The Red Carpet Read Online Free

what if that fails? It has been known to happen. Then you will be left a widower, and my grandchildren will be motherless.” She answered the question in Ramu’s eyes. “It happened two years ago. Ashwini gave away one of her kidneys to a cousin. For a transplant.”
    Ramu stopped eating.
    “I’m not saying that it is not a nice thing to do. But still,” Ma said, “of course, we cannot consider her now. Her mother should have told me earlier.”
    She surfaced once from the ensuing discussion with his father to say consolingly: “Never mind. There are other girls. If you want modern, I will find. I will find lots of modern girls. Don’t worry.”
    KK’s engagement party was the usual extravaganza, a mini– wedding reception, with three generations of people stuffing themselves at KK’s parents’ expense. Chi. Bear-Butt and Sow.
Baby-girl to wed and become Mr. and Mrs. Karadi Kundi.
    Ramu stared at the crowd feeling oddly light-headed. He traced the outlines of his goatee with his thumb and forefinger, sensitive to the transition between smooth, carefully shaved skin and the trimmed outgrowth of hair. He had chosen his clothes with care. He felt the urge in him to make a good impression and he’d catered to it, doing so with a slight, self-aware smile.
    He looked for Ashwini. She had to be here. Even if it was just for a short visit, one stop on a series of Saturday-night parties. He had come early, knowing that this was the type of function she would finish first, on her way to something more hip, less sober.
    It was three days since he’d decided that she was the woman he wanted to marry. He’d slept on the decision, thought about it while swimming, in the shower, and at work. His reasoning was as clear as could be: what kind of person gives up their kidney to someone else?
    Someone with courage.
    Someone with conviction.
    Someone with principles.
    In short, someone with a Depth of Purpose.
    Ashwini was a heroine.
    This was something he could respect in his wife-to-be, and that others would respect also. The gift of her kidney gave her a depth, and by reflection, him a depth as well.
    He’d fought an urge to telephone her—that would not be the right approach. He somehow felt that this first conversation should happen in a milieu they were both used to. A party. This party. They could take it from there. Go somewhere private, if need be.
    The fact was, Ramu was not terribly clear on how to proceed. He’d discussed the options with himself. A: He could leave it to the mothers, a choice he’d already dismissed. Far better to circumvent their mothers, talk to Ashwini directly, and then bring the news to his parents as a fait accompli. That would be amusing. B: He could court her as he might any other woman, see where it developed, propose (ring in hand, on his knee) as the grand finale to several months of dating—and suffer, meanwhile, the uncertainty of future rejection. C: He could strike a path somewhere between the first two options: tell her that the mothers were talking—that he himself preferred to deal with such things directly—yes, he was interested—and what did she think?
    He tried to untangle himself from one of his father’s acquaintances, a gentleman who by day haunted the club swimming pool in the guise of a Buffalo, and who now held tightly on to his arm and repeated with gentle insistence: “
Hanh beta
, so why you don’t drop by?”
    Ramu stared blindly at the three strands of graying hair combed unconvincingly across the bare stretch of pate. He’d been kidnapped by geriatric perseverance while Ashwini hovered tantalizingly out of sight.
    “You come next week. My granddaughter is visiting. From London. You come.”
    “I will,” said Ramu. He wrenched his arm away, helping himself to a kebab from a passing tray.
    His companion watched him eat, and then asked querulously, “How it is, this one? Good-uh?”
    “Very good,” Ramu nodded politely, waiting desperately for the old