Avasa (Part I)

Halfway through my meal, I notice Arjun eating with Avasa. I can't stop staring at her. When she smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkle. She looks like she works out. She has gym-built biceps. Me, I'm just a hundred pounds, skinny as hell. And I smoke like a chimney. I have trouble opening cans sometimes.

"Nadya!" My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Arjun's voice. I look at him as if to say, "Who, me?" He is nodding at me, and waving to me to join them.

My palms are sweaty. I pick up my tray and sit next to him so that I am facing Avasa. "Hi, Arjun," I manage to say. He's more like a friend than a professor. He doesn't let his students call him 'Sir'. He says he's too young for that.

"Nadya, I just wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed your last paper," said Arjun.

"Really," I say, desperately trying to come up with some kind of witticism to impress the girl across from me, but my mind seems to have gone blank.

"Oh, this is my sister, Avasa," he says, gesturing.

"We've met," she says, half-smiling. Probably thinks I'm a freak who's completely overawed by a biker babe.

"You're the most promising student in my class," Arjun is telling me. "And I was just telling Avi how much I respect you for your feminism. India needs more young women like you."

"Thanks," I say, embarrassed. His sister does not seem impressed.

"I saw you and your friend staring at me in the parking lot," she says matter-of-factly. "What, have you never seen a girl on a motorbike before?" She speaks with an accent. She sounds like she might have lived in the United States for a while.

"Uh, well," I stammer. "It's not the most common thing around here, you know."

"Give her a break," says Arjun to his sister good-naturedly. He turns to me. "Don't mind her. She's a real arrogant know-it-all. She likes to believe she's street-smart."

"I am street-smart, Bhai," snaps Avasa.

"Oh, so *that* explains the wheelies," I retort.

Arjun's eyebrows furrow as he looks at his sister and frowns. "Are you doing fancy things on that bike again?" he asks. "You know, I'm warning you, I'm going to take it away if you keep acting stupid."

"Oh, Bhai," she says, smiling wickedly. "Do you even remember a time when you didn't let me have my own way?"

It's obvious that he's incapable of staying angry at her. He punches her playfully. "You're undermining my authority in front of a student." He looks at his watch. "Okay, kids, I have a class right now. Avi, will you see yourself out?"

"Yes, Bhai."

"Okay," he gets up to leave. "See you in class tomorrow, Nadya."

"See you," I say, smiling up at him as he goes. I get up to leave myself.

Avasa leans forward and pulls me by the arm. "Where are you going? Stay." It's not a friendly request, it sounds like an order. She's a bit too forward for my liking. Inexplicably, I sit down again.

"What?" I say, a little gruffly.

"I just got back from Michigan recently," she says. "Bhai and I lived there since I was eleven."

"Shoulda known. You seem pretty burger." I give her my best "ugh" look. 'Burger' is what we call people who are overly-enamoured of American culture as opposed to their own. It's a derogatory term. 'Desi' is the exact opposite.

She clearly could not care less what I think. "I'm new in town, and don't know anyone yet. Tell me some of the fun places in Mumbai where I can go."

I am put off by her cockiness. "Go pick up a tourist guide."

"I see the locals are quite hospitable."

"Stop acting like an ABCD tourist. The 'locals'...geez, look in the mirror! You're Indian!" I shake my head. Being born desi and not acting it is the ultimate crime.

"I never wanted to come back," she snaps. "It's just that Bhai insisted that he wanted to teach here for a while, and I didn't want him to be alone."

"So you don't mind denying your heritage?" I'm not a nationalist -- in fact, I'm very skeptical of nationalism -- but I do have a sort of, oh, call it an unsentimental patriotism and a devotion to my culture.

"I really don't feel very connected to a country where being a 'good indian girl' implies that I can't lose my innocence and, by extension, virginity." She looks at me with disdain. "Well, guess what? I've lost my innocence...and my virginity. Oh, no. Now I can't be integrated into Indian society. My life is over."

"Lose the fucking attitude." I am irritated as hell. I take out a cigarette and light it. "You don't know a damn thing. It's a Third World country. The problems are huge. Thankfully, everyone is not as defeatist as you, running away first chance they get."

Her eyes narrow, and for a second I am almost scared. "You don't know a fucking thing about my life."

This conversation has quickly become too personal for a first meeting. "Look, I'm sorry if I offended you," I begin. "I should probably go."

She's unmoved. "Spare me the insincere apology." I can see there's no point in pursuing this conversation, so I pick up my tray and leave.