77. DESI GIRL IN THE MINNE-APPLE

A few days later I’m in the window seat, slowly descending into the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. Between lacy strips of asphalt, all I see is green trees, green grass, green leaves, green, green, green. And all the natural beauty transfixes me.

Were the lakes and parks always this pretty? Did it really take living in vegetation stark Manhattan for me to me appreciate Minnesota’s loveliness? I never believed it, but it’s true. You don’t realize what you have until it’s gone.

As the plane touches down on the tarmac the Northwest airline attendant says, “Welcome to the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. The local time 3:30 Central Standard Time. And the temperature is 78 degrees. We thank you for flying with us and hope you enjoy your stay here or wherever your final destination is.”

Wow! 78 degrees is a GREAT temperature for the Twin Towns. As we taxi, I generate my extensive to-do list: (1) spend time with my family, (2) see friends and their kids, (3) make an appointment with my trainer, (4) meet Jack and Jane when they pass through town, (5) run errands, (6) shop for capri pants, (7) buy a new cell phone, (8) have a cooking session with Mom and (9) work in the office.

Hhhmm. I better to work!

76. BOOM BOOM WITH THE DESI BANKER

On the Fourth of July I sit on the couch and chat with desi Banker finalizing our outing. When I look across the alleyway, a naked woman with ginormous breasts that flap against her three rolls of stomach leans out the window and beats her rug against the building. Wow, if that is not against the law, it should be.

When I get to the East Side Starbucks desi Banker is drinking HOT coffee on an even HOTTER day. He wears khaki pants, a grey tee-shirt and a pink, yes pink, polo shirt. Sure, Indian men have the coloring for pink and lilac. And the Banker does have a very well polished, metrosexual look about him, but pink?

We pop into Central Park and make the mistake of walking down Fifth Avenue. We then spend 10 minutes trying to move three blocks but we get stuck between tourists who insist on walking four people wide down the sidewalk (by the New Yorkers hate this). No wait, New Yorkers hate it when you suddenly stop in front of Tiffany’s and Bergdorf’s. At 53rd Street we make a worse choice by cutting west to Broadway and into the middle of Times Square, where we are manhandled by throngs of clueless Europeans.

“I ran on the treadmill for two hours. I am so fat. I really need to lose seven pounds,” he declares and pats his stomach. I am wondering if he saw the naked woman this morning too, because his brain is fried if he thinks he is fat. Or maybe he has issues. If so, this makes me like him more. I don’t like men who are too perfect.

We find our way to the Upper West and side and settle on a quaint café for cake and coffee. The air has gotten heavy and I worry that it will rain by the time the fireworks start. Two gay men walk by and desi Banker says, “people think I am gay.” Since I don’t know what the correct reply is, I just keep eating cake. I have actually wondered once or twice if he is gay. I mean, one billion desis --- someone has to be gay!

From the café we return to the East Side and have dinner at Mee Noodle Shop. If you haven’t been there, go! If you come to New York, go! Hell, I’ll take you! Not only is the food SOOO good, it is cheap. Their tag line is, “Eat your body weight for $10”. And they aren’t kidding. Sidebar: for someone who thinks he is fat, desi Banker sure is eating lots of fattening calories!!!

Finally, dusk settles and we fight our way back to the FDR. When it starts raining, I think of Reindeer. While I like desi Banker, I don’t feel that spark that makes me feel flirtatious and giddy at the same time.

Hhhmm. So the rain is not the most unfortunate part of the evening. The clouds are so close to the ground that when the Macy’s fireworks go off they can’t penetrate the clouds and leave a messy smoke in the air that I swear will give me cancer.

After 45 minutes of ooh-ing and ahh-ing, we shake hands and go our separate ways. Since I got no reading off of desi Banker, I have no idea if I will ever see him again.

75. DESI PSYCHIC cont.

As silence fills the space between New York and Bangalore, I remember how close I came to settling.

And it scares me.

Would I really have married someone, anyone just to put my parents out of their misery? So my parents no longer carried the scarlet letter of “S” for spinster on their desi foreheads? So they were no longer burdened with an unmarried desi daughter rotting away in their metaphorical basement? Would I have married without love and lived miserably, just to register for Waterford Crystal (that I don’t even like) and then subsequently have the right to say “I am married.”

Thank God for the goddess Durga’s (Post 39)  divine intervention. If I can’t or don’t get out of a bad relationship due to blind lust on my part or asshole tendencies on his, she intervenes. When the PETA wielding, vegetarian Cat Boy ((Post 5) suddenly developed an issue to my carnivore ways, Durga removed him from my life. Or emotionally stunned Kehar Singh (Post 4),  who I was so attracted to that I would have engaged in criminal activity to please him (I am not joking). Durga must be the one who sent Kehar Singh on a two-month walk and me to India. The jury is out on what is Kehar Singh’s issue was. However, I think the problem with Cat Boy was his insecurity. He claimed to enjoy my intelligence and independent spirit. But once in a relationship he wanted me to change, to fit his mold of a desi wife. But it’s not possible to control a control freak.

So now that I am enjoying this blossoming Reindeer relationship, my cousin says, “This is what I need you to. Date at least five men at all times.” Okaaaaay, she is not raining on my parade, she is hurling a hurricane at me. “I can’t do that,” I reply sternly. “Why not? Men do it. I am sure Reindeer is dating two other women at least,” she rebuts. This is when I realize it is not possible to explain the za za zoom Reindeer feeling I have, to a woman who was arranged to her husband. So I try the rational approach. “I really don’t think he has the time to date several women as he travels five days a week.” “I see,” she says.

Then I say, “And I want to treat others the way I want to be treated.” “Now you’re just naïve. I’m going to the website and review profiles. I’ll send some for you to contact tomorrow,” she says and hangs-up.

See. I’m psychic. I knew something, someone, would deflate my Reindeer high.

74. DESI PSYCHIC

Remember in (Post 73) when I said nothing could knock me off Cloud 9 that day? Maybe later? Well, if the writing, architecture or marketing professions don’t work out for me, I should seriously consider a career as a physic…

Forty-eight hours after my perfect afternoon in the park desi date with Reindeer, I return home refreshed from a mani-pedi combo. I am STILL so high from remembering every word of the thank you email Reindeer sent: "Thanks so much for the lovely day in the park...The company was awesome..I had a great time…I am off to golf today…Catch up later. All the best, Reindeer"

WHAT I ask, WHAT could possibly deflate my spirit, is what I am wondering when the phone rings. It is my cousin from Bangalore calling (Post 42, 40, 39). Also, I think my desi-dar is broken, because I should have been suspicious when she says she is calling to ‘just to say hello’. No one, especially not Indians, whimsically spends hundreds of rupees on “hello” --- my life is not a Lionel Richie song.

“How are you?” she asks. I reply, “Can’t complain,” which is what I normally do. My thighs are fat. My love life is on life support. I need to lose 10 pounds. “How are you? The kids? The hubby?” I ask. “We’re all good. How goes the dating? I need to know all the details.”

Since it took her all of 11 seconds to ask about dating, I realize she intends to rain on my Reindeer parade. So I concoct a plan. One that will surely be foolproof and leave HER wanting to marry Reindeer. Because I talk REALLY fast, in 15 minutes I detail word for word, eight phone calls and four dates, the outfits, how handsome he is, everything but the belly button lint. When I finish, she says. “Who else are you dating?” Ah…whaaat? Was she NOT listening to what I said?

I’m really grooving on Reindeer. And I haven’t been this jazzed by a man in years. Yes, for sure, there is an extreme danger in liking a man, this early in a ‘relationship’. But I so rarely connect with men, not just physically, but intellectually, too. “I am not dating anyone else,” I reply. Slight lie, I am meeting the desi Banker to watch 4th of July fireworks, but I don’t know about him. As if she can read my mind she asks, “What happened to the desi Banker?”

My other issue, in addition to being a control freak who cannot control her heart, is that I don’t do shades of grey. I am all or nothing woman. Either I love you and allow you to pillage my soul or I push you in front of an oncoming D train. I can’t do half way when I am in “deep like”. 

After a long pause, 10 seconds or so, just as I worry sound is stuck between two satellites somewhere over the Atlantic she says, “Do you think Reindeer he wants to marry you?” she asks. Hellooooo, this is America! I understand that in India four dates equals engagement party, but here in America you have to take a blood test before they give you a marriage license!

To be cont.

73. DESIS IN FORT TRYON PARK cont.

Once in Fort Tryon Park (one of the highest points in Manhattan), Reindeer and I find a shady spot under a tree, eat lunch and play several rounds of Connect Four. I am surprised to win all the games because I repeatedly lost to the Bouncer (Posts 54 and 53). Of course I was drunk back then.

Because my back is to the Hudson River, I don’t see Jack and Jane walking along the trail behind us, nor do I see them repelling the wall 50 foot wall to my right in an attempt to catch my attention. It requires them screaming, “Jerry! Jerry!” (it’s a nickname) from 20 feet away for me to FINALLY notice them. Because Reindeer is not blind, he too, has spotted the desi date crashers and pure terror washes across my face.

I wave them over. I mean, what other choice do I have? From Jack's face I know this was not his idea and against his will, he trails Jane, who is grinning big and huge. If she says anything embarrassing, so help me God, I may kill her. After introductions, Jack and Reindeer attempt to chat, but Jane takes over the conversation and stuffs our potato chips into her mouth. Jack notices Reindeer’s surprise at Jane’s bold potato chip eating, and makes a joke to ease the mood. In Jane’s defense, she and I are like sisters, so my chips are her chips.

When they leave, Reindeer says, “In the 10 years I have lived here I have never run into anyone I know.” “Well they live on the other side of the park and come every weekend. It is how I got the idea for our date.” He seems satisfied and we lie on the blanket, bask in the sun and play footsie. I don’t ever remember enjoying such a splendidly perfect Sunday afternoon under a bright blue, cloudless, humidless sky. He closes his eyes and I turn to look at him. Ew, belly button lint! And quickly look away.

When the sun sets we collect our things and stop in Bleu, a cute bistro for dessert and coffee. I wanted to take him to Bette Midler’s restaurant, New Leaf Cafe in Fort Tryon Park but they weren’t open. We order and Reindeer excuses himself to use the restroom. He returns and says, “Look at you sitting here looking all hot. Is this seat taken?” I die a little on the inside -- in the good way -- and say, “You’re cuter than the other guy. It’s yours.” Reindeer laughs and sits down. He tells me about spending the 4th of July with a local friend who has a very cute son. He never asks me about my plans and I don’t offer.

I walk him back to his car, and another kiss-less date ends. But it’s okay. I am on cloud nine and cannot be knocked off. At least not today. Maybe tomorrow.

Fort Tryon Park

72. DESIS IN FORT TRYON PARK

For my Reindeer in the Park date I try on seven outfits before finally pairing a white tunic with black capri pants. (Men, if you think women just pull two things out of the closet and call it an outfit, you are sadly naïve). My phone rings and I answer. “Hello?” “Hi, sweeeetie! Are you nervous for your date?” Jane squeals. “Ah, no, why?” I reply. “A man is about to see your house,” she states. I am tidy enough to put Mr. Clean out of business. So a man in my small apartment is the least of my fears. Delayed subways or an army of roaches is another story. Thank goodness for taxis and Raid!

As Jane and I chat the mobile phone rings. Reindeer. I ask Jane to hold. “Hello?” I ask. I must look something close to ridiculous with two phones, one accessorizing either side of my head. “How are you?” he asks. “Good,” I reply. For a moment I panic, thinking a hotter, thinner desi woman has enchanted him and he is no longer interested in me. “How do I get to your place?” he asks. Hhmmm. This is a great question. Unfortunately, I am Carless in the City and have no idea. Luckily Jane is on the other phone and I ask her for directions.

Two hours later a lost Reindeer calls. I ask where he is and venture out to retrieve him. How he got lost in a numbered grid street system is beyond me. I find him pacing in a very typical desi fashion, with his arms behind his back, crossed at the wrists, his hands resting on against his bum. As usual Reindeer is dressed nicely --- white linen pants, checked linen button-down and black slides. When he sees me, he perps like a Bollywood star, leaning against his very shiny black Mercedes. I must admit the combination of a well dressed man and a German import is oh-so-very-sexy!

I give him the tour of my 540 square foot apartment, gather the picnic items and take him to the bakery where we order chicken tortas. I ask for all the toppings --- cheese, guacamole, lettuce, tomato, beans, jalapenos, except onions. Who wants bad breath on a date? Evidently Reindeer who partakes in the onions, leaving me wondering if we will ever kiss?

To be cont.

71. DINING ON THE ISLE OF STATEN WITH REINDEER

Reindeer orders an appetizer and salad for sharing. We nosh, review the menu and wonder about the specials. On cue the server appears and details the EIGHT, yes EIGHT specials --- defeating the point of “special”. And the volume of specials renders it impossible to keep them straight, prompting me to ask him to repeat the list three times. He doesn’t bother masking his irritation and I actually worry he may get violent when I ask about the seafood special that seems to contain every crustacean found in the sea. After all that, I select the ravioli and Reindeer orders fish.

When our food arrives, Reindeer and I are surprised to see his trout is surrounded by a halo of shrimp (from Post 62 we learned he is allergic). I express my concern for his healthy, but he assures me he can eat around the trout without ingesting the shrimp. God I hope so! I didn’t give up drinking to re-align my stars just so my date could die on Date Three!!!


Our conversations have a lovely, directionless flow, which is probably the reason we end up talking about his early US adventures. Before Reindeer delves into his story he pops a bite of bread in his mouth. He chews for a few seconds, and then the bread gets stuck between his upper lip and gum. So he thrusts his tongue at it and makes a face. In that moment I have a full on panic attack and decide I cannot date him. He is not the one. My stomach flips and I have a momentary hot flash. I want to get away from him but my apartment is on a whole other island! 



Once Reindeer liberates the wayward bite of carbohydrate he tells me about a graduate experience. He and his Spanish roommate were switching from temporary to permanent housing when they ran into three Indian guys who need a fourth roommate. In Hindi the three desis pressured Reindeer to dump the Spaniard and live with them. Reindeer refused, saying they were a package deal. The desis called him crazy. The desis told him to let the Spanish fellow fend for himself. But Reindeer stood firm.

Turns out, Reindeer and the Spaniard lived as roommates for several years. At some point the Spanish fellow told Reindeer, though he could not understand the conversation, he knew the desis were telling Reindeer to ditch him. And that the Spanish fellow appreciated Reindeer’s kindness.

Okay. Here is a man with old world values and is worth dating. Immediately my panic disappears. And with sudden boldness, I ASK Reindeer on a date. He says YES!