The first one was a little complicated in the setting up. #1 wrote me a very nice email, and while he did say something a little strange about us not being each others’ ideal body types, he seemed nice, if at the very young end of the spectrum. We decided to meet on a Monday, only I found I’d double booked, and there was a lot of frantic messaging back and forth before we decided to meet at the SDA market. I really liked him from the conversations we’d had on OKC and Whatsapp, and for some reason I felt like he had to be the first one, because it would bode well for the rest. This was partly because I hadn’t felt any verbal chemistry with #2, who was coming up that Thursday, or the possible #3, potentially scheduled for Sunday.
I arrived, and went to Spell & Bound, where he’d said he’d wait, and called him. He came out, a very skinny guy with a thin pointy moustache and dangly V-shaped beard. He looked a lot like the guy from V for Vendetta, before he had his facial hair waxed. We shook hands and decided to pop into this tiny cafe the Flatmate had pointed out on our last visit to the market. It was called My Kind of Street Cafe, and was a little hole with 5 tables crammed together and a bizarrely expensive menu for the ambiance and quality of food.
We went in, both broke, and ordered milkshakes, and I got nachos, which turned out to be corn chips of the Cornitos variety, with hot sauce squirted on them and then topped with crumbled cheese and stuck in an oven. Interesting, but not nachos.
#1 was very easy to talk to. He worked in a start up that was in a slow phase, so we chatted about work a bit. Then we segued into my standard OKC date icebreaker: what are some nutty OKC stories? And then we began to make connections, and discovered that we were separated by only two people. Point to Delhi OKC Bathtub Theory.
Much younger than me, he was far more open about his experiences on OKC than the older guys tend to be, openly talking about hookups and all the inevitable incest that ensues when the circles are as small as Delhi circles tend to be. He’s from down south, which always makes me happy, because of my sudden quest for my roots now that I am in a minimally alien culture all the time. I say minimally because well, I’m an honorary Punjabi, and all my appreciation for Tamil movies, music, food and boys has only surfaced in the past two years.
In about an hour and a half, the conversation died down, despite the twenty-minute detour into examining a spectacular poster of the history of TV to see what we could identify, and it was time to go. We parted ways amicably, with promises to ‘hang out again soon’, knowing well we would not actually contact each other again.
A nice, mellow beginning.