half-girlfriend-chetan-bhagat

singers are?’
‘Too many, my friend. The schedule is on the noticeboard. You
know her name?’ the manager said.
‘Her real name is Riya.’
‘No such name, I’m pretty sure.’
‘She may have changed it for the stage,’ I said.
‘That’s a tough search then, my friend.’
‘She’s tall, slim and pretty. Long hair, well, at least when I saw her
last.’
‘This is a city of tall, slim and pretty people.’
‘Indian, She’s an Indian singer in a New York bar.’
‘She sings Bollywood? I would check the Indian restaurants.’
‘Unlikely. She liked Western music. Do you remember seeing any
Indian singer at your bar?'
The manager thought for a few seconds. He shook his head.
‘Sorry, mate. The schedule is there. See if something rings a bell.’
I walked to the noticeboard. I saw the timetable for various gigs all
month,The singers’ descriptions did not suggest anyone like Riya.
The waitress gave me the bill for two beers. She added a 20 per
cent tip to it.
‘20 per cent?’
‘It’s New York,’ she said, glaring. I later learnt that tipping wasn't
optional in New York.
I left Brandy’s and visited a couple of other bars in the
neighbourhood. There was Marty O’Brien's on 87th street in Second
Avenue. It had more rock bands than singers. Uptown Restaurant and
Lounge on 88th Street had its schedule placed outside. I could only
find two female singers. Both were American, the doorman told me.
The posh Carlyle Hotel, all the way down on 76th Street, had a bar
called Bemelman’s. Drinks cost fifteen dollars each, excluding the tip. I
sat on a small couch in the corner of the bar and stayed away from the
waiter to avoid placing an order.
The singer, a beautiful, six-foot-tall blonde American woman, sang