The Gurkha's Daughter by Prajwal Parajuly

Khusboo did very little talking. She hadn’t even cooked anything special.
    â€œThe name is Anwesh, Bua,” Supriya corrected him with a pat on his head and went on a verbal trip down memory lane, rife with anecdotes that sprang from his name-forgetting ways.
    â€œPolitics, Uncle,” Anwesh said, unflustered. “I am already in the GJM. I like Bimal Gurung’s leadership, but some day, I hope to be the next Bimal Gurung. Subash Ghisingh did nothing for the Darjeeling district. So many years later, we’re still not a state. I worked very closely with Jaswant Singh’s campaign and now understand how the grassroots level works. I think he’s the one who’ll get us out of this quandary.”
    â€œBut Jaswant Singh was expelled from his own party,” Prabin interrupted. “He doesn’t even know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
    â€œHe’ll join Congress, Uncle, and Congress will easily free Gorkhaland. We’ll no longer be under the oppressive regime of Kolkata. Just you see.”
    They finished dinner and went to the crow’s nest without Khusboo. Just a week ago, Prabin had installed a minibar in one corner. He poured himself a whiskey, the local brand, and asked Anwesh and Supriya to help themselves. Anwesh made himself a drink by adding a little whiskey to his glass and brimming it with water. Supriya declined.
    â€œSo what do you want to do for a career, Anwesh?” He got the name right.
    â€œPolitics, Uncle, will be my career. I will see to it that the Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council will be free and continue serving in some political capacity.”
    â€œDo you see yourself as a DGHC minister if it becomes a state one day, Anwesh?” He purposefully avoided calling him “son.”
    â€œYes, Uncle, I do. I will become the chief minister one day. Your daughter thinks it’s impossible, though. She thinks I am wasting my time.”
    â€œDid you say that, Supriya?” Prabin asked, not looking at anyone, or anything, in particular.
    â€œYes, I did,” Supriya said. “And that’s the reason I won’t marry you, Anwesh.”
    â€œJust give me five years, Supriya. Five years is all I need.”
    â€œNo, Anwesh, I gave you two, and you still don’t have a job or money of your own. You’re still dependent on your parents for money. We’ve talked about this before.”
    Prabin fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, shuffling his liquor from one hand to another. He asked if he should leave.
    â€œNo, that’s fine, Bua, we’re having a casual discussion,” Supriya said. “Look at us—still smiling.”
    She was smiling; Anwesh wasn’t.
    â€œI will not get married to someone who makes less money than I do,” Supriya said.
    â€œYou’re insulting me, Supriya.” The howling of a pack of stray dogs drowned Anwesh’s voice. “I keep telling you to give me five years to prove myself.”
    â€œYou don’t need five years to prove yourself. I wouldn’t mind your political gundagiri at all if only you had a job. You could teach in a college somewhere and continue to mobilize the youth. You could work someplace—that would put your education to good use.”
    Her father stood up to leave, but so did Anwesh.
    â€œI guess this means I should leave?” Anwesh asked.
    â€œProbably,” Supriya said. “Good luck.”
    â€œAll right, Uncle, thank you so much for dinner,” Anwesh said. “Namaste.”
    â€œGoodnight, Anwesh,” Prabin said.
    â€œI’ll see you to the door.” Supriya led the way.
    Prabin had expected some talk to take place downstairs and was surprised when Supriya returned immediately.
    â€œWow,” he remarked.
    â€œI know,” she said. “He wouldn’t have left me alone had I not insulted him here.”
    Prabin smiled. “So that’s why you brought him here?”
    â€œWell,