A Social Experiment.

The following is an account of every single man who enters my life and my mind in the next month for dating and mating purposes, whether introduced by family, friends or someone at work. Every man that I am .5 percent sweet on , someone who has a glad eye for me, or just the guy I exchanged looks with at someone else’s party.

May be I am objectifying men. May be some of them will feel pathetic if they found out I was critically analyzing reasons as to why nothing can ever work out between them and me. May be this exercise will bring me closer to The One. Or May be the exercise involved here is just me using my fingers to type and my thumbs to press enter and thereby push my luck.

But may be… just may be if nothing else, it’ll give me clarity about the man that I will eventually settle for. (Note -‘Settle for’ is such a defeatist term. Only a tinge better than ‘End up with’).

So here I am shrouded behind a hundred odd May Bes. Probably, just raising barriers, smoke screens and firewalls . Hiding behind my set ways. Using the men as alibis for why I am single and unattached.
But I need some answers and I need to feel hopeful about them. I live in the most populous city in India, surely in this crowd of 14 million is THE ONE?

I grew up thinking you exist.T.O. That someday you would sit and have a warm winter night whiskey with my dad while we all tried to remember the words to an old SD Burman song. That no matter which part of the world you came from we’d actually be made of the same earth. That someday I’d be myself fully because I was also you. And once I was with you, I would have finally put the lid on this peripatetic boho existence. And strangely, it wouldn’t feel like I was giving up on anything.
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12th MARCH 10
EXHIBIT 1.
30 Year old (virgin – what are the odds!) Probashi Bengali from Jodhpur. Now working in Bombay. Uncle sent rishta via prominent shaadi website to dad who is still learning how to use mail properly. Obviously, using hi-tech guns are far easier. Hence, the onus lies on me to check boy’s profile and let dad know.
So this guy describes himself as “very fair”, is an MBA and works in a huge conglomerate. He is a foodie, sings, reads. Sounds cool? Here’s the catch. He has been to many “geographies” as he likes to travel. Clearly, Angrezi is not his strongest point.
Am I shallow enough to not warrant him a shot because he can’t string together a sentence in English?
The answer is another May Be. Honestly, don’t think I would consider him unless by some divine serendipity he turned out to be a poet jiski zubaan Urdu ki tarah thereby making up for lack of English or any other language.

T.O. METER FOR EXHIBIT 1– NO

On a side note, old friend, also single, 28 and eligible just sent me this poem. Often conjectured about why nothing worked out between us. Given that we are two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl and all. However, the other night (mid -3 drinks down sleep) I woke up with strange epiphany- he and I won’t ever work. If we live together we’ll run out of each other very soon. We’d run not away from each other but just parallel. Like beneath all the fun something’s hollow between us. Something that will only ever be filled in by hot air that rushes to the core as decoy.

Here’s the poem.

On My Shirt - Todd Ingalls

You
are on
my shirt
so sweetly
You
stay
there I know
soon
Come washing day
you
wash
away
you
will return
to
my shirt
there after
(Maybe) at night
I make believe
that you
are there
I hold close
you
are on
my shirt
so softly I hold you now.
“You must not make the choice to please others”, said the White Queen to Alice. “For when you step out to slay the Jabberwocky, you’ll be alone”. I guess I too need to just hold on to the Vorpal Sword. It’ll eventually do what it has to.


13th March 2010
PAST PERFECT; PRESENT CONTINUOUS.

EXHIBITS 2 AND 3
Two men from the past who somehow never quite get relegated to the recesses of my cranium.

Number 2 is socially conscientious and didactic but also prolific creative talent. If I were a co-man I’d probably be very put off by him. However, the effect he has on women is quite the opposite. I remember how wide-eyed and eager to impress I’d get around him. Must confess for about a year or so I seriously thought he was T.O.
I once again confused fun and games for compatibility. Detoxifying from him was one of the toughest things I have done for myself. He was addictive. He who alternates between high and mighty, lofty larger issues and small little insightful details about you within the breadth of a 10 min phone conversation that can leave a girl who doesn’t know any better quite breathless. Basically, he plays approachable and unattainable at the same time. Lethal, finger burning combination that in hindsight always adds up to a bad, bad idea. And in his little ways he touches you. He brings you an umbrella when you break yours. He checks on you when you’re sick. He saves his old movie poster collection for you.

Then again, am I asking for too little? Aren’t these things supposed to come my way anyway? Will I mistake scraps of kindness shown by anyone for love? I seem to be the opposite of a doormat. Like a mat-a-dor or something. Charging intensely towards the mythical yet elusive red scarf. What is the level of independence beyond which a girl loses perspective of how much effort the guy is supposed to put in? Should I feel glad or offended by the fact that I am perceived as the girl who can cab it from the airport at 3 am in the morning? The girl who picks up the guy because his house is on her way?

Truth be told, deep inside I hope someday someone will say, you are a big girl, perfectly capable of taking care of all your business, however, let me do it for you once in a while. Because when you are with me, you are secure; as secure as you were when you lived at home with your family. And also because I know growing up is tough but you’re trying your best.

Number 3 has just returned to the country after 6 months. He is probably the most dependable man in this city having proven time and again that he is my rock of Gibraltar. He is funny, warm and kind. If punning were a sport, he’d win Gold. He’s doing phenomenally well in his career. He really likes me for who I am. And still, even in my drunkest, most debauched state I can’t feel a shred of attraction towards him. He remains the guy who drives me home to safety. I do cherish him and feel blessed to have him in my life but like Rahul Mahajan said in his swayamvar nahi shaadi, love ke liye lust bhi chahiye hota hai.

They are both back to the city after long. They both own special nooks in my heart. They both want to meet me. And they are both not you T.O.

T.O. METER

EXHIBIT 2 – 5 ON 10
EXHIBIT 3 – 4 ON 10

My Nani called a while back to check progress on Exhibit 1. When I grunted out some of my concerns to her she said ‘aekhon toh aeto dekhle cholbe na’. Basically, you are growing older and can’t take this much time to decide any more. At least, give these boys a chance. May be one of them will turn out to be right.
My dad says there‘s no such thing as the right man. You both have to work towards making it right for each other. To which he added, beta remember you are looking for a husband, not a typist.

Fair enough, papa. I know husbands don’t come with manuals. And that I must give as many boys a shaadi shot as I can.

But since when did this become a competitive sport? I am feeling like Sania Mirza on the exit. Once top seeded now slowly finding her way out of the game because of a stupid boy. A few pages away from being written off. Like fries dropping out of a happy meal one by one. And it’s making me desperate.

What’s even more disconcerting is that I recognize this about myself. When a boy is thinking should I kiss her tonight or the next time, I am thinking of how tall our children will be. In my head I have married all the boys who will make even tiny cameo appearances on these pages. I have deliberated about how our names will appear on the wedding card and if my parents and his parents will be able to hang out in DSOI when they are older. No wonder I can’t date normally any more the way I used to three years ago.

And it’s probably not just me. It’s M too who just held a sangeet for herself, called her friends, wore a lehenga, got a mehendi wali and a chaat wallah, and merry was made by all through the night. Except that there was no fiancé . She has turned 30 and celebrated her sangeet as an act of defiance. Everyone, including her driver has told her ki jab ladki tees ki ho jaati hai toh second hand ho jaati hai. She said up yours, in true Bollywood style with 50 kilos of marigold and a DJ spinning love mera hit hit.

It’s also K. Who moved from Delhi to Maharashtra to Karnataka – phir bhi na mila sajna. Who asks me every time we speak to write about “Us and our breed”. K turned 27 this year. She took a holiday alone to Hong Kong to celebrate it. Next time, it’ll be Scandinavia, she says.

It’s about N who who’s 37 and calls herself a shelf pe rakhi hui cheez. It’s said in jest, with matter of fact courage that she’s unaware of. She has the valor to hold out for a hero or just go it alone and let the hero be her. And it’s about R who is 34, hip and happening but when she had a friend’s pup home for a week to take care of, natural instinct took over and I saw in her a mom that anyone would be blessed to have. And it’s about S, a dentist, 28, gorgeous, once divorced. She now plans to move to the US. Wahaan chaalees tees hota hai. Aur tees bees.

And M, K, N, R and S are all about me. We hang out in little sub groups, hit nice bars in revealing clothes, drink Rum and Whiskey, fight over the bill and drunkenly chatter about why, just why we don’t have significant others. Possibly because we think ourselves too significant to have an ‘other’? Another cloud of laughter, another whiff of perfume, many more drinks and heady auto rides later we are back to our own insular cocoon homes. Remembering the last time there was a significant other.
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I remember that JA fudge (Jamoca Almond - what on earth is Jamoca?) ice cream in Nirula’s, Priya, with my first real boyfriend in Delhi. (Let’s call him A.) I remember how waking up every morning in love with a complete idiot used to make me feel. As though, I was beautiful, invincible, and had an invisible chip on my shoulder that made me walk taller. I remember how he used to drive past my house, give me a missed call so that I would come out on my chatt and wave out to him when he whizzed past just so he could see me once in the night. And on Diwali, he called me on the landline and said ‘I love you’ to which I replied ‘same to you’. And everyone in the house thought I responded to a Diwali wish.

Even though he turned out to be an absolute imbecile, I treasure those memories because I never really could replace them with another simple, easy to use, relationship for dummies set .

I broke up with him when I was 20 and he was 28. He wanted to get married and I asked him to wait. In a rare display of intellect, he told me I belong to the world. No matter how long he waited I would ask for some more time. I pretended to be upset, but was secretly happy to be unshackled and let out into the wild again. The next day, I went and got my hair cut really short; called a friend that I hadn’t called in over a year thanks to the boyfriend. And wore all the small clothes I loved and he hated.

Life beckoned out to me, seduced me and played with me on a level field for the first time ever. It was the most liberating break up. And it played a huge part in turning me into the person I am today. What followed were a series of intriguing happenstances with men who kept getting more evolved, more desirable and more complex. No reason to complain, at all. Except that legitimate commitments got harder to come by. Also the concept of permanent coupling sounded more and more intangible. Fun- can be dangerous sometimes. Thus spake Payal Rohatgi in a C-grader. I concur.

Guess in a parallel universe, I would have been married to A, with child and possibly even eloped with someone else by now. Or maybe I’d have worked in a magazine and deluded myself into believing I have the perfect life. Husband, child, work and 52 weekend getaways from Delhi.

Am glad I chose this life path. It’s harder but it’s truer to who I really am. And yet, each time I see Kajol running in the rain when she discovers she can’t be with Shah Rukh while Tujhe yaad na meri aayi plays in the BG, the inevitable tear escapes my eye. Nirula’s still makes me optimistic about Hot- Chocolate- Fudge-Love drenched in Hershey’s. And memorizing someone’s number and calling them from a landline continues to define romance.

Sigh. No one knows why peace of mind is a donkey. Koi na jaane kyun chain 'khota' hai. Kya karun haye, Kuch kuch hota hai.

Kuch kuch hota hai T.O. Tum nahi samjhoge.


14TH MARCH 2010

WOMEN ARE FROM WEAN US

Last night I went out with an old school friend to Sky Lounge. She is now a fashion buyer for a national retail company, travels to Barcelona and Paris for work, and has genetically inherited Kashmiri good looks.
After a few Mojitos, we discovered we were Thought Twins. Our take on boys was pretty convergent. We believe that most of the women we went to school with have evolved into smart, fun, multitasking creatures, however the men are still mentally in ninth standard and don’t know how quite to cope with us. It’ll probably take another decade or so for them to get a hang of things and how hastily they have changed post globalisation. We are not the women their moms were. We are probably more like their dads. The first generation of migrants that took high risks for high dividends.

Shortly after, we were joined by some IITians. Who asked me questions like, so.. umm..don’t mind..but when you write a movie are you told to directly copy from Hollywood or.. umm Indianise? I just smiled and said, yes. End of conversation. For the record, there is no such is thing as ‘film line’. Actors do not write their own dialogues on film sets. And yes, I have met Shah Rukh Khan.
Now that that’s out of the way, night ended with men totally drunk as skunks, tottering out, while my friend and I asked them if they needed water, and would they be able to reach home safely.

The social pyramid has truly inverted. Men are women, women are the new men, while we want to still actually remain women yet enjoy wearing the pants. What ensues is relationship chaos. It’s a war out there and no one knows what the dynamics of power really are. At the end of it, like in every battle you are left with a deep sense of loss of pride, privilege and purpose.

Just now, a friend told me about another girl at the top of the corporate ladder, who lived- in with her highly educated (IIM, LSE) boyfriend for 13 years. Live in bole toh he actually lived in her house. He quit his job and she took care of his credit card bills for the last two years. Liberty, fraternity and egality - what more could she ask for shaadi purposes?

One day before they were supposed to get married, he chickened out.
He says he can’t.

Obviously, she’s a mess. How will she now know the world without him? Will she ever trust anyone again? What about her parents in Kanpur who allowed a ‘live-in’ assuming the two will eventually be married? What she can’t understand is when you were committed enough to live with me for 13 years why can’t you put a stamp on it? Why is he suddenly feeling so cage-trapped? Is it because truly men always want options? Is he deluding himself into believing he sits on some high moral stool where he believes so much in the sanctum sanctorum of the institution of marriage that he can’t defile it? And so he chooses to stay out of it – because if he was to be married it would be like his parents’ perfect marriage. Basically, after all these years he still isn’t sure about her?

Secretly, I think men think it’s cool to be commitment phobes. Wake up Sid. It’s totally not cool. In fact it’s so far removed from cool, it’s actually hot. Sigh. Depressing but true. Women mostly buy into this self –destructive will he won’t he enigmatic crap. I know, I do.

But I also hope one day to break the pattern which shall again only happen when I meet T.O. and I don’t have to raise any more defenses. This won’t be a reality show any more, leave alone a battle. I will honestly be able to say what I feel because just like my family, you too will stick it out with me come hell or high water. And for both of us our search would have ended. We would have found our compatriot, our rival, our critic, our trash-take outer, our shouting match partner, our feedback giver, our agony aunt column and our best friend.

Humko maloom hai jannat ki haqeeqat lekin, dil ke khush karne ke liye Ghalib yeh khyaal achha hai.