Gaurav rolls his eyes. ‘Not all rich people are dumb.’
‘Oye, our money situation is not our fault, okay?’ I remind him. ‘Our poverty is not our choice. We were born into it and we are clawing out of it. That’s all that matters.’
Gaurav’s not convinced.
I make a beeline for the buffet counters. I pick up a plate and start ladling it with food I would never be able to afford otherwise: salmon, croissants, packed yogurt, waffles, pasta. Gaurav flits around nervously next to the counters. People keep cutting lines and going past him. Gaurav needs to stop being a pushover. The path of the rich and successful is paved with people like him, like my parents, who got rolled over.
I pick up another plate to fill it with food I know Gaurav would like—cupcakes, French toast and ice cream cups in three flavours. He’s a bit of an addict. Of sugar lately. And video games. He leans into something and then loses himself in it.
‘Hey!’ a voice calls out.
I wonder if it’s the restaurant manager asking me to put back the food. I turn, constructing in my mind what I would say to him, ‘Just because we look a certain way, you can’t discriminate’, ‘We too have the right to be here’, ‘We won this holiday, check our vouchers, this behaviour is unacceptable!’
He’s not the manager.
I recognize the hair immediately. That entitled guy from the reception.
Daksh.He’s smiling at me, his perfect white teeth glinting. He’s a few steps away, but I can smell him. He smells . . .rich. It’s a swanky showroom smell, it’s a nice restaurant smell. It’s sea and flowers and comfort and money.
‘That’s the last in strawberry,’ he says, pointing to the strawberry ice cream cup on my plate. ‘Can my sister have it? She’s right there. You know how kids are, so prone to tantrums.’
He then points to a little girl in a high chair a little distance away from us.
‘Her name’s Rabbu, Rabbani actually.’
‘Strange name.’
‘I agree,’ he says.
‘I don’t like kids.’
‘That’s exactly what I used to say.’
‘They do nothing, are useless and yet everyone gives everything to them,’ I say, as I hand the ice cream to him. ‘We shouldn’t spoil them.’
‘I agree. Most kids are only cute to their parents, an environmental burden on the planet, a waste of resources.’
He looks at the ice cream and then at me.
‘But despite all of that, you can use them to get what you want.’
‘So, you want the ice cream and not her?’
‘We both do. It’s encoded in our DNA. Our double helix looks like an ice cream cone. Our Covid tests show positive for milk.’
The guy’s funny, but I don’t want Maa to catch me laughing with a boy.
I point to the ice cream cup he’s holding in front of me. ‘You can keep it,’ I tell him. ‘By the way, Maa called you clever for what you did this morning. But . . . ummm . . .’
‘That guy was irritating.’
‘Why give that threat when you can afford the breakfast? If I had the money, I would have just gone in.’
He smiles. ‘He could have just said, “We fucked up, guys, and we are trying to fix it.” Instead, he was smiling and being irritatingly polite and whatnot. And honestly, we deserved the breakfast. No one starts a holiday like this. Anyway, I’m Daksh. Where are you from?’
‘Where I’m from, I can’t be seen talking to you for long. Maa must be watching. So, I’m going to frown like we had a disagreement and then I’m going to walk away. But thank you for this breakfast. It’s . . . a lot for us.’
‘Am I supposed to frown too, so that your mother really buys the story?’
