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In my mother tongue, a little-known Indian language called Konkani, this type of rare occurrence is sometimes referred to as nasheeba khéloo. Destiny's game.
I'd heard of epiphanies and traumas changing people's lives in a flash. I'd known one or two individuals who had either plunged into misfortune or zoomed into orbit because of a single momentous event, but I couldn't believe my experience could match or even outdo theirs to some degree.
Those kinds of outlandish things happened to others, in my opinion. Ordinary folks like me were exempt from such encounters. Or maybe not.
One minute I was striding forward, trying to maintain my best "smart marketing-public relations executive" image, and in the next I was falling on my back, arms flailing, my short skirt riding upward, providing the shocked people gathering around me an unobstructed view of my underwear.
Sheer humiliation. Well, at least I'd had the sense to wear my best panties, the ones I'd splurged on at Victoria's Secret.
It had started out as a normal day. I had strolled into my sixth-floor office in the multi-story building in Princeton Junction, New Jersey, like I did each weekday morning. Granted, I had an important meeting later that day, and I was uptight about it. I was to meet our highly respected president and CEO for the first time since I'd joined the company with the odd name of Rathnaya, Incorporated.
After my shower that morning I'd taken extra care with my hair and makeup. Then I'd silently offered my prayers before the altar. When it came to important business meetings, I didn't like leaving anything to chance.
Like my great-uncle from India always said, "Prepare yourself well for any kind of catastrophe, but always be sure to pray to Lord Ganesh. Think of the elephant-headed god as your insurance agent." It was no coincidence that my great-uncle was named Ganesh. He also happened to be an insurance agent for the Life Insurance Corporation of India.
By the time I'd gotten to the altar my mother had already finished her daily puja—ceremonial Hindu worship. Mom prayed every morning before breakfast. Despite being a modern woman and a medical doctor, she followed the old-fashioned custom of not eating or drinking anything before offering the day's first prayer.
She had placed a single yellow chrysanthemum on top of each of the idols of all her gods and goddesses. The oil-soaked cotton wick in the silver lamp had burned itself out.
Unfortunately I wasn't all that fervent about my Hindu faith. I went to the altar every now and then—when I needed a little extra help from above—like today.
After praying I'd felt much calmer. So what if I had to face the head of the company for the first time? I was a professional and could handle most anything. Or so I thought.
I would realize how wrong I was by the time the workday came to an end.
At precisely 8:07 A.M., our office assistant, Priyanka "Pinky" Malhotra, and I wished each other good morning as I stopped by her desk, or the administrative office as she preferred to call it.
The marketing-public relations department occupied a corner suite made up of three rooms, the first one being a main outer office with Pinky's desk, a row of file cabinets, a fax machine, a copier, and a coffeemaker. It opened out into the long main corridor, but in the back it had two doors that led to separate offices, the smaller one being mine and the larger belonging to my boss, Paul Zelnak. The only access to Paul's and my offices was through Pinky's area. She was our gatekeeper.
Locking her door conveniently locked the entire department. I appreciated the safety feature.
Pinky took one look at me and beamed, the dimple in one cheek deepening. "Meena, you look great!" She swiveled her chair around to study my outfit more carefully. "Went on another shopping spree?" "Uh-huh."
Then her gaze lowered to my feet. "Wow, new shoes, too. Nice."
I gave her a pleased grin. I'd hoped others would love my ensemble as much as I did. After I'd spent hours in the store looking for a fall wardrobe, it would've been a letdown if someone hadn't noticed. "Thanks."
Pinky looked down at her own black pantsuit paired with a blue shell and black mid-heel pumps. "Everything I wear looks so blah. How come when you wear the exact same thing it looks all stylish and cute?"
"Aw, that's not true," I said with a dismissive gesture of my hand. If only Pinky ate a few less candy bars, she'd be attractive. She had a pretty face with sparkling dark eyes and an infectious smile. Losing a bit of weight could work wonders for her. And the slightly outdated black pantsuit could look elegant if it were paired with a coordinated scarf or jewelry.
Pinky was a good worker and a kind soul, and she had become a friend and confidant in the short while that I'd been working in the company. Besides, as a forty-year-old mother of two young boys, Pinky didn't really need to look chic. She'd bagged her man sixteen years ago, and he apparently loved her, spare tires and all.
"It is true, Meena," Pinky argued. "That's because you're young and thin and pretty."
I shrugged. "Thin yes, young maybe ... but pretty? I don't know about that." And frankly, I didn't feel all that young anymore, not since my thirty-first birthday two months ago.
My parents and our extended family had dropped more than a few hints about my flagging biological clock, my soon-to-fade looks, and my shorter than average stature—my bane. The consensus was that if I didn't find a husband within a year, I was quite likely to die an old maid.
With each passing year I was supposedly inching closer to tooth loss, dementia, and osteoporosis. I'd probably lose even more inches because small women were more susceptible to bone deterioration, according to Shabari, my mother's younger sister. I called her Shabari-pachi in the Konkani tradition.
Of course, like most ethnic folks born and raised in the U.S., my siblings and I didn't speak our mother tongue, although we understood every bit. However, we managed to carry on stilted conversations in Konkani with elderly relatives during our rare trips to India.
Shabari's birthday gift to me had been a book titled Score a Hit before Your Ovaries Quit. It wasn't a gag gift. My aunt's sense of humor didn't extend to witty presents. I hadn't read beyond the first chapter yet, but it was a primer for women on the art of landing a man.
At this point, my aunt wasn't dropping hints; she was grabbing me by the scruff of my neck like she would a recalcitrant puppy and dragging me toward matrimony. A thirty-something, unmarried niece could diminish her own young daughters' marriage prospects. In fact, the ripple effect of one black sheep's deficient image could potentially taint the entire clan.
Pinky wiggled her eyebrows at me suggestively. "Is that suit in honor of your meeting with Prajay Nayak today?"
"No." What was Pinky thinking? That I was out to bat my eyelashes at our CEO? Besides, I was nowhere near that significant chapter in my Score a Hit book yet and wouldn't know how to go about flirting the right way. The book said there was a method to everything. But I had to master the subtle art of seduction first, before I ventured into practicing it.
"After all, he is your jaathwalla. He's a good catch, right?" Pinky meant he belonged to my Gowd Saraswat Brahmin subcaste—GSB for short. But as far as I knew, that was all the CEO and I had in common. He was a genius, a wealthy man with a corporation of his own, with all the surrounding power and trappings, while I was a nobody with an ordinary job.
To some extent Pinky was right, though. I did want to impress Mr. Nayak, but for entirely different reasons.
First of all, it was important to my career. I firmly believed in setting the right tone. And I was ambitious.
Second, since he and I both belonged to the tiny community of GSB-Americans, his family and mine had several common acquaintances. My mother had filled me in on some names. If I made a poor impression, word would spread through the gossip mill like red wine on a white sheet. I'd worked too hard to attain the image of a bright and hard-working professional to end up with a "loser" reputation.
Third, jobs like mine were rare. I wanted to keep it for a long time.
And last but not least, a dumb image would ruin my chances of finding a decent husband. Who would want a dunce for a wife, especially the cerebral Indian guys with advanced degrees and 4.0 GPAs that my parents introduced me to?
My mother on the other hand, after she'd discovered who Nayak was, and that he was single and unattached, had hinted that I should try to charm him.
"One never knows when and where fate will strike, and it is up to an individual to give it a slight nudge in the right direction," she'd declared with a hopeful edge to her voice. She had apparently heard good things about Prajay Nayak from a number of her friends. In the Konkani book of matrimonial prospects, Nayak was a superb catch.
Pinky's teasing grin tugged my wandering attention back to her. "Who are you trying to kid?" she challenged. "Admit it; you're wearing a classy outfit to impress him."
"Absolutely not," I retorted. "I went shopping the other day, and the new line of clothes looked fabulous. I tried on a few things and ... you know the rest."
"I know it well. Your credit card suddenly grew legs."
I laughed at her apt portrayal of my shopping habits. "Am I that predictable?"
"Spoiled brat is what you are. Your mom and dad give you too much money and way too much freedom."
"Not anymore," I countered. "I've been paying for my own credit card bills and my auto insurance and gas since I started working six years ago." I pointed to my outfit. "Strictly department store. And very often deep-discount stores if my savings account starts looking anemic."
"You don't say!" mocked Pinky.
"I love discount stores. They have some really cool stuff."
"You don't like them?" I threw her a wide-eyed look.
"I adore them. Besides, they're the only shops I can afford." One thin, scornful eyebrow shot up as Pinky turned back to her computer. "I wasn't talking about the stores you shop at, silly; I meant the things your parents do for you. How soon we forget the free room and board."
I headed quietly back to my desk because I had no rebuttal. She was right. I was still living with my parents, Ramdas and Kaveri Shenoy, along with my younger brother, twenty-eight-year-old Mahesh, who was a medical resident at one of the nearby hospitals. He and I were the fledglings who'd left home for a few years to acquire an education and then returned to the nest as adults.
Mom loved having us around nonetheless. She'd been quite despondent when my brothers and I were at college. "So quiet and lonely without the kids," she used to moan. "Your dad and I walk around like ghosts in this house."
However, now that two out of three were back, Mom complained that Mahesh and I were sloppy, that our ever-ringing cell phones and late nights disturbed her sleep, and that our erratic eating, bathing, and sleeping habits left the kitchen and bathrooms in disarray.
Maneel, my older brother, was a successful stockbroker at thirty-three, and had his own condo a few miles from our home in Princeton. But most of the time Maneel hung around our house, so he ate with us almost every night. His state-of-the-art refrigerator held nothing but beer, soda, and a fat jar of salsa. Despite having a shiny new washer and dryer in his condo, he ended up doing his laundry at our parents' place. He saved on groceries and laundry just like Mahesh and I, but had the nerve to label the two of us "cheapskates."
It's not as if I hadn't thought about moving out of my parents' home, but rents were so obscenely high in New Jersey. And it wasn't for nothing that people denigrated New Jersey for having the highest auto insurance rates and income and property taxes in the nation. How did ordinary people manage to make a living in our state? I often wondered.
Besides, Dad and Mom lived in a big, comfortable house with a finished basement. It wasn't posh, but it was a secure home in an upscale neighborhood, and Mom was a superb cook. Mahesh and I were no fools.
Dropping my purse in my desk drawer, I strode over next door to my boss's office. It was dark.
"Paul's not in yet?" I asked Pinky with some surprise before heading toward the coffeepot that she'd already started. Sniffing the wonderful aroma, I poured myself a cup. Paul was usually here before I was.
Pinky shook her head. "I heard there's an accident on Route 1 and the traffic's a mess. He's probably stuck in that."
"But he would've called us. He has a cell phone."
"Paul's not late yet. And Jeremy already called twice to check on Paul." Pinky rolled her eyes.
Jeremy Larkin was Paul's gay partner, and at times a minor source of aggravation for Pinky and me.
I looked at my wristwatch. "If Paul doesn't show up soon, Jeremy's likely to call again."
As if on cue, the phone rang, and Pinky answered it. "Hi, Jeremy." She assured him between pauses that Paul would be fine.
"Don't worry.... I'm sure he'll be here any minute.... Not answering his cell, huh? There's a traffic backup on Route 1.... Oh, you know about that...."
I stood close enough to her desk to be able to hear most of Jeremy's words. He sounded upset. No surprise there.
Pinky lifted her gaze to the ceiling. "I'm sure Paul's not a statistic, Jeremy.... I'll tell him to call you the second he gets here.... You're welcome."
Hanging up the phone, Pinky gave a dramatic sigh. "I don't know how Paul puts up with Jeremy day after day after day."
"Paul actually likes it. He's got a doting mother, friend, partner, and lover, all rolled into one hunky package."
"Hunky yes, but more irritating than a mosquito in heat."
"I know what you mean," I said on a laugh, and took a sip of my coffee. Pinky had an amusing way with words. "But he cares deeply about Paul. It's quite touching."
"My husband cares deeply about me, too, but if he called me twice a day to ask about my blood pressure and my ovaries, I'd get annoyed."
"Hmm." Jeremy was like a mother hen around Paul. He packed a healthy lunch for Paul each day with a sandwich or salad, fresh fruit, and a little plastic pouch with herbal supplements to prevent every possible health risk, from elevated cholesterol, diabetes, and high blood pressure to an enlarged prostate and impotence.
From looking at all those pills, one would think Paul was a doddering old man, but he was only fifty and in good health. Granted, he was overweight, and he was losing hair, but he looked quite virile.
Nonetheless Pinky and I made sure Paul took all his supplements religiously. Keeping Paul in good health meant peace and quiet for the rest of us. Jeremy was forty-eight and going through a midlife crisis. As long as things were going well at home, Jeremy's calls to our office were limited to about two per day.
I disposed of my foam cup in the trash and glanced at my watch again. Paul's unexplained absence was beginning to trouble me.
Any girl's first year in a job is challenging enough, what with attempting to be sweet but diplomatic, curious but not nosey, friendly but not sycophantic, helpful but not pushy—and all the while trying not to step on some important and sensitive toes. Combine that with the serious marketing efforts of my employer, an aggressive, high-tech company, and I had a tough job.
Excerpted from The Reluctant Matchmaker by Shobhan Bantwal Copyright © 2012 by Shobhan Bantwal. Excerpted by permission of Kensington Publishing Corp.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Posted October 25, 2012
Not in my job description
A hilariously amusing tale by Shobhan Bantwal, that gives new meaning to the term office romance! It certainly does not make a best first impression to meet the CEO of your company by falling at his feet…(literally), even if in your opinion it is his fault! The vantage point from the carpet allows you to take in shoes but not much else, except when finally able to gaze through tear-filled lashes, you notice the darkest most penetrating eyes peering down at you from a crouched position that appear to be attached to someone built like the back of a truck. However, maybe you are just delirious or suffering from a concussion, since it feels as if the back of a truck is what you may have ran in to! Maybe it is the deep voice calling out for someone to call 911! Meena Shenoy finds herself a little too close for comfort to Prajay Nayak, her new boss and CEO of the company, which he himself owns and just so happens to be currently working in the office building in which Meena works. The outcome of their chance “meeting” not only puts Meena and Prajay in close contact with each other but when summoned by Prajay to an important after hours visit to his office what else can she possibly be thinking but thoughts of romance? However, the top-secret assignment that Prajay presents, not only catches Meena off guard, but also leaves not much choice but to accept. Even if the task is not part of her job description!
Posted August 15, 2012
From reading the reviews and then the book, I can only imagine that no one had ever read a book with Indian protagonists before and so the sheer novelty of it has led to a much higher rating than deserved. The Indian components of the book, most of which anyone who'd ever read one other book with Indian characters or even just had an Indian friend would already be very familiar with, are not sprinkled entertainingly throughout the book but rather are force-fed to the reader as educational spoonfuls of rather patronizing baby food.
Once the cultural aspects are removed, all that remains is a very shallow book with two-dimensional characters who manage to spend an entire book agonizing over the fact that they are separated by -- wait for it -- their height. The main character is a "little doll" who the love interest is afraid he will "break". So he stays away from her the entire book. Even though she has blown him away with her ability to relate to kids by -- again, wait for it -- asking his niece and nephew if they need to go potty before going to the amusement park. Yup, that's it. With some raita dolloped on top.
I give this book two stars for correct grammar and good editing.
Posted August 2, 2012
This book is set on the Eastern Coast of the United States within the Hindi culture, generally Indian (as in from India). I have a brother in law who is Indian and have had two foreign exchange students from Pakistan, so I have quite a bit of knowledge about the culture. However, this book does a great job of explaining the culture especially the concept of arranged marriages and marrying within your caste.
Not only does the book explain talk about cultural issues, but it is also a charming story. I love the exploration of the struggle first generation American children have in the pull between their traditional culture their parents still honor and the American ways they have been raised in.
I totally enjoyed this story. I give this book 5 out of 5 clouds.
This product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my opinions or reviews.
Posted July 10, 2012
“Matchmaker, Matchmaker make me a match……” is not the song running thru Meena’s head when she runs into (literally!) her boss. She sprains her ankle, gets carried (by him) to his office where she spends the rest of the day on his couch resting. While she misses the whole thing he also carried her to his car and hauls her home. A very compassionate employer. What she didn’t miss is that he is 6’5” and she is five foot even if she stretches. He is HUGE for an Indian man and a bit intimidating.
Meena, PR person for Prajay Nayak’s firm and the newest employee soon falls – and hard – for him. Her parents and aunts are trying weekly to set her up as she is past marrying age in their culture and is trying to be independent which is quite annoying to them. Meena turns down everyone or, after one date has found the man was not her type. This was happening before she met Prajay and now is worse. She tries, she really tries but they aren’t him.
To make matters worse, Prajay is being harassed by his own family since he is nearly forty and single. He has an idea that, by hiring Meena to find him a potential wife; it will cut down the chaos of dating. She agrees, reluctantly and begins breaking her own heart with the task. He wants a smart woman who is 6’ tall. Amazing how many Indian women are out there who fit his requirements. Meena isn’t one of them. And then her aunt Akka shows up on the doorstep. Her brother falls in love – with a Muslim and chaos ensues.
Obsession with size, misclues and failed dates populate this wonderful novel. The author has written five other books which I am currently looking for because this was a nice book. No cursing, no hard drugs nor alcohol. Just a fantastic story about a young Indian woman trying to find her way in a culture centuries old while not losing herself in the process. Go get it. NOW!
Posted July 7, 2012
The main character, Meena, is an Indian American who has a mind of her own despite cultural traditions. She does an unusual favor for her boss, who is also Indian, and in the process finds herself in a rather uncomfortable situation. This romantic novel revolves around Meena trying to follow the desires of her own heart while still being mindful of the culture she treasures. While this book is a romance, one of the things I particularly enjoyed about it was getting to know something of one part of the Indian culture here in the US. I knew next to nothing about the culture, and I found myself going to the Internet frequently to learn more about what I was reading. I truly liked Meena as a character and was happy with the ending. I like her respect for her family while remaining her own person. This novel was an excellent summertime read since it isn't a deep, dark, serious novel with a complicated plot structure. Read this for pleasure and for gaining an appreciation for a culture that is unfamiliar to most of us.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted June 26, 2012
Petite,Single,31 yr.old Meena Shenoy is a Mkting/P.R.Exec for a software company based in N.J. & Washington D.C. Meena enjoys her job & working with her boss,Paul and co-worker,“Pinky”. Paul and Meena are asked to come to the office of the co.’s CEO Prajay Nayak, who she has heard alot about, but has never met. With the appt.,Meena has a turn at“Destiny’s Game”. Nervous & flustered, Meena steps off the elevator, not looking right or left and collides with Nayak,who towers over her like a giant. Meena is knocked to the floor and sprains her ankle. After regaining his composure, he carries Meena into his office and summons the co.doctor,who gives her medication for pain and she sleeps on his office couch for the afternoon. Maybe it was the meds,or just overwhelmed at Prajay’s actions, but Meena starts to see him in a different light. He’s older and taller than her 5’ 1” & is good-looking. Her Mother & her Aunt Shabari remind her that she’s not getting any younger & her biological clock is ticking. When Prajay offers rides to and from work,& she receives a bouquet of roses,they get the wrong impression.Deep-down, Meena hopes he is interested but does not want to seem forward. When Prajay sends her a mysterious email asking her to come to his office after hrs., her heart leaps with joy. Nervously,Prajay asks if she would write personal ads for him,so he can find a suitable,tall wife.His family has been nagging him to settle down too. Disappointed and a bit angry,she agrees,writes the ads and per his instructions,sends them to his home. Prajay likes her work & next,has the gall to ask if she would “weed out” the unsuitable candidates from the enormous amt. of replies he has received. Annoyed and hurt, Meena once again agrees for two reasons; to check out her competition & Prajay will pay her a consultant’s fee. She keeps this assignment secreted away from her family & sends him a list of prospects. He calls on Meena’s good nature once more, asking if she will assist him in babysitting his Niece and Nephew for a day. They have a wonderful outing and she is completely perplexed. If he isn’t interested in her, why is he sending out such confusing signals? When he invites her for a “Thank-You dinner” the next day, she hesitates, then accepts with disasterous results.Figuring she was right all along & needs to get thoughts and heart away from Prajay, Meena weakens and accepts a dinner invitation from a co.systems analyst;Deepak Iyer,who has asked her for a date numerous times. When Deepak,who she thinks is a pleasant soul, shows his true colors, she cools any possible relationship & faces the truth—she may be single forever. However, her Aunt,Madhuri-Bhat has a possible match. She gives her the email address of a 32 year-old stockbroker named Ajit Baliga. They correspond & agree to meet for lunch. Ajit is charming w/ a good sense of humor & they click.Maybe he will be “The One”? In the midst of it all is a visit by her elderly Great Aunt “Akka”,who makes her yearly rounds with family members.Meena finds that Akka is a wealth of common sense & logic as she inserts herself in Meena’s Brother; Maneel’s romantic troubles and then accompanies her to the co. office in Washington. Many twists & tears take place. This is the 2nd volume of Ms. Bantwal’s I have read (the first being “Full Moon Bride”) and have enjoyed the story,characters and learning more about the Desi Culture. Nancy NarmaWas this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.