دانلود رمان انگلیسی “یک دختر هندی”

‘What do you mean, not enough rooms?’ I said to Arijit Banerjee, the lobby manager of the Goa Marriott. ‘See, what I am trying to explain is. . .’ Arijit began in his modulated, courteous voice when mom cut him off. ‘It’s my daughter ’s wedding. Are you going to shame us?’ she said, her volume loud enough to startle the rest of the reception staff. ‘No, ma’am. Just a shortage of twenty rooms. You booked a hundred. We had only promised eighty then. We hoped to give more but the chief minister had a function and. . .’ ‘What do we tell our guests who have come all the way from America?’ mom said. ‘If I may suggest, there is another hotel two kilometres away,’ Arijit said. ‘We have to be together. You are going to ruin my daughter ’s wedding for some sarkaari function?’ my mother said, bosom heaving, breath heavy—classic warning signs of an upcoming storm. ‘Mom, go sit with dad, please. I will sort this out,’ I said. Mom glared at me. How could I, the bride, do all this in the first place? I should be worried about my facials, not room allocations. ‘The boy’s side arrives in less than three hours. I can’t believe this,’ she muttered, walking to the sofa at the centre of the lobby. My father sat there along with Kamla bua, his elder sister. Other uncles and aunts occupied the remaining couches in the lobby—a Mehta takeover of the Marriott. My mother looked at my father, a level-two glare. It signified: ‘Will you ever take the initiative?’ My father shifted in his seat. I refocused on the lobby manager.