half-girlfriend-chetan-bhagat

40
'No Indian singer here. I’m sorry,’ she said.
I had come to Tribeca Nation, a small bar with thirty seats and a
tiny stage for solo vocalists. The singer had just finished her
performance.
I had gone up to her and told her I loved her voice. I asked her if
she would have a few minutes to sit with me. She looked at me
suspiciously.
‘I just have some questions. Nothing else,’ I had told her.
She ordered a Jack Daniel’s whisky and Diet Coke, and urged me
to try the same.
Erica was twenty-two years old. She was from Rhode Island, a
state north of New York. She wanted to act in a Broadway play, and
tried her luck at auditions during the day. At night, she earned a living
through singing gigs.
‘I finished high school and came here.’
I looked at her.
‘No college, sorry.’ She grinned. Over the past few weeks, I had
learnt a thing or two about Americans. If they wanted something, they
went for it. They didn’t think about the risks so much. Which Indian
parent would allow a girl to sing in bars at night after class XII, I
wondered?
‘I really need to find this girl,’ I said, now two whiskies down and
more talkative.
‘Love. Makes us do crazy things,’ she said.
‘Well, I am going a little crazy.’
‘Love.’ She laughed. 'At least it keeps us singers in business.’
I gave her Riya’s description.
‘You spoke to agents?’
‘As many as I could. No luck yet.’
‘If she has a stage name, it can get quite difficult.’
‘Well, she is Indian. I am hoping someone will remember her. I