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!

I’m in the news again

On Yahoo this time. It’s a lovely piece and I am dying of fangirlness to be in the same piece as Paromita Vohra! EEEEEEEE!

I have only two quibbles. The first is a general wail to all India journalists: Would it kill you to tell me when a piece is up and send me a link?

The second is that she seems to have misunderstood me on the sex thing.

Since I personally tend to feel that sex is something that is always on the table when establishing intimacy with someone, I ask Alice about the reasoning for this rule. She feels that the answer is pretty obvious. “I live in Delhi. Why do you think there’s a no-sex rule?!” she says. “Generally speaking…no sex on the first date is an excellent rule, because it keeps guys from panicking about what you’re going to make of it. Not that anything can really stop them from panicking about this, but still.” Wait, I think. Make of what exactly? While it’s true that society makes many negative assumptions about a woman who is sexually forward, according to me that’s no reason to keep reinforcing this unfair expectation on ourselves.

She seems to think I’m worried that the men will think I’m forward. Good god no. What I mean that, in me experience anyway, when you have sex with a guy too early, he goes home thinking you’re thinking that he loves you and then he freaks out and refuses to be a decent human being about it. Then you have to wonder why this person you were just getting to know has decided you’re some lunatic who must be avoided or only occasionally poked at with a long stick. It’s a lot of drama and so unnecessary. This has been proven true so many time I cannot count.