60. GOOD NIGHT DESI BANKER

After saying good night to the desi Banker, I duck into the subway station and wait a few minutes. Yes, absolutely, this was a nice first date. Conversation with the Banker was easy and had amazing depth, broaching many topics --- arts, life, India, music, movies. He was fun and engaging, but I didn’t have that za za zoom! It was TOO comfortable, like a friend. So I am assuming I'll never from him again.

I check the time on my mobile phone, thinking for sure the desi Banker must be blocks away and I pop out of the subway. I scan the street up and down. Excellent. No sign of Banker. I begin walking west towards 8th Avenue. By the time I get home it will be 10:30 pm and too late to call Reindeer and coordinate tomorrow’s dates.

As I clip clop along 53rd Street I return Reindeer’s call. “Well, hello,” Reindeer says. Swoon. Love, love, love his voice. “Sorry I missed your call. We were finishing dinner,” I reply. Ooo, good cover! “I’m headed west for the A train so you are going to join me on the walk and ignore the Midtown honking,” I say. My timing could not have been better. The moment I finish my sentence the light turns green and the overly anxious taxis start honking. Reindeer laughs and then details his day. He then asks if I should really be walking alone so late. This is refreshing, a man concerned about safety. “I’m fine,” I reply, moving like a native New Yorker, at a marathon pace, with my cell phone attached securely to my ear.

By the time I reach Columbus Circle we have decided to meet at 6:00 pm at the clock tower in Grand Central Station, which in my mind is not really a tower, but it is a clock. Because I am a control freak and cannot eat meat on Tuesday, I offer to select the restaurant, which is agreeable to Reindeer. Before we hang up he makes a joke, “I’ll be wearing a white suit coat and holding a flower.” I reply, “I’ll write your name on a placard.”

All over India in the airports throngs of chauffeurs wait, holding placards so arriving desis from abroad can locate the driver who will take to you grandma’s house. At other airports, such as Bangalore, after you collect your bags, greeters offer you a flower welcoming you to their city. Too bad the pollution will kill the flower the moment you leave the leave the air-conditioned airport. But the thought is nice.

59. DESI BANKER DATE

Because I want to WOW the Banker, I obsess about attire. Where are Stacy London and Clinton Kelly when I REALLY need them? I hit speed dial and detail the situation to Meera, who replies with, “Toss caution aside. You're too together, too intimidating. So jeans and your wrap top. Dressy casual.” When another person knows what is in your closet, this is a SUPER good friend!

I get to the restaurant before the Banker. When he arrives I note his salt and pepper hair, specs, $5,000 Hermes power suit, shiny wing tips and the juggling act of two mobile phones. I should have known better than to don jeans when meeting a Banker. How did the goddesses allow this to happen? 


“Let’s start with a drink,” Banker suggests. We’re in optimal date seating assignment, at a table for four, side by side. The book How to Make Anyone Fall in Love With You, suggests you should express interest through touch, so I reach out and brush his hand. Banker’s eyes grow big, like I just doused him with kerosene and set him on fire.

After drinks we find an Indian restaurant. When our food arrives the Banker tosses his tie over his shoulder, then sets his elbow in something wet. "Oh shit," he says really loudly. (Please note: I am a really loud person, so when I say he was loud, he was loud!) When he realizes it’s water and not oily turmeric that permanently stains clothes a golden spice, he is relieved.

We are having pleasant dinner conversation when I hear my phone ringing. I know it is Reindeer calling to confirm tomorrow’s date details. Since I don’t wear watches on dates, I slyly try and figure out how to check my phone for the time. As if on cue, the goddesses align the planets (making up for letting me go on a date in jeans) because the Banker asks for the check.

Banker walks me to the subway. On the way we pass an Ann Taylor store and he tells me about a former girlfriend who wore size 00 long pants. Not only was that woman tall, she was rail thin! Which suggests to me, a short curvy me doesn't stand a chance with the serial size skinny dater.

We arrive at the subway station and Banker asks, “Are you sure you're okay to ride the subway so late?” We look at his watch and I learn it is 9:45 pm. Excellent! “The subway is fine.” I say. Reindeer goes to sleep at 10:00 pm so I have 15 minutes to confirm tomorrow’s date!

58. DESI GIRL’S CONFESSION ~ NO DOUBT, THE FIRST OF MANY …

Okay … so I neglected to mention something. When I spoke with Reindeer I did most of the talking (Meera was NOT pleased when I admitted this). And she was less pleased that he ended the call (even if he had to go to sleep). She feels he currently has all the power. (Relationship power, like trying to find a husband, are two things I am going to become obsessed with --- stay tuned).

So yes, I’m a little worried that I scared off a possible desi husband candidate. However, my wooing crimes are evidently a non-issue. Two days later Reindeer is calling to “catch-up”. Men do not call unless they are interested. Phew! Mental note to self, reign in the talking!

In this conversation Reindeer tells me he is an avid yoga fan. Yoga makes me feel like a cliché --- desi girl does yoga and then goes home to curdle her own yogurt. So I share I’m a bit of gym addict who enjoys volunteering. Because I really want Reindeer to like me, I don’t tell him about my dream. In case he wants a “professional” wife i.e. doctor, lawyer, and banker --- my writing aspirations might turn him off. I should have been more worried that I was trying to change for someone I hadn’t even met yet.

The volunteering comment leads Reindeer to reveal that he once bought a homeless man a Big Mac value meal -- evidently from the only McDonald's drive-through in Manhattan off of the West Side Highway in Harlem. Since we’re on the topic of Harlem, Reindeer asks if I have ever been to the Cold Room at Fairway Market. I say no. Reindeer says the Cold Room is SOOOOO cold that Fairway has jackets for patrons to wear. Interesting. I wonder how cold is SOOOOOO cold. After all I am from Minnesota. Then he tells me stopped drinking alcohol in January. Hhhmm. His profile didn’t say he was a teatotaller. So I probe a little and he says, he just stopped, maybe for a year, he would wait and see. Okay, I can deal with that.

At the end of the conversation, Reindeer asks if I would like to meet up next week. Since I have already made a date with the Banker on Monday, I suggest Tuesday and Reindeer agrees.

See Meera (Posts 54, 53, 35, 28, 26, 21), with dates back to back, I do know what I am doing!

57. REINDEER THE DESI

Around 9 pm my phone rings. It is the 39 year old management consultant originally from Delhi. I contacted him through the matrimonial site a few days ago and he sent his number, saying he would be in touch. His photos were unique. I think they were professionally done at a mall shop like Glamour Shots. The background is a beach and he’s wearing a white linen shirt and pants combo, sporting sunglasses on his forehead like a Bollywood star.

I let the phone go to voicemail (nobody tell my mother I didn’t immediately pick up when an eligible desi bachelor called). But I’m not in the mood to be witty and charming. However, I have two incarnations worth of Hindu mom guilt bubbling under the surface. And toss in the fact that I don't want to be alone forever, I make a deal. I will listen to the message. If his voice is pleasant I will return the call and fabricate some reason for missing him, like I was tossing out the trash.

Lo and behold, not only is his voice pleasant (a little American, a little Indian, and quite a bit British) it is the BEST male voice I have ever heard. It is one tone shy of deep, enough British to sound intelligent and a little bit casual American sexy.

The conversation is fluid. He tells me about his recent move and that he moves almost every year. I find this interesting. I don’t plan to move unless I find an affordable place on the Upper East Side or amass a huge pile of dollars to buy an apartment in Manhattan.

Reindeer then shares he is waiting for his bed. I am not sure if my interest should be peeked or freaked. After the ODDBs (Posts 16 and 17) and You Taste Like Chicken (Post 22), my “lewd’ meter is on high alert. I say nothing which leads Reindeer to explain that his furniture order is impending because the store is dilly dallying with delivery. He admits to being frustrated but shakes it off with a regal laugh. I can literally hear the smile in his voice. For a refreshing change (like when it’s mojito weather) I’m genuinely enjoying this “getting to know you” session.

We chat for almost 90 minutes. In which time I learn his parents and my aunt live in the same area of Delhi. In fact when Reindeer and I visit Delhi, we shop at the same markets --- Alaknanda and GK. His surname is the same as a family name on my father’s side. His father's name is my cousin's name. This NEVER HAPPENS to me, instant clicking with a man with a great voice who I have TONS in common! I’m almost giddy, thinking, believing, hoping, could my luck finally be changing?

56. DESI BANKER

After meeting Sardar (Post 55), I really believe my luck is changing. I’m in my “not” couture of yoga pants exchanging contact information with Desi Banker. On paper Desi Banker is EXACTLY who I seek --- well educated from Indian boarding school, to IIT (India's Ivy League), to a full-ride scholarship for graduate study in America. He's fit, attractive, loves to dine, successful, and here is the clincher, and he is actually honest about his skin color.

I might have mentioned that Indians are obsessed with skin color, and while I don’t care, I am suspicious when a man says he is fair but turns out to be darker. I mean really, if he is going to lie about WHAT I CAN SEE (since I am not blind), what else is a man willing to lie about?

I flop onto the couch and debate what to do with my night when the phone rings. It is a New Jersey area code and decide to pick up. Oh my, it is Desi Banker asking if this is a good time to talk. Why not? I mean how many times can I adjust my makeshift bun?

We talk about our families and siblings. He asks me why I moved to NYC and I’m honest and say, I'm an aspiring writer. He finds my ambition noble, saying few people care about their dreams. As we chat about independent films and Amy Winehouse, he shares his former life in Minneapolis. Turns out the Desi Banker has lived all over the country from Indiana, Minnesota, Washington, Georgia, Texas and now New York. Because the Banker really enjoyed life in Minnesota (snowshoeing at the Minnesota Zoo in Apple Valley, to hiking north of Duluth and running along the trails in Minneapolis), an intimate connection forms --- not in a sexual way, but a genuine commonality. He asks me about Uptown eateries and his old haunts, and end up laughing at how much we strangers have in common.

After 45 minutes, we decide to meet for dinner the following Monday. He asks me to select a place and send him the details. Of course, I shall comply!

55. DESI GIRL AND THE SARDAR

On what has to be the muggiest June day, I have a date with Sardar, a Sikh banker. Often times I think the simplest way to explain the difference between Sikhism and Hinduism to non-desis is by comparing them to Protestantism and Catholicism. Related religions that are similar in history but different in practice.

As my heels clip clop down the sidewalk, the last bit of curl escapes and my hair releases back to straight. S’nice. My brown silk dress with pink flowers is damp (ew!) and clings to my skin. When it comes to muggy, Minnesota with its 10,000 lakes and rivers was excellent training for living on an island. So I’m accustomed to bad hair days. I just wish they didn’t happen on date nights!

Sardar arrives late due to a malfunctioning Uptown 1 train, wearing a wool suit, shirt and tie. Beads of sweat crown his head. We order wine, he red and I white, which I rarely drink. But it is SOOOOO hot I cannot imagine having a room temperature beverage. Oh, and we’re seated next to the kitchen. We’re officially dining outside Hell’s portal.

We talk about India. He is from Bombay (now Mumbai) where I always longed to visit. I wanted to see the Bollywood bungalows by day and swanky nightclubs by night. But my trips to India involved three weeks of doing the Delhi rellie run. This is where a driver shuttles me back and forth between family members. Some of whom I quite like and others I meet out of obligation.

Sardar shares that he cut his hair (to the dismay of his parents) in graduate school to fit in. For Sikhs, this is a big deal. Sikhs embrace the 5Ks – one of which is “kesh” or uncut hair, which is deemed as God’s natural gift, and a reminder to not work against nature. In India, turbaned men are common place, in America, not so much. And while tragic, I understand why he assimilated. My father’s family is Sikh and my mother’s Hindu. When my brother was born my parents had to make a decision about growing his hair. Since we lived in Minnesota, they decided my brother should be a clean-cut Sikh rather than teased in school and life.

At the end of dinner, Sardar pays and walks me to the subway. While our date was pleasant, neither of us felt that za za zoom. But it was refreshing to meet a normal desi man. It gives me hope that the next date will be better yet.

Sikhism's 5 Ks
Sikhism
Sikhism - BBC Article on 5 Ks
Sikhism - Intro to

54. I THINK YOU SHOULD KISS THE BOUNCER, PART TWO

When the Bouncer steps outside I turn to Meera and say, “He sees a million girls a night. Why exactly would he want to kiss me?” “This is Manhattan. You can have any man, not necessarily for marriage, most likely for a one stand. For sure a kiss,” Meera declares like she is running for President, and then shoves me out of my seat.

I nod and follow him. He is two doors down, smoking a cigarette. I walk by cool, calm and collected. “Where are you going?” he asks. “Getting some air,” I reply. “Come and talk to me.” Well, okay.

We exchange names. He tells me about his child and how he bounces at night and goes to college during the day. Because he is HOT I have long since stopped listening to him. When he kisses me I do not resist. His lips are fabulous --- soft, thick, warm. We go back into the bar. He sits down at the door and I return to Meera’s side. “Did you kiss him?” she asks. “Yes,” I reply.

Eventually the Bouncer joins us to play Connect 4. I lose three consecutive games. It doesn’t help that I am taking strategic checker placement advice from Meera. We’re so drunk; sobriety won’t find us until next week. The bar closes and the staff begins a game of Twister. For some reason, despite drinking for seven hours and wearing a skirt, I decide to play. Doesn’t this sound like a good way to break my arm? Since the next spin requires me to contort like a Cirque De Soleil acrobat, which I am not, I fall down. Now it is well after 2:00 am and Meera and I are hungry. The Bouncer orders cheese slices for us and a hot dog for him. (I pay for the snacks). After consuming 600 calories Meera wants to leave. I however am very busy --- making out with the Bouncer. Somehow she drags me back to her apartment, he follows and she finally shoos him away.

Once in the apartment I pass out on the couch. Five hours later the sun wakes me. Whoa! I finally understand what “even my hair hurts” means. With my head pounding like a drummer boy with ADHD, I drag myself into the kitchen. I drink several glass of water then rummage around the bathroom for 1000 mgs of aspirin, hoping to kill whatever took up residence in my head. Can you believe Meera and I were sorority girls?

As the night comes back to me I remember the Bouncer. Oh my. I doubt my inner prude would have let me go home with him. In any event, I am thankful Meera was there. I lie back on the couch and declare, “Enough is enough.” Oof, the sound of my own voice hurts. So as soon as this drunken haze wears off I will get serious about finding a suitable boyfriend.