Girl Talk

I go to my husband’s bank to withdraw money, a national bank.

The woman behind the counter is extra-friendly. She asks my name, says she’s seen me come in before with my husband and that she and the other staff discussed how B ki missus kitni sweet hai. I smile nervously and squirm.

She calls me beti and tells me to please write at the back of a deposit slip ‘YK Gupta and Yashwant Kumar Gupta one and the same person’. Pictures of the multinational bank where I have my own account flash in my mind – the spartan cleanliness, staff older than me calling me ‘Ma’am’. I meekly write what she asks me to. Next is ‘M Sinha and Mahesh Sinha one and the same person.’

I glance at the time on my phone, afraid I’m going to be late.

She asks me how long I’ve been married.

Four years.

Any issue?

No.

Why??

I smile shyly, evade the question by feigning feminine modesty.

I get asked about my background, whether the cultural differences between me and my husband have ever been a problem, whether we stay with my in-laws, what I cook him for dinner…

Achcha, tum kuch bindi-sindoor vagehra nahin pehenti, mother-in-law kuch bolti nahin hai kya?

Pehle bolti thi… par ab give up kar diya.

Mrs. Mehta behind the counter. Salwar-kameez, glasses on a chain, gold in her ears.

Me, in front. Jeans, black finger nails, sans jewellery of any kind.

She pauses, stops counting money. Looks up, directly into my eyes — and bursts out laughing. I join in her laughter. And in that moment, woman to woman, we connect.