A Very Delhi Summer (Fable - Part 4)
New Delhi is a completely different city in the summer. Like living in some East African country with a corrupt and drunk dictator, skyrocketing inflation, drug cartels, traffic jams, power cuts – where nothing will ever get better, the rains will never come. The psyche of most Delhiites cracks under the heat. Bad thoughts and bad feelings bubble to the surface. They lead to bad behavior, the kind Delhiites specialize in. It’s secretive. It’s nasty. Days of 45 plus degree weather are strung together one after the other. The city’s in heat. Everyone is cranky.
Relationships break up. People who shouldn’t be together get together.
In the heat, you can’t trust anyone, especially yourself.
Case in point: THAT WOMAN!
I was driving back from Gurgaon at 5 in the evening after a very hot day spent shooting outdoors. P’s SMS “wondering what you are doing?” saw me at P’s sweet little farm abode in Mehrauli. And little was I prepared for all that happened next!
Was it the air-conditioning? The ylang-ylang candles? The iced tea? The hash brownies & ice-cream? Or the joint P & I shared? I was already trippy. ‘Cos I saw a vision. A tall, lean guy, with dark, long (shoulder length) hair, thin lips slightly turned up at the corners and ‘bad boy’ stubble. I cleared the smoke from before my eyes. He was for real! P was beaming as he introduced us. His name was AB. He was an architect.
P passed him the joint and he came and sat beside me on the floor. I couldn’t stop staring at his hair. He caught me stare and we laughed. “He’s got great hair, hasn’t he?” P giggled and I was embarrassed.
“Don’t blush, babe!” AB said in a deep slow voice and a crooked grin. “The hair’s quite high-maintenance! They love all the appreciation they get!”
Next moment, I don’t know how or why… but I ran my hand through his hair. Laughing. He laughed too and we smoked. I was intrigued by AB. “Is your hair high-maintenance too?” He asked.
“No…but my feet are!” I said, taking a big bite of ice-cream.
He smiled a deliciously slow smile. “I get you!”
I passed him the J.
All of us have a rating system that starts automatically the moment we meet someone new. We slot them according to how they stimulate our senses. That Stimulating Something could be anything! Right from a shared love for the crocodiles of the Serengeti to fresh, steaming idlis. Sometimes it’s a common fetish…or a new one just waiting to be rocked! Anything. But there is always That Stimulating Something.
He told us about the high-tech art gallery and a club he was designing for a big hotel chain. He spoke very passionately. Used his hands to gesticulate a lot and his hair framed his face as he talked. Pablo Neruda inspired him. P had recently done a highly-stylized puppet production of Il Postino. I’d seen it, but didn’t know that the sets were designed by AB. It was a lot of glass, ebony, crystal and flowers. It had been mesmerizing.
I was hooked. He had That Stimulating Something which rocked my world!
That Stimulating Something for me has always been intelligence. Sharp, intelligent conversation sparked off by two smart people about different things. Loads of witty banter, loads of humor, a bit of flirtation, a bit of seriousness. Nothing else matters more. On lucky days like this one, That Stimulating Something would come packaged like AB.
P’s DJ friend was playing at Nasha and we all trooped in there. AB and I held hands as we went up the stairs. Ran into acquaintances and made small talk. P was with his friend at the console. AB tugged at my arm. A moment later, we were in the men’s room, giggling like two school kids. AB lit a joint and we talked about our favorite buildings. And then we heard Kajra Re playing. Discovered it was his flavor of the week too. We ran out and danced like no one was watching. And boy, could he move! Next track was Jamelia’s Superstar and we danced to that too. Laughing madly.
It was the music, the moment, the man and the milieu! I forgot the humidity, the parking troubles, the work woes, the existential dilemma and my ontological insecurities. I noticed how his hands moved as he tied his hair loosely with a rubber band. The way a few strands fell across his forehead and highlighted his square jaw line. The way he danced. The way he talked… I heard a vague voice somewhere in my head asking me what I was doing. …But I ignored it!
Heck! I could see him move in slow mo!
* * * *
I’d take you to the Candy shop…
That’s my phone singing when AB’s calling. “Heyyyyy….” I grinned.
“It’s Monday morning! If I know you at all, this should be your day off. Is it?”
“Yes, it is,” I laughed.
“Come hang out with me. I hate Monday mornings too.”
Wine brunch at Moshe’s Oliva. We both wore our aviators. Mine blue, his pink. His hair was tied and he wore beige linen pants with an aqua T-shirt. The ‘bad boy’ stubble was there. He was telling me about the trek he’d been to through Cambodia. With the 2nd bottle of wine, we discussed the irrelevance of Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead. Discovered a common love for Calvin and Hobbes and Dilbert.
“Let me surprise you,” he grinned as we got into his car and I asked where we were going. 15 minutes later we were at a spa! “I’m having a bad hair day… and you could indulge your feet too.”
I was surprised.
Delhi Summer can also inspire one to set new records in depravity and decadence. Both of us got a deep conditioning treatment and mint & chocolate pedicures. While sharing a joint in the spa! Stepped out smelling yummy and feeling like a million bucks!
An hour later, we were kissing! In his apartment, during a session of Monty Python. Neither of us ‘remembers’ how it happened or who made the first move. But it was beautiful. His hair smelling of maple & passion fruit and the rest of him of D&G. The pedicure made my toes glow blissfully and the rest of me comfortably numb to any kind of visceral anguish.
He kissed beautifully. We held hands. We cuddled. We promised to meet tomorrow.
I went home grinning rather happily at all and sundry on the Vasant Kunj road! Sent lots of grateful prayers to God for sending me AB!
Spent the next week in a glorious pink haze. Sat through boring edits grinning stupidly. Met AB in the evenings for candle-lit dinners at his place, followed by lovely long foot massages. Etc.
“Sex on toast!” I announced to my best friend. “There’s a reason why that phrase was coined!” I explained. “AB!” She smirked!
“This is the first time I can see ‘forever’ with a guy…” I protested.
She stared at me. In horror!
I rocked! Even the hottest day of Delhi Summer couldn’t bog me down. Nelson Mandela Marg became my best friend. And C-9 was my oyster. It nurtured me. I did a 90kmph there during peak hours. I was ‘almost’ in love. And not afraid to show it.
That day, AB said those two words I had never ever imagined anyone would say to ME!
“Are you serious, AB?”
“Yes…” he had that vulnerable look in his eyes and I knew he wasn’t lying. “I was trying not to come to terms with it. And then I realized how special you are. And I couldn’t do this. You had to know. I can’t run from it anymore.”
I was angry. I wanted to cry, but held ‘em back!
Went back doing a 90kmph again on that same road. The hottest day of Delhi Summer got to me then. It was terrible. Took a shower and washed my hair when I got home. I still didn’t know how to react. I tried giving myself pep-talk. I was my own Freud.
“You are an intelligent, open minded, strong woman who knows about these things. You pay taxes, you can count at least ten really close friends, you go to the gym everyday and at least 6 people have told you your butt rocks! You should move on and understand his situation too.”
I still felt horrible.
P called me an hour later.
“He told you he was GAY???” I could feel the irritation in his voice.
I saw AB’s gorgeous mouth framing those two words, “I’m gay.”
“Yeah…” I mumbled. Relieved to have P to talk to.
“You know... I always suspected,” P admitted. “But this is not how I wanted to find out!” He was suddenly angry. “He told YOU??”
I took a deep breath. “How did YOU know?”
“He TOLD me!”
I laughed self-deprecatingly, “Somehow that doesn’t make you feel horrible, does it?”
“Awww…” P cooed. “Come over for some brownies.”
I smiled at myself as I drove down Nelson Mandela Marg again. To Mehrauli. Thank God for gay best friends.
Relationships break up. People who shouldn’t be together get together.
In the heat, you can’t trust anyone, especially yourself.
Case in point: THAT WOMAN!
I was driving back from Gurgaon at 5 in the evening after a very hot day spent shooting outdoors. P’s SMS “wondering what you are doing?” saw me at P’s sweet little farm abode in Mehrauli. And little was I prepared for all that happened next!
Was it the air-conditioning? The ylang-ylang candles? The iced tea? The hash brownies & ice-cream? Or the joint P & I shared? I was already trippy. ‘Cos I saw a vision. A tall, lean guy, with dark, long (shoulder length) hair, thin lips slightly turned up at the corners and ‘bad boy’ stubble. I cleared the smoke from before my eyes. He was for real! P was beaming as he introduced us. His name was AB. He was an architect.
P passed him the joint and he came and sat beside me on the floor. I couldn’t stop staring at his hair. He caught me stare and we laughed. “He’s got great hair, hasn’t he?” P giggled and I was embarrassed.
“Don’t blush, babe!” AB said in a deep slow voice and a crooked grin. “The hair’s quite high-maintenance! They love all the appreciation they get!”
Next moment, I don’t know how or why… but I ran my hand through his hair. Laughing. He laughed too and we smoked. I was intrigued by AB. “Is your hair high-maintenance too?” He asked.
“No…but my feet are!” I said, taking a big bite of ice-cream.
He smiled a deliciously slow smile. “I get you!”
I passed him the J.
All of us have a rating system that starts automatically the moment we meet someone new. We slot them according to how they stimulate our senses. That Stimulating Something could be anything! Right from a shared love for the crocodiles of the Serengeti to fresh, steaming idlis. Sometimes it’s a common fetish…or a new one just waiting to be rocked! Anything. But there is always That Stimulating Something.
He told us about the high-tech art gallery and a club he was designing for a big hotel chain. He spoke very passionately. Used his hands to gesticulate a lot and his hair framed his face as he talked. Pablo Neruda inspired him. P had recently done a highly-stylized puppet production of Il Postino. I’d seen it, but didn’t know that the sets were designed by AB. It was a lot of glass, ebony, crystal and flowers. It had been mesmerizing.
I was hooked. He had That Stimulating Something which rocked my world!
That Stimulating Something for me has always been intelligence. Sharp, intelligent conversation sparked off by two smart people about different things. Loads of witty banter, loads of humor, a bit of flirtation, a bit of seriousness. Nothing else matters more. On lucky days like this one, That Stimulating Something would come packaged like AB.
P’s DJ friend was playing at Nasha and we all trooped in there. AB and I held hands as we went up the stairs. Ran into acquaintances and made small talk. P was with his friend at the console. AB tugged at my arm. A moment later, we were in the men’s room, giggling like two school kids. AB lit a joint and we talked about our favorite buildings. And then we heard Kajra Re playing. Discovered it was his flavor of the week too. We ran out and danced like no one was watching. And boy, could he move! Next track was Jamelia’s Superstar and we danced to that too. Laughing madly.
It was the music, the moment, the man and the milieu! I forgot the humidity, the parking troubles, the work woes, the existential dilemma and my ontological insecurities. I noticed how his hands moved as he tied his hair loosely with a rubber band. The way a few strands fell across his forehead and highlighted his square jaw line. The way he danced. The way he talked… I heard a vague voice somewhere in my head asking me what I was doing. …But I ignored it!
Heck! I could see him move in slow mo!
* * * *
I’d take you to the Candy shop…
That’s my phone singing when AB’s calling. “Heyyyyy….” I grinned.
“It’s Monday morning! If I know you at all, this should be your day off. Is it?”
“Yes, it is,” I laughed.
“Come hang out with me. I hate Monday mornings too.”
Wine brunch at Moshe’s Oliva. We both wore our aviators. Mine blue, his pink. His hair was tied and he wore beige linen pants with an aqua T-shirt. The ‘bad boy’ stubble was there. He was telling me about the trek he’d been to through Cambodia. With the 2nd bottle of wine, we discussed the irrelevance of Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead. Discovered a common love for Calvin and Hobbes and Dilbert.
“Let me surprise you,” he grinned as we got into his car and I asked where we were going. 15 minutes later we were at a spa! “I’m having a bad hair day… and you could indulge your feet too.”
I was surprised.
Delhi Summer can also inspire one to set new records in depravity and decadence. Both of us got a deep conditioning treatment and mint & chocolate pedicures. While sharing a joint in the spa! Stepped out smelling yummy and feeling like a million bucks!
An hour later, we were kissing! In his apartment, during a session of Monty Python. Neither of us ‘remembers’ how it happened or who made the first move. But it was beautiful. His hair smelling of maple & passion fruit and the rest of him of D&G. The pedicure made my toes glow blissfully and the rest of me comfortably numb to any kind of visceral anguish.
He kissed beautifully. We held hands. We cuddled. We promised to meet tomorrow.
I went home grinning rather happily at all and sundry on the Vasant Kunj road! Sent lots of grateful prayers to God for sending me AB!
Spent the next week in a glorious pink haze. Sat through boring edits grinning stupidly. Met AB in the evenings for candle-lit dinners at his place, followed by lovely long foot massages. Etc.
“Sex on toast!” I announced to my best friend. “There’s a reason why that phrase was coined!” I explained. “AB!” She smirked!
“This is the first time I can see ‘forever’ with a guy…” I protested.
She stared at me. In horror!
I rocked! Even the hottest day of Delhi Summer couldn’t bog me down. Nelson Mandela Marg became my best friend. And C-9 was my oyster. It nurtured me. I did a 90kmph there during peak hours. I was ‘almost’ in love. And not afraid to show it.
That day, AB said those two words I had never ever imagined anyone would say to ME!
“Are you serious, AB?”
“Yes…” he had that vulnerable look in his eyes and I knew he wasn’t lying. “I was trying not to come to terms with it. And then I realized how special you are. And I couldn’t do this. You had to know. I can’t run from it anymore.”
I was angry. I wanted to cry, but held ‘em back!
Went back doing a 90kmph again on that same road. The hottest day of Delhi Summer got to me then. It was terrible. Took a shower and washed my hair when I got home. I still didn’t know how to react. I tried giving myself pep-talk. I was my own Freud.
“You are an intelligent, open minded, strong woman who knows about these things. You pay taxes, you can count at least ten really close friends, you go to the gym everyday and at least 6 people have told you your butt rocks! You should move on and understand his situation too.”
I still felt horrible.
P called me an hour later.
“He told you he was GAY???” I could feel the irritation in his voice.
I saw AB’s gorgeous mouth framing those two words, “I’m gay.”
“Yeah…” I mumbled. Relieved to have P to talk to.
“You know... I always suspected,” P admitted. “But this is not how I wanted to find out!” He was suddenly angry. “He told YOU??”
I took a deep breath. “How did YOU know?”
“He TOLD me!”
I laughed self-deprecatingly, “Somehow that doesn’t make you feel horrible, does it?”
“Awww…” P cooed. “Come over for some brownies.”
I smiled at myself as I drove down Nelson Mandela Marg again. To Mehrauli. Thank God for gay best friends.
(A Very Delhi Summer happened much earlier in the chronological scheme of events in THAT WOMAN'S life! This was all before she moved to Bombay and met V.A. MAN and THAT MAN.)
posted by Vijayeta | 7:38 AM
12 Comments:
Pink aviators? You should have figured out, hon. Nice reading. Hope you have a great weekend! I've put up some stuff as well.
i was expecting AB to be gay cos he was really close with P. it got complicated as THAT Woman and AB got closer. Now will That Woman do a Will n Grace :-?
Gotta agree with velvetgunther. The beautiful hair, sparkling wit, being able to dance (dead give away), all too good to be true. Of course if all these qualities were in a woman, I'd have no hestitation knowing she exists.
I think it's time to face reality: THAT WOMAN will have to lower her standards. Probably settle for a guy who rocks in bed, practices good personal hygiene and can hold a conversation for an hour without saying something completely stupid. My prayers and wishes are with THAT WOMAN.
Actually i should have mentioned...A Very Delhi Summer happened much earlier in the chronological scheme of events in THAT WOMAN'S life! This was all before she met V.A. MAN and THAT MAN.
Now, coming back to the very valid points made by Velvetgunther and the lady in pink...
Trust me, some things, "OBVIOUS" as they are, are not dead giveaways. The Metrosexual Man surfaced in our unsuspecting routine lives and toppled the stereotype 2 yrs ago. Just like The Raymond's Man did! And men fall to such advertising generated pressures rather quickly in that long, never-ending pursuit of "getting some"!
My point: There's NO metrosexual man! (Just like there's no Raymond's Man! And the guy in the ads is probably gay!)There are either the Straight Gay Men or The Gay Straight Men! AB was the former.
Hmmm...shall elaborate that soon. This gets curiouser and curiouser... :)
hehehe...sometimes men say they're gay so as not to hurt the wimmen they dont want to go out with...a friend of mine did that...:-P..but yeah...pink aviators...is a definite giveaway, I'd say..:-P
fuggg...how come I never led a charmed lifestyle like that when i was in dilli?? All i got was dark circles...!!!!
great reading! I got here from velvetgunther's blog :)
I agree with you one that "That Stimulating Something for me has always been intelligence"...do most women feel this way?
:)
Hah, see? Others agree with me. And in the words of Steve Sailer, metrosexual men are simply men who in our dad's generation would have been "gentlemen". And thanks for those tips, I'll try them out.
I would've been slightly suspicious if the guy'd wanted to get a pedicure for himself :)
Heck, V, you live, you hurt, you move on.... and have memories to look back at.. and also to blog about :)
Melodramatic...
Are u sure AB wont kill you for announcing on your not so annonymous BLOG that he's gay?
Introduce him to me. I'm single too and end up kissing way too many women as well.
Because the sad truth is there's way too many cool women who're fun to hang out and be with as compared to gay men comfortable enough to want a relationship.
He sounds my type :-) I'm *really* being serious (and sorta desperate too..but hey! I'm almost 29!!)
(Hopes AB stands for Abhishek Bachcahn)
feel free to come on in and check it out anytime. :)
Hi I just wanted to send a quick note to let you know I really enjoyed
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