Imaginary Men by Anjali Banerjee Read Free Book Online Page B

is a well-reputed family physician. Retired, of course. My grandmother is an intelligent and pious lady.”
    â€œYour wife will be lucky to marry into such a family.”
    â€œMy family prefers a girl of Brahmin roots.”
    â€œOf course.” I jot down notes.
Stuffy upper crust
.
    â€œI prefer woman nineteen to twenty-fourish, no older.” In other words, his own personal flight attendant.
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind.” Mr. Sen is thirty-three, so why can’t he choose a woman his own age? Long ago, I stopped asking this question aloud. Most men who come in here, nomatter how old, want young, nubile virgins. Dream on, I want to say. This is the twenty-first century. I grit my teeth and keep silent.
    â€œAnd fair, very fair complexion preferred.” He stares at my dark face, which in Indian personal ads would be classified as “wheatish.” “Slim, athletic build. No children. I prefer that she has never been married.”
    â€œOf course. I’ll find just the right woman for you. What do you do for a living?”
    â€œI am a hardworking professional, building my career in the finance industry.”
    â€œMmm-hmmm.” So he’s a banker, investment consultant, financial analyst? Why can’t he be specific?
    He taps the chair, and suddenly I’m aware of the wall clock ticking away the hour. Another client waits in the foyer. I hear Donna chatting on the phone in her office next door.
    â€œpursuing CFP course,” Mr. Sen is saying. “I have master’s degree”
    â€œYour annual income?”
    His face reddens. “Fifty thousand to seventy-five thousand.”
    I think of Ma asking how much money my fiancé makes. If I have to say we split up, I’ll say he won the lottery and moved to a Caribbean island. “I don’t mean to get too personal, Mr. Sen, but if I’m to find you a good wife, I must know everything.”
    â€œI’ve tried the online dating services. Internet, you know? No luck.” He shakes his head. “When will you find?”
    â€œI’ll need a little time.” I ponder the possibilities. Miss Chatterjee! She was in here last week. Just his type. I stand and extend my hand.
    Mr. Sen shakes it. “When shall I have my first date?”
    â€œThis week, I promise.” I escort him to the reception area, where Mrs. Mukerjee and her demure daughter Sonya are waiting. Sonya’s wearing a candy-cotton-pink
churidar kurta
.
    Mr. Sen strides past everyone and out the door.
    â€œAh, lovely Lina!” Mrs. Mukerjee slaps my cheeks and embraces me in a rib-breaking hug. “I must shower you with congratulations!” She steps back and regards me with a teary gaze. “We were all hoping and praying that the gods would send you the right husband, one who would not mind that you are so old, and look, our prayers have been answered. Who is the man? Why the big secret? I’m telling everyone he’s a rich Marwari businessman, royalty straight from Rajasthan, but nobody believes me.”
    â€œHe’s not rich Marwari. He’s rich … Bengali.”
    â€œ
Acha
. What’s his name?”
    â€œRaja,” I blurt out. I must have Raja on my mind.
    â€œAh, Raja. A true king!” Mrs. Mukerjee shrieks.
    Just then Kali bursts in, clenching and unclenching her hands. “Lina, I have to talk to you now!”
    â€œIf you’ll excuse me.” I give Mrs. Mukerjee an apologetic look.
    In my office, Kali slumps into an armchair, her cleavage nearly spilling from her too-tight paisley dress. “Oh, my knickers are in a twist!”
    â€œAbout what? Make it quick. I’m working.”
    â€œRemember the man I met in India? The one with mojo? Dev? I’m falling for him.”
    I press the back of my hand to my forehead. “How many times have you seen him?”
    â€œOnly once, at Durga’s wedding—”
    â€œOh, Kali! How can you be