A few days later, when Kumar returned to his college room after spending a few long hours at Marjorie’s country club, he was asked what the most memorable part of the golf outing was. Kumar, naturally answered, the 19th hole!

Returning that late evening after dinner, which once again reinforced in him how bad Western food really was, Kumar lay on his bed and relived some of the more interesting parts of the day. Golf was not something he would strive to take up in the next few decades, if ever. Once he had sat in the golf cart with Marjorie who dove like a maniac up and down hills, and used the brakes on the little electric machine at the very last moment, when there was no other way to prevent her from hitting another golfer or careering across one of the immaculately kept greens, Kumar decided that the possibility of being hit by a cricket ball while fielding at Silly Mid off was less. However, he remembered with fondness the welcome he received from the other three people in Marjorie’s golf group. She introduced him as Indian from India, as opposed to one living on a reservation in North Dakota. When one of her friends who belonged in a Bergdorf Goodman window on Fifth Avenue asked if he were Jewish, Kumar, who had obviously done some homework in case he was confronted by such a question replied.

“You know there is a group of people living in the foothills of the Himalayas,” and then added for dramatic effect, “not very far away from where I come from, who claim to be one of the lost tribes of Israel. In fact, they have been recognised as such and have now all gone to live in Israel.”

Marjorie, who was about ready to jump to his defence shut her mouth and smiled. She realised that Kumar was quite capable of handling himself. That answer became his trademark. Not admitting or denying anything but leaving the other person to believe he had. That pretty much summed up his entire day there.

When it was time for Marjorie to drive him back to Newark train station, she actually was in awe of him. At dinner that night, many of her parents’ friends came up to their table wanting to be introduced to Kumar. They wondered if he was the Maharaja they had been promised. Kumar assured them he wasn’t and that the Maharaja in question who he knew very well, had indeed been called back home to take care of some urgent State business.

At first, Sarah and in some little part Brinkmanship, were appalled at the way Kumar had presented himself at the dinner table in the ornate dinning room complete with a dance band, where lives had been made or broken, wearing the same shirt obviously polyester and probably from K Mart, and a pair of trousers made from polyester as well which he had worn all day on and off the golf course. Soon though they let their friends’ adulation of Mr Kumar Sanyal sink in. This led Brinkmanship Rosenbaum himself to fantasise, after listening to some of Marjorie’s friends exploits, that Kumar who did not believe in diving into the club swimming pool while high, might be a good addition to his firm.

He began to beam as did Sarah, when one of the members of the club who belonged to the exclusive Billionaires’ bridge group introduced himself and specifically talked to Kumar and barely smiled at the other three. You cannot believe how long Brinkmanship had tried to make an inroad into that group, even though he was a middling bridge player, his attempts were constantly rebuffed.

Mr Levy, to the amazement of the other three, gave Kumar a business card and asked him to call him so they could have lunch sometime. After Mr Fried had left, Brinkmanship asked if he could look at the business card, not so much to see the gentleman’s name which of course he knew, but to see if there was some magic on the card which might rub off on him.

At the end of the dinner and after Brinkmanship had offered Kumar his first taste of cognac which he did not like in the least, Sarah while saying good bye to Kumar as he was led out by Marjorie who now felt that holding his hand was acceptable said, “what a shame you can’t spend the night here, we have such a wonderful brunch at the club, we would love you to experience.”

Kumar was highly amused. Up to that point Marjorie’s parents had made no attempt to include him in their circle, thanked Sarah for her hospitality and replied, “Maybe next time Mrs Rosenbaum, when I bring more than one change of clothing!”

After thanking them, he left and was pretty silent all the way to the train station. He was quite content listening to Marjorie who not too long ago had tried to wriggle out of taking her parents’ side, now smiled constantly and even more annoying to Kumar, talked constantly. When she dropped him off he stooped down to say goodbye and thanked her for a most entertaining day, Marjorie realised that the next time she would see him would probably be when school started again in about two months or so. That would not do especially now that Kumar was in the possession of a much sought after business card.

“When are you going to meet Mr Levy?” she asked quickly looking up at the board which showed his train was leaving on time.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “I’ll call him tomorrow and see if we can meet maybe next week.” Kumar sensed that things were beginning to turn in his favour and the momentum which was most definitely on Marjorie’s side was shifting.

“Oh good,” she replied, “let me know when you’re going.”

“Sure, no problem,” he replied sensing the next question from Marjorie, the answer to which he already had.

“Maybe we can have lunch in the City after that?” she suggested, which wasn’t the question he had expected but was quick enough on his feet to think of a similar reply.

“Maybe,” he replied and then added, “it depends on what time of the day the appointment is!” Why did Marjorie feel that she was no longer in control of the unfolding events? When Kumar closed the door of her little Mercedes sports car and waved politely as she pulled away from the kerb, he took the business card out of his trouser pocket and looked at it in quiet contentment. He too felt that those who had sought, whether they realised it or not, to try and mould him in their likeness, were now fighting as hard as they could for him not to mould them in his likeness. Only time would tell.

Kumar turned off the light in his room after glancing at a photo on the nightstand of his parents and siblings. He had requested they take a group photograph before he left. He felt that by looking at it often it would keep him grounded. His mother’s words of caution about American women came to mind. He felt at peace.