Book 1: Misguided Masala Matchmaker
Rohan Kapoor and his cousin Rani are at an art festival in an attempt to escape the family drama and despair after Rani’s eldest sister Asha was jilted days before her wedding. Rohan’s blue because just as he’s about to have a taste of freedom after finishing his residency, his mom plans to hire a famous matchmaker for him so that the family can mitigate the scandal. Rani, searching for a dissertation topic, has a plan B. She can study makes a successful marriage and match her cousin Rohan and sisters Asha and Shanti as part of her dissertation.
….. “Truly a missed opportunity.”
“About that,” Rani inserted casually…way too casually, and he could feel his neck tighten along with his jaw and something start to pulse at the base of his skull. “I did some research last night about dating site questions and matchmakers and refreshed my mind on relationship articles and blogs…”
“Don’t,” Rohan said. “Hard no to the matchmaking. I told you that.”
“Rohan, Auntie’s really set on the idea. With me you’d get more of a say, and I’d get a fantastic new sister I could love…”
“And torture,” he interrupted.
“And a dissertation topic.”
He sat upright, relaxed mood shot. “I’ll find my own bride when I’m good and ready.”
The skeptical look she slanted at him was as irritating as it was dismaying.
“And what are you waiting for? Love at first sight?”
“Hard no,” he laughed. “That’s not real. That’s hormones. But by all means, tell me a gem you gleaned from your research. Should we be locked in an escape room and filmed to see how we work together as a team?”
“Rohan, that’s a brilliant idea.”
“Maybe I should have majored in psych,” he muttered under his breath and then pointed out an unexpected parking spot. Rani skillfully parallel parked and popped the hatch.
“You aren’t nosy enough,” Rani said. “Or rebel enough to horrify your family, but maybe we could develop a matchmaking approach together, and you could be my research assistant and guinea pig.”
“Let’s focus on the Sister Queen Smoothie rescue and then grab something to eat,” Rohan said. “Food will inspire me to think of more ridiculous ways for you to match Kapoors who don’t want to be matched. Shanti can be your guinea pig.”
“Shanti’s going to marry Rakesh,” Rani announced, pulling out one of the massive coolers filled with ice.
“More like castrate him,” Rohan noted, sliding two more of the coolers out of the hatchback. “And he’s one of my best friends so please don’t shove her into a room with him.”
“Rakesh knows how to take care of himself,” Rani said, wheeling two of the coolers and struggling to keep up with Rohan once they’d navigated the curb and were on the thick grass. “Shanti just won’t accept fate. Mom thinks they’re perfect for each other,” Rani panted.
“Fate,” he laughed. “As if. Trying to match those two together would be so unfair to Rakesh. Shanti would chuck him off her balcony if he ever showed up to ask for a cup of lemon sugar or a bottle of Topo Chico.”
“Why did you choose those items?” Rani had that look—the intensely curious one when she wanted to swan dive into his brain.
“Top of my head,” he said quickly, not sure why he’d chosen those or what he was revealing with the choice, but he definitely felt uneasy. Rani could be a little witchy at times, and he didn’t want to give her any ammo for her new matchmaker whim. She jumped into new passions and while she always took the unconventional route, she was smart and persistent—like a rat in a maze. Or were crows the clever ones?
“No, really, Rohan. Lemon sugar and a specific brand of sparkling water—plain or flavored?”
“Speaking of brands,” he interrupted though they really hadn’t been. “Have you thought of your third M for Masala Matchmaker brand—maddening? Meddlesome? Manic, Maniac?”
He was forced to stop where he reached the festival as he had no idea where Rani’s friends’ smoothie truck was.
“I’ll think of it,” Rani said, and he relaxed thinking he’d distracted her. “But let’s return to those two items on your list. They are indicative of…”
“Two things do not comprise a list, and I just spoke off the top of my head.” He surveyed the park, now impatient to get away—from this conversation at least. Wandering around looking at art seemed appealing. He hadn’t done anything so…so…frivolous or impulsive since…maybe ever.
“But that is when you are the most psychologically revealing.”
“Thank you, not. Hard no on being your test subject.”
“Rohan”—Rani covered his hand with her small slim one, her dark eyes serious, sympathetic—“I can help you. Your mom and the matchmaker are going to ambitiously pick a woman for them, a match that will make the family look good and show how accomplished you are, what a great match you are to get this prize of a woman. I will help you find a woman that you can become good friends with and build a happy life with.”
Happy life. The two words hit him like a stone to his chest. Happy life. What did that even mean? What would that look like? Rohan stared over the sea of tents, food carts, stages, and humanity swimming through it all. What would make him happy? What woman would make him happy? What would their happy life together look like?
He’d just turned thirty-two, and he was coming up empty.
“Rohan, we can do this together. Give me a chance.”
It was a cry from her heart, and Rani had had so many crushing disappointments, he couldn’t ignore her even though everything inside of him urged him to run.
“Rani.” An uncharacteristic wave of something heavy and dark swept through him leaving his lungs feeling wet and compressed. “I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know what I want in a wife. I don’t even want a wife right now. I’ve spent my whole life focused on achieving success by…” He couldn’t even utter his next thought: “someone else’s yardstick.” It sounded so pathetic. “And now when I finally feel like I’m coming to a fork in the road where I will be able to choose my own path and take some time to…I don’t know breathe, explore, just be, Mom and Dad want me to take the job they want me to have and live in the house they designed and now they want me to take a wife they choose.”
Rani’s eyes were round and damp with sympathy. “Rohan, I want to help,” she whispered.
He so wasn’t in the mood for this. “Forget it. Let’s get the ice and fruit to your friends,” he said forcefully and resumed walking across the grass, anything to escape his thoughts.
“Rohan,” Rani hurried beside him. She’d never learned the art of letting go. “We’ll find your perfect match together. Just us looking. It will be fun. I created a couple of surveys last night on Survey Monkey,” Rani said. “I thought at lunch we could…”
“No,” Rohan said firmly. “Hard no.”
“What would be a hard yes?” Rani demanded, not ruffled by his pointed shutdown.
“Giving me some breathing room.”
Rani found her friends, and he helped unload the coolers. She’d known the two sisters since high school so Rani’s attention was blissfully diverted, leaving Rohan able to absorb the energy of the festival, the music, the bright colors while Rani chatted. One of the sisters made him a smoothie, while Rani connected the two extra blenders she’d brought to their power chord.
“Do you mind if I help them for a little while?” Rani asked, eyeing the long line of people.
“No problem.” And it wasn’t. He’d take the free afternoon, no agenda, and no hassles or weird, personal questions for the gift it was. “Text when you’re ready. No rush,” he said, meaning it. Already the day felt brighter, spooling out in front of him.
He wandered down an aisle full of jewelry, searching for the music mix that had captured his attention. It now sounded like a techno beat pulsing under “Con Te Partiro” with tenor Andrea Bocelli slaying it vocally as always. He rounded a corner and that’s when he saw her—bright as the sun, bare foot and dancing. Her honey-blond hair spilled out of a messy bun as she swayed and spun and raised her hands high as if in supplication to the sky god or the sun god. She held two cans of spray paint in her hands and shook them occasionally and then painted some sort of an ocean scene with a rose-pink and metallic-gold mermaid rising out of waves of teal, deep blue and silver.
Rohan stood, stupidly staring up at her. She was on some kind of a stage strewn with woven carpets with vivid patterns. A very young-looking DJ bobbed to his music mix—listening in as he cued up the next song, and a wave of something Rohan barely recognized crashed through him.
Longing.
Sorrow.
Emptiness.
Lord Krishna, she was spectacularly and unexpectedly beautiful in a totally organic way, but she was so much more than beautiful.
Some sort of charisma or magic that made her seemed bathed in light that snapped and pulsed around her to the beat of the music.
And then she turned and looked at him.
Green eyes like the forest where he liked to trail run on the weekends when he wasn’t on call.
She stopped dancing and her gaze held his. Then she smiled like she knew him. Rohan felt as if lightning jolted him finally to life.
“Hello,” her voice sounded familiar.
She reached out a hand toward him, and Rohan wasn’t even aware of moving, or ditching his smoothie, but then his hand was in hers, and she pulled him up on stage with her, and he felt like he’d just entered the wardrobe of a book Rani had loved so long ago, begging him to read to her over and over again.
“Welcome,” she said.
Back?
It was disorienting. Life mocking him because Rohan, who didn’t believe in any of it—karma, numerology, astrology, palm reading, reincarnation, love at first sight—felt inexplicably that he was finally home.