Almost Single A Novel

Summary

In a city where old is meeting new, daughters are surprising mothers, and love is breaking all the rules, this heartfelt and wickedly funny cross-cultural debut novel introduces a smart, irreverent young woman searching for independence and matrimony in a culture bound by tradition. Between elegant soirees and the occasional mortifying mishap, Aisha Bhatia's job as guest relations manager at New Delhi's five-star Grand Orchid Hotel is intermittently fabulousshe certainly knows her wines and cheeses. But despite a life filled with good friends and first-class travel accommodations, the fact is that not many twenty-nine-year-old women in India are singleas Aisha's mother never fails to remind her. Somewhere a clock is ticking, though as far as Aisha is concerned, it can be cheerfully drowned out by laughter over a champagne brunch. Yet when the handsomely chiseled Karan Verma arrives from New York, Aisha experiences an unexpected attitude adjustment. Karan is everything she's ever wanted...that is, if she actuallyknewwhat she wanted. Is it possible that she's about to find out? Savvy, sexy, and unforgettable,Almost Singletackles the loving, exasperating tug-of-war between mothers and daughters, traditional customs and contemporary romanceand what happens when a modern Indian woman is caught in the middle.

Author Biography

Advaita Kala may be best described as rebellious (a result of three years spent at Welham’s), confused (after four years of a liberal arts education at Berry College, Georgia, USA), and multifaceted (having held jobs that range from being a librarian to a teppanyaki chef). After calling three countries and numerous cities home, she has finally dropped anchor in New Delhi. She enjoys music, sailing, reading and is devoted to her St. Bernard. This is her first novel.

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Excerpts

My World

The phone punctures my deep dreamless REM slumber at the crack of dawn. I flop an arm out of the covers, groping for the instrument. “Hello,” I croak.

“Aisha, wake up, sleepyhead.” Misha sounds like a bottle of the best bubbly ready to pop, and my head feels like it’s going to explode. Just what happened last night?

“What time is it?”

“Quarter to eleven o’clock, and it’s a gorgeous day! Do you want to get a coffee at Barista? We can sit outside.”

I hang up.

Of course it rings again. Damn, some women just don’t get it.

“Yes, Mish,” I grind out. “No coffee for me, it stains the teeth.”

“Come on! You smoke like a pack a day. Don’t give me that.”

I refuse to dignify this with a response. But knowing there is no point in arguing, I agree to meet her at eleven-thirty, which gives me forty-five minutes more of shut-eye. I lie back in bed, bracing myself for the wave of nausea that I can feel making its way up my throat. It is broken by a flurry of recollection.

Last night was girls’ night out. Let me rephrase that: Most nights are girls’ night out. The only difference is that last night we stayed in. Misha had invested in a bottle of plonk with some French-sounding label. In consideration of the money spent, we finished the bottle, for which I was paying the full price now.

For most people, life and love are like a game of connect-the-dots: The numbers always form a straight line to the goal. The result is a perfect picture. For the lesser half—especially for those who inhabit my world—the vision is a blur of blots and splotches and there’s no straight line to speak of.

This is my story, and of those who occupy this world with me. My name is Aisha Bhatia, I am twenty-nine years old and single. But before I get into all that, I have a confession to make: I am rather large. I live in denial, of course, and will never tell you how much I weigh. Let’s just say that the package isn’t too bad as my height sort of makes up for my generous proportions. Maybe this sounds too much like an Alcoholics Anonymous introduction, but I don’t know what else to say. I hate my job—actually, my boss—so I don’t want to get into that. I don’t really care for my vital stats at the moment, and I don’t have a cute/funny nickname either. Hence this introduction. It stinks, but it sticks. Actually, it’s quite in sync with the way society looks upon single women of a certain age. In fact, sometimes I think there should be support groups like AA out there for us. If I ever do quit my job, I’ll start one.

Did I say single? Well, I do have one “serious” ex-boyfriend. We are now “friends” and the split was “amicable.” So why the inverted commas? Because breakups are always tricky. I believe I am going through this love renaissance thingy, which involves reexamining my relationships and social bonds. In all honesty, we are in touch because he is my bitch fix when I have it in for the world, and in particular for the male species. Like, when shrinks tell you that all your adult problems can be traced back to your childhood? My own psychoanalysis tells me that all my present romantic hiccups can be traced back to the ex.

I have two friends, Misha and Anushka—soul buddies, really—and their opinions pretty much dictate my life. When I’m not busy psychoanalyzing them, myself, others, or the world in general, I work in a hotel and lead a very busy life, meeting a lot of interesting people along the way. Yes, I’m being facetious here. People who spend upward of ten grand a night on a bed can be a pain. Though not as much as the sorry man who calls himself my boss—but more on him later. So,

Excerpted from Almost Single by Advaita Kala
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