Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)
Nisha Sharma
Dedication
For the women who have been told to lower their standards.
I hope you never do.
Epigraph
There’s small choice in rotten apples.
—Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew Every apple has a little bit of bruising. It’s up to you to add lemon juice and masala, so you can’t taste the difference. The key is to get yourself some fruit.
—Mrs. W. S. Gupta, Indians Abroad News
Chapter One
Kareena
5:45 a.m.
Kareena: You are the reigning queen of rice! “Make your own biryani” bar? I mean it’s genius. As your lawyer, I’m telling you that you have to trust me on this. You’ll get the loan.
Nina: Are you sure? I’m so nervous!
Kareena: I’m sure. I’ll meet you at the bank later today.
Nina: I’m so glad I hired you and Women Who Work! You’re really going to make my restaurant expansion dream a reality.
Nina: Sorry the bank had to schedule this on your thirtieth birthday, though. I can’t believe you’re general counsel of an incredible company at such a young age!
Nina: I mean, I was married, had my firstborn and my restaurant by thirty, but that’s different. I WANTED a husband and family.
Kareena: See you in a couple hours, Nina.
Kareena tore the eye mask off her forehead and straightened her Taylor Swift concert sleep shirt. She had secured her dream job at a company that developed women-owned businesses in the tristate area before her thirtieth birthday. But of course, one text from a client and her boss energy dissipated like mist. She tossed her phone on the rumpled bedspread and rubbed her hands over her face.
She was thirty and single.
No, no, thirty and successful.
Thirty and financially independent.
Thirty and . . . still lived with her dad and grandmother.
And single. Very, very single.
Without even a maintenance man to grease the plumbing.
If she had a time machine, she would’ve gone back to her last relationship in law school and said: Sweetie, giving up dating until you achieve your career goals may not be the best idea. Especially if you’re searching for a happily ever after with a man. It becomes way too easy to be alone.
Kareena felt like her family, her aunties—hell, the entire New Jersey South Asian population—had been preparing her for being thirty and single, but did she listen? Nope. More importantly, did she really have to be reminded first thing in the morning?
Like T-Swizz said. Damn. It was only seven a.m.
“I should’ve taken today off,” she mumbled as she crawled out of bed and walked toward the adjoining bathroom.
Even as she showered and mentally reviewed her schedule for the day, the misogynist adages she’d heard whispered at cultural gatherings echoed through her head.
If you’re single at thirty, you have to lower your standards. If you’re single at thirty, your prospects for a happily ever after are diminished. If you’re single at thirty, you are perceived as difficult, and no one will want to marry you.
Her father had never made her feel that way growing up since he had a love marriage versus arranged marriage himself. But now that her younger sister was engaged, it was like ghosts of ancestors past had taken over his body, and he had suddenly become a traditionalist.
“Beta, the oldest daughter should be at least engaged before the youngest gets married. You should date more. Or we can find you matches. Rishtas. Maybe someone will want to marry a woman so independent at your age.”
His arguments, which were normally tepid, were becoming more and more frequent. It didn’t help that her grandmother, Dadi, who Kareena also had a tendency to fight with on a regular basis, sided with Dad.
Dadi’s arguments, however, were now paired with subtle passive-aggressive acts like cutting out a picture of Kareena’s head and pasting it on the body of a bride that she tore from Indian Matrimony Vogue Magazine, which was then left tucked in a holy book in the temple room.
Kareena stood in front of her bathroom mirror, cringing at the memory.
Well, she was finally going to make everyone happy.
She was going to start dating again. She was ready. The list of qualities she wanted in her perfect man was ready to go. It had been waiting neglected in her notes app for far too long.
After she finished her makeup, she put on a white button-down collared shirt and a cobalt-blue sweater vest. She dropped a cute pair of floral heels in her tote bag that she’d wear when she finally got to the office.
Exactly forty-five minutes after she texted her client back, Kareena scanned her bedroom to make sure she didn’t forget anything. It was the bedroom she had returned to after college. The same one her mother designed for her when her parents built the house. She had the same standing mirror, open closet, and desk shoved in one corner, with meticulously arranged framed photos with Bobbi and Veera and her law school Bluebook. The only major upgrade was the TV and stereo.
“Hopefully my morning will improve with food,” she mumbled as she picked up her bag. It was time for birthday paranthas. The stuffed spicy flatbread was exactly what she needed to course-correct her day.
She opened her door, and instead of hearing the sizzling sounds of ghee in a hot pan, there was only silence. The delicious aroma of spices was missing. Usually, the smell of birthday paranthas permeated the house. Maybe Dadi was waiting for her?