Resurfacing rant

Hi guys! Yes I know I vanished. Just like them boys I tell you =D

A lot has happened.

I quit my job and now work part time. I’m studying for GMAT. I’m going to go on a much awaited and very exciting trip to Europe all of June and some of July. I was fostering kittens (those of you ho follow me on Instagram might have noticed ahem). I have been enjoying this new, more relaxed, Gurgaon-less life. Though I miss seeing my DBF (Delhi Best Friend) since we don’t sit in the same office anymore.

I’ve gotten a lot of emails and some comments that urge me to get back to writing. I must admit they helped. It’s not that I don’t want to write–I’ve just had a lot going on and very little that isn’t frustrating in the dating space. And I don’t particularly want to write about my frustration, especially when it is basically rehashing things I’ve said before and often. I sometimes think of other things to write about, but in all my blogging career nothing has really inspired me to write like boys. Yes this is my cross and I bear it.

I have been trying to get dates, and I did go on one I haven’t written about, partly because he didn’t want me to talk about some things and I was too disillusioned with the whole idea of dating to make it fun and censor myself. So here I am, at #24, and stuck for a while. As you know, OKC has been positively charming (I’ve got a whole bunch of screenshots saved up), and I have been so bored I eve got back on tinder once. Got back off it shortly after as usual of course.

In the past two months (or so) I have tried to go out with quite a few guys. One guy with a terrible match wrote to me on OKC, but his work is so cool we started talking. And he kept saying he wanted to meet, but then didn’t seem actually inclined to do it. Then finally, after soooooooooo much time, he says let’s go out to dinner. We plan to meet at 8, and at 7 I call and ask where we’re meeting and he says he has to work late and will confirm if we’re on. At 745 he calls to say rain check. I’ve just come out of a satisfying session with my shrink so I laugh and tell him okay but he’d better bring his A game and have a plan. ‘Haha, Ok,’ he says. And that is the very last I heard from him–twelve days ago.

In this he reminds me so much of #23. Ah #23, who either read my post and freaked or is a really good actor and excellently faked being interested in me. I asked him if he wanted to do something (‘Definitely,’ he’d said after our date when I asked if he wanted to hang out again) around the first of April. ‘I’m a bit tied up this weekend,’ he said, ‘so let me get back to you.’ And there you have it, the brush off of cowards. I never have understood people who don’t have the courage to just say no. It’s over Whatsapp for Christ’s sake! What is the worst I could do? Could I be a desi guy and absolutely refuse to take no for an answer? Block me. It’s easy.

Sorry, I’m ranty today. Angsty too. Maybe because it’s the birthday of the last guy I was in love with, who, whatever his virtues, certainly didn’t appreciate me, and I, whatever my virtues, don’t seem to have completely shaken him off.

It is funny though that I should feel like this, so frustrated and angry with the universe, because hello, as this lovely quote I ran into today says, who the hell said I was entitled to love anyway?

It’s a funny thing about the modern world. You hear girls in the toilets of clubs saying, “Yeah, he fucked off and left me. He didn’t love me. He just couldn’t deal with love. He was too fucked up to know how to love me.” Now, how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as a people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a god, or a weeping madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll—then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship. Greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the time.

―Zadie Smith

What is it about me, sarcastic, harsh, bitter, judgy, highly impatient me, that makes me think I am so lovable? Sure I’m nice and I do things for people, but where did I get this sense of entitlement–the very entitlement that I am sarcastic, harsh and impatient with Indian men for carrying around. Where did I get the idea that I am deserving of not just one unrealistic ideal man who adores me, but a few, so that I get to pick?  Something I’ve been thinking about lately.

And then, just when I am no longer lamenting the scarcity of men-I-could-be-into who are into me in my offline life, on Friday evening (guess which?), I suddenly have not one but three guys into me. One very interesting, one interesting and one totally not. The last is my downstairs neighbour, a nice enough guy who rants to me about water timings and keeps my car keys and starts my car when I go on long trips, and is in a long distance relationship. He’s dealing with it by going on Tinder apparently, where he saw me and ‘almost swiped right’. Then he decided to text me and see if it was OK to swipe right because he just wants to get laid, though heaven forbid he should articulate it that way. I sweetly told him no.

The interesting guy who I met at an alumni event held my hand for a while and then vanished when we went to after party at TC. Apparently there was a damsel in distress. Or something. Shockingly, I haven’t heard from him yet. The very interesting guy I then met at TC, when DBF started talking to him. He and I are supposed to go out on Wednesday. He might or might not suffer from the great vanishing disease, so to be on the safe side I shall believe our date when I’m actually on it.

And that, faithful readers (and really, I do appreciate that I actually have faithful readers), is all I have to show for two months. I might schedule a series on my OKc suitors though!



So I foolishly decided to make my location Bombay and see if I could have nice chats with interesting guys leading up to my visit.

In 18 hours I had 24 messages, of which 19 were delete from header and the rest were delete on reading. An hour later, 6 more delete from header. And so it’s been going. Eep!

Here are a few for your entertainment:

Hey der wass up…..First thing I have to gv u a big thumpsup for the I’d u used ……..its attractive and innovative…… And also u have explained and written ..the best way you can about what u do and want……cheers to life …….


Hi I liked ur profile n find very interesting , m Rajiv from Mumbai 35 years old ,very fun loving guy looking for some one who wanna have fun ,if interested pls do wa on 9********9


Can we meet when you are here??? My contact number is <>


hi sexy pussy
can i fuck ur pussy

–vish69 (I haven’t managed to report it; for some reason the link won’t work)


yep i m fine with meeting offline…and yeh i do think meeting offline is more fun then chatting over here
And i completely agree with ur definition of date i.e. to meet and know each other better nd then see how it goes…
Fyi..I am single…so no issues with that even thou i am writing so much to u ..i didn’t get the point of writing an email to u..what content u want in that email…

So now I return to Delhi where they’re bored of me and don’t harangue quite as much. Jesus. Somebody get me a way out of this country!

Special Edition

In an attempt to revive my fast vanishing interest in engaging with any Indian men at all (despite one shining exception this past month), I thought I could do a special edition series and maybe go on a date when I travel. These won’t add to the target, but it might be reassuring to know that prospects are better in other cities (Please! Say it is so!)–I’m always being told Bombay is great, for example. And so, since I will be in Bombay most likely next week, any Bombay readers want to take me out?


Well it certainly looks like the pool–I mean bathtub has dried up. I haven’t been on a date in nearly a month. This is not terribly strange because I’ve been buy and travelling and ill, but the sad thing is, I have barely met/talked to anyone I want to go on a date with. OKC is empty; Tinder is dead; even the guys writing to me on the blog are turning out to be horrifyingly childish and entitled. It’s enough to make a girl give up I tell you.

I mean look at this chap. He wrote me some time ago, and we were emailing. He wanted to talk on the phone; I said no because I generally don’t like it, and I tend to be businesslike and to the point and then they get all upset because YOU ARE BEING RUDE AND YOU DON’T WANT TO TALK TO ME. And then I get annoyed because hello I don’t owe you anything and it all disintegrates fast. Anyway, we compromised with chat and we did chat a bit but he’s busy I’m busy it’s all a bit desultory. The busy-ill-travelling phase kicked in. His replies were delayed, as were mine. I came back from trip home and he sent me an email a couple of days later, replying to something I’d sent 8 days before that. And then that night he texts me to ask ‘Ssup’, and I tell him I’m just unwinding and watching TV. ‘I sent you a mail,’ he tells me, and I tell him that I’d seen it and I’d reply when I had some time the next day. ‘Ok now isn’t that arrogant ;)’ came the response.

To say I was annoyed is putting it mildly. Where is this school these boys go to that teaches them that the universe owes them everything the very second they want it? Apparently I had called him arrogant in an early email (I checked; no such thing) and he is unable to let it go. So he feels the need to point out that I am being arrogant by telling him I’ll write to him when I have the time. I tell him I don’t owe him time, attention or replies and say bye. Then he comes out with a long message about how heh heh he’s only joking yaar, just making a point because I’d called him arrogant. Eyeroll. I decide I’m done with this child.

Only he won’t stop texting me. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Finally I tell him I don’t want to talk to him or date him sorry, and bye. Two days later a message pops up from another number saying the old one died. So I tell him again. Then he starts off about he was hurt because he sent me the link to his blog and I didn’t read it (I did, but it’s about sports and it bored me to death) and it wasn’t cool; I could have just told him I didn’t want to read it instead of lying and then not reading it. So I told him I did and was bored, and that I was going to block him because he clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Guess what he did next?

That’s right, he smsed me! I was in shock. And no, he didn’t send me one message, he sent me nine messages! Several of which were two or three texts long. He told me he was hurt ‘when you went out with that African while my mail wan’t even responded to’, and then after whining and railing some more, asked me why I decided not to go out with him. So I told him, again, that I make the choices about who I date, not him, I don’t owe him time, attention or replies, and I don’t want to date him because he’s entitled and demanding, he doesn’t respect my space and time, and now can’t seem to accept a no. More sentiment came my way, and finally I told him to just accept this with grace and stop texting me. Then I got two messages that accepted that. And then one more screed giving me advice and telling me his life has been tough lately, and ‘mind u that African is in all probability having wrong motives’.

Never in my life have I regretted giving someone my number so much. Some time later I got another text apologising for the drama. Okay, I thought to myself, we’re done. But no, some time later I got another screed, this one asking me to forget that sentence that made him sound pushy and explaining the joke and the arrogant and how he’s great in person all over again.

I think part of the reason I’m writing this is because I hope that he reads it and perhaps understands where my exasperation is coming from, but also it feels like the only way to begin to accept the horror that is dating for women like me. It makes me consider getting a PhD so I can run away to another country and escape all this clinging and needing. If this had been a woman can you imagine the abuse and mockery she’d have garnered? Would most guys have engaged with her at all past that first stage? But this guy is going to go on thinking I’m a selfish unfeeling bitch, which maybe I am, and not stop to think about his own behaviour and what might have been wrong with it, while that girl? Everyone and their cousin would have told her she was being crazy.

#14: Non-traditional female body language


‘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.