Romance in High Gear- Pt II or PLINBH!

Dear All,

So I left you all at the point where I had agreed to meet PLINBH. Before I get to the actual meeting let me tell you bit about matrimonial profiles on these (hideous facilitative) websites. There is a section where the lamb to the slaughter person writes about themselves, in which they describe their physical appearance, cultural background and family according to a template; then there is the empty field in which they can say whatever drivel they like about themselves; finally there is a section about what they would like in their desired victim partner; oh and of course, how could I forget?- the photograph album! The problem with all of this, of course, is that everyone would like to put their best foot forward and I, being the critical (you would never guess, would you?!) person that I am, tend to read all these profiles with a generous fistful of salt, always attempting to decode and deconstruct the language of these matrimonials, breaking them down to their true meanings- if indeed there is such a thing. I am always amazed by the monotonous same-ness that they tend to display; but that shall be material for another rant post.

You might recall my saying that there was no photograph on PLINBH's profile. I was never quite sure how to read this. I mean how can you possibly have any chemistry with someone if you don't find the person attractive and to that end the photograph is quite crucial; and of course, I am convinced that anyone without a photograph is definitely hiding something! So, no photograph; he said about himself that he was five feet-ten inches and his build was average- as I said nothing objectionable there. At some point I requested a photograph, pointing out that as he had already seen mine it seemed only fair that he share one too. The response that I got went something along these lines 'Let me surprise you!' Oh dear, in my experience surprises usually did not work out well for me. I asked him, only half-jokingly, whether he was hiding something to which he asked, somewhat defensively I thought, if I was worried that he was ugly! I wanted to say 'YES!' but being the nice, and not always critical, person that I am, I refrained from being so honest; honesty in any case being a highly over-rated virtue in my most humble opinion. I did try once more on the photo front asking how I would recognise him when we would meet to which the predictable response I got was 'Oh, don't worry because I'll recognise you.' Don't worry? Don't worry?!


I was now beginning to have a really bad sense about this upcoming meeting I had committed myself to. What's that saying about acting in haste...? Friends whom I had informed about this meeting-  you know, just so they would know to inform my parents and the cops in case he turned out to be an axe-murderer and I didn't resurface in a couple of hours- tried to reassure me that it would turn out fine. One kept insisting with a completely misplaced sense of optimism that he would turn out to be- and I quote- 'drop-dead gorgeous' (wasn't sure if that meant that I would drop dead); another friend asked why I was worried that he might not be attractive when I had clearly not chosen to accept his interest on the basis of his looks; and still another said I should look at the bright side since he was at least good at communicating. And these were my friends! By now, however, in good Indian tradition I had resigned myself to my fate.


And so on a lovely sunny late winter's afternoon at the end of February- the kind of somewhat cool afternoon you can still enjoy before the dusty winds of March engulf Delhi- I set forth to meet this man who seemed by now convinced that he would make me his wife. Since we lived at opposite ends of Greater Delhi (and anyone who knows Delhi knows that I actually mean opposite ends of the world) we agreed to meet halfway at a popular marketplace. He said that he would be waiting close to the cinema in said marketplace, keeping an eye out for me and I was to give him a call once I was there. I got there and as I entered the marketplace, where half of Delhi had descended to enjoy the last of the good weather but really also to witness my ordeal (which by now I was convinced was what it would be), I gulped one last time, still wondering whether I should make a run for it.


As I started getting closer to the cinema I kept my eyes peeled for a single man who looked like he could be waiting for me- optimistic I know, but I was pretty certain that I would know, just don't ask how. I remember this very vividly so indulge me while I go into graphic detail. Since he had said he'd be near the cinema I dialed him as I got closer and just as I did that I saw this one man- paunch hanging over his jeans, balding, about an inch shorter than me and very grim looking with his eyebrows meeting across the bridge of his nose. What gave him away was the oh-so-sinking sensation in my stomach... and I knew, I just knew that it was not to be my lucky day. The only coherent (!) thought in my head was 's**t! s**t! s**t! Please let it not be HIM!' And at that very moment three things happened; he saw me (why? why?); he made eye contact with me (why, oh why?); and he looked down at his phone to see that I was calling him. He looked back up and said 'S'; it wasn't a question- he knew, and I felt rather like a deer caught in the headlights. I tried to smile- I could feel my face breaking with the effort because all I felt right at that moment was anger- and said 'Hi, yes. You must be PLINBH.' And all the while my only thought was 'You liar, you bl**dy liar.'


I felt like I was walking in a daze as we decided to go to a cafe and chat, all the while thinking that this was my nightmare come true; I felt as though the entire crowd was watching me (and him) and the thought made me cringe. It was all downhill from there. The conversation was sparse, he barely laughed and when he did he still looked grim, and he talked again about family values! I, on the other hand, felt as though I was going to howl at any moment. At one point when he excused himself to go to the men's I frantically tried to send an SOS to a friend but he was too quick. I endured this mind-numbingly boring conversation for over an hour, telling myself that I had to be sure I was going to turn him down for the right reasons, because the turning-him-down part was no longer in doubt!


He did say at one point that we would have a lot to talk about on the phone that evening to which I could only bring out some strangling noise. He got the hint though and said we could talk the next day when I said that it would be good for both of us to think about things properly. He called the next day to ask whether I saw 'a road ahead together' but I was happily preoccupied with work (probably the only time that has happened) and I said I would call him back; as I was staring at his number, thinking of how I could phrase what I had to say without causing offence, my phone beeped with a message- 'You have not called. I take it that is no!' Ouch. Since this message immediately put my back up I refrained from replying that very minute but I also felt it unfair to not reply at all- everyone deserves to have some sense of closure because every encounter does raise your hopes. Although my mean side wanted to say in response to his 'road ahead'- 'no we have reached a T- junction and we should go in opposite directions!', I knew that was uncalled for. I finally replied saying I was sorry that I saw no future with him and wished him the very best. 


...And that was that.


Yours, in very low gear indeed!
S

Romance in High Gear- Pt I

... Or so my horoscope (horrorscope?!) would have me believe, Dear All. 

Since romance didn't meet me halfway in spite of the high hopes fostered by said horoscope, a friend decided to take me in hand and drive me to her numerologist. But the thought of surrendering my name to molestation by numerology in the hope of 'snagging' a man seemed a step too far- I mean really, there was no way I would ever remember to add the two more S's and the five A's to my name! Or maybe I'm being too skeptical, after all it was again a week of many 'interests'. As an aside, do note how well I've been submerged in the jargon of matrimonial websites; 'interest'; 'accept/decline'; 'favourites'; and my all-time favourite- 'your e-matchmaker matches'!

To return to the question of interests they were mostly the usual mix of men seeking 'adjustable wives'- which always brings to mind, I don't know, adjustable bookends or something- and women who are the 'perfect blend of east and west', which always recalls the blend that's in the teapot! All to be rejected. At some point while rejecting these I did question my instinct and ask myself whether I ought to let a few through because maybe, just maybe, some people might not be great at expressing themselves in writing a good profile and I should cut them some slack. So, somewhat at random (I know, I know, what was I thinking!), I let a couple of them through my very strict 'accept' guidelines, and herein lies a story.

So there was this very short profile with no photograph, which in itself should have set off the alarm bells. The profile which did not say very much about the person was written without any glaring errors (okay, I admit I'm one of those nit-pickers who can't help noticing when people do not know the difference between 'then' and 'than'- I was born that way, with dysfunctional genes!) and otherwise seemed harmless. I couldn't come up with a reason to reject it so I accepted. I wrote back, as I always do, saying I would be happy to hear from him and here was my number. I got a text within half-an-hour, with his name- let's just call him 'Please Let It Not Be Him!' (PLINBH for short) and you will discover why soon enough, and requesting me to call whenever it was convenient for me. This was definitely an improvement from Mr.Fudge and I called him shortly thereafter when I felt the need for a post-prandial break from work. He was pleasant but right from the start it was obvious that he was quite seasoned at this.

So after the initial, oh-so-awkward pleasantries and long pauses with lots of 'umms' and 'hmms', exchanging names etc. he got right down to business; what did you like about my profile so that you accepted it? Since I could hardly say that I only accepted because there was no reason to reject I umm'd and well'd and just let it pass. The next question- how serious are you about getting married?- I answered this one best as I could given that this was starting to feel a bit like the Spanish Inquisition (was this a portent of life with an accountant?). But to my credit (!) he seemed pleased with my answers and went on to his tale of woe which went something like this: too many women tended to notice straight off that he was an accountant earning very well indeed (in their defense he had reeled off numbers on his profile) and he got the feeling that they were all after his money, which is as good a reason as any to marry I suppose?; some women were also apparently only after his body and not necessarily within the confines of marriage, which seemed an even better reason not to marry if you ask me! He seemed to have hit his stride by then and talked about (aaargh!) family values and how these women didn't understand what they were; I kept silent and omitted to mention that I too didn't quite know what they were. 

But he seemed to have taken to me for some reason- I know, completely inexplicable isn't it?- and called me later that night. As I had anticipated even when I'd accepted his request it was difficult to find a mutually interesting topic of conversation and I was eager to steer the talk away from uncomfortable things like 'family values' which nonetheless seemed to crop up with alarming frequency. He didn't seem to realise that he could laugh at what I was saying and herein lay the first of my problems- a man who didn't know when (and how?) to laugh. I told myself to have patience and tried not to roll my eyes heavenward. The next evening he called again and in the course of conversation asked me whether I could cook and if I enjoyed it ('good wife' material?); when I replied that indeed I did enjoy cooking, he managed to drop, in response, somewhere in that conversation the words (here they come- drum roll) 'when we are married'. My heart stopped- surely I couldn't have heard right, was this normal second conversation stuff? I couldn't recall sending out any signals that said 'I-am-dying-to-marry-you'. I decided I'd ignore it and maybe he would too. I laughed uncomfortably but the rest of the conversation was short and slightly wobbly (from my end) and we agreed to talk again the next day. We eventually didn't talk but I did get a text saying 'I am thinking of you' and to which I replied in my usual dry manner 'umm, I see'- I mean really, what did he expect me to say? When we next spoke, which was soon thereafter, the conversation seemed to pick up from the previous one, which only means that it was, ahem, sparse and we graduated- or at least he did- from 'when we are married' to (yes, you guessed right) 'when we have children'! Yikes! Was this the point where I should tell him I'm infertile or that I had had a sex-change operation last year? Because I was pretty sure this was not third conversation stuff! 

I had by now, in fact in our second conversation, agreed that it made sense to meet in order to see whether we had anything here worth pursuing and although I was beginning to have a strange (!) sense about this entire thing I didn't quite see how to get out of it. So meet we did- but that is a story for another day and another post.

Yours, in horror-scopy!

S