When Dimple Met Rishi

This is our life. We get to decide the rules. We get to say what goes and what stays, what matters and what doesn’t.

But that was Rishi... he was like a pop song you thought you couldn't stand, but found yourself humming in the shower anyway.

I feel like I need to speak out, because if no one speaks out, if no one says, this is me, this is what I believe in, and this is why I'm different, and this is why that's okay, then what's the point? What's the point of living in this beautiful, great melting pot where everyone can dare be anything they want to be?

It was his damn fool heart. Ever optimistic, always looking for a sliver of sunshine in a sky clotted with thunderclouds.

Seriously? That's what you think I should be relegating my brain space to? Looking nice? Like, if I don't make the effort to look beautiful, my entire existence is nullified? Nothing else matters-not my intellect, not my personality or my accomplishments; my hopes and dreams mean nothing if I'm not wearing eyeliner?

There was something about people who were that secure; they made you feel better about yourself, like they accepted you for everything you were, imperfections and all.

She refused to be one of those girls who gave up on everything they'd been planning simply because a boy entered the picture.

She wept for her hardheadedness, and for a world that couldn't just let her be both, a woman in love and a woman with a career, without flares of guilt and self-doubt seeping in and wreaking havoc.

And then she smiled a smile so dazzling, Rishi tripped over his own feet.

She inhaled deeply—and sneezed. Stupid allergies. “Gods bless you,” Rishi said. Dimple arched an eyebrow. “Gods?” He nodded sagely. “As a Hindu, I’m a polytheist, as you well know.” Dimple laughed. “Yes, and I also know we still only say ‘God,’ not ‘gods.’ We still believe Brahma is the supreme creator.” Rishi smiled, a sneaky little thing that darted out before he could stop it. “You got me. It’s my version of microaggressing back on people.” “Explain.” “So, okay. This is how it works in the US: In the spring we’re constantly subjected to bunnies and eggs wherever we go, signifying Christ’s resurrection. Then right around October we begin to see pine trees and nativity scenes and laughing fat white men everywhere. Christian iconography is all over the place, constantly in our faces, even in casual conversation. This is the bible of comic book artists . . . He had a come to Jesus moment, all of that stuff. So this is my way of saying, Hey, maybe I believe something a little different. And every time someone asks me why ‘gods,’ I get to explain Hinduism.” Dimple chewed on this, impressed in spite of herself. He actually had a valid point. Why was Christianity always the default? “Ah.” She nodded, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “So what you’re saying is, you’re like a Jehovah’s Witness for our people.” Rishi’s mouth twitched, but he nodded seriously. “Yes. I’m Ganesha’s Witness. Has a bit of a ring to it, don’t you think?

You. Are. Beautiful. Lajawab. My only worry is that I might not be able to do you justice.

He wondered if he should feel a stab of jealousy - Dimple bonding so well with his muscled, much cooler younger brother - but all he felt was this warm, almost gooey feeling in his chest. Like his heart was wrapped in microwaved Nutella.

Hello, future wife,” he said, his voice bubbling with glee. “I can’t wait to get started on the rest of our lives!

You're going to see a lot of it. People getting ahead unfairly because of the category into which they were born: male or white or straight or rich. I'm in a few of those categories myself, which is why I make it a point to reach out and help those who aren't, those who might not necessarily be seen if I didn't make the effort. We need to shake this field up, you know? We need more people with different points of view and experiences and thought processes so we can keep innovating and moving ahead.

And then he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, one hand moving up to cup her cheek, thumb just under her jaw while his fingers tangled in her hair. Rishi kissed her with purpose, with meaning, like he believed this was exactly where they were supposed to be in this moment. He kissed her till she believed it too.

He already knew the first time he saw Dimple’s picture that their story would become a sort of legend

Rishi was a naturally good friend, she could tell, the kind of guy who thought your every fight was his as well.

When the finally pulled apart, Rishi's mouth tingling still, Dimple smiled shyly and looked down at their hands, entwined between them on the bench. "So," she said softly. "That was unexpected." He leaned over and kissed her forehead, like it was the most natural thing to do. Was this going to be their thing now, casual kissing? He hoped so. "Unexpected but awesome." Rishi paused. "Right?" She laughed and looked up at him. "Definitely." He grinned, his heart soaked in happy.

She set her book carefully down, dog-earing a corner of her page with love.

I was so afraid of going down the same path as my parents, of ending up in the same domestic life, that I forgot to consider one thing: This is our life. We get to decide the rules. We get to say what goes and what stays, what matters and what doesn't.

Dimple could see, flush from the endorphins of a great performance, why actors and performers got addicted to this kind of thing. It had always seemed unfathomable to her, choosing a career where all you did was put yourself out in front of hundreds or thousands of people and risked rejection in real time. But if they felt even half of what she was feeling now when it went well...

If this was how Rishi Patel showed his interest in her, if this was him wooing her, she wanted more. More, more, more.

It was sort of nice that she didn’t need to explain the hovering, how it really came from a place of love. Rishi got that this was just what moms and dads did in their world. Dimple

Dimple thought of Insomnia Con, of Jenny Lindt, of SFSU, of Stanford. Of all the things she’d jeopardize if she called Ritu auntie a backward, antifeminist blight on democratic society. Thankfully,

And they’re still so intricately connected to us. We have their names, their rituals, their traditions. Their dreams sit behind our eyelids. I think it’s beautiful.

Dimple opened her mouth to say that, yeah, in her opinion misogyny was complicated. Mainly because of the way it was integrated into the very fabric of society, which made it hard to see when a guy was being a total d-bag to you.

He’d just been waiting for her to catch up to him. And,

So, just based on first day impressions, who do you guys think is going to win Insomnia Con?” Celia asked between bites of her $42 mac and cheese. Dimple couldn’t help calculating the value of each bite. There goes $2. And another $2. She didn’t even properly chew up that $2.