Kismet

Dr. Lawrence Kutner didn't know too much about his Indian heritage. His parents had been killed when he was very young and the traditions slowly died away with them. His adoptive parents had tried to include some culture in his life, but as an insecure and awkward teenager he had not appreciated his white parents' feeble attempts to search for obscure Indian spices at grocery stores. As time went on that part of his background slipped away.

Instead, he chose to be as white-washed as they came. And life was pretty good. After dodging a few initial questions from friends about "the motherland", most people realized that it was not a topic he was particularly fond of. (Too many painful memories.) All he had to do was spout out some ignorant remarks about Deepak Chopra and holy cows and thankfully no one broached the topic ever again.

Well…almost no one.

Indian girls were somewhat of an enigma. They had some sort of internal radar that allowed them to spot the most eligible Indian bachelor in the room. And if you were a doctor, well then you were a goner. It was as if they could smell the prestige and money seeping from your skin, flowing out like the holy waters of Ganga. Or something.

At first Kutner had thought he had hit the jackpot. Tons of girls would come after him and he didn't even have to try. He could save the pick-up lines for a rainy day. But they never wanted to sleep with you, or even date you. No, they all wanted to marry you. You were the ticket to the Indian girl's dream.

He had to learn all of this the hard way.

Kutner had made the mistake of going on a date with this one girl, Pooja, once. He had impressed her with his knowledge of Indian history and traditions, all of which he had gleaned from Wikipedia the night before. He was sure that their date had gone great and that he was going to score, but instead she gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek and didn't even let him come into her apartment.

To make matters worse, she began talking about her parents and how delighted they would be when they finally met him. Parents? Seriously?! Kutner had been hoping for a second date, not a life sentence. He got out of that relationship as quickly as he could and never looked back. Pooja was hot, but it just hadn't been worth it.

Then, one night out at a pub, his friend Ramesh gave him an extremely useful tip.

"Dude, the key to Indian girls isn't your culture or your career. It's their intelligence." He explained.

"What?" Kutner wasn't going to lie, he had no idea what Ramesh was talking about. Plus he was certain he was fairly drunk. They both were.

"Yeah, man. The more clueless the girl is the more likely she'll sleep with you. Throw a few flashy words at them and the romance will sweep them off of their feet. Then you get them in bed and get out of there as soon as possible. Just make sure you don't actually promise them anything; you've gotta be vague if you wanna waive all responsibility once the deed is done."

"Huh?" Kutner asked again. How was it possible for Ramesh to string that many words together when all Kutner could pay attention to was the low-cut top the bartender was sporting?

"You've really got to get your head in the game, Lawrence."

So Kutner decided that it was worth a second shot. He spotted the hottest, sluttiest Indian girl in the bar and decided to test the theory. If she was easy then any pick-up line would probably work on her. He had to try something cheesy but seemingly romantic.

"Tera chand jaisa chehra…" He began, rejoicing inwardly as the girl turned and smiled at him. "Tere hont dhool ki tarah –"

"What did you say?" She snapped.

"Um, your face is like the moon, your lips are like…" Kutner never finished his explanation; she slapped him and left in a huff.

Ramesh was laughing relentlessly by the when he made his way back.

"Sure. Great. Laugh it up."

"I think your Hindi needs a little work.' Ramesh snorted unattractively. "You just told her that her lips were like dust. Phool, not dhool. Next time you try to tell a girl her lips are as beautiful as flowers, don't mix those two words up."

"Forget it! I give up. I can't pick up any girls this way. I don't even know Hindi!"

But his friend wasn't going to let it go so easily. "Try again, you idiot." Ramesh pushed him back into the fray without wasting any time. What was his problem anyway?

He bumped into a girl with short black hair, a mindless grin on her face and a vapid look in her eyes. It was now or never.

"Kuch kuch hota hai!" Kutner blurted out and mentally smacked himself in the head. Ramesh laughed hysterically behind him. He was pretty sure he had just made another dirty pass at the girl in Hindi. Or he'd named a Bollywood film. He couldn't really tell.

The girl stared back at him, her eyes widening. Nope, he had definitely given her another failed pick-up line. Kutner braced himself for another slap.

The girl gasped. "Oh my god, that's my favourite movie. How did you know?"

Huh? Was she serious? Ramesh stopped chuckling and Kutner grinned. "I didn't. It's my favourite movie too." Kutner lied. The closest thing to a Hindi movie he'd ever seen was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

What? It had subtitles!

"I was just telling my friend that you look just like the heroine. And since it's my favourite movie I thought I should come over here and tell you that. You have her same beautiful eyes, her sweet laugh, uh, hont…phool ki tarah…" He gave her a weak smile.

She looked at him and it honestly looked liked she had stars in her eyes, she was that ecstatic. "Wow! I can't believe it, that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I mean, I know I'm hot, but no one's ever put it so romantically." She giggled. "My name's Kelly Kapoor, what's yours?" She sidled up closer to him and Kutner heard Ramesh almost fall off of his barstool behind them.

"My names is Lawrence, er, Dr. Lawrence Kutner."

"You're a doctor?"

"I'm a doctor."

"Wow!" She gasped. "That must mean that you have, like, a lot of money!"

He smirked. "You bet it does."

Okay, so that was a little rude of her and a lot more straightforward than he had expected. But that didn't matter. The way the girl was fawning over him like he was some sort of Bollywood superstar was perfect.

Kutner actually had a chance with this one.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, do you know who you look like?" Kelly asked him.

"No, who do I –"

"You look just like that guy from American Idol!" She interrupted with a squeak.

"Simon?"

She giggled. "No! The other guy, the dog guy."

"What?"

"What was his name again…Anoop! They called him Noop Dogg and would chant his name whenever he finished singing, it was awesome. Just like with Ruben Studdard in the second season. Oh, wow, I just love it when they cheer for people and chant their names, it's so cool. Ruben was cool too, though he could have used that Atkins diet. Did they have the Atkins diet back then? That was so long ago, wasn't it? I can't believe I was so young when Idol first came out… not that I'm not still young, I am. I really liked the old school Idol episodes, but the new stuff is good too. Which do you think was better the season with Anoop or the season with Ruben?" Kelly sounded off.

"Uhh…what?" Kutner stuttered out. This chick talked way too much. And really really fast.

Her eyes narrowed. "You do watch American Idol, don't you?"

"Of course! Of course. I just can't pick a favourite season because they're all so great and suspenseful and…inspiring!"

"Good, because it's my favourite show on TV. Well, that and Gossip Girl. I love that show! And I can't forget Project Runway. Heidi Klum is my idol. Imagine she was the host on American Idol? That would be so cool! I hate Ryan Seacrest and anyway…" Maybe if he tuned her out she wouldn't be so annoying? Kutner nodded dumbly a few times and wondered if he had made a huge mistake. Floozy or not, Kelly Kapoor was killing his brain cells one by one. And he was pretty sure he still needed those.

"So, do you want to go back to my place then?" Kelly asked suddenly. Now there was a phrase worth listening to.

"Sure thing, honey. Whatever you want. Lead the way."

Kutner hoped that Kelly wouldn't talk on the taxi ride over, but of course she nattered on the whole way. Even the cab driver seemed a little pissed off, so Kutner grudgingly let him keep the change.

They stepped into her apartment, but the words continued to tumble relentlessly from her mouth.

"So, I work at this wicked-cool paper company. Dunder Mifflin." She giggled. "That's such a weird name, isn't it? Mifflin. It almost sounds like muffin. It's like the most chill office ever, I love it. And everyone's really nice. Except for Ryan, who I hate. Even though he looks hot now with his blonde hair. But he's still ugly because only losers dye their hair. And 'cause he dumped me." Kelly explained rapidly. "But I don't want to talk about Ryan."

Neither did Kutner.

"I want to talk about paper!"

Kutner grimaced. This was ridiculous; did this girl seriously never stop talking? He only knew one way to shut her up…

He pulled her close and kissed her passionately, the way he was sure a girl like her would fall head over heels for. If he was playing the role of a romantic hero for the night, Kutner had to ensure he added just the right amount of drama and intensity to his repertoire.

To his dismay, Kelly didn't melt in his arms. Instead, she pushed him away.

"What are you doing?" Kelly squealed in shock.

"I think it's pretty obvious. You invited me back to your place and –"

"I invited you here so that I could sell you some paper. Remember?" She gave him a suspicious look. "Weren't you listening to me back at the bar?"

Kutner chose not to answer the question. "But why would I need to buy paper from you? Doctors don't need to buy paper."

"Really? So why are my parents always making me meet these young doctors all the time then?" Kelly asked, genuinely confused.

"I… have no idea." Kutner lied. "And I have to go. Nice meeting you Kelly."

Kutner rushed out the door as quickly as he could.

"Remember to tell all your friends about Dunder Mifflin Paper Company. And remember to tell them that Kelly Kapoor sent you!" She called out after him. But he was already long gone.

Four months later Ramesh asked him if he would help him study for his Hindi final. Kutner flatly refused. He never wanted to hear another word of Hindi for the rest of his life.

Great deal of good it ever did him.

This fic was written for the Kutner Fest challenge on Livejournal. I am an Indian girl, so all epic mockery of my culture is completely acceptable... I think. :P Hopefully you enjoyed it. :) Please read and review! Thanks!