Well, he’d see how open-minded I could be, I smirked to myself as I hailed a cab to take me to the restaurant where we were scheduled to meet. I was all set for our little rendezvous today and I was going to put my years of drama practice in school and college to good use. I would make sure Gautam got a good dose of the traditional, cloying, sickeningly sweet Megha who couldn’t wait to give up her job and relocate to the land her husband took her to, where she could spend the rest of her years serving her pati parmeshwar in domestic bliss. Of course, I could have just told him I wasn’t interested but then I’d have to spend the rest of my years listening to the Momster rant about how I was going to die a solitary spinster. It was a lot more convenient this way; if Gautam rejected me first, life would be a lot simpler for everyone.

The cab jerked to a stop outside a swanky restaurant and I got out, taking a good look around. I had never been there before and I had never even heard of the place; it had been Gautam’s suggestion. But with a name like Dittoo’s Dhaba I had assumed it would be a typical desi joint where he would be able to partake of some traditional Indian food which, according to Mom, he sorely missed in America. This place, however, looked anything but desi, and like anything but a dhaba. Sure, the decor was intended to be dhaba-like, but with its large ornate pillars, polished marble floors and dapper waiters, it was more like an upscale, exclusive club that had decided to dress like a classy dhaba for a day. The seating was pretty innovative—each ‘table’ was actually a three-way cushioned ledge that ran around a sunken alcove and surrounded a low, chunky table on mini pillars adorned with tableware that had been polished enough to pass for silver. The waiter led me to one such alcove now; Gautam had called ahead and made a reservation for us. I sat down, nearly losing balance as I sank into the super-plush cushioning and gazed around in awe; this place was swankier on closer inspection than I’d thought at the outset! Even the hip and happening crowd that graced its presence seemed suitably awed as they conducted their conversations in hushed, reverent tones.

The only thing that seemed out of sync with the ambience was the music: a live band was belting out a grating melody while a guy dressed like a cross between a chandelier and a Christmas tree yowled alongside. Gautam hadn’t reached yet so I decided to order a fresh lime soda and indulge myself in some people-watching while I waited. The alcove right next to us was occupied by a strikingly good-looking couple who seemed to be having an argument of sorts; the guy was vehemently shaking his head and scowling while the girl desperately tried to placate him, getting more upset by the minute. The table opposite was occupied by an elderly gentleman with long braided hair who seemed to be in some sort of a meditative trance as he leaned back with eyes half shut, fingertips joined together, a slim cigar dangling from his lips. Somebody approached him as I watched, blocking my view, and I found myself gazing at a tall, broad-shouldered, familiar-looking man. Yudi! God, the guy was omnipresent! What on earth was he doing here! I slunk back into the cushions I was sitting on and tried to slide myself into a corner of the alcove so Yudi couldn’t see me. Where on earth was this Gautam dude anyway? He was already twenty minutes late! I fumed silently and decided to give him ten more minutes before making a quick exit from this hellhole. Yudi seemed to be in no hurry to leave and was now engaged in an animated conversation with Meditation Man. Suddenly a familiar slinky figure sidled up from behind and draped an arm possessively around Yudi’s waist. It was Priyanka! Good grief—was she here as well?