A boy leaned over the parapet of a balcony of his apartment on the fifteenth floor. The preparation for the evening bhajan rituals had begun, he deducted from the escalating hum downstairs. The building watchman was arranging gray Neelkamal chairs in a semi circle between a sleek red Honda and a black Chevrolet SUV.. The boy looked back up at the jumble of skyscrapers. Yardley gardens was one of Mumbai's plushest townships that his family had recently relocated to from the humble cobwebs of Nashik. The westward sun made the boy squint and he withdrew to his cushy C-backed bamboo swing, resuming the novel in his hand. There are few things as relaxing as an evening breeze tickling you while you turn the delicious pages of Adiga's The White Tiger.

That boy name was Neo.

It was now nearing six and Neo could hear the boys playing football downstairs.In spite of wanting to join them, Neo stubbornly clung on to his novel . He didn't want to open his mouth and make a fool of himself. He remembered reading "it's better to stay silent and be thought wise than open your mouth and be proven foolish". Or was it the other way around? Immaterial, he wasn't leaving.

His tenth standard was to start in a few days' Time . You could say he was a little nervous. The relocation was a little bit of , like they say , a ' culture shock' to Neo . His father had taken up a new job that offered thrice the pay of the previous , along with a horde of benefits like company quarters at the place they live ,a Tata sedan and discount coupons at various dining joints. A personal pizza was no more to be shared by the family . The visit to the restaurants no more meant a strict decorum of mere daal, a paneer subzi and roti . He could unblinkingly order appertizers to overpriced cokes without a warning eyebrow. Just the very thought of them now made him hungry. He got up from the swing.

'Mom, can I have some money ? I want to go out, eat something' He shouted as he want inside the house.

' Why do you want to go outside ?' The voice came from the living room . Neo spotted his mother knitting red and white yarn balls by her side.' Your grandmother has packed us some .....'

'Mom!'

' These kids of today,' she muttered without annoyance . She was quite jovial ever since they would moved in. And in spite of being the unwilling kitchen recluse that she was . She made Neo Take a plate of parathas to both their neighbours, without paying any head to neo.' But what do I say to them?' What happened next is something Neo fervently hope that twenty years later he will look back and laugh at .

Neo's mom set aside the half finished scarf for his grandmother and finished her hand into her purse that hung by the armrest of the couch . All the years they stayed with his grandparents in his native town. There was a non-stop bickering between Neo mother and grandmother . The day they left, Neo sneaked a look at his mother crying in his grandmother's lap and the usually stoic lady that his grandmother is , Even she couldn't hold back the Ganges streaming down her eyes.

' Don't spend all of it,' she said . A crisp hundred rupees note, from which Gandhiji grinned at Neo.

~~ to be continued ~~

NEO POV:

The elevator doors opened to a shockingly electric environment. I mean, when you come to

such a colony, you expect people to be silent and, what’s the word, ‘sophisticated’ to the

point of being considered curt. But with the noise these kids made with their Ringa Ringa

and catch and hopscotch and whatnot, I almost felt like I was back in Nashik. I avoided eye

contact and went to the main gate. The path to the street was blocked by a team of sweaty T-

shirts and delirious outcries of boys of my age and less playing football.

Let me tell you something about me and football. First, I hate this game. Second, and by

no way because of the first pointer, I am no good at it; although, that doesn’t stop me from

admiring a good game when I see one. And admire I did the fat guy in the midfield as he

dribbled the ball between his legs. A tall stick lurched towards him. Our fatso quickly

defected to his left and furiously kicked the ball at a scared teenager who turned reflexively

to his side. The ball hit his elbow.

‘Hand!’ the fatso screamed in delight and duly encashed the free kick. I was impressed.

I looked at them from a distance, hoping they would notice and call me over. Maybe they

were too engrossed in the game or maybe they didn’t care about a stranger gawking at them.

I stood unheeded. Sighing, I made my way to the exit.

Spencer Mall is more of a two-floored convenience store. I was thrilled to spot an

escalator and hopped right on. The first floor hosts a small cafeteria consisting of three

chairs each around circular wooden tables. There is a glass counter on the left where you

get ‘The best Frankies in town’.

Confession—I had no idea what Frankies were. I wondered if they were so expensive

that it would drive my pride of being loaded away.

At the first floor, one takes a U-turn to face the cafeteria. I occupied one of the empty

tables and studied the menu. The contents were reassuring. A basic vegetarian Frankie cost

around forty and went up to fifty five if you wanted many fancy fillings. Schezwan paneer

Frankie commanded my interest. I went to place an order at the glass-top counter and there

she was—the Girl behind the Counter.

‘Hi! And what would you like to have today?’ she smiled at me affably. It was almost a

smile of recognition, as if she had been privileged to have known me since ages and that I

was her favourite customer. I bit on my braces—her perfect pearly whites probably never

needed dental treatment. The thick and sleek black tresses almost shone and one lock of hairhung cutely on her dusky face. Her eyes were everything the on-screen actors swoon to and

poets write couplets about. You get it, don’t you? She was probably a few years older than

me and wore a black T-shirt that read ‘Joe’s Frankies’.

I tried to power up. Speak up, I screamed inside and mentally rehearsed what I had to

say. Just order as you would normally do and say ‘Thank you’ when you get it. How hard is

it? A question popped in my head—how is schezwan pronounced? C and H are silent, duh,

came the answer. How can two consecutive letters be silent, I wondered. Well, it just

sounds better, doesn’t it? ‘Sez-waan’, I reasoned. But this is taking too long, way beyond

the line that separates a customer from this pint-sized nincompoop. And was that sweat on

my forehead?

‘Sir?’ the girl asked unflinchingly, her expressions intact. I hoped she wasn’t just

pretending to be calm while hunting for an alarm button under the counter.

‘One plate schezwan paneer Frankie,’ I said and instantly felt proud that I didn’t stutter.

Smooth, I praised myself.

‘That would be fifty rupees, sir,’ she looked into my eyes, smiling all the while.

I must tell you, gentle reader, that continuous eye contact is worse than browbeating. You

see, girls are not intimidating. Only pretty ones are. I understand I sound shallow but I call

upon the puberty-license.

NEO POV:

Yours truly is no exception to this rule. I feigned interest in the pile of tissues in the waste

bin behind her as I dug into my pocket. Finally, I produced the hundred rupee note and

extended my hand to pay. At the same time, she stretched hers too and ended up accidentally

touching my fingers. I cringed as my fingers tingled, feeling like a biscuit that’s been dunked

in the tea a bit too long. I went back to the table with eyes squeezed shut hard.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ I heard a voice in a couple of minutes. It was her voice. She meant me.

Me!

‘One schezwan paneer Frankie.’ She gave me a roll with salad and cubes of cottage

cheese lathered with sauce and gravy peeking out of the open end.

She had pronounced ‘Schezwan’ as ‘Shej-waan’. In spite of the culinary wonder in front

of me, my heart sank. I felt like stabbing myself with a spoon. Smooth.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘Hope to see you again.’

That night, I slept smiling ear to ear. In spite of having absolutely no dreams involving

her, I woke up fresh as a deodorant!

The next day I borrowed a fifty from mother and pressed the elevator button. The same

noise on the ground floor lobby, the same guys playing the football, and this time, a penalty

shootout. I saw Fatso taking his position in the D and stopped walking. It was the Tall Stick

taking aim this time.

‘Ready!’ screamed the goalkeeper from Fatso’s team. The next instant, the ball was

kicked. Fatso used brute force and jerked aside the guys from the opposing team standing onboth sides and jumped high, his head deflecting the ball to a corner.

‘Foul!’ alleged a hysterical bunch. Fatso couldn’t care less and bent double laughing. Tall

Stick pushed him to the ground but Fatso was clearly having a time of his life. I grinned at

him. I was impressed. Again.

The same traffic, the same pedestrians, the same road, the same mall, the same first floor

and the same Frankie Girl. Bless her. I walked up to her and went straight to the counter.

Today, I had taken special measures to make myself presentable. I was wearing my best pair

of shoes and my wrist sported father’s metal-strap Sonata watch. I had taken the pain of

applying a small amount of face powder, just the perfect amount that separated complexion

from make-up. My gait was confident and tone smooth. I went up directly at the counter and

ordered without referring to the menu. She gave me her known-you-since-ages smile and

asked me to take a seat. Since there were hardly any customers, the mood was relaxed. I

took the seat facing her, careful not to slouch.

She was an epitome of effortless grace. The way she fluently dealt with cash, her eased-

out demeanour as she mimicked one of her colleagues, the elegance with which her features

aided every word of hers and the voice that wafted, like an elixir to the ears. The more I

observed, the more I was drawn towards her. Ask what her name is, I scolded myself. It

won’t compromise the national security. But I knew I wouldn’t. I dreaded the moment I

would finish my roll and walk back.

Finally, she summoned me and I went up to the counter. Taking the Frankie, I turned back.

I wanted to disappear from the spot that made me feel like a coward. I hurriedly walked to

the escalator. Even when I heard a minor commotion in the background, I didn’t bother to

check it. Like I even cared. As I was just stepping on it, I felt a pat on my shoulder.

It was her.

My heart violently jolted into a see-saw. She smiled at me. The same sunny smile. I

smiled back stupidly, not knowing what else to do.

‘Sir, you forgot to pay,’ she said.