Chapter 3
The chimes on the door of Uncle Parm’s grocery store jingled in harmony as Manisha and her mother stepped inside.
“Come in, come in! Big, big, the biggest sale today,” the tall man with a perfectly sharp moustache said. He smiled at them and went back to chatting on the phone in Punjabi.
Manisha looked around. It had been years since her last visit, and the store looked the same.
It was a treasure trove of Indian delights: enormous bags of yellow lentils and kidney beans lined the aisles like giant pillows while a medley of familiar scents—mothballs mingling with spices—filled the air.
Shelves overflowing with every condiment and traditional Indian remedy seemed to spill into the aisles, creating chaos that only Uncle Parm knew how to manage.
“Mooli, ugh,” Manisha muttered under her breath as the sharp scent of horseradish reached her nostrils.
“Hurry, Isha, before it’s all sold out,” her mother urged, gently nudging her toward the back of the store, where a vibrant red SALE sign made of flimsy bristol board dangled unevenly from the ceiling.
“Mom, there is literally no one in the store but us and Uncle Parm.” Manisha eyed the red-and-white milk jugs and the many boxes of salted butter in the refrigerators. Her mother opened the refrigerator door and handed three jugs to Manisha.
“Here. One more,” her mother said, practically throwing a fourth to her.
“Mom, these things are ridiculously heavy! I only have two arms, and there’s not even a cart in sight!
And look at Uncle Parm—he’s just yapping away on the phone.
” Manisha glared at the store owner. “Hey, Uncle, can you give us a hand over here?” She exaggerated the struggle of holding the milk, hoping to catch his attention, but the only response she got from Uncle Parm was a casual wave from the front of the store, where he was still engrossed in his conversation.
“Pretend like you are at the gym weightlifting. Look—like this.”
Her mom pretended to do an arm curl with a jug of milk dangling from her hand. Manisha was surprised—these things were heavy.
“Hilarious, Mom. They’re not dumbbells,” she snorted.
“Manisha, you are a dumbbell,” her mom said, brushing past her as she walked to the checkout, one arm loaded with milk and the other with butter.
“Ah, Manisha! Welcome back,” Uncle Parm said, wrapping the phone cord around his neck.
Manisha could hear the person on the other end of the phone chattering away.
Uncle Parm took in Manisha’s outfit. “Vow. I like your style. Very powerful, strong Indian woman.” He pumped a fist triumphantly before turning his attention to ringing up her items.
“Thanks, Uncle.” Manisha attempted a half fist back out of courtesy.
“So, when is the next Patel wedding? Are you next in line, Manisha?” Manisha gnashed her teeth. He had lasted all of ten seconds. She couldn’t help but wish the phone cord would tighten a bit around his neck.
Her mother stepped in. “Soon, Parm. But first, Sammy and Manny will marry next year.”
“Oh, vow. So exciting.”
Manisha opted for avoidance over violence and pulled out her phone to scroll through Instagram.
“By the way, Parm, you must have some potential suitors in mind for our Isha?” her mother asked casually.
Manisha widened her eyes. “You have got to be kidding me,” she grumbled quietly, slowly inching away from the conversation.
Uncle Parm nodded vigorously. “You know, funny you mention that. Aman was here this morning—Aman Basara.”
“That ancient uncle?” Manisha blurted out, earning a fierce glare from her mother. “I mean—uh, that very respected ancient uncle?” Blushing, she turned her attention to the selection of chocolate bars and picked out a Mars bar.
Manisha’s mother frowned and shook her head. “He’s too old, Parm! We need someone younger—fit, well-educated, a journeyman.”
“A journeyman?” Manisha muttered under her breath, opening the chocolate bar and taking a bite.
“He has to be able to keep up with our Isha. Who else do you have in mind?”
“Alright, let me think,” Uncle Parm said, rubbing his chin.
“You know, you are right. He must be the perfect man for our beloved lawyer Manisha.” Suddenly, he snapped his fingers.
“I’ve got it! What if we put up a large picture of her?
” He gestured toward the wall behind him, plastered with tattered posters of Bollywood icons—Katrina Kaif, Aishwarya Rai, Alia Bhatt.
“On this very wall! It’s like online dating, but on-wall dating! ”
Manisha’s mouth dropped open. “Uncle Parm, you can’t put me on that wall.”
“Manisha, there is no shame in being single,” Uncle Parm said.
“I’m not the shame, I’m not ashamed—I mean—” Manisha stumbled over her words.
“What she means is that a picture is a bit much, Parm,” her mother interjected, rummaging through her wallet.
“But discussing my relationship status in the middle of an Indian grocery store isn’t?” Manisha sassed, taking another bite of the Mars bar.
Her mother ignored her. “But perhaps something else. Not too obvious, you know?”
Uncle Parm nodded. “Okay. Let me think about another idea!”
“Please, take your time,” Manisha said with more than a hint of sarcasm. She glanced at her phone, silently hoping it would ring and rescue her from this agony.
“Oh, I have something!” Uncle Parm exclaimed as he ducked below the counter. He soon re-emerged, placing a medium-sized lemon tree on top.
“What’s this for?” her mother asked, intrigued by the peculiar offer.
“Lucky lemons! Lucky man! Lucky wedding,” he chimed cheerfully.
“Lucky me,” Manisha added dryly, rolling her eyes. “Mom, are you almost done?” She crumpled the wrapper of her chocolate bar and stuffed it into her Louis Vuitton bag.
Manisha’s mother shook her head. “Oh no, we don’t need this kind of luck, Parm. We have our own luck. We have the Patel Blessing. That’s all the luck we need.”
“Patel Blessing?” Uncle Parm and Manisha said in unison.
The store was suddenly enveloped in an eerie silence, pierced only by the faint hum of the ugly fluorescent lights.
Manisha leaned in closer to catch her mother’s words.
“You see, I met her father and fell in love in just over two weeks. Both her brothers found their partners and got engaged in exactly sixteen days. Now it’s Manisha’s turn.
The Patel Blessing is to be passed down to her now. ”
Manisha scoffed. “I had no idea that this Patel Blessing existed until today,” she remarked, rolling her eyes.
“Very, very interesting,” Uncle Parm said, looking thoughtful. “Tell me more…and can I sell this blessing here?”
“Alright, I’ve had my fill of this Manisha Matchmaking special,” Manisha declared. “Mom, I’ll go get the car.” As she started toward the door, she glanced back with a playful smirk. “Oh, and Uncle Parm, thanks for the free chocolate bar! Lucky me!” She flashed him a bright smile.
“Hain, free?” Uncle Parm said, confused.
Manisha banged on the horn. “What the hell! You’ve got to be kidding me!” Her voice reverberated in her car, louder than the music blaring on the radio.
Despite her furious honking, the offending yellow convertible’s engine cut.
Mouth agape, Manisha stared dumbstruck as the driver breezily stepped out, the definition of unbothered.
He was so engrossed with his phone, he didn’t so much as glance back at her.
Fuming, Manisha hastily put her car in park and sprang out, slamming the door behind her.
One of her high heels slipped off as she stormed toward the parking spot thief, but she snatched it up, ripped off the other, and continued marching after him barefoot.
“Hey!” she called out as he strolled toward Uncle Parm’s store. “I was waiting for that spot!”
“What?” the man replied distractedly, eyes still glued to his screen.
“Hello? Eyes over here! I’m talking to you!” Manisha snapped her hands firmly on her hips. “What’s your problem? That was my parking spot. I was clearly waiting for it!”
“I don’t have a problem, but it sounds like you do,” he retorted, still tapping away on his phone.
“My problem is with your driving skills—or lack thereof! Who the heck taught you how to drive?” Manisha shot back in annoyance.
Finally, the man glanced up and chuckled, completely unbothered. “Me? Who taught you how to drive? Or how to pick appropriate footwear for it?” He motioned to her heels clutched in each hand. “Look at those six-inch daggers!”
Manisha set her shoes down and slipped them back on. Damn, even with the extra help, this guy towered over her. “These daggers”—she spat, pulling herself up stick-straight—“should be digging into your front tires after the move you just pulled—like some race car maniac! That was my spot!”
“Maniac? You weren’t paying attention,” the man said, narrowing his eyes. “You snooze, you lose.”
“Oh, trust me, I don’t lose at anything.” Manisha crossed her arms defiantly.
He rolled his eyes. “Listen, I don’t see your name anywhere,” he said, gesturing to the sign at the front of the parking spot: EMPLOYEE PARKING ONLY. “Unless you’re an employee of Uncle Parm’s grocery store?” He gave her a smug look, and they shared a glance toward the designated parking space.
“I’m not! And neither are you!” Manisha said.
He shrugged. “Whatever. Guess I just didn’t notice you,” he said dismissively.
Manisha’s left eye gave an involuntary twitch. She took in his perfectly combed hair, impeccably ironed shirt, sunglasses hanging from the neck, that made him look like he’d just stepped off a fashion runway.
“Probably because you were too busy checking yourself out in the mirror of your Lambo,” she snapped.
“Or maybe I was just blinded by the sunlight reflecting off your gaudy Louis Vuitton bag. What’s it carry—an entire child?” he retorted, eyebrow raised.
Manisha’s lip curled up in a sneer. “Oh, if only there was something to protect your poor eyes. Oh, wait,” she paused for dramatic effect, “what are those?” She jabbed at his shades.
“Clever,” he muttered, rubbing the spot where her finger had connected with his chest. His gaze lingered on her, as if he was properly seeing her for the first time. “Wait a second, I know you!”
“I seriously doubt that. I’d remember running into a maniac like you,” she replied, angling to head back toward her car. She took in a deep calming breath. “Now, can you please move your vehicle so I can park in my spot?”
“I’m not moving it. I was here first. Why don’t you find another spot?” The man pointed to a space located halfway across the lot.
Manisha felt her frustration boil over again, her face flaming red. “Of course you’d expect me to move. Why would you relocate your fancy car for my humble family SUV? You’re so infuriating, and so is your ridiculous car!” She glared at him, heart back to racing.
The man stepped closer, laughter breaking through the tension. “I was right—I do know you! You’re one of the Patels, Sammy’s sister!” His tone softened, shedding all trace of its earlier hostility.
Who was this guy, and how did he know her? “Well, I don’t know you and don’t care to know you,” Manisha shot back.
“You don’t remember me?” he asked with a devilish grin.
“You know what? The spot is yours. This car has caused me nothing but headaches, and the last thing I need is more trouble in this town, like some nosy auntie recording a video of this mess.” He unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat.
Manisha’s heart tripped at the mention of “recording a video” as she glanced around in panic. “You know what? Never mind, I don’t want this spot anymore,” she said, turning to head back to her car.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s all yours,” he called, rolling down his window. He reversed out of the spot, adding a casual wave as he drove away. “Enjoy the parking space, Sammy’s sister!” His honking only intensified her irritation.
“Get back here, you—” Manisha exclaimed through clenched teeth. She bit off the rest of her words as his car tore out of view. Flustered, she jumped into her car just as her mother burst out of Uncle Parm’s store.
“Isha, help!” her mother exclaimed, struggling to carry the several bags of groceries…a lemon tree.
Manisha hurriedly swung the car around, slammed it into park, then rushed over to take the plant from her mother’s arms. “Mom, what on earth are you doing with this? I thought the Patel Blessing was all we needed!” She glanced back at the store, where Uncle Parm was grinning, absorbed in his phone again.
“Just put it in the back of the car,” her mother urged, opening the passenger-side door. Manisha wrestled the lemon tree into the SUV’s back seat before sliding into the front seat herself. She buckled her seatbelt and shifted the car into drive.
“Was that Mr. Khanna’s son, Rohit?” her mother asked cheerfully, gazing out the window.
“What? Who?” Manisha turned to her, puzzled.
“The tall boy you were chatting with outside,” her mother clarified.
“That was Rohit Khanna?” Manisha’s face twisted in distaste. “Gross.”
“He’s a nice boy,” her mother defended, ignoring Manisha’s expression of disdain.
Manisha narrowed her eyes at her. “Mom, what took you so long? And why on earth did you buy that lemon tree?”
“Uncle Parm said it would bring us extra good, good, very good luck,” her mother replied. “Lucky lemons, Isha!”
“Considering how the last five minutes have gone, I’d argue those lemons are anything but lucky,” Manisha whispered to herself. “Very, very, very unlucky.”