Okay, so here we go again. No photo but haan!
#16 was a guy who often showed up on OKC. I don’t know why I never wrote to him because we had a high match percentage–maybe his English felt iffy? We all know I’m a snob. Anyway, one day a message popped up from him. (I appear to have deleted out messages in an OKC cleanup frenzy. Soz yo.) He told me where he’s from–a country that fascinates me, so of course I perked up. We switched quickly to gtalk and then to Whatsapp, and he asked me if I was free on Friday. I couldn’t confirm and told him so, and by the time I could he’d made other plans. Boo. So when Saturday opened up, I texted him and he replied favourably, I was very pleased. And then he made it better by saying let’s meet at Moet’s. Imagine! A decisive guy! Willing to take responsibility for entertainment choices! *swoon*
I get there on Saturday, cray early because I was expecting traffic and there was none, and find that he is also early. Yay. After some confusion I find him at a table and we sit down. He asks if, since we both drink a lot, I’d like a bottle. I shudder a no because well I have to drive and also I am trying to not drink. (HAH.) So I get some BP and he gets a Bloody Mary and we settle down to talk. The first thing we discuss is how bad Indian whiskey is. I cannot argue! (I think I have finally reached the age where Imperial Blue doesn’t do it for me anymore. Eep!) He tells me that in his country, they drink whiskey with Red Bull, something I’ve never heard of. I tell him that here they drink Red Bull with Vodka and whiskey with coke.
Polite conversation out of the way I leap into an ‘interrogation’: How long has he been here? What does he do? Is it hard for him now his living situation has changed? We talk about maids and professionalism. He tells me how he once walked over to a girl in a nightclub who was giving him come hither looks and then was pounced on by some Daali bwoyz. Since he’s black this does not surprise me, but since he’s also very large, they backed off quickly when he backed off.
We have a long and involved discussion about the history and politics of his country. He is impressed and amused by the details I know. I ask if he dances. It turns out he signed up for salsa classes the same place I used to go! But then he never made it to many classes so he gave up.The conversation meanders on. What’s it like being expat. He tells me how he loves Thailand, and I tell him how I’m much more interested in west than east, which is sad because it’s so much cheaper to go east! He tells me a story about how when he’d first arrived in Delhi, he tried to take an auto from Def Col Market to somewhere in the colony and the driver said it would be 1000 rupees, but for him 200. He’s lived in Egypt though and he knows when he’s being conned, so he declined and walked home.
We order pizza and laugh because we want the same thing: a margherita. There are few things yummier than a well-made margherita and Moets does one. He tells me how most of his friends have left Delhi now and he’s stuck here finishing this course. He wants to finish by the end of the year.
We talk about dating and social norms, and he tells me that if I’d changed plans one more time he’d have shut the door. You have to value yourself he says. ‘Never call a guy. Not ever. Let him call you. You’re giving him all the power.’ My jaw drops here and I say, ‘Don’t tell me you’re one those PUA guys.’ ‘I’ve read the The Game,’ he says, ‘though at first I was like “Whaaaaaat? Why do you need a book to tell you how to get girls??” but then I read it and it’s quite interesting. I never have to use those methods though.’ I splutter a bit and talk about how misogynistic PUA culture is and how all these rules and things are so fucked up, because why should you spend time and effort pretending you feel the opposite of what you actually feel and then complain that the other person doesn’t get how you feel? We argue about this for a while. He tells me that if a girl calls him that means she’s needy and he runs away. He will never call a girl for 3 days after a date. I start laughing and tell him I promise never to call or message him first, and he doesn’t have much of a future with me because if I don’t hear from someone for three days every time we see each other I’ll get bored.
In the interests of harmony, I change the subject and we talk a length about his country, his family, my family and my country. He’s very hung up on an idea of what is ‘Western’ and how India isn’t. He seems to think all things Western are best. Again, I challenge him. Poor guy–I don’t think he’s ever been on a date when he’s been argued with so much! To give him full credit though, despite his highly chauvinistic attitude to dating he takes all my criticism well. He also gives me a brilliant idea for a work project.
Moet’s is actually closing so they send us off. He walks me to my car. I stand on tiptoe to hug him and he kisses my cheek. As I get into the car I tell him to text me when he gets home because I worry for foreigners in my country. He laughs and strokes me cheek. ‘You’re cute.’ ‘Of course I am,’ I toss back before hopping in and zipping off.
(PS: He does text me the next morning. And tells me I am part of a very select group of women who hear from him the next day. I laugh for ten minutes.)