One indian girl full book pdf free download

This is not funny. I have to go. What is wrong with you? I looked up as I re-entered the real world. Get ready. I just wore this. You are the bride. I have to change every two hours? Aditi didi had spent the last two hours changing in and out of a dozen dresses. I am the bride, goddammit. It is my bachelorette party. The room phone rang.

I picked it up. I had started to recognize his voice. All set? I am calling from the reception. The driver knows Club Cubana, right? Your bus for LPK is here too. I laughed. Your last night out without the annoying spouse. Boys and girls go separately tonight. My gang wanted to see all the dressed-up Mehta girls. The club, half an hour from the hotel, was located at the waterfront of Nerul River and decorated in an over-the-top Paleolithic era theme, with stone caves and giant stone statues of the early man on the lawn.

We were a group of fifteen girls. Suraj had also arranged two bouncers for us. We had a table in a semi-private area, with balloons and champagne bottles. Nice job, Suraj, I thought. Give them soft drinks. But get my sister drunk tonight. I had to take two. Jyoti asked for another round. Shruti, my childhood friend from school, wanted Honey Singh songs. There is nothing as crazy as fifteen Punjabi girls determined to go out of control. I took out my phone. I had a message from Brijesh.

How is it going? And you? Wait, the boys are teasing me for chatting with you. Aditi didi wanted to raise a toast. Two waiters arrived and poured champagne for everyone. Someone who only studied and worked hard. She did nothing naughty in life. Nothing bad ever. If I barely passed, she topped. If I became a housewife, she became a hi-fi banker.

If I had the boobs, she had the brains. The muscular bouncers blushed. Must be Brijesh, I thought. Then a quick connection to Goa. Stop it, will you? Everyone laughed. Aditi didi took a big gulp of the champagne. I gulped at what I saw next.

He followed it up with a smiley. Yeah, just shoot me instead. With care I switched chats from Brijesh to Debu. I wanted to tell her I had enough craziness happening on the phone. Everyone will give the bride a dare.

And Radhika has to do it. Our table was in one corner of the restaurant. In the middle, several people sat on bar stools. Half the customers were Indians who had come to Goa for the Christmas holidays. Others were mostly European and American tourists.

Jyoti gave me the first task. Everyone laughed and cheered at the suggestion. Here take this. Bottoms up. I gulped it in one go. My head felt light. I walked up to the bar. He wore a white vest and jeans.

He had two rings on his right hand and a dragon tattoo on his right shoulder. His accent sounded Australian. I had to confirm it. Like watching it, though. What drink would you like? I had accomplished two out of the three tasks. I put the glass on the table. Bye, Mark. The girls gave me a standing ovation. Everyone had a shot as a mark of respect for my courage.

The girls were hysterical. We finished four champagne bottles. We ordered four more. Some men in the club tried to flirt with my little cousins. Aditi didi shooed most of them off. We had selfie binges as the fifteen of us took photos in every possible permutation and combination. An hour later, another group of boys arrived at the club. It took us girls a minute to realize the situation. Brijesh came up to me on the dance floor. What happened?

We had a few drinks. Then we thought, when we have the most beautiful girls in Goa partying alone, what are we doing here? Shruti blushed. Even though the girls protested at the boys coming here, they secretly liked it. This is how we girls are. At times we want to be wanted, even when we deny it.

However, I was too drunk to care. Sweet, I thought. The tequila in me gave him a hug. I tried to stop the boys. The idea is to have fun. I held his shoulders as we swayed gently to Blue eyes. Am I not trying to be a good girl? I told mini-me, my personal chatterbox and eternal critic. Mini-me, however, had slept off. Alcohol does this to her. I guess that is why most people drink anyway.

To shut up their inner critic. So they can do whatever the hell they want. We had come back to the hotel at 6 in the morning and gone straight for breakfast. I remembered sitting with my mother and ordering pancakes. This is so wrong, what you did. Who drinks like this? I stared at my mother. Clearly, the alcohol-induced confidence had not left me. Get some rest. There are bhajans today. Please wear something decent. Why do you youngsters have to do such parties the night before bhajans? One crore rupees, or , dollars, wired from my salary account as the wedding budget.

Did she even care? I had had to gulp down a glass of orange juice to calm myself. You have screwed up your life enough, can you please behave for a few days? Ah, good morning, mini-me. When did you wake up?

I remembered being escorted to my room. Aditi didi slept diagonally across the bed, still in her red dress. My head hurt like someone had hammered it a few times. I closed my eyes. Didi woke me up at 2. Why are you waking me up now? Didi drew open the curtains. My eyes hurt from the daylight. Here, you have to wear this orange saree. I woke up eventually. I grumbled about the entire process of dressing up, which only women have to endure.

The hotel sent a hair-and-make-up lady to our room. She blow-dried my tangled hair. The noise from the hair-dryer hurt my head even more. We reached the function room downstairs. It had been converted to look like the inside of a temple. Marigold flowers in parabolic shapes adorned the walls. My parents believed in him more than any God. The bhajan singers set up their mikes. The younger lot sat at the back of the room. Most of them were holding their heads. They had taken a shower in order to look fresh.

They passed around strips of Combiflam and bottles of water to nurse their hangovers. My girls did no better. Most of them leaned back against the wall and snoozed in their elaborate lehengas and salwar-kameezes. The bhajans began. The singers had wonderful voices.

However, when you are hungover even the best melody sounds like an electric drill. Brijesh looked at me and smiled. I gestured that I wanted to sleep. He passed me a Combiflam strip. I popped a pill. Nothing in the world works better than Combiflam, I wanted to tell her.

The angels of Marriott brought us cups of black coffee. I had two. I swore not to drink again, ever. Okay, at least not this week.

The coffee helped me wake up somewhat. Brijesh and I went ahead and bowed before the gods. The singers sang a special song for us. I looked at Brijesh.

He had his eyes shut and hands folded. He was actually praying. I felt guilty for not praying with as much sincerity. Because you are a fraud, mini-me told me. Will you ever shut up? I said to mini-me. I went back and sat with the girls. Brijesh joined the boys. The crowd participated in the next bhajan, one of the more popular ones. Despite the loud music, I found it hard to keep my eyes open.

However, I woke up with a jolt when a bearded man in his late twenties entered the room. He had curly hair and wore a white kurta-pajama.

He went up to the Sai Baba picture with confidence. He knelt down, bowed and touched his forehead to the ground. He clapped his hands as the singers sang the next bhajan. What the fuck is he doing here? Did I just say, or think, the F-word in the puja room?

Who cares? Am I imagining this? No I am not. What the fuck is Debu doing here? He looked at me and smiled. Brijesh smiled at me at the same time as well. I fake-smiled at both of them. I had to talk to Debu. Where is my phone? Damn, where is my phone? Did I leave it in the club? She sat in front of me, wearing a magenta salwar-kameez with the dupatta covering her head. She sang with full fervour.

I gestured that she return my phone. She rummaged through her handbag. I had only 5 per cent battery left. I checked my messages. He seemed to be in bliss, lost in the bhajans. Fuck, what is wrong with him? It took me a minute to get his attention. I gestured to him to look at his phone. He saw the message. He replied with a few wink smileys from across the room. My entire family is here. His too. I saw the groom. Golden silk kurta, lots of red threads around his wrist, right?

At the hotel gym. He replied with a thumbs up. Debu sat on the bench press. He held a dumbbell in one hand and did bicep curls. I stood in front of him. I looked around to see if anyone I knew had come to the gym. Apart from one old white man on the treadmill and a gym trainer, there was no one.

Just wow! And can you keep that dumbbell down? I am in a saree. Debu, what is wrong with you? You literally took a flight and came down? I am quite jetlagged actually. I feel like having breakfast. Want to grab some? You have no idea how I have come here. Everyone will be looking for me at dinner. I can eat. My family is here. Their reputation is important. For my mission to be successful.

The most important thing in the world for me right now. I looked at him. He still had his trademark two-week beard and curly hair. He had gained a bit of weight, but also become more fit. And you just cut me off. An insecure twenty-four-year-old.

A stupid twenty-eight-year-old? But I am old enough to realize you are the best thing to have ever happened to me. Now I have to ask you to leave. Go visit your parents in Kolkata. You are in India anyway.

We had issues, yes, but how can you forget all the happy memories? He seemed to be in pain. For the first time in my life, someone had crossed half a planet to come for the usually unlovable me.

And it is hard to keep yelling at someone who has done that for you. He had worked abroad before his MBA. He knew a lot more than me about the way things worked in America. He picked up the doughnut-shaped bread, slit it horizontally with a black plastic knife and smeared it with cheese. I had worn a Western-style office suit for the first time in my life. Is the skirt too tight? Is my ass looking too big? Is my hair in place?

Mini-me was in overdrive, the perfect day for her to knock me out. Two hundred other fresh recruits had arrived from all over the world. For our ten-week associate training, we had to report at 7. Classes began after a quick breakfast, and ended at 6.

Partners and senior employees from various departments, such as Corporate Finance, Equities and Distressed Debt, took sessions on what actually happened in their group. The partners, no more than in the entire firm of 20, people, held the senior-most positions in the firm. They held equity in the bank and made the most money. Their annual compensation could reach tens of millions of dollars every year.

Goldman took great pride in its fourteen business principles. Goldman was honest enough to admit it. Gary recounted his journey from joining Goldman as an operations assistant thirty-five years ago.

Well, it was too late for me to look elsewhere. I was already in New York. Trainees circulated horror stories about new associates spending nights in the office and sleeping on office couches. Two weeks into our training Avinash came up to me. We are meeting up for drinks tonight. You want to come? My IIMA reputation would not leave me so easily. I had lied to Avinash. I had a haircut appointment. After moving to New York, I had decided to leave my nerdy, unfashionable days far behind.

An associate trainee in my class had gorgeous shoulder-length hair with waves, exactly how I wanted mine. She had made a booking for me at a salon on 32nd Street. Muggu Radhika doing her hair? He would laugh in my face. The news would spread like wildfire in the IIMA alumni groups. Right opposite the Benjamin Hotel, where you are staying. Like not having anything to wear. I realized I had nothing nice for tonight. For the rare breed of girls like me that hates shopping and has serious retardation in the areas of the brain that help you pick a dress, Banana Republic is the answer.

Say that to my mother. She stays up at night wondering who will marry me with this skin colour. Can you help? The only shopping I ever did in my life was for textbooks. She picked a navy-blue lace dress for me. It fit well, but ended mid-thigh. Even though she was paid to say it, it felt good. That hurt. I entered Whiskey Blue at 9. The plush bar and lounge had decadent leather sofas and dim lighting. Avinash noticed me first. Before I could ask he introduced me to the others. He shifted to make space for me.

We occupied two sofas. Ruchi, Ashish and Nidhi sat on one. Rohan, Avinash, Debu and I sat on the opposite side. The waiter asked for my order. I smiled. He looked into my eyes. He did have a philosopher look about him, with his beard and uncombed hair. Nobody had ever ordered Shiraz for me, which I later learnt is a type of grape.

Nobody had ever referred to me as a lady either. Everyone lifted his or her glasses. Rohan had come from IIMC. He had a job at Morgan Stanley. Nidhi and Ashish were dating each other. They had worked at Merrill Lynch for two years. At one point, when the others were lost in conversation, Debu turned to me. What is it like? Most of it is going over my head. How about you? Are you in a bank too? I am not a numbers guy at all.

I work in BBDO. An advertising agency on Madison Avenue. You went to SRCC? Which batch? You are one batch senior to me. Justifying the use of grass to stimulate my creativity.

Both of us laughed. A little bit of wine from my glass spilt on my leg. He offered me a tissue. Even in the darkness, I noticed him look at my legs. Oh, so this is how guys check out girls? Thank God it is dark. I need to book a waxing appointment soon. Only for training, though. He offered me one. I declined. Loved each and every part of this book.

I will definitely recommend this book to fiction, romance lovers. Your Rating:. Your Comment:. Read Online Download. Everyone is excited. It is the first destination wedding in the Mehta family. I am the bride. I should get my beauty sleep. The last thing I care about right now is beauty.

The only thing I care about is how to get out of this mess. Are you going to shame us? Just a shortage of twenty rooms. You booked a hundred. We promised eighty then. Mom glared at me.

How could I, the bride, be doing all this in the first place? I should be worried about my facials, not room allocations. My father sat there along with Kamla bua, his elder sister.

Other uncles and aunts occupied the remaining couches in the lobby — in a Mehta takeover of the Marriott. My mother looked at my father, a level two glare.

We had come on the morning flight from Delhi. Twenty hired Innovas would bring them to the hotel by five. I checked the time. He pointed to a makeshift counter at the far corner of the lobby where three female Marriott employees with permanent smiles sat. They welcomed everyone with folded hands. The booklet contained the entire programme for the week, including the time, venue and other details of the ceremonies. Suraj was the owner of Moonshine Events, the event manager we had appointed for the wedding.

Mom and Kamla bua came to the reception as well. Delhi has so many nice banquet halls and farmhouses. Stop the check-ins for the Mehtas right now. Arijit signaled to the smiling ladies at the counter. They stopped the smiles and the check-ins and kept the shell necklaces back in the drawer.

Some of us will sleep on the floor. But if we have forty rooms each, it is three to a room. With so many kids anyway, it should be fine.

I turned to my father.