Sunday, July 11, 2010


“Be late!” says the sms message from Meera. Her wish is granted because I cannot readily locate the bar. Normally I am great with directions, but tonight a H-U-G-E sign saying, “Enter here Desi Girl” would have helped.

I fluff my hair and enter. Immediately I see Town and Country to my left, but I pretend I’ve missed him and turn to my right. I can feel his eyes boring into my back, and take my time surveying the room. I turn and find him walking towards me. He stops and I smile. “Hello, Town and Country, nice to meet you. I think I’m a little late," I say warmly. Six minutes to be exact. He tries to peck my cheek and I try to hug him. Awkward. Then he says, “Yes, you are late.” Okay. Wow. He noticed and called me on it. I'd love to meet someone who lets me run, but knows when to reign me back.

“Let’s sit on the other side,” Town and Country suggests. I follow him to a dark and sexy lounge filled with men in suits and pretty, hipsters drinking wine and fake-tinis (vodka-based-cocktails-so-I-can-be-cool-and-drink-from-a-martini-glass). The hipsters are so Dolce and Gabbana fabu that I feel bookish in my Mall of America clothes.

Town and Country finds a sofa and we sit down. Because I am 5’-2-¾” I cannot sit all the way back in the deep couches because my feet won’t touch the floor. So I perch on the edge and the pose works to my advantage. My body language seems more engaged than I really am. He removes his winter coat and reveals his European styled suit. He is tied with the Banker for the best first date outfit. And I don’t know what Town and Country was worrying about. Not hitting the gym is not hurting him.

He orders two glasses of wine, one for him and one for me. Because I want him to like me, I keep reminding myself to stop talking. It takes about five minutes but he takes over the entire conversation. In a low, pleasant Indo-American-Brit voice (swoon) Town and Country shares his upbringing, coming to the US, and schooling. Ten minutes later he finishes his wine (how he drank and talked is beyond me. I still have half a glass).

On cue, the waitress-nymph (large breasted, big curls, low neck line and super short tight skirt) returns to take his drink order. He almost orders for me but eyes my glass. “Would you like another?” he asks. Hhhmm, this is not a double-fisted kind of place. And I have a two-drink minimum per date. It is so easy in New York to have four drinks and not notice. But sobriety is very important when dating random Internet desi men.

With a sweet smile I say, “It would be rude to make you drink alone, yes?” “It would,” Town and Country replies in his lovely liquid chocolate voice. OMFG. He is almost so perfect, in a suit, physically attractive, with a voice I could get lost in, educated, Punjabi conversationalist. Evidently he’s well-to-do, not a requirement. So what more could a woman want? Oh yes, there is the small matter of, he doesn’t seem interested in me.

During the second glass, he continues talking; only now we’re sitting closer. Despite being loopy (not good) I smell wine on his breath and presume the date must be close to completion. I spend the next few minutes waiting for him to say, “Nice to meet you. I have an early meeting. Can I hail you a cab?” (He strikes me as someone who would hail a woman’s taxi, which is good because in the 13 months I have lived in the City, I have never hailed a cab). Instead he surprises me with, “Have you had dinner?”

What? He wants to spend MORE time with me? Did I read him wrong? Or has dating in Manhattan made me a jaded cynic. “Not yet,” I reply. “I know a place around the corner,” Town and Country suggests. “Interested?” YES!

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