CHAPTER EIGHT
The Hindi word for heart is dil.
The day after arriving in his new country Kishore again eagerly scanned the Situations Vacant columns in the New Zealand Herald. He nearly missed it too but there in the small print was an advertisement for a junior at McAllister and Co. Accountants, it sounded promising. Kishore quickly picked up the phone and dialed the number. After waiting a few minutes he was put through, to his surprise, to Mr Colin McAllister himself and fate stepped in.
Kishore arrived at the office of McAllister and Co., the day after. Ready for his interview he wore his best suit, in fact the only suit he had brought with him from India. Clutched in his hand he held a folder that contained his certificates and resume. Approaching the front desk he was greeted by a smiling receptionist who introduced herself as Gillian. With the click-clack of her heels on the wooden floor she led him to Mr McAllister’s office. As Kishore stepped inside, Gillian left, closing the door behind her. Mr McAllister rose and extended his hand to shake Kishore’s. He was a mature, stout man, with balding grey hair, a bushy moustache and even bushier eyebrows but his eyes were kind.
From the moment Kishore sat in the seat offered by Mr McAllister the interview was a blur. He barely took more than a glance at Kishore’s credentials, being more interested in telling Kishore, he too was an immigrant but from Mother England. That he was a soldier in World War Two and had served in India. He happily regaled Kishore with yarns of chai wallah’s and punka wallah’s.
With Kishore barely saying a word other than “Hello,” Mr McAllister again stood and was pumping his hand. Giving him back his file of certificates he declared, “Well, Mr Patel, welcome aboard, we look forward to seeing you raring to go Monday morning.”
For two years Kishore happily immersed himself in his new life in New Zealand and new employment. He had fared much better than some of his fellow immigrants who had believed the message given out on the video about New Zealand being the land of milk and honey. They were struggling to find work and understandably anxious about their prospects.
One quiet unassuming day at work, he noticed a fresh face about the place - a beautiful red-head chatting to Gillian, his heart missed a few beats, she was stunning. She finished her conversation, rotated on one foot - almost like a ballerina and began to walk towards Kishore. Smiling at him, her cheeks glowed as she breezed past, leaving a trail of vanilla musk behind her.
Kishore spun his head in her direction to watch her walking down the corridor. Even from behind she was beautiful with her ponytail bouncing up and down in a saucy fashion. From that moment on Kishore was absolutely captivated by her, besotted. In an instant he knew in his mind she was, ‘the one.’
With his heart beating a little faster than it should he decided to ask Gillian who the girl was. When Kishore started working at McAllister and Co., he very quickly learnt that Gillian was the one to go to when you wanted to know something or anything. With a gleam in her eye, Gillian told him, the red-head was the new office supply person. From that day on, Kishore kept an eye and ear out as to when the girl was due in the office. He made sure he was around when she visited the other accountants, or that he was in the boardroom with Gillian when the red-head was giving an update of the newest stationery products.
He wasn’t sure whether what he was doing was stalking but Kishore convinced himself he was just watching her. Well...maybe just a little bit of stalking.
Six months went by with Kishore knowing the girls routine probably better than she did herself. Each time she came to the office he practiced the lines he had been rehearsing. Early in the morning, as he locked himself in the bathroom, he studied his appearance in the mirror while shaving. He took on an expression the same as the actor from that TV show he had been watching, Miami Vice, what was the guy’s name? Oh yes, Don Johnson. With his lower face covered in shaving foam and razor in hand, Kishore imitated the star, saying the lines he heard western men use when asking a girl out, ‘Hi baby, would you like to go out for a drink sometime?’ or ‘Hey sugar, how would you like to go to a movie?’
Sadly, he always missed his chance and he found himself watching the girl complete her tasks and leave the office. He kicked himself as each opportunity went by without gaining the courage to speak to her.
To his delight, his next chance arose one morning when a little celebration was being given for Linda, a senior accountant of the firm who had just been promoted to second in charge under Mr McAllister. All the staff, about ten people had gathered in the lunch room at morning tea time, with Mr McAllister himself producing a cake. Gillian, managing to escape the switchboard, hurried in, carrying two Tupperware containers.
“Look who I found,” she declared, giving Kishore a quick wink and a smile. His mouth dropped open, trailing behind Gillian was her, the red-head. Setting the containers on the table, next to the cake and a pile of serviettes, Gillian took off the lids.
“I made these last night,” she proclaimed, “Afghans and a chocolate slice, made with weetbix.”
Kishore, remembering to close his mouth managed a side-long glance at the red-head as she shook Linda’s hand. He saw her pale-pink lips forming the word congratulations. She seemed to be especially happy today she had a certain glow to her cheeks.
He frantically thought of things he could say to start a conversation, a lot of people were in the lunchroom and she was right there in front of him, so it should have been easy, ‘Would you like a piece of cake?’ or simply, ‘How are you?’ Turning towards the table he picked up a serviette and an afghan, he berated himself, ‘Come on Kishore, this is silly, just say hello.' He gathered his strength and committed himself to the fact it was now or never. Holding his breath, with the biscuit in his hand he turned back to look for her - but she was gone. His eyes quickly scanned the lunchroom but she wasn’t there, he had once again missed his chance.
Indian boys are shy - he’d be the first to admit it. Despite this he was sure he’d fallen in love with her. The thing he loved most was her stunning hair although her smile made him feel all funny inside.
When she came into the office, she was like a breath of fresh air, walking around chatting to the other staff members, always cheerful and happy, so carefree and easy going. Kishore knew she didn’t even know he existed. She smiled politely at him but she had never even said his name. Even so, just looking at her was enough to make him hold his breath, his heart beat faster and his palms go sweaty. These were the classic signs of a person falling in love.
Kishore, who had just turned twenty-three years old was of average height with cocoa brown hair and eyes, his skin was caramel and smile broad. He was certainly ready for a relationship and even though he had never had a girlfriend, he was ready for marriage. He didn’t believe in going out with a girl, just to go out with her. He knew when he finally met a girl he did like, in that way, it would be with the intention of commitment for a lifetime. Since coming to New Zealand, he had spent Friday and Saturday nights trying the nightclub, pub and bar scene but it wasn’t for him. So he spent his weekends wandering around the shopping malls alone, alone and bored but he had soon learnt this was not the way to find a wife.
Having almost given up on bars he decided on a Friday evening to go out one last time. It was a last minute decision but he hoped it would help take his mind off the red-head. Maybe luck would be in his favour and he would meet someone, it could be he was wrong and he wasn’t meant to be with her, possibly someone else would come into his life. Dressed in jeans and a business shirt he entered the bar, Brandy’s. Sitting on a stool he asked the bartender for a beer, Lion Red, the Kiwi man’s drink. He sipped it slowly as he scanned the room trying to look like he had a purpose for being there. It was quite busy - a noisy group of people were in one corner, laughing loudly, a halo of smoke hung above them. The main door opened and Kishore glanced over, he couldn’t believe his bulging eyes - he nearly dropped his drink, it was her, really her! He lowered his head to compose himself, then cautiously peeked in her direction. He watched as one of the guys from the group in the corner approached her. Kishore observed as she went and sat with them, his heart sank like a rock swiftly falling to the bottom of the ocean as he thought this guy must be her boyfriend. But, he decided something didn’t look right, she didn’t mix with them she sat poker faced staring straight ahead. He realised that man couldn’t be her boyfriend, he could tell from her body language she wasn’t having a good time. Why couldn’t he just get up and go over to her? Wouldn’t that make him worthy of being her boyfriend, a gallant knight rescuing a damsel in distress? Unfortunately, his legs were like lead unable to move from his spot at the bar, he sat and watched her as discreetly as he could for about an hour until he she rushed past him and out the door.
During Kishore’s childhood he had been surrounded by Indian women. Most of them were especially beautiful and graceful and as he grew older he understood how hard they worked. His Mother worked all day, every day doing her chores. Her main chore was cooking – Indian cooking is extremely time consuming – every meal contains ginger, garlic and onions, each ingredient must be peeled, chopped and fried, one by one. Kishore’s Mother performed this task three times a day for each meal. Chopping, frying, adding spices, stirring, then peeling and chopping again - this time it would be vegetables. She would make the dough for the chapattis (or roti, round flat bread) and then roll them out ready for cooking. Kishore watched his Mother a lot while she was in the kitchen, which was almost all of the day. She made pickles, sweet treats and dahl. When she wasn’t in the kitchen she would be washing clothes by hand or sweeping the floor and tending to every need of her husband and four children.
Despite his loneliness Kishore knew he didn’t want this in a wife. He wanted a partner who was equal to him, a modern wife, a companion, someone who did not want to spend her life in the kitchen. Kishore always imagined his wife would be English and he also knew this would mean he would choose his bride, not his family. He was determined not to go down the traditional path of an arranged marriage.
Something had drawn him to New Zealand and it wasn’t just financial gain. He knew in his heart someone waited for him, someone he would love forever.
Kishore’s parents knew their son’s bold uncharacteristic nature would make it impossible for him to change his mind in regard to marriage. In fact, they knew their son would choose his bride regardless of their intervention. In spite of that ache in his heart for a companion, Kishore knew an Indian woman wasn’t meant for him and in his heart he hoped the girl who day-by-day he was growing fonder and fonder of, was.
The girl whose name was Julie.