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| played the piano at the same time.'Don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep. 'Cause I'd miss you, baby. And I don't wanna miss a thing' I didn't want to fall asleep either. I wanted to stay up all night and look for Riya in as many bars as I could. I opened my Google Maps app again.The streets of Manhattan seemed manageable on the phone screen. In reality, this was a megacity of millions. She may not even be in New York, a soft voice in my head told me. It was the only sensible voice I had left. As always, I ignored it. I focused on the music. I felt the pain of the singer who couldn't bear to sleep as ii would mean missing moments with his lover. I went up to the cashier and asked for the manager. When he arrived, I posed my standard list of questions. 'I've come from India looking for a lost friend. All I know is she it probably a singer at a bar in NewYork. Can you tell me who your singers are?' 'Too many, my friend. The schedule is on the noticeboard. You know her name?' the manager said. 'Her real name is Riya.' 'No such name, I'm pretty sure.' 'She may have changed it for the stage,' I said. 'That's a tough search then, my friend.' 'She's tall, slim and pretty. Long hair, well, at least when I saw her last.' 'This is a city of tall, slim and pretty people.' 'Indian, She's an Indian singer in a New York bar.' 'She sings Bollywood? I would check the Indian restaurants.' 'Unlikely. She liked Western music. Do you remember seeing any Indian singer at your bar?' The manager thought for a few seconds. He shook his head. 'Sorry, mate. The schedule is there. See if something rings a bell.' I walked to the noticeboard. I saw the timetable for various gigs all month,The singers' descriptions did not suggest anyone like Riya. The waitress gave me the bill for two beers. She added a 20 per cent tip to it. '20 per cent?' 'It's New York,' she said, glaring. I later learnt that tipping wasn't optional in New York. I left Brandy's and visited a couple of other bars in the neighbourhood. There was Marty O'Brien's on 87th street in Second Avenue. It had more rock bands than singers. Uptown Restaurant and Lounge on 88th Street had its schedule placed outside. I could only find two female singers. Both were American, the doorman told me. The posh Carlyle Hotel, all the way down on 76th Street, had a bar called Bemelman's. Drinks cost fifteen dollars each, excluding the tip. I sat on a small couch in the corner of the bar and stayed away from the waiter to avoid placing an order. The singer, a beautiful, six-foot-tall blonde American woman, sang |
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