The Reluctant Matchmaker (8 page)

Authors: Shobhan Bantwal

BOOK: The Reluctant Matchmaker

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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

W
hen 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 meâthe 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 themâtaken 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 isâmeeting 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 number 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 preposterousâgreat 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 naÃ¯ve. 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.”

He shook his head. “Paul's a good man, and I certainly trust him, but he'd never understand the concept of a matrimonial ad. If it were a
personals
ad, he'd have no problem. But you, on the other hand, belong to my community.”

“That still doesn't qualify me for writing matrimonial ads for you.”

“But you know how these things work. You know the inner workings of the Konkani psyche.” He made an all-encompassing gesture with his right hand. “Plus, I've come to know you, as a professional. I can trust you with a confidential matter like this.”

“Sure.” Now that the disappointment had settled like a lead ball in my belly, I was ready to handle it in the best way I knew: like a
professional.
“What requirements did you have in mind?” I leaned forward and borrowed a notepad off his desk and a pen from his pen holder.

I was ready to do business. Damn it, I was going to be his campaign manager, his marriage consultant, his
Yenta
. His karma shaper. How ironic was that, after I'd come here with such great expectations for myself?

“Let me see,” said Prajay, interrupting my thoughts. “First thing: She has to be somewhere around six feet tall. Every girl I've dated and met through my parents has been too short.”

No kidding,
I thought with a mental grunt. Short as in whatâfive feet and ten inches? He'd have to start looking amongst the women's basketball teams for anyone taller than that. “What else?”

“She has to be educated, of course ... at least a bachelor's degree.”

“Sureâyou don't want an uneducated
dhuddi,
” I said, using the Konkani term for dim-witted female and making him laugh. I wrote:
at lst 6' and BD
âmy version of shorthand.

“I definitely want a Hindu girlâcaste and sub-caste don't matterâas long as she's cultured and forward-thinking.”

“Got it,” I said and scribbled some more.

“Sense of humor is a must. I can't stand a woman with no sense of humor.”

“Of course. Humor is important.” My list was getting longer: HâCaste no barrierâCul & Fwd-TkngâSOH ...

“Beautiful, fair, innocent, virgin, and all the usual attributes, I suppose?” I asked with a cynical lift of my brow. I hoped my bitterness didn't come through in my voice, because I could taste it in my mouth.

He laughed again, the sound deep, rumbling, and filled with amusement. “I'm not good-looking, so I'm not particular about the woman's looks. Decent-looking would be nice. Attractive would be a rare bonus,” he said with a humorous twist of his mouth. “And innocent virgins? Are there any left?”

I sent him a skeptical look. With a flourish I held the pen up. “Any particular profession you're looking for in this woman?”

“Hmm.” Prajay looked out the window again, eyes narrowed in speculation. “I guess I'm open to anything, as long as she's not in direct competition with me.” He turned his attention back to me. “It wouldn't exactly be pleasant to share my life with someone who owned a company that bid on the same jobs as mine, would it?”

“Sleeping with the enemy, you mean?”

He chuckled. “I knew you'd understand.” Then his face took on a puzzled expression. “You know something? You and I think similarly in so many matters. Why do you think that is?”

Duh! We were made for each other. Don't you see that, you blind-as-a-bat goofball? It's as plain as the hooked nose on your face.
But I gave him a saccharine smile. “Maybe because our upbringing was very similar?”

“You hit the nail on the head.” His brow lifted a notch. “Anything else you can think of that I might have missed?”

“What about age requirements?

“Make it between, oh ... thirty-two and thirty-nine.”

Now wasn't that funny? I missed the cutoff age by a year.
One
lousy year. “How about her location, Prajay? Don't you want this woman to be within a certain distance, so you can meet and date ... and whatever? What if she lives in Siberia or something?”

He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “I like your sense of humor.”

No, you
love
my sense of humor. You just haven't realized it yet
. “I'm glad. So, what'll it be? Siberia or Sudan or the South Pacific?”

Still chuckling, he said, “Northeast U.S. would be reasonable.”

“Okay, Northeast it is.” I rose from my seat. “Anything else, before I leave?”

“The ads have to be entirely anonymous, naturally.”

“Naturally. I'll give this some thought and have something suitable written up by tomorrow morning. Is that all right?”

He came to his feet. “More than all right. I appreciate your help, Meena.”