Gathering all the courage I could muster, I proposed to her in June this year. Amazingly, she accepted, making me happier than a rooster in a hen house. I began learning Hindi. She began learning how to make chocolate brownies, my favourite dessert. We fixed a date for the wedding in India. She requested five grand to make the preparations. I was broke as a church mouse, but I begged and scrimped and saved and wired her the money. Three weeks ago she sent me our wedding card. And now I'm off to New Delhi to marry the woman of my dreams.
'Hi y'all! Howdy!' I greeted the two pretty air hostesses who welcomed me on to the United Airlines plane that was taking me to India. The aircraft was huge, almost as big as the Starplex Cinema in Waco. Another tall air hostess directed me to my seat, 116B. It was one of the best seats in the plane, right at the end, and very conveniently located too, bang next to the john.
I put my bag underneath my feet and settled down. Today really seemed to be my lucky day. I was in the middle seat, flanked by a blonde sitting next to the window and a dark, Indian-looking guy wearing a red Hilfiger T-shirt and a Dodgers baseball cap.
The blonde was reading a magazine called Time. 'Excuse me, Ma'am.' I doffed my hat and tapped her arm. 'Where are you headed to?'
She shrank away from me like I had the chickenpox and gave me a look which would make a porcupine seem cuddly. I turned to the youth on my left, who seemed more friendly.
'So how's yer momma and them?' I asked him.
He looked at me like a calf at a new gate. 'Excuse me, what did you say?'
Quite clearly the guy wasn't from Texas. 'Aap kehse hain?' I asked in my best Hindi.
'I am fine,' he replied in English.
'Kya aap bhi India jaa rahe hain?'
'Hey man, why are you talking to me in that strange lingo? I don't speak Hindi.'
'But… but you are Indian!' I blurted out.
'Correction, dude. I'm American,' he said and whipped out a blue passport from his front pocket. 'See the bald eagle on the cover? That's American, man.'
'Oh!' I said and fell silent.
Before the plane took off, the air hostess did some hand exercises and made us watch a safety video. I was busy memorizing the instructions given on the card in the seat pocket, but none of the other passengers seemed to be bothered about what would happen to them if the plane fell into the water. And before I knew it, we were flying.
The air hostess returned after a while, trundling a metal buggy loaded with bottles and cans.
'What would you like to drink, Sir?' she asked me sweetly.
'Coke, please,' I told her.
'I am sorry, Sir. We seem to have run out of Coke. Will Pepsi do?'
'Yeah,' I nodded. 'That's Coke too. How much?'
'It's free, Sir,' she said and smiled.
The Indian looked at me curiously. 'Are you flying for the first time?' he asked.
'Yeah,' I replied and extended my hand. 'We've howdied but we ain't shook yet. Hi, I'm Larry Page.'
'Larry Page?' He seemed impressed. 'You know you have the same name as the inventor of Google.'
'Yeah, everyone keeps telling me that. Isn't Google something to do with computers?'
'Correct. It's a search engine for the internet.'
'Johnny Scarface, my foreman, is always on his computer. But I know as much about the internet as a pig knows about playing the piano.'
'Not to worry,' he said and grasped my hand. 'Glad to meet you, Larry. My name's Lalatendu Bidyadhar Prasad Mohapatra, Biddy for short.'
'What do you do, Biddy? You look like a college student.'
'Yeah. I'm a sophomore at the University of Illinois, planning a double major in microelectronics and nanotechnology. And what do you do?'
'I'm your friendly forklift operator at the Walmart Supercenter in Round Rock, Texas. That's the one off I-35, Exit 251. Any time you happen to pass by, stop in and holler at me. I'd appreciate it. Might even get you a five per cent discount.'
That broke the ice between us. Ten seconds later we were talking like old buddies at a school reunion. Biddy began telling me all about some project that he was doing with some stuff called super-cooled conductors. Before I knew it, I was telling him everything about my trip to India and about Sapna.
'Your fiancée sounds like a real nice Indian girl,' he said.
'Would you like to see some of her pictures?' I asked him.
'Yeah. Sure.'
I took out my bag and carefully removed the brown folder full of large colour glossies of Sapna in a whole lot of dresses. I watched Biddy's face as he flipped through the photos. His eyes seemed to pop out, just as I expected.
'This is Sapna Singh, you said?' he asked me after a long time.
'Yeah.'
'And you've actually met her?'
'No. But she'll be waiting for me at New Delhi airport.'
'She took five thousand dollars off you for the wedding?'
'Yeah. It was necessary. She's not from a rich family.'
'And you think you're going to marry this girl?'
'Of course. Two weeks from today, on 15 October. All preparations have been made, including a nice white horse! I tell you, Biddy, I just can't believe my luck.'
He twisted his lips. 'I'm sorry to say, dude, but you've been had.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean this girl whose glossies you showed me is not Sapna Singh, cannot be Sapna Singh.'
'But why?' I asked, perplexed. 'Do you know her?'
'Every Indian knows her. These photos are of the famous actress Shabnam Saxena. I even have her poster in my dorm.'
'No, no. This is my fiancée. That chick Shabnam probably looks like Sapna.'
Biddy gave me the look Johnny Scarface gives me when I ask for a raise.
'There… there must be some mistake,' I tried again.
'There is no mistake,' Biddy said firmly. 'These photos are of Shabnam Saxena. In fact I'm certain that one of the photos is a still from International Moll, a big hit starring Shabnam. Don't mind my using one of our Indian proverbs, Larry, but as we say: Nai na dekhunu langala. You shouldn't get ready to take a bath before seeing the river.'