‘In the name of science’ the subject line said, which, of course, made me giggle. The email itself contained packed into its three paragraphs a vast quantity of skilfully administered flattery. I was truly impressed. So I wrote back, and we shot a few emails back and forth. He asked for Saturday breakfast, I wanted Friday dinner, because I had errands on Saturday morning. I beseeched him to pick the place and shamelessly asked for a ride home because I was sick. He gallantly agreed to give me one.
We had almost instant conversational chemistry, much like #2, with questions and answers and flirting bubbling up spontaneously. Only this time it was on whatsapp. Finally, frustrated by how whatsapp severely debilitated my speed of expression I insisted the poor guy come on gmail chat and then we proceeded to talk all day. We discovered we’d not only overlapped in college, but we actually had quite a few friends in common. We talked about cooking and sangria recipes and how much we love Terry Pratchett, sparked by me welcoming him to the Century of the Fruitbat when he finally managed to log into gmail chat.
He is one of those annoying people who was an overachiever in his twenties and is now busy being an overachiever at abandoning the rat race and doing his own thing and fulfilling himself in his thirties. Sometimes I want to smack these people… However, reedemingly, he did admit to me that we tend to take the your job must fulfil you mantra too far in this day and age, and sometimes a job is just a job.
Finally Friday rolled around. We’ve decided on Monkay Bar, because they are apparently rooting for me, and by this point I had high hopes from him. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence (no thanks for added pressure)’ he wrote back. I hop into bus at 7, since there are no autos, and I’m off. He texts to tell me he’s left too, and I yell at him to stop texting and driving! ‘I don’t drive’ he shoots back, leading me to ask how he was going to give me a ride home in that case? ‘Oh I was planning to ferry you home in an Uber,’ he said. Aw. ‘I’m incredibly hungry,’ he says. ‘Please don’t mind if I eat like a boa constrictor.’ ‘Good it’ll get you drunk faster,’ I tell him. ‘I suspect you have designs on me. Hmm. In which case I will eat less.’
I finally get there and walk in to bump into Kunal who manages Mobar in Delhi. He’s talking to a gaggle of girls so I wave and tell him to come say hi later. I go upstairs and look around for a guy sitting solo–since I have no idea what this one looks like. He on the other hand knows what I look like thanks to whatsapp profile picture. A slim guy in glasses and a black and white checked shirt stands up and waves. I traipse over to the table and say hi. We decide we are going to order a vast amount of food and also a pitcher of sangria. I’m struggling with the menu (whatever I’ve eaten at Mobar is amazing, but I realised they don’t have a lot of main courses I like, since I don’t like east Asian food or spicy food) when Kunal comes by.
We then sit and chat with him for the next half hour or so. It is fascinating, because he has so many stories to tell us about the kind of people who show up here (south Delhi people going out at night, dressed up, wanting to party; couples on dates), how they’re different from the people who show up at CP (all sorts of post work people, lowe key, mixed groups; friends and colleagues), how I should go to the CP location sometime, what the restaurant biz is like, how he got into it and so on. I tell him how I’ve always wanted to do it but never had the balls. ‘Will you let me come and work here once a week?’ I ask with my best puppy expression. ‘What’s the use of once a week?’ he throws at me. ‘You might as well not do it at all.’
Kunal leaves to get back to his job and #14 and I descend upon the vast amounts of food we’ve ordered with gusto. It really is good food. However, we don’t realise it, but we’ve made one fatal mistake. This is a weeknight date; we’re drinking wine; we ate a lot of food. This means only one thing: FOOD COMA. We sit there, fighting sleep and taking turns apologising for yawning. We have a rambling discussion of something (See? No blood in brain; I don’t even remember why it came to this point!) and I tell him how I seem to have boy body language. ‘Non-traditional female body language,’ he says, which thrills me to bits. I then spend five minutes figuring out where the hyphens go. ‘Do you mean female body language that’s non traditional, or do you mean the body language of non traditional females?’ He is most amused, especially when I say ‘Oh that is the perfect title for your post!’ ‘Stop thinking about the blog for five minutes.’ he chides me. ‘But I can’t!’ I wail before yawning some more.
It’s 930. We sigh and look at each other. There’s no point fighting it anymore. We get the bill and head out to find an auto–I tell him the Uber is not needed when it’s this early! When we get to my house he stops the auto and insists on crossing the road and walking me to the stairs (aw), where we warmly hug good night and promise to see each other again soon.
Awww :) Sonice, this one. Happy-making.
Heh, and he prolly meant the language of non-traditional female bodies, ahem.
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hahaha i’m sure he didn’t. but maybe he’ll delurk to defend hisself?
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Hee hee. Mind in the gutter, and proud of it :D
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this is why we are same to same
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Also, hurrah for some PTerry louue!
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As Neelkomol said, always hurrah for PTerry! That should totally be part of the screening process:
“Are you fine with non-traditional female body language?”
“Do you know who Great A’Tuin is?”
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ok you guys can design me a first level questionnaire. to be used on first dates =D
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Second level questionnaire is when it gets hairy, though. That’s when all the favourite sub-series and characters come out, and the yelling begins to get intense. (“What’d you *mean* you can’t stand Rincewind??!”)
And just for the record, I’m Sybil. But I want to be Granny when I grow up ;’)
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Well I. *am* Nanny…
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A couple of people told me I’m Granny, which is one of the nicest things anyone has ever told me!
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Headology mein paas, baaki sab mein fail, eh? =D
(Sorry, could *not* resist!)
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That sounds about right, though currently it’s my poor students who are manifesting baaki sab mein fail :p
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poor abused students… what about loveology? ;p
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That’s your department, Gytha Ogg!
(The poor non-Pratchett-reading followers of this blog are going, “WTF?!”)
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no it’s shaan’s department. =D time to reply to comments but not to reply to a poor ol biddy’s emial *grumble grumble* lawks!
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Bosspeoples, I refuse to be Magrat. Maybe an Agnes/Tiffany hybrid though, hmm. Ohgod, SUCH cosplay ideas!!!!!
And Shilsen, you’re eeriely resonant. I’m grading a pile of papers tonight–total aag ka dariya, doob ke paar hona etc situation going on here for those poor souls :-/
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you can be perdita
hee
or a kelda maybe with the blueness?
enough showing off you two!
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Ooh! You know Big Kelda would be a mean old grader too!
And Neelkomol, I’m actually quite kind, since I allow unlimited rewrites in my classes (all my colleagues think I’m nuts). I just rake them over the coals before the rewrites :3
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Egads, you’re a veritable saint. (I mean it in all seriousness, too, esp. if you’re grading freshman comp. papers and suchlike endeavours.)
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What 50delhidates said. See, if I just grade them once, I can only browbeat them once. But if I dangle the rewrite in front of them, then I can beat the quality into them again … and again and again!
(And yeah, it’s freshman comp, though I’ve done it in all sorts of literature classes too. Incredibly effective approach. And totally insane.)
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he’s not kind he’s insane. granny. ye see?
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Oh, I hear you on the “incredibly effective” part. Writing is rewriting, as I’m always telling my kids, and the more critiques you get (the harsher the better) and are able to respond to, the more you hone your thinking and expression–that goes without saying.
You are crazy, but I reiterate: you’re also a bloody saint. I allow a limited number of rewrites but endless? Goodness! I guess it boils down to how crazy you are, but also, how generous you want to be and can afford to be with your time.
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True dat. My average is 200 rewrites a semester. Don’t ask!
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I bow to thee, Grannee.
(ninja rhymes, yahhh)
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hey 50datesindelhi girl, have been reading a couple of reports from your anthropology project. very exciting and unique project. but i have noticed a fatal mistake u ahve been making, u doing most of your dates in restaurants, but with the environment thats there in a restaurant, not so free and fun. most people would be socially conscious in restaurants. try some different venue. the food even makes u sleepy.if you really want to figure out people then take them to place where they feel free and energised.
cheers
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acha? do tell me what these other places are?
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try one of these:
i) blind shopping date: instead of going to some restaurant and feeling sleepy, ask him to join you shopping something..anything, pillow cases..anything, doesn’t have to be expensive
ii) child orphanage: maybe its me, but itsquite fun to meet new people and have some kids around, play games with them.
iii)invite him to a small party/event, well i know ur case u can’t do this a lot, but its always the best way
try one of these first then i’ll u other ways, okay madam?
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er i think you have a different understanding of what a date is and what it’s goal is from me. why on earth would i want to wander around behind a stranger while they looked for bedsheets? and how am i going to get to know someone while we are both er playing with children (the possibilities…i just… no words)? ditto for a party–where’s the time to get to know someone one on one when there’s 5 other people there, and who would go to a party full of strangers to meet someone for the first time? if you’re scared to spend an hour and a half talking to someone one on one then don’t date.
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thank you for all those nice things! =) where are you from? france? because that english is clearly translated from a romance language heh
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Came across your blog an hour back and have been reading it since. It was recommended by a friend with whom I was discussing an idea for a dating website/app. My initial skepticism – mostly about the concept of the experiment – gave way to an amused tolerance that gave way to an engaged enjoyment. Eminently likable! Do keep it going.
If this dating website/app project moves ahead, perhaps at some future date you might be so kind as to share some of the not-insubstantial expertise you will doubtlessly glean from your experiments?
P.S. A self-declared angrezi snob like your should not be tripping up “it’s” vs “its” ;) Sorry, could not resist pointing it out.
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I know right? But my hands can’t airways keep up with my brain…
And thank you! As for expertise, if it gets to that stage we’ll talk
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If you’re not irritated by my irrational quick judgments yet, here is one more! He is NOT the main man. The archenemy maybe but NOT the main event. Too perfect, too happy, too successful to be the hero.
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