The man smirks. Just a little. His lips part, exposing small, stained teeth. His eyes light up, and in his deep-seated, big, brown eyes, offset by sweeping eyebrows, I sense mirth. Mixed with a bit of mischief. The mischief of a man who has knowingly indulged in it and has perhaps, enjoyed himself.
“It is a funding company,” he says. Every word is in Hindi, except the word funding.
What does that mean? That’s me, pulling my chair closer to the glass table. Closer to him.
It is noisy inside.