Losing My Virginity and Other Dumb Ideas (5 page)

‘Most people are,’ he said, sipping coffee. His eyes were dreamy. I felt we could have a real connection. But there I went again thinking long term when the focus was to keep it to the ‘current mission’.

‘And this coffee is absolutely delicious!’ I said holding up my empty cup. ‘I’m so used to making rubbish, packet coffee that this decoction is heavenly.’ He nodded and poured me some more, lightly resting his hand on mine.

‘You smell great,’ he whispered. I felt all shy. Wasn’t this too forward for a first date? And that too in front of so many people? But I didn’t stop him. I looked back and smiled my most charming smile and lightly kept my hand over his, resting on the table. I hadn’t had romance in years. I needed this. But instead of going with the flow, I went the other way and made a complete blunder in changing the topic. In my defence, I wanted to get to know him better.

‘So you’ve done hotel management?’

‘Yup.’

‘And where did you go to college?’ I inquired.

Then the bomb dropped.

‘Oh I didn’t. I went straight for hotel management after my twelfth standard.’

‘Oh,’ I said, a bit disappointed. I shifted back my hand and body. I suppose it was too harsh a gesture from a moment ago. He picked up on it.

He tried to cover up, ‘Well, I think higher education in this country is a joke. We spend three years learning a subject we’ll never use like history or English and then another two years doing an MBA or some other post graduate degree. But after all that education, we’re still unsure if we’ll get a job. You know what I mean?’

I did know what he meant. That was a reason for not studying. But I came from a family that believed that knowledge was power. And I studied for fun. How could I possibly be with a man who had just passed his twelfth grade and had not even done a BA? What could I have possibly talked about after a few more meetings? He was definitely not my Great Love nor good enough for a first date.

It ended then and there.

I got back into the conference and over the next few days I didn’t reply to any of his SMSes, even though it killed me to correct his spellings.
They’re means they are, not there are
!

My ‘close friend’ Aditi, who knew me so well, fixed the next date. I say this sarcastically because it was a complete disaster. Her co-assistant director had been single for a long time. I could figure out the reason as soon as I saw him. But she had taken pity on him and me and fixed us up. He came to pick me up an hour late because he had got caught in a traffic jam from Andheri to Bandra, which was most likely, but shouldn’t he have at least figured that out? That he could not have, struck me later when we began to chat. He revealed that he rarely moved out of Planet Lokhandwala! All the shooting was done outdoors or in Film City or Filmistan, which was further away from Andheri, in the opposite direction of Bandra, and all the recording, editing and dubbing studios were in Andheri anyway. So why should he ever move the other way, he asked me defiantly? Because there is life outside your little bubble! I wanted to scream.

Anyway, Raj Malhotra (ya even his name was ‘filmy’) picked me up and I noticed that he was only five feet four inches tall and he wore glasses, which were designer trash. But the most prominent trademark was the overpowering scent, or rather stink, of his perfume that reached me before the lift did to my floor!

‘You did say you wanted him to smell nice,’ Aditi would remind me later and I would reply, ‘Ya but not as if he has walked through the ground floor of Lifestyle mall with everyone giving him a free sample!’

‘Opium,’ he said very confidently half way through our meal when I asked him what the smell was.

‘It’s really pungent,’ I tried to cough. He shrugged it off and went back to chomping down his noodles. We had gone for Chinese food and he had ordered the regular three of his favourite dishes—hakka noodles, chilli chicken and shredded lamb in hot garlic sauce—and then turned to me and asked, ‘Do you want anything else?’

So I had said, ‘Yah. Mughlai, but thanks for asking!’ He guffawed loudly but I knew he hadn’t got it. I just ordered a soup and let the food be his decision.

When we started talking, the conversation never went beyond him and his industry.

‘You haven’t seen the new
Don
?’ he asked incredulously.

‘No. I haven’t even seen the old one.’ He almost choked on his noodles, which might have been a good thing, but he washed it down with his second glass of ice tea.

‘Okay. What about Karan Johar’s films? Kkho, kank, k3g?’ He used the acronyms as if I would naturally understand what the full forms were.

‘Are these sci-fi thrillers?’ I asked.

He almost fell off the table. I had heard about them vaguely and I had seen each of them in parts on cable during a boring night alone. But I didn’t remember the full forms or recollect too clearly since all Hindi films seemed the same to me. I had never eagerly awaited for a film, to watch it first day of the weekend, or what he called, ‘first day, first show’. No, I had not done that for Bollywood films. So I told him.

‘Which planet do you live on?’ he asked.

Okay, so I knew I was a freak living in the supposed oasis of Hindi cinema, but honestly, I had never got a chance to love Bollywood with so much passion because I had lived abroad most of my life and had grown up on world cinema. I would watch films to deconstruct them rather than enjoy them and I could never enjoy the songs that came in vital places of the plot in Hindi films. I was more of a
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
kind of gal rather than a
Break ke Baad
one.

‘Well, I know the different aspects of the evolution of women in Hindi films,’ I spoke in my defence. ‘I had even done a paper on it for fun, for an online univ course I’d joined. I’ve also been on every set with Aditi, so I know all about film making, not to mention the types of cameras, lenses and Foley sound. So ya, I know films!’ I said gleefully, hoping to find some connection with this man.

‘And yet, you don’t go watch films?’ he asked incredulously with noodles stuck between his front teeth.

‘No, not really. I have sometimes … and I watch a lot of it on TV since all the channels play it within six months of its release. I think it’s a waste of time and money to go to watch it in a multiplex where you end up blowing 500 bucks or more every weekend on tickets, popcorn, Coke and post-movie dinner. It’s all a big gimmick that I’m not buying!’

He then went on to name some twenty more films of the last few years, still hoping I had seen at least some of them. Didn’t I just get through to him? Did my words fall on deaf ears?

So I asked him about world cinema. I named a few directors from across the globe who were famous and had won awards for their films. Raj knew of none.

I suppose since all these films were in black and white, he had never seen any. He claimed that he didn’t get them at his local DVD store and, in any case, if he couldn’t adapt it into a Hindi film, there was no use watching it.

I decided then that I would have to stop Aditi from fixing me up if this was the priceless piece she was dishing out.

But the climax of the night was when I said I would take an auto back home and he said, ‘Okay! But can I call you some time?’

The date could not have gone worse. And yet the man wanted to meet again? Why is it that men feel the need to keep pursuing in the hope that a woman might start liking them? Here’s a hint, if she doesn’t ask you to call her, she hopes you never will.

I finally met an interesting man who was a politician. I thought we would have a lot in common. I even started dreaming that we would grow old together, debating intellectual topics that would stimulate our brains and bodies. But when I met him, after accepting him as a friend on Facebook, I realized that intellectualism was as far from him as virginity was from Aditi.

Manoj was a people’s person. What that means is that there were people who were continuously around him. He seemed as if he was forty years old even though he claimed to be only thirty-three. And like all politicians, he wore khadi. I am not sure whether politicians are not allowed to flash Reid & Taylor or if they are genuinely fond of the handspun cloth. But beige was blah.

Anyway, he picked me up in his Ambassador with two other cars following us.

‘Hi,’ I said, as soon as I got into the car. ‘Who are all these people?’

‘Oh, this is the driver, this is my bodyguard,’ he said pointing at each person individually. ‘This is my secretary. And this is my brother-in-law’s nephew, who is training to be a politician. He will contest in the next elections.’

I looked over at a very sullen, acne-faced boy who could not have been more than sixteen years old and I’m sure he would have rather played video games than contest any elections. When we got to the restaurant, a few more people came out of the other two cars, but he waved his hand aside and they all got back in. If it hadn’t been so menacing, it would have been ridiculously funny. We sat down for dinner, with his bodyguard standing behind us and his secretary and the sullen boy at the adjacent table. The food came without us ordering. And the bill never did.

Manoj washed his hands in the finger bowl and wiped it on the tablecloth. When I asked what happened to the bill, as I wanted to split it, he laughed, ‘Women don’t pay. Even I don’t pay. When you’re a politician, people respect you.’

‘By not giving you a bill?’ I asked.

‘Well, yes. It has become the norm. Because you have endorsed their restaurant, you have graced their presence.’

‘But you’ve eaten their food!’ I insisted.

‘Enough!’ he raised his voice and suddenly, I was a little scared. And then he softened his tone and said, ‘How does it matter? Leave it. Let’s discuss your parents and family.’ He asked this all the while looking down my shirt, which I immediately corrected so that absolutely no cleavage would show.

Damn Aditi and her revealing clothes!

But I was quite done. When I tried to initiate a discussion on politics it left me thinking that he was a thug. He had got his way by terrorizing people and forcing them to vote for him. When I discussed his family, he mentioned he only had a mother who was also in politics. And when I tried to ask him about his educational credentials, he laughed so heartily that chicken came out of his nose. All his ‘credentials’ had been purchased.

I quickly ran back home and deleted him from my Facebook. I decided never to go into politics or date men who were available through social sites again.

After having failed miserably to find a man for myself in all these years, my parents took it upon themselves to find one for me. I think there must be a code somewhere for all parents to get interfering and annoying once their child hits twenty-eight. From then on, their only topic of conversation with their child, who has been successful, independent and brilliant so far, is when and whether she will get hitched to the bandwagon called marriage. Suddenly all the talk about how they want you to be famous, strong and proud dissipates into ‘when should we call the pundit, dear?’—so insensitive to people who might not have found their life partner by then. And I have a feeling most marriages in today’s society happen because of the pressure parents put on their children to give them grandchildren, rather than for reasons mutual to the couple. But in any case, my mother set me up to meet a man. ‘He’s a lovely boy (somehow she could never say the word ‘man’). He has come highly recommended (which meant someone from her kitty party knew of him vaguely) and he’s doing very well for himself (meaning working in a boring bank).’ To keep her happy, I agreed to meet Sanjay.

She was right. He was ‘lovely’ and ‘stable’ and knew my aunt really well. He, however, turned out to be my distant cousin! My vague mother, in her overexcited state had not checked how we knew him. It turned out that he was my second cousin’s cousin. Okay, so not completely related, but it still freaked me out. At first sight he was nothing much to look at—slightly large, tall, fair, simple. But then when we started talking, I was totally lost in him. He could draw cartoons on paper napkins and he did my portrait on a piece of paper. He understood art better than I could have, and he pointed out that I had made an error about van Gogh, which I was sure I hadn’t. But he whipped out his Blackberry, Googled it and, lo and behold, he was right. Impressive!

But instead of embarrassing me for my mistake, he apologized and secretly told the bearer to buy me flowers from the gift shop of the hotel and presented it to me. He also sang Sinatra and didn’t like Bollywood movies. His voice was deep and when he sang, I could imagine myself in a concert hall applauding him. We were just so alike. And the best part was he was born the same day as I was.

‘Shut up!’ I exclaimed, after he told me.

‘I can’t believe you were born on 1 April!’ he laughed. ‘We’ll have to share our birthdays together then.’

I was transfixed. I had found the perfect man! I was even willing to let go of the fact that we were distantly related, I’d enjoyed his company so much! He had rejuvenated my brain cells. He didn’t have body odour or smell like the Garden of Eden. What more could I ask for? But there was a problem. And I knew it as soon as we went from chatting like friends to being romantic.

‘You know, when I saw you at Nitya’s wedding, you looked absolutely ravishing,’ he said. I smiled and he continued, ‘I knew then that you were the one for me.’

‘The one?’ I laughed. ‘We didn’t even know each other then!’

‘But Kaveri, haven’t you felt sometimes it takes only one meeting to know a person for a lifetime, and sometimes it takes a lifetime to know a person?’ I nodded vaguely. I’d never had that connection with anyone but I didn’t want to seem like a novice in front of this worldly wise man.

‘I feel as if I know you already. Let me take you on a real date.’

‘A
real
date? Like where?’ I asked. I thought we were on a date.

‘Well, I would whisk you away to Paris,’ he said excitedly. I raised an eyebrow. I knew he would say Paris since we had been discussing how it was such a beautiful city some time back. ‘Then from there we would go on a wine tasting trail across France. Bordeaux, Chablis, blah blah … We would go in the Eurorail, staying as long as we want in the area of the wine we liked. We would lodge in small bed-and-breakfasts, waking up next to each other, taking showers together and I would get you tea to remove the hangover we would have from too much wine and sex the previous night.’ I sat transfixed and listened as he continued with great enthusiasm.