‘Thanks, Maa.’
‘But why not?’ Rhea mouthed.
Because it would mean telling her I got laid off.Three months ago. And with that, my excuse for not returning to Banaras – that I had a great job and a career to build – would shatter into a thousand jagged pieces. And I knew exactly what she’d say.If there’s no job, what’s keeping you here? Come home.And I’d have to tell her the truth: I’d rather be unemployed, drowning in rejection emails and burning through my savings than move back home, get married under pressure and sign away my freedom.
Inconspicuously, I raised a hand and mimicked slitting my throat.
Rhea snorted loudly, accidentally spraying matcha all over my sheets.
Maa gave her a look that was equal parts baffled and concerned before focusing on me again, her gaze turning warm and appreciative. ‘My beautiful girl. Sogrown up.’ Then, as she always did when I dressed up, Maa dabbed a bit of kajal off the corner of her eye and pressed it behind my ear. ‘May Mahadev ward off all evil eyes.’
‘Thank you, Maa.’ I hugged her and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
‘I pray that you get everything you want in life and more,’ she said, and then her voice turned playful. ‘And I’ve answered a small portion of that prayer by cooking you lunch. You finish getting ready; I’ll pack it.’
A warmth rose in me, tinged with guilt. ‘You didn’t have to ...’
‘I wanted to,’ she said. ‘I know you usually order food, but I thought you’d enjoy a healthy, home-cooked meal today.’
‘Thank you,’ I said again. ‘I’ll take a half day at work today so we can spend more time together.’
‘You don’t need to. We’ve got the rest of the weekend for that. Work hard and have a good day.’
‘I want to,’ I assured her.
Once she was out of the room, I looked at myself in the mirror. And true to what Maa said, I looked great. Like someone who had her life together.
‘Are you excited or are you excited for your interview?’ Rhea asked, sitting up.
‘Very excited,’ I replied. ‘I’m not even nervous.
I know I’ve got this.’
Despite my desperation for a job and heartbreak over loads of rejection emails, I was quite confident about this one. It was my second and final interview for the position of assistant totheSuraina Mukherjee, one of the lead designers at House of Advani – India’s most prestigious luxury fashion house. Most people would kill for this position. Me included.
But I wasn’t just desperate for the job; I was perfect for it.
Sure, my degree was in marketing – Papa didn’t think fashion was a ‘real career’ and refused to pay for it – but fashion was and always will be my first love.
I excelled in every course Suraina ma’am taught, attended her workshops, interned at design studios during college and volunteered at fashion shows. My portfolio was solid, and my preparation airtight. I probably knew more about her collection than the other interviewers. I was ready.
‘Perfect. I know it’s going to be great, but call me after it’s done anyway,’ Rhea said.
‘You will get minute-by-minute details,’ I promised, practically bouncing. ‘I can’t believe I’mthis closeto working for Suraina Mukherjee.’ I couldn’t help it. I squealed.
‘Try not to look like such a fangirl when you see her, or you’ll scare her off.’ Rhea chuckled.
‘Good tip.’ I pressed my lips together as I tried to tamp down my giddiness.
‘Come on now, you’re already running late. Get ready quickly and leave.’
I glanced at the clock. ‘What do you mean? I’m early.’
Her eyebrows furrowed. ‘Wasn’t your interview at eleven?’
‘… Yes.’
‘Well, it’s almost ten. It will take you at least an hour to get to Fort in this traffic—’
