70. TO THE ISLE OF STATEN WITH REINDEER

Both Jane and Meera have called to let me know that in addition to being hot, it is so steamy outside that they both have uncontrollable, untamable frizzy hair. “Don’t bother curling your hair,” Jane advised. While Meera’s suggestion was, “Don’t wear a lot of clothes.” Hhhmm, my date with perfect Reindeer is going akimbo before it starts.

Because I am in my third week of sobriety, going on my third Reindeer date, I toss some caution to the wind and wear the outfit I wore on the Sikh Banker date (Post 55). When I get to Bowling Green, the Native American Museum captures my attention. The beautiful stone building is ornamented with gargoyles. I read that there are thousands of gargoyles all over the City. Though they began as throats to direct water, they became synonymous with warding off evil spirits. In some ways, I think they keep me safe.

The majestic columns are so mesmerizing that I don’t notice Reindeer until he says, “You look like a tourist.” “This building is stunning. Have you been inside?” I ask. He shakes his head. “But I see it every day. Shall we go?” I nod and say, “Once we get to Staten Island I will have officially been in all five boroughs.” He looks amused, “How long have you lived here?” Reindeer asks. “Six months,” I reply. “There are some New Yorkers who have never left Manhattan,” Reindeer says. “Those people are stupid,” I reply. He laughs, big and rich. “You’re something else!” Hhmmm that must be good right?

We board the Staten Island Ferry and head to the top level. The breeze feels amazing in the oppressive humidity. I turn back to look at Manhattan, the larger than life City, fading in the distance and she steals my breath. For the first time it finally strikes me. I live on that island that does not seem to sink under the weight of 8 million people and thousands of buildings.

We sail past Lady Liberty and Ellis Island, and I return my attention to Reindeer who chat about his day. Once we get to Staten Island we hail a cab to Bocelli (the Zagat rated restaurant Reindeer selected). Though the décor is painted with frescoes and feels very Italian, it’s in an ordinary strip mall found anywhere from Minnesota to New Jersey.

To be cont.

69. THE DESI BANKER WRITES BACK

The next morning, after warming up from freezing to death in Fairway I get on the computer where I find an email from the desi Banker (from Posts 60, 59, 56)  who writes:

Hello,

Thought I’d send you my new email address. Hoping you had a nice weekend. My week is busy taking care of loose ends. But I am in New York all next week. If you’re free on the 4th, I’d love to hang out.

Take care.
Desi Banker 


I don’t surprise or shock very easily. I was a sorority girl who grew up to advise 80 sorority girls, so pretty much, I have seen and heard it all. But I presumed I’d never hear from the Hermes suited serial skinny dating Banker. He made it clear that he did not find me physically attractive. And two weeks have elapsed since our date. Men who are interested never take THAT long to call back. 



Then there is my very bad habit of over-analyzing everything, which has me speculating what “would love to hang out” means. I find, when men use borderline intimate words/phrases like “love” or “I’m excited to see you” --- I cannot stop thinking they are either gay or horny.

While most of me (my heart) is really interested in Reindeer, a part of me (my head) feels I should be smart about this, and keep my options open. Three dates doth not make a Reindeer relationship. Sure, Reindeer and I are scheduled for a Staten Island date tomorrow. But he has not made mention of his 4th of July plans, and whether they include me.

So I email the Banker back and say yes, sure, let’s hang out on the 4th of July. No one knows where destiny will take us until we get there.

68. MORE ON REINDEER

On Day 13 of my new and shiny sober life Meera, Jane and I are meeting for dinner. Without planning it, Meera and I arrive at the same time and find a table. Close an hour later Jane blows in like a tornado --- loud and unpredictable --- sharing she was buying discounted plates in a New Jersey Marshalls. This makes me cringe. Meera, like me, is punctual for being desi, so tardiness won’t highlight Jane’s best qualities. It takes a few minutes, but Jane and Meera hit it off splendidly. Phew! 


“Tell us about Reindeer!” Jane says and sips a beer. Watching my friends drink without me is not as hard as I thought. “He asked me out for Friday…” I begin. “NOOOO!” Jane yelps. “My birthday is my Friday…” “If you would let me finish,” I insert. “I told him I had plans. So Date Number 3 is Thursday.” “Ooo! What are the plans?” Meera asks.

Since we are girls, I recount every GIRLY detail. “We’re taking the Staten Island Ferry and having an Italian dinner.” “WOW!” Meera says. “The New York Magazine JUST had an article about that!” “That is a cool date,” Jane exclaims. “What is really cute is that he told me dinner was on him and the tickets were on me.” “But is a free ferry,” Jane says, confused. “I know, that was his joke,” I reply. “He’s a funny fob! Very nice!” Meera says. “I am in charge of short listing restaurants and he will make the final selection,” I reply.

Unbeknownst to me, because my phone was tucked away in my purse, I don’t realize Reindeer called until Jane and I are en route to Fairway for birthday party groceries. Evidently the proper way to celebrate Jane’s 33rd birthday involves a fiesta with nachos, tacos, beans for the vegetarians, guacamole, margaritas, and some beer based Mexican drink. On the short ride to the grocery store I repeated play Reindeer’s message for Jane, “Hi, it’s Reindeer. I’m just calling to say hi.” “Men only call to say hi when they are interested!” Jane announces. I agree.

My inaugural trip to Fairway as a sign. It is as though my conversations with Reindeer are coming to life. Meera took me to yoga last week. Now Jane and I stand outside of the Cold Room pulling on jackets that say “FAIRWAY” on the back. No stealing!

I grew up in Minnesota, which sometimes felt like life on an iceberg. While I have never been frostbitten, I have been cold to the bone. I know cold. I understand cold. But nothing prepares you for the Cold Room. Sure the denim skirt, tee-shirt, and open toed sandals aren’t helping. This is the Manhattan tundra!

I CANNOT wait to tell Reindeer about this outing!

67. REINDEER DATE NUMBER TWO

The 4 days, 96 hours 5,760 minutes between Reindeer’s call and our next date, tick by SOOOO slowly. The last time I felt attraction and connection so strong was when my path collided with Kehar Singh  (Post 4).

As I get ready I am giddy (and empowered from the departure from drinking). I remind myself that I will eventually have to reign in this Reindeer excitement, but for now, I release and dance around the apartment. For this date I abide the teachings of the fashionistas and select a fitted white sleeveless linen shell and pair it with a white flowy skirt embroidered with red flowers and green leaves along the bottom. My shoes are sexy brass colored strappy four-inch sandals. Prepare to be shocked, they are amazingly comfortable. I can (and have) walked 20 blocks in them.

An hour before the date I leave my apartment (commute time and 5 minutes for getting lost). When I get 28th Street and Park Avenue, I head west instead of east. I have not mastered direction when I reappear from the subway. I arrive at Chennai Garden and Reindeer sees me. His smile fills up his cheeks, and his teeth, while not straight are very bright and balance his large (because his hair is receding) forehead. He stows his Blackberry and gets up to peck me on the cheek. He has a nice 5’-10” build, strong and masculine. Love the biceps! He wears a button-down with rolled sleeves and dress pants.

We review the menu and I decide on my usual paper plain dosa (typical and infamous South Indian crepes made from rice flower and lentils, and then filled with a “masala” a spiced potato mixture). When Reindeer learns my intent, he insists I try something new and offers to select things for us to share. SWOON!

Over dinner he shares how he considered a desi military career so seriously that he took a two-day train trip from Delhi to Bangalore. But his eyes were too weak for the Air Force. So he came to America for graduate study.

After dinner we retire to the Brasil Coffee House and I insist on paying. I am really bad at accepting gifts. I once refused a friend who tried to buy me a $2 croissant. Reindeer and I sit down at a window seat. I turn my body towards him and cross my legs, creating open body language (teachings from 'How to Make Anyone Fall in Love with You'). He tells me about moving from “down south” to New York with a woman. She got into graduate school and he not only followed her to the City, but into her apartment. In addition to living in sin, he recalls buying pot in Washington Square Park. Okay, then, good to know you were once a stoner.

It matters not. I’m totally interested and beyond smitten. For a change, I know Date Three is imminent.

66. BETWEEN REINDEER DATES

On a beautiful Saturday afternoon Jane (Posts 41, 14, 12, 9, 8, 7, 2)  rummages through my kitchen cupboards. She loves to cook and considers herself something of an international foodie. However, Jane has come into the habit of buying pre-made spice packets (think desi taco seasoning), adding chicken and calling it dinner. So I had no choice but to burst her bubble and explain Indian cooking was a time consuming and arduous process. It is not like opening a can and poof, Manwiches are made!

First there is the chopping of onions. Then the onions are browned with ginger, and sometimes tomatoes and garlic. This is followed by the addition of spices and then the sloooooow cooking vegetables or meats over a low flame (assuming you have a gas stove). Five hours later, dinner is served.

Since I asked Jane to stop purchasing bastardized desi cooking products from Trader Joe’s, I felt obligated to show her what real desi women stock. This is why jars of brown, red and yellow spices are displayed on the counter. I want her to see and smell cumin, paprika, turmeric, and coriander in order to appreciate robust desi flavors.

When the phone rings I glance at the number, squeal (and scare Jane) and run into the other room. “Hello?” I ask hoping he cannot hear my delight. “How are you today?” Reindeer asks. “Great! And you?” I ask. “Good, good. So I was thinking since you don’t eat meat on Tuesdays, how do dosas and Brazilian coffee sound this coming Tuesday?” Uhhmm, let’s see…PERFECT! I am OVERJOYED to FINALLY meet a man who is attractive (despite his outdated photos and bald spot) and LISTENS to me! Calmly I respond with, “Sounds nice.”

Wow…am I glad I quit drinking on Thursday! My stars must already be cleaning themselves up! Had I known dates would come so easily sans the vino, I should have stopped drinking a long time ago!!!

Manwich

65. JANAMPATRI (DESI BIRTH CHARTS)

There are two reasons I am not close with most of cousins (a) they live 10,000 miles away in India and (b) television shows like Dallas and Dynasty where kids disrespect their parents, drink and divorce have lead my conservative cousins to decide I am immoral like J.R. Ewing and Alexis Carrington.

Never mind that my parents’ generation was probably more conservative than their desi counterparts in India. I think our immigrant parents feared what America might teach us: disobedience and sex with white people. But I guess if my cousins (34 on my dad’s side and 11 on my mom’s side) want to be closed minded, it’s fine. I’m not begging them into accepting me.

Thursday night comes along and I’m watching Frasier re-runs and my phone rings. It’s my cousin (Post 39), who lives in Bangalore. She asks how dating is going and I gush about Reindeer for 15 minutes. She listens but doesn’t say anything, which is VERY unusual for her. Like me, she does not lack for opinions. She asks me to run through Reindeer’s biodata aka matrimonial curriculum vitae (Post 43). Then she asks who else I am seeing. Has she been listening to me? I have yet to “date” anyone, nor has a desi man excited me!

“What happened to that Banker?” she asks (Post 60, 59,  56). “He didn’t call me. And he seems to only date skinny girls.” She sighs and says, “I saw the pandit about why you’re not getting married.” Pandits are Indian priests. “And?” I ask, fearing what she will say.

“From your janampatri your stars are really strong.” Janampatris are birth charts. They are scientific and systematic using an individual’s birth time and date to calculate the position of the stars, planets and the sun, to recreate the day you were born. For those who believe, pandits can determine a person's life, now and in the future. Of course, fatalist Indians have faith in what they cannot see or explain, but feel. And they accept that God not humans control everything. After a long pause she says, “And your stars are repelling marriage.”


It is always delightful to learn I am my very own marriage repellent. “He says that alcohol negatively affects your stars.” Okay, that sucks. “Do you drink that much?” she asks. What planet is this woman living on? “Uhm, well…I can keep up with sailors during Fleet Week,” I reply drily. And yes, I realize this is not an attractive quality in a pint-sized woman. “Oh really?” she asks in that Indian whispery way of shocked surprise, the same way Americans whisper cancer and then resume normal dinner conversation. “You need to quit for a while,” she replies.

Well, if there was ever a reason to quit drinking, fixing my pesky matrimonial stars is it!

Janampatri

64. DESIS AND YOGA

There are benefits to working from home. My attire of sweat pants saves on dry cleaning. Since I don’t apply make-up daily, my skin will thank me in the future. Setting my hours has pluses and minuses. The former being I can meet Meera for an afternoon yoga class in Chelsea. The latter is I sit in front of the computer for 12 hours a time.

Meera and I meet in the lobby of Integral Yoga Institute. She cited the store Shoegasm as a landmark. Is New York great or what? Yoga and shoes in the same sentence?

We walk to our classroom and I find the yoga studio’s silence unnerving. I’m a chatty girl living in a LOUD City, so where exactly did the honking cars and rumbling buses go? As Meera and I set up our mats I feel like a cliché, a desi girl doing yoga. Will coordination and flexibility be expected because I am Indian? Perhaps the residual effects of growing up brown in homogenous state where I served as the local Indian expert never really go away.

When the class starts the instructor asks us to clear our minds of thoughts and meditate. Do I do this? No. Instead, I AGAIN obsess about the QUIET. You can forget me mastering breathing because my mind is assembling a grocery list. Oohh and the memory of those pink and white shoes in the Shoegasm window come back to me. I hope they’re on sale!

Eventually I submit to the practice and forget the shoes and groceries. My body moves through foreign but soothing poses. Ninety minutes later the class ends and tears sting my eyes. For a few moments I experience something new, peace. In this serene moment I let go and my soul tingles.


I get home and sip some wine. I check my cell phone message and nothing from Reindeer. So sad. I wander into the bedroom and plop onto the bed. I call Abby (a college chum) from the land line. Since we’re girls, we squeal about my perfect Reindeer date. After Abby and I finish a 52 minute conversation I go back to the living room, and see a missed call. Reindeer! I hit the voicemail and listen. “Last night the restaurant and company were lovely. Why don’t you call me when you have a chance?”

Of course, I do! And we chat until 11 pm! WAAAAY beyond his bedtime! So he MUST like me right?