Chapter 17: IIT IIM: No Desis Please

A Caucasian friend warned me one day how the Indian boy coming for dinner will not be into me. This lack of confidence in my charms hurt immensely till she tried to elaborate further. Her earlier discussions with the eligible Indian bachelor indicated that he thought Indian women (more than any other country sisters) were gold diggers. 

Apparently, this Indian gift to womankind (according to my friend and self-professed by the gift) was of the dime a dozen IIT IIM variety in my homeland. However, this specimen had been extremely successful in the evil Wall Street kingdom which now made him a rabbit’s foot for all women.

My friend further elucidated that he shared with her how the IIT IIM and Wall Street tag made Indian women orgasm at the sight (or description) of him. Hence, my friend’s warning to keep dry while he was around. 

To defend against this brown gold digger variety, he had decided to date only white and ensure that he was liked despite his abundance of wealth and lack of goodness. My rebuttal to my friend was whether all Ivy League guys in successful positions, by that logic, avoided all American beauties? Actually, given Ivy Leagues’ well renowned status worldwide, were they strictly restricting themselves to the uneducated or perhaps alien variety only?

Such a harsh judgement on my Indian sisters, obviously set me out on an exploration on their experiences. One such lovely, well educated, accomplished and fashionable girl pontificated that the first generation 30 something Indian boys with the IIT IIM tag were veritable dating pariahs back in the homeland. They spend their teens and early 20s by building muscle tone only through lifting books, being socially awkward and wearing clothes that helped them merge with the wall paper. Hard work, wealth and social success in this lovely country have lent them a sheen but has not erased their inherent insecurity. These guys, hence, continue to struggle to prove their social worth and a Caucasian beauty on their arm is another proof of social acceptance.

Well, my mantra is - there is a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow… date all colors of mankind and womankind to discover yours.

Chapter 16: Chicks before Dicks

A remnant of an old warrior clan instinct drives men to uphold the vow of ‘bros before hoes’. But are the hoes responding in kind? Where is our bonding cry of chicks before dicks? 

A friend of mine recently voiced her opinion on my pickiness. My much married friend was of the view that the reason that I stayed unmarried is because I am subconsciously choosing it to be so. She held me responsible for inadvertently subverting any relationship by being picky and impatient. Any attempt to explain my circumstances of mainly meeting men who she would normally consider empty husks, rained on deaf ears. I was given examples of times that I turned down some opportunities …. irrespective of the fact, that these so-called opportunities were opportunistic and self-obsessed men who were much applauded for their sexual prowess in bedding a different girl every week.

 I was held responsible for choosing not to date these men and spare myself the mental trauma and self doubt that would have succeeded this encounter. I was advised that I should have persevered and hoped that I would turn these men into a veritable picture of loyalty and fidelity. That I chose not to rise up to the challenge was deemed my fault.

On being dated and baited by a rich banker, another friend of mine was quick to point out that I should not ‘screw this one up’. She hinted that if anything were to go wrong, it would surely be my lack of social graces. She advised me amply on effective verbal communication, suppressing my outspoken opinions, body language and all things under the sun. It duly turned out that the man in question was adept at dating multiple women at the same time and his suspicious morals extended to compulsive lying as well. I wonder whether my friend thinks that I should have not dropped him like a potato but made it a mission to turn him away from his errant ways and win myself a ring in the bargain?

Where is the camaraderie and acceptance of yore? I remember the days when the coven was a safe place where you went and were forgiven for all transgressions.  When did it turn into this court of judgment being exercised by the much married against the much single? Now when we need our girls the most, why are we being condemned to the doghouse? In our moment of most vulnerability, why is the shoulder being withdrawn?

I want to remind my much loved and married friends of Jude’s Speech in Bridget Jones’ diary: The edge of reason and her vow to her single friends when she is getting married.

“Today I bade farewell to being a singleton. But although I am now married, I promise never to be a smug one. I promise never to torment any singletons in the world by asking them why they’re still not married or ever say “How’s your love life?” Instead I will always respect that that is as much their private business as whether I’m still having sex with my husband. I promise never to suggest that singletondom is a mistake or that because someone is a singleton there is anything wrong with them. For as we all know singletondom is a normal state in the modern world. All of us are single at different times in our lives and the state is every bit as worthy of respect as holy wedlock. I promise also to keep in constant contact with my best friends who are living proof that the urban singleton family is just as strong and supportive, just as there for you as anyone’s blood family”.

Chapter 15: Where are the MEN?

A friend of mine recently wondered aloud “Where were the MEN?” Why are we stuck in the midst of 35 year old boys stuck in their 20s? Why are they stuck while we women in our mid-30s have grown and embraced change while our male counterparts resisted it?

I spent my 20s fighting tooth and nail to prove that I can take care of myself. I paid my own bills, bought my own designer togs, paid for my own dirty martini and sometimes, paid for my dates as well. I recall how on one of the dates of my misspent youth, the guy hinted that I was mainly responsible for the moderate scale of gluttony and the copious amount of liquor consumption, which led me to offer to take up the bill…. and I did not flinch or think he was parsimonious. This was all done in the name of independence and for a vague feminist ideal that left me with other people’s bills.

But I do wonder why on earth did I spend more than a decade repelling this allowance of indulgence? And I wonder if the attitude has strictly to do with the propagation of the popular definition of feminism or equally with the way that men perceive women? 

I recently received an email from an online match who said that he is looking for a woman who can pay for her own drinks. Another friend of mine, unfortunately the rich banker variety, mentioned that he sizes most women up as gold diggers and would like to see a woman who can pay her own way (unless of course she is super hot model and then everything else be damned.. he would be happy to buy her a condo).

It appears that not only have I battled to hold up the torch of feminism but also waged a war to gain respect of men. So after these major and minor skirmishes, am I regressing by wanting a MAN? Someone to ‘take care of me?’

Someone who will open doors for me, pay for dinner, take me to the opera…. not because I cannot but because it makes me feel indulged and taken care of. It reminds me that I am desirable… and yes, it is likely that it stems from the insecurity of fading youth. 

In return, I want to cook dinner with him, surprise him with sexy lingerie, massage his head, debate the demerits of religion and politics and have his babies…

Cosmo says that men feel that if a woman is overly independent, they worry that there isn’t a place for him in her life. Well, we are making some space… but where are the MEN?

Chapter 14: Cornfield Theory of Mating Behaviour

A male friend of mine recently pontificated on differences in how men and women differ in mating behavior using the cornfield theory. 

The experiment goes that a man and a woman were sent into a cornfield to get the best sheaf of corn and return within 20 minutes. The woman returned in 3 minutes whereas the man came back hurrying, far exceeding the allotted 20 minutes. When queried, the woman answered that she found a corn that looked nice, full and large enough and she thought that it would do as the best corn. (This all lends me to believe that it’s the cosmetic lobby that is creating penis insecurity and advertising genital enlargement. For most women, if it works, can screw clock and anti-clockwise, it suffices).

The man, however, answered that he found one quickly enough but wanted to check if there was something better further afield and hence, wandered, lost his way, and took time to get back. (This lends me to believe that the drive towards breast enlargement is encouraged by the male brethren and is not merely a massive move to create new areas of medical research and jobs).

I was also informed that various other rational choice theories also come into play to explain the difference in mating behavior. A man is driven by ‘competitive analysis’ … the more desirable he perceives the woman, the higher the value he attaches to the relationship (this actually plays well into my conquistador example- see Unicorns and Horses). Men, hence, are continuously scanning and playing the game of upgrading to the newer and more desirable models. As they grow older, they also have a wider field (with an increasingly younger band of women) to play especially equipped as they are with older man wiles of more money and charm (read ability to lie, dissimulate and pretend effectively).

Women, on the other hand, operate under a cost/benefit analysis where they perceive higher benefits of marriage associated with children and shared effort of raising them (read http://137.140.1.71/jsec/articles/volume2/issue2/JSEC_Bokek-Cohen2-2.pdf  for more enlightenment on the subject). And as this benefit escalates as we grow older, so the women sift and choose from the available pool to mitigate risks and costs of not being able to pop a bawling infant or two and be part of a family structure.

Cosmo says that men are natural born one-uppers; if there is a possibility of upgrading, they will. My womb agonized sisters on the other hand, continue to play the game by exercising, botoxing and dieting to maintain the upgraded look … pavlovian conditioning indeed!!!

Chapter 13: Of Unicorns and Horses

My friend, of testicular origin, is waxing and waning between his preferences for different types of women. At one end is a woman with a steady job who has the time to devote to loving and caring for him. At the other end is an overachieving woman who prioritizes career first and barely has time to scrape for a relationship. 

After much struggle with his rational self and the undivided attention from the kind woman, he decided to forego on this inner beauty. My Rich Indian Banker (RIB) friend could not resist the temptation of conquering the testosterone woman. However, his fear continues… that such a prize horse will not give him the love and care that he got from the horse that he decided was a little lame for his adventurous tastes. My prognosis for my RIB friend is that he will continue to look for the unicorn and lose both the horses in the endeavor.

As some of us women approach our mid-30s, we are struggling with whether to continue to let career  take up our undivided attention or to slow down and smell the roses.. aka listen to the tocking of our biological clock. If Lady Gaga is to be the role model, she recently commented in Cosmo, “, “Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose to follow their dreams. If you're wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn't love you anymore." So shall we continue to find cold comfort in our careers?

A guy friend of mine laid the facts out. He stated it clearly that he likes overachieving women. Women with a demanding career, more money and who don’t give a damn about relationship status are his thing. It’s another story altogether that his commitment phobic nature is legendary and that’s what probably drives him to such women. Successful women, in his opinion, are mature enough to take his inability to commit in a stride and still put out. He reasons that since these women have other important things to do, they do not give import to the lack of a serious relationship in their lives. This translates into stimulating conversation, easy sex and nothing much beyond it for my man friend and a case of scratching the itch for the lady in question.

So where does this leave women like me who are gearing up for a matrimonial fulfilled existence? Are we lame horses since we give a damn? In this city, after all, the men play at being conquistadors. They so fervently hunt for the evasive prize that attraction to inherent qualities of goodness appear to take a backseat.

My only piece of advice to the girl-horses out there is - sift through the conquistadors and wait for the one who will be there for you whether you go lame or turn into a race horse.  If it feels like work to be with a man, it’s the wrong sort of work!!! So wait for the one that matters - the one who will be done notching up his bedpost.

Chapter 12: Dating Older Men

My friend is an aficionado of the older men… they are like cigars according to her- aged and cured. I, on the other hand, tended to believe that they are dry, brittle and occasionally smell. But caught in a quandary where my age compatible brethren are dating 10 year younger, I needed to scout out the 10 year older age group. So I started raiding the online world for the aged but not decrepit.

To my surprise, I found many a bohemian soul in sane exterior amongst this age group. Here were men who had explored the material world to feed their body but now were looking for fodder to feed their soul. Some had demanding corporate jobs which they gave up to help small businesses. Some were actively engaged in charity organizations and others were exploring their aspiring playwright. And unlike my redbull-vodka imbibing age compatriots, they enjoyed a fine scotch and French wine and were willing to feed me. Indeed, far far removed from boys who flinched at even ordering cheese to accompany the wine, wanted to go ‘dutch’ and expected exchange of bodily fluid, French style right on the first date.

And truth be told, I was young and beautiful in these wisdom infused eyes… a veritable feast of youth and energy. Never mind that my joints have started aching in the cold and my left knee doth protest too much while climbing up the stairs.

These men had pictures of doing fun things other than drinking and posing with cleavage endowed friends. They are climbing rock walls, swimming in the deep blue, catching a fish, visiting Angkor Vat and many such exciting things. They profess they are looking for women who have a mind, can debate and argue with a passion, guffaw loudly at their jokes… basically be an independent entity with their own rights. So what was wrong with this picture?

While the maturity is admirable, the lack of hair in the right places brings pause. In fact, ever since I went out on a couple of dates with the more mature men, I have had a sudden fascination for hirsute men. I cannot keep my eyes off flowing locks, bearded faces, basically hair everywhere other than sprouting from the nose or ears or on the back. (I mean, I like a furry torso, but how grotesque is hair on the shoulders... unless you have a fascination for werewolves!!)

So are the mid-40s a hard sell.. or shall I say a soft shell? The mind and the soul are just where I want them to be, but where are the George Clooney look-a-likes? I am still left to wonder whether I should consider being the Porsche to their mid-life crisis or keep looking for the X-box obsessed to mature beyond the World of Warcraft?

But on a serious note, they do come with some baggage.. and sometimes this baggage is in the form of a 20 something child. The idea of being maternal to a 20 year old is anathema to me. Not to mention the divorce, the hours of therapy and an iron-clad pre-nup agreement carried in the coat pocket. And if they are single and unattached… guess what … their fear of commitment can put a 30 year old man to shame.

Well, Cosmo says that women are increasingly finding older men attractive and I guess age is after all, only a number. So my search for a George Clooney amongst the older but not diaper clad continues…

Chapter 11: Dating Younger Man

A friend of mine recently recounted her mantra to getting married.. she was opening herself to the possibility of marrying fat and bald. This community of fat and bald men have apparently been forced to build character to attract women. Men self-help books/ articles often tout the necessity of building personality and using humor to attract beautiful women. The exception of course, continues to be Rich Bankers, who could have braided hair sprouting from their nose, personality of a wart and humor of a train wreck and still take a dame home every night.  

The trick, my friend decided, to cope with the fat and bald man of her dreams would be to have nightmares during copulation… where she was beset to her distress by Christian Bale (think Patrick Bateman in American Psycho).

So while I was reconciling to a future of closing my eyes while mountains of flesh rose above me, I got a chance to date a younger man in the peak of fitness. And why question a gift horse in the mouth, when instead of flaccid muscles and flesh, I could feel steel under my hands.

While men my age and older were happy to sport doughnuts around their stomachs, my young beau was all steel and muscle. His hair was thick and luxuriant and much pulling did not end up with a greasy toupe in my hands. Moreover, I got abundant respect and attention. He listened to my views as if I knew what I was talking about… though often my mouth often wanted to shut shop and explore his mountainous landscape.

Unfortunately, while I admired the visual landscape, the fitness advice that accompanied the body, did not lend itself to much stimulation. He waxed eloquent about his $500 vitamix blender, which was so positioned that he could see it from his living room, bedroom and bathroom. This goddess of smoothies was his holy grail and he indefatigably tried to convert me. The green gunk aka wheatgrass smoothie that the 45,000 rpm blender regurgitated was another story. But what broke the camel’s back was perhaps the regimented lifestyle which abhorred consumption of copious amounts of liquor. The battle between my wine glass and his green smoothie led to a painful partition and thus ended my sojourn in the land of the young.

To be perfectly candid, trying to do a Demi to his Ashton, would have taken too much work at the gym and hours that I just did not have. Moreover, youth and age have clashing priorities and mixing the 2 stages does not make for a pretty cake.

So I think I will stick to the older age group and try my hand to convince a doughnut juggling man to give an infrequent go to the gym. Or practice what Cosmo would advice.. tease, squeeze, close your eyes and dream.. of Christian Bale.

Chapter 10: Sexting Texting

We have all made mistakes… of texting or ringing the guy who got our knickers in a twist and then never called back. To be honest, I have had some issues keeping the index and thumb off the touch-screen once my booze infused brain starts signaling my nether regions. My trigger happy fingers have all too often landed me in trouble when I have sent misspelt texts to some glorious man on how I yearn for him. The hunter-gatherer man, obviously, is turned off by this lack of chase and happily showcases such maudlin texts to his other friends as indicative of his desirability. 

So the time came for me to change my errant ways in the form of my Caucasian friend who had consumed enough self help date books to rattle off rules on ordering coffee, eating, dressing, barfing, evacuating bowels etc while with an eligible man. My learned friend also held court on communicating appropriately through calls, texts, emails, tweets, facebook and many myriad mediums with a date as well.

Her admonitions helpfully kept me off the phone and texting in dangerous times. This was put into practice by ignoring all phone calls during the workday (to let the man know that I had a busy job), ignoring calls during the evening (since I had a hectic social life), ignoring calls during the weekend (cmon, my friends and other dates are demanding my attention), ignoring texts for up to 48 hours min (all the above reasons of busy work life, social life and demanding friends implied), replying to emails after 72 hours min (cos emails from strangers end up in the junk mail which I do not bother checking).. basically making it so tough for the man to get in touch with me to make it a truly hunting and chasing experience worth his while and piquing his interest.

My predilection for verbosity has also translated into lengthy texts which shared a joke (showed my humorous side), a quick comment on some current event (showcases my intellect), an emotional occurrence (showed me to be feminine despite the enormous intellect).. basically was a novella in itself.

I have since been discouraged by Cosmo studies that show that men are incapable of reading more than 2 lines of text. In fact the 160 character service was invented keeping in mind this low threshold of attention that beset most men. Taking a cue from Cosmo, my texts are now direct and present a Call to Action. E.g. ‘I have an itch, would you like to scatch it?’; ‘Going commando; less work for you tonight” etc etc..

The impact of this new way of communication is still to be studied to be statistically significant. But suffice it to say, that the Call to Action is getting the men to respond. It’s another story that I may be pushing the wrong (or right?) buttons.

Chapter 9: Friends with Benefits

My aunt apprised me the other day that the women in our family suffer from early onset of menopause. This means that the years of natural lubricated sex in my life can be counted on the fingers of my hand. My dalliance with chastity be damned, I was going to fruitfully use up my time before estrogen gave up on me.

I decided to indulge in bed games with guys who I KNOW would not feature in my future. 

On the other hand, for the guy who caused my rapidly deteriorating womb to rouse from its despondency, I would plan to delay gratification. The reason being pretty simple- for the latter I want to continue to hold mysterious allure and challenge (and play the age old game of dangling the intercourse bait- as Beyonce widely sang, ‘if you want it, you gotta put a ring on it’). For the former, its two ships passing in the night phenomenon anyways- so why not engage in some friendly honking while keeping my emotions intact.

However, woe betide me - I think it’s important to use an old English phrase given the rapid carbon dating condition of my chastity belt… I have struggled to find the occasional ship. Moreover, the fear of sexual transmitted diseases definitely has laid restraints on any spontaneous amorous intent. In order to circumvent such considerations, I sought advice from my experienced friends to take on a temporary paramour aka ‘friend with benefits’.

The first advice I received from a friend was to refrain calling a partner in such a liaison as a ‘friend’. The raison d’être being that as soon as the said paramour is a friend, we are doomed to vicissitudes of female emotion. Great sex combined with laughter, understanding and friendship usually goes one way for most women- and that is downhill, spelling emotional upheaval. The concept of ‘friend with benefit’ is apparently a male concept since most men find it easy to disassociate testicular driven interest from emotional connection.

The formula, I have been advised is to act like a man – i.e. engage in a satisfying amour without tangling up in emotions. I have been instructed to find someone who I will barely be able to have a conversation with but who will make me do cartwheels in bed and find muscles in places where I thought only fat resided. I have been told that the complete lack of emotion once the urge has been fulfilled, the absence of the need to cuddle, the ability to walk away and sleep alone and secure in my bed with only my fluids and stale breath to battle in the morning, will make the experience worthwhile and cathartic. 

Another of my friend noted that women who have a good sex life are far more interesting. The reason apparently is that they are able to concentrate on the higher things in life once the base animal need to bump and grind has been satisfied. I was also told by a 23 year old that 30+ women often reek of desperation and the lines on our face are less of experience and more of frustration. So the decision to get your knickers off and get a piece of heaven apparently also pays off in terms of deferred expenses on face lifts.

Another friend happily notes that the occasional roll in the hay has helped to bring the sparkle back to all things seemingly dreary and mundane in her life. She can once again afford to spend precious hours of her rapidly depleting sexual life and listen to Fareed Zakaria and The State of the Union (ever tried to interest yourself in national and international politics when your mind and body are screaming for some sexual congress?), battle against her screaming female instincts to learn the basics of American football (btw- why is it that Americans corrupt regular sports with meaningless violence- see ice hockey, American football, WWF- need I say more?) and get her groove back to attract the erudite lot of the opposite sex.

So ladies, our instincts are natural- indulge in bed games occasionally, it does not make you a person of questionable morals but rather does wonder to your ego and physical allure… as Cosmo said.. climax your way to a better skin!!!

Chapter 8: Rich Indian Bankers and Stepford Wives

Erudite, rich Indians in the city, actually, let’s just call them bankers, hedge fund guys and let’s not call them erudite since reading financial papers and dossiers does not make one well-read in my assessment. Back to the point....I increasingly perceive that my melanin infused brethren in the guise of the Rich Indian Banker (RIB) guy are trying to be WASPs. Not to say that they are insects.. but just like the insect which suffers an identity crisis of being neither a bee or an ant, my wallet heavy countrymen are trying hard to belong to the elite American white class. If the MJ experiment with skin bleaching had gone well, maybe we would have had a long line of brown RIBs trying leach the melanin out from their body. (I am going to keep an eye out for scientific progress at this end and rapidly invest in such a company and maybe one day belong to WASPdom). 

So while the eligible Indian male brethren are trying to go white and inculcating a dislike of all things Indian, the women-kind is undergoing their own parasitic (think wasp) metamorphosis. This is translating into many cloning themselves into a facsimile of a Stepford Wife to appeal to the white and the coconut male alike. The feisty and fiery Indian girls who have struggled against the double whammy of gender and color imposed glass ceiling, are turning into cookie-cutter versions in appearance and behavior. These women dream of summers in the Hamptons, white attired sailing trips with Chuck and Mary of the Mayflower genes, $1,000 tickets to the Viennese opera ball, designer togs and accessories, Central Park homes and an endless list of options to encourage a fatuous and vacuous living style.

I have been apprised that embracing this attitude along with ironing my unruly locks, wearing high heels to wreck my spinal cord, investing in $1,000 clothing to attend banker infested charity event (no matter that the charity is for the poor, starving, homeless and clotheless in the world) is apparently a successful formula. My penchant to sport bargain $100 dresses, loud cackle and the sight of un-straightened teeth, preference for comfort over clingy attire, tendency of drink scotch, bourbon and wine all in the same sitting and Bollywood does not make a strong competitor in this environment.

Cosmo says that cashed-up guys think they deserve to be with trophy women, or women they deem prizeworthy. They want their women to be extremely beautiful, plan social schedules, have good manners, be submissive and compliant to the man’s needs…. So either I am to try out this new formula or give up on the hope of the wealthy white or RIB knight.

And given that I am averse to changing my body and soul for such wasp action, I continue to have faith that it does not take an entire country but just one to sting my hive.