sonu kumar
Posted On: 09-04-2019
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Half Girlfriend

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Forty Three

'Surprise!’
A crowd of people screamed as I entered Shailesh’s house. Jyoti
had arranged an unexpected farewell party for me.
‘Wow,’ I said as I entered the apartment. I found twenty guests,
Shailesh and Jyoti’s friends, waiting for me.
‘Hey, Priya, good to see you,’ I said, wondering if she would slap
me.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘I’m really sorry about that night.’
‘Just go easy on the wine,’ she said and laughed. I smiled back at
her. She was really attractive. Many men at the party had their eyes on
her.
A black man came up to me.
‘Olara,’ I said and hugged him.
‘Your friends are damn nice. They dug out my number and invited
me.’
‘I'm so glad you came.’
Jyoti dragged me away from Olara to give a short speech.
‘I want to thank Shailesh and Jyoti, who hosted me, and treated me
like family,’ I said.
‘Cut it out, let’s party,’ Shailesh interrupted me. He offered
everyone tequila shots and turned up the volume of the music player.
Conversations required people to shout. Male bankers huddled
together to discuss expected bonuses. The girls made another group.
They discussed the best value offers in town, whether on Netflix or
Sunday brunch deals in Manhattan. I chatted with a few people.
‘Gates Foundation. They are like huge, man,’ one banker said to
me.
‘I just run a small school they fund,’ I said.
‘I need a Gates Foundation grant. Do they fund bankers who need
an apartment in Manhattan?’ said another. Everyone laughed.I spoke to many of those present, but felt little connection with any
of them. I stepped away from the crowd and sat on the sofa. I took out
my phone to look at the pictures I had taken during the day. I had
taken some inside MSG.
‘You watched a Knicks game?’ I heard Priya’s voice from behind
me.
I turned to look at her.
‘Yes, I went today.’
‘Nice pictures. Can I see?’
She sat down next to me. I flipped through the photos.
My phone vibrated. A message from ‘Erica,Tribeca Nation singer’.
'Checking out the Jazz and Music Fest?' the message flashed as a
notification and disappeared.The phone screen went back to displaying
pictures again, ‘Next?’ Priya said as I didn’t touch my phone for a
minute, ‘Priya, just a second. I need to send a reply,’
“Oh, sure, I will get a drink, Not for you, though,’ she smiled,
wagging a finger at me, I smiled back, I composed a message for
Erica: I leave Monday. Almost packed. At my farewell party now.
Thanks anyway. :) She replied: Fly safe. Ciao. :) I looked up. I saw
Priya engrossed in conversation with someone at the bar.
I shut my phone and placed it in my jacket pocket. I then realized
that I was still carrying the brochures Daisy, the old lady, had given me
outside Madison Square Garden. I read them one by one.
‘CATS—the longest running Broadway musical,’ said the first.
‘Blue Man Comedy Show—combining music, technology and
comedy,’ said another.
One of the brochures was a sixteen-page thick, A5-sized booklet. It
said ‘New York Music and Jazz Festival Weekend'.
The room lights had been dimmed, making it difficult for me to
read the text. I shifted iny seat closer to a candle on the coffee table.
‘123 performers. 25 venues. 3 days. 1 city,’ it said on the booklet cover.
The booklet opened with a two-page spread of the schedule of
performances. It was arranged in three tables, one each for Friday,Saturday and Sunday. Each table had rows for the various time slots.
The columns had the names of the singer, the venue and the kind of
music and ticket prices.The next two pages had details of each venue.
The remaining pages had a brief description of each singer, over a
hundred of them. I read the first one: Abigail—Grew up in Boston,
degree in jazz music. Started out as a gospel singer. A fter singing in
Boston for two years, she moved to New York. Boston Globe called
her voice 'smooth velvet’ that can ‘calm your soul’.
I went through the names, mostly to pass time. I didn’t really
belong in my own party.
I skimmed through all the descriptions in the alphabetical list. I
ignored all the male singers.Twenty minutes later, I reached the letter
R.
Ray - A ‘sparkling new voice on the NY scene’ according to the
Village Voice, Ray would rather talk about ‘where she is going’ than
‘where she comes from. This tall exotic beauty ‘sings as good as she
looks ’ according to the Daily News.
I stopped at Ray’s description. I read it thrice. I flipped back to the
schedule to see Ray’s line-up. I looked under Saturday, which was
today. My index finger ran down the schedule page.
‘Blues, Soul and Contemporary, 10.00 p.m.-12.00 a.m. Stephanie,
Roger and Ray, Cafe Wha?, $8 entry, two drinks minimum,’
I turned the page to look up the details of Cafe Wha? and strained
hard to read the tiny print.
Cafe Wha? An old classic New York bar where many legends have
performed in their struggling days. Mexican and American food
options. 115 MacDougal Street, West Village. Subway 4, 5, 6.
Bleeckcr Street F, West 4th Street.
‘What are you doing, bro?’ Shailesh squeezed my shoulder hard.
‘Huh?’ I said, startled.
‘It’s your party. What the hell are you reading?’
I put the brochure aside and smiled.
‘Nothing. Just some touristy stuff,’ I said.‘You’re not drinking?’ he said. He tapped his thigh in time with the
music.
‘No.You know me and alcohol.’
‘I can handle you at home. Wait, let me get a drink for you.’
Shailesh went to the bar. I checked the time on my phone. It said
11.05 p.m.
I googled Cafe Wha?’s number and called them.
They took thirty seconds to pick up. It seemed like an hour.
‘Hello. Cafe Wha?’ I heard a cheerful male voice, barely audible
due to the music in the background.
‘Hi, I am interested in the Music and Jazz Fest performance
tonight.’
‘Yes, it’s on now, sir. It’s an eight-dollar cover charge. Two drinks
minimum,’ the person on the other side recited his rehearsed stuff.
‘I wanted to know if there is a singer called Ray performing
tonight?’
‘Well, let me see. Yes, we have three singers. Hers is the last act.
Should be on any time now. Sir, I need to hang up. It’s really busy
here tonight, and I am one of the very few servers.’
‘Sorry, just one question. Is she there? Can you see her?’
‘Huh?’ the server said, confused. ‘Well, I do see the singers near
the stage. I think she is there.’
‘What does she look like?’
‘Sorry, sir, I hate to be rude but you want me to take your name
down for reservations or something? Can’t help you with much else.’
‘Yes,just one last thing. Does she look Indian? It’s really important.
Please.’
‘Hold on,’ the server said.
Shailesh came up to me as I was on hold. He gave me a glass of
champagne. I gestured a thanks to him. He gave me a puzzled look,
wondering who I was calling at this time.
The wait seemed endless.
‘Nothing, it is the travel agency who booked my return tickets,’ Iwhispered to Shailesh, making up whatever I could on the spot.
‘This late?’ he said, surprised. I shrugged and excused inyself to
step aside.
‘Sir? You there?’The man was back.
‘Yes, yes. I am.’
‘She’s definitely not Caucasian white. She isn’t black either. She
could be Indian. Or I don’t know, she’s quite light-coloured, so maybe
Spanish or mixed-race. Sorry, I can’t...’
I interrupted him.
‘Thanks. That’s enough. I'm coming down. Can you hold a place
for one? I'm Madhav’
Maad-what?'
‘Just put me down as M. I’m coming.’
‘You better be here soon. The acts end at midnight.’
Shailesh stood right in front of me.
‘All okay with your ticket?’ he said.
‘Yeah. It's fine,' I said and paused before I spoke again. ‘Shailesh, I
need to get out,’
‘Wha...?’
‘Exactly,’ I said, ‘That’s where I need to go.’
‘Where?’
‘I need to get some fresh air.’
'Have you seen the snow outside? Where are you going?'
He pointed to his balcony. Blobs of snow covered the ledge.
Outside his apartment, a steady stream of snowflakes shot down from
the night sky.
‘I have a jacket,’ I said.
Shailesh looked bewildered by my sudden desire for a night stroll.
‘Madhav, what do I tell the guests?’ he said.
‘They will barely notice,’ I said and left.

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