trip. While she was busy trying on dresses, I checked out the bookshelf near the dressing rooms. Were they expecting the customers waiting for their companions to pass time with the boring health magazines?
"Piya, how much more time do you need?" I yelled frustrated.
"If you can't wait, try on a few dresses too!"
It wasn't my fault I couldn't find any that fit my taste. A vast majority of the dresses were either a size too big, a size too small, too revealing, too concealing (not saying that was bad, but these ones were dull), or too flashy.
And I was too classy.
"I'll wait, kamini (witch)," I answered.
Rummaging through the magazines, I discovered a business one and flipped open to a page with a full length photo of two men dressed professionally in expensive business suits. The older of the lot was grey-haired, light brown eyed, and had a cane in his hand. The younger one held a grim smile, his eyes matching the other man's. His hair was a light brown color, much more stressed due to the lighting probably. He'd probably be much more handsome with a proper smile.
Randhir & Rahul Khurana.
Next to it was an entire article dedicated to these two gentlemen.
"Oye Piya, come here quickly!" I squealed, seeing the names. My overly distressed friend ran out wearing a beautiful black dress, her eyes wandering frantically. "Emergency's over here," I said, knowing what she was assuming. She sighed, shaking her head. "I found a photo of the Khuranas' we are dealing with."
"No!" she said in disbelief.
I grinned as if I had won the lottery. "Oh yeah. Apparently, the older Khurana just handed over the business to his twenty-five year old son. The article confirmed that Rahul's a strict businessman."
Her face fell.
"So, the likelihood of us getting an easy yes shot to ninety percent?" she said, still hopeful.
"You thought we had a hundred percent chance?" I blinked in disbelief.
"Of course not! I started at eighty percent." I couldn't believe I was hearing right. A mischievous twinkle reached her dark brown eyes and she pressed her lips, leaning against the wall. "The guy's young. We're young. He can't say no to our gorgeous faces, meri jaan (my dear)." She pulled my cheek and I slapped her hand away, laughing a little.
"I heard foreigners like NRI girls, not us desis (Indians)," I offered, returning the magazine to its original spot. "And he's handsome, so . . . we don't really stand a chance."
She coughed.
"We?"
I rolled my eyes and corrected, "I mean I don't stand a chance."
"Don't worry, I got your back," she said sympathetically. "Now, you better help me with my back. My stupid hair got stuck in the zip."
Ouch.
That ought to hurt.
She turned around her and my fingers immediately began unraveling the fight between the zip and the hair. For get Rahul Khurana, we were in a larger crisis.
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If this book was in your library prior to 2016, please delete it and re-add to get the better, edited version :)
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