#17 was a Tinderboy who I swiped right on way back in September. It’s funny how I only get on tinder when I’m really bored, which I was at this giant work event where I was trapped in a room listening to people. I honestly don’t remember why I swiped right or why I rapidly gave him my number (unless it was because of Tinder’s execrable notifications), but I did. And he lives around the corner from me, and was very enthu to go out. Only my life was crazy and he was busy and somehow it took forever and then finally we set up a date. Only I was too hungover to even contemplate going so I bailed, which he was really nice about. So then when we finally managed a second date plan I resolved to make it happen come hell or high water.
What did come though was an utterly insane week, with my mother visiting and us driving to Agra for the day, and my having to reorganise kitchen ahead of my flatmate moving out, and an old friend demanding a picnic meeting, and shopping for my sister’s kids who I’ll be visiting next month, and a dear friend I haven’t seen in forever wanting to talk, and so there I was, by the end of Saturday, so tired and very sleepy, and a few drinks down with said friend by the time 10pm (pushed from 9pm) rolled around. And then he was late. At this point the flatmate and his girlfriend were urging me to ditch because there I was all dressed up and keeling over from sleep. But I refused to be that person who ditches twice in a row and held out till 1030 when he showed up, after losing his way heh.
I run downstairs and hop into his car (he insisted on picking me up, points!) and he grins at me sheepishly and apologises for being so late. He tells me his cousin is getting married and he’s been running around with his father all day delivering invitations, and traffic has been insane–which it tends to be in wedding season. I ask him where we’re going, because I’d abdicated all responsibility, and he says he’d planned on Garden of the Five Sense but it’s booked so let’s just go to the malls and see what’s going on. We end up going to Mocha, which is not that bad, and he insists that I drink Double Black because apparently zomgisbestinworld whiskey. Who am I to argue?! It is lovely.
The tables at Mocha are designed for large groups of lounging people, and it is very loud because it is Saturday night, so I suggest we sit on the same side where we’re be able to hear each other. As it is our conversation turns out to be a little adult for the two little kids climbing over us and our sofa to get to the table behind us. It doesn’t bother me, and I’m delighted to see it doesn’t bother him either–I’m tired of people who think it’s OK to demand that there be no children in public spaces.
I ask him about his day and he tells me how he’s been driving all over town. I ask if it’s his older brother and he says nahin it’s my cousin yaar and that makes me laugh. He really reminds me of a much beloved friend, also very north Indian/Delhi but very gentle and kind. I can’t quite pinpoint what it is that’s giving me that vibe, but I’m getting it. He tells me about growing up with all his cousins and how they’re all so close and weddings are such a big deal that everyone is running around like crazy and he had to borrow a cousin’s car because his own had been commandeered. I refrained from pointing out that said cousin’s could have been commandeered in it’s place… (never say I’m not nice ;).
Food has come because it is now, at 1130, a good 3 hours since I ate and I’m starving again. I tease him for drinking Red Bull. ‘What is this, planning to stay up all night?’ ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Well I hope you’ve got other company lined up because I’m going to be asleep in an hour…’ He turns to me with an expression of horror on his face and I crack up. I’m always amazed how amazed people are that I like to sleep. I mean, doesn’t everyone?
He is very fit, seriously. He’s built like someone who plays sports, not someone who puts on muscle in the gym–all lean and sculpted and not bulgy bulk. *swoon* He’s wearing a black tshirt with very short sleeves that are halfway down his bicep, and from underneath his right sleeve peeks half a tattoo. I reach for it and push his sleeve up to see it. He protests mildly and I say, ‘What? You’re the one putting it on display! Of course I want to see!’ ‘Haan, I know, I wanted to wear a shirt actually but it was too crazy.’ HE then pushes up his sleeve to show me the tattoo. It’s a lion. He tells me every man in his family has the same tattoo. When I ask why he explains that it stands for the strength of the lion, the Singh in his name.
It is now nearly closing time so we head out, and he says he wants to drive to gurgaon and buy a bottle of whiskey to continue drinking. I gawp at him and suggest we just go to my house and drink the rotgut we have stashed there–unless his objection to cheap booze is that strong. I do warn him that drives make me sleepier when I’m that beat so odds are I’ll pass out in the car en route. ‘Okay, okay, but I need to get some Red Bull!’ So we go all the way back to Vasant Vihar and the 24/7 to get Red Bull. ‘Do you want anything?’ he asks me, and I refrain from demanding my bed because it might give him the wrong idea, and tell him no thank you. He’s back really quick, and hands me a bar of chocolate. Aw. Clearly my instinct about him being sweet was right.
We get to my house and park out in the balcony, where we then proceed to talk till ridiculous o’clock, and then cat falls asleep in protest. My balcony table is not conducive to sitting with my feet curled up or stretched out, which is how I like it, and as I’m wiggling about to figure out where to stick my feet, he notices and promptly hooks my foot in his leg, leaving his calf as my footrest for the next two hours.
Did I mention, aw?
He’s got his hand on my knee but he does nothing with it. We talk about exes and dating, and why we swiped right (‘I like curvy girls’), where we’ve lived and what it’s like to have flatmates. We play the random question game and after he asks me when I lost my virginity I laugh at him and tell him he’s like all the horny boys–that’s hardly something that helps him to know me better. He promises to ask no more sex questions, and actually doesn’t.
I don’t know what time it is, but the cat has given up and gone inside to sleep. It’s chilly, and the golden light from my wicker lamp is making everything glow. It’s past time I went to sleep–I have to be up at 9 to go Delhi sightseeing with some friends. But it is hard to bring the night to an end, and I want to touch him. Eventually, overwhelmed by how sweet he’s been, and amused by how respectful he’s being, I lean over and I kiss him. He doesn’t seem to mind at all.