Chapter 1: Dating in the Big Bad City

I am a 35 year old, Indian born, bred, roasted and toasted brown single woman in New York City. I took the long route to New York City… never should anyone say that I shirked the road less traveled. The path and the past are strewn with tears, tribulations and various other alliterations which I will spare you with. To cut a long story short, I am here and am dating with vengeance in the Big Apple.

I am writing this blog as a chronicle of my experience with dating white, black, brown, yellow and all colors of the rainbow. And trust me I need reminding. The other day, while out killing my few remaining memory cells with some sub-par brew, I forgot how many frogs and princes I had dated, kissed and had indelicate moments with.

So obviously I made a list while waiting for a massage at a Chinese parlor after such an indelicate night. I have duly annotated my past dalliances as onk (one night kiss), r (relationship), r & s (relationship and sex)- yes, I was a good Indian girl who had relationships with no action… but now I am wiser and realize that it was all effort and no pleasure. Unfortunately, while I have the list chronologically correct, it is interspersed with question marks since I have forgotten some of the frogs I have exchanged saliva with amongst other things. Hence, the intent of the blog to remind me of my dating experiences and also add on the stories of my other single friends- so that I can hold them to an occasional blackmail.

My first quandary was what on earth does ‘dating’ mean in the city.. and the confusion was amplified with my first date. I found the gentleman on an online dating site, he called and we met the same day. He turned out to be a surprisingly well travelled and knowledgeable American who knew about Gandhi and not only as a dhoti clad individual from India. We talked about ‘My Experiments with Truth’ which both of us happened to be reading and consumed copious amount of liquor. He stared into my eyes and called me beautiful and I expressed interest through frequent smiles, brush of my hand on the sleeve- the usual bag of tricks.

After 3 hours of intriguing conversation and mild flirtation, I was feeling quite lucky to have landed an interesting individual for my very first date when he popped the question on whether we were going to have sex. My sainted mother flashed before my eyes and my convent roots shook in their boots… I love a good romp but I am amending my ‘prodigal daughter in her 30s act’ to meet someone for long term dating, relationship et al. Well, again to cut a long story short, I declined and we had a good laugh, split the bill and promised to meet again. And I took the enjoinder to call as an authoritative request.. which meant here I was, texting him the next day and emailing him on when we could meet. After a lackluster reply on how busy he was, I was disillusioned by a dating-experienced friend who intimated that I was given the brush off.

So now I am wiser that a man who is interested a) pays for the date b) messages the same night/ early morning at the latest c) fixes the next date venue and basically does the chase… The lady on the other hand, a) never agrees to meet on the same day/ sometimes the same week b) never pays no matter that she may be earning well enough to keep her in designer togs c) never suggests the venue d) always turns up at least 10 minutes late. And hence, my first date and first lesson was duly earned.