Page 19 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“It’s tobacco. Dry tobacco.” His chest rumbled against my nose, and I stepped away instantly.

“I’m so sorry! I promise this isn’t a come-on,” I said, flustered by my proximity to him. “Sometimes curiosity gets the better of me.”

“No harm done,” he said as I slipped into the car. When he came around in the driver’s seat, I pushed my seat all the way back to align with his.

“I struggle with attention deficit,” I explained softly as we pulled out of the driveway. “Mostly I manage it well, but sometimes, the impulsivity just slips out.”

“I’m glad it does. That’s the source of all creativity, isn’t it?” I expected a patronizing smile to follow that statement. But he just drove with the assured composure I had come to expect in the little time I had known him. “My mother is mighty impressed with you.”

A rush of warmth coursed through my body. “She is brilliant. I had a great time chatting with her.”

“She’s a misfit for this crowd, a renegade. Did you notice the reactions when you spoke?”

“I did, and I ignored them. I’m used to it now, and aunties are still better than uncles. Aunties acknowledge that you are too smart for your own good, then claim that you’d never make a good wife and a dutiful daughter-in-law. Uncles insult your intellect and discount your opinions just because you are a woman. It used to tick me off, but now I find it amusing. A social experiment of sorts.”

“I prefer confrontation in such situations.”

I flashed back to the fierce avatar I had witnessed that afternoon. “You can afford confrontation because you’re a man…and a privileged one at that. I’ve learned to catch more flies with honey.”

“Honey doesn’t change a social mindset, only sugarcoats it. You need acid and fat to burn it all down.”

“True, but so many of us aren’t allowed to use such tactics. Our voices would never be heard if we used only acid and fat. So sometimes, we use honey. It helps build alliances instead of burning everything down.”

“Well, we disagree on this issue. Let’s leave it at that.”

“But the people who really surprise you are the ones you least expect.”

“Like Juhi?” He slipped me a quick look, then smirked at my reaction. “It’s not surprising in the least. Privileged women have always behaved that way.”

I sighed. “You’re right. Juhi’s behavior shouldn’t surprise me, but this is not an academic inquiry that I can conduct with a certain degree of dispassion. She’s Sameer’s family. It hits a little too close to home.”

“Your research intrigued me. How might you categorize your field of study?”

“I am a feminist political geographer.”

He nodded. “Hmm, interesting,” he said.

“Do you know you have a distinct Texas drawl?” I couldn’t resist mentioning. His luxurious words had melted my insides so many times that evening.

“Well, I grew up here. My parents moved to Texas when I was about three months old. Dallas is the only home I’ve known. How about you?”

“I’m a Mumbai girl, through and through.”

He smiled. “Ah, and terribly proud of it, I see.”

“Absolutely. You’d have to live there to know what it’s like.”

“Haven’t lived there, but that’s where I was born,” he said.

“So what do you do, Mihir?” I asked with utmost curiosity. “You pretend to be all intimidating, and mysterious, and brusque, but that’s not who you really are, is it?

“Am I not?” His lips lifted at the corners. “My company consults on corporate restructuring and turnarounds.”

“Huh, you say that as if it makes sense.”

“Ditto for feminist political geography.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.”

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