Friday 18 December 2009

The Right Match?

We walked through the doors and into the busy bar, glad to be out of the cold December's breeze. As our bags were checked, a tall Asian guy approached us and asked us if we'd been here before. "Yes", I replied and reached out to take the padlock he handed me. It wasn't the first padlock party that I had been to, and though I didn't think it had as much potential as speed dating, I was willing to give the event another chance. For those who are slightly unsure as to what this is - the rules are simple; the girls get the padlocks, the boys get the keys - and then it's just a matter of trying to find the right match and some chemistry. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't expecting the night to be particularly interesting and was more excited about the Christmas decor around the bar and the hours of dancing that we were planning to indulge in. Funnily enough, it turned into quite an interesting night in the end - three guys managed to unlock my padlock and by the time the after party started, we were mingling away with some of London's strangest men..

The Boy With The Very Straight Hair
With a perfectly made mojito in our hands, we stood by a small table taking in the crowd when we were approached by two guys holding keys. We made a little small talk before they asked for our padlocks. When one of the guys (one with peculiarly straight hair) managed to unlock mine, we both looked at each other excitedly. This meant raffle tickets (for getting a match) and also a new padlock and key for each of us. I learnt that his name was 'G' (am not quite sure what it was short for) and as we continued to talk for a little longer, I noticed that he would never look at me directly. He seemed to have this habit of looking to the right so all I could really see was the side of his face. He then asked me how old I thought he was and when I guessed a younger age, he told me that people always think that and explained how he is proud of his youthful skin and boyish look. I nodded my head and listened to him go through various occasions where he had been ID'd at bars and in shops. At this point, I was losing interest and looked around the room for an escape route. When I said that I had to get back to my friend, he looked directly at me and said, "So what's your number then?" My response was a light hearted comment about not giving my number out to strangers, and I picked up my glass to make a move. He told me to stop playing games and asked for my number a second time, to which again, I refused. "Well, I bet I don't even remember your name", he said and started to walk away. He then turned around and 'guessed' my name correctly. I nodded my head, slightly confused and said, "And what was your name? F..H..", "Yeah that's right", he replied "My name's GHD", he continued, and then ran a hand through his very straight hair smugly. I turned away and walked to the bar - time for another drink I think.

The Boy Who Just Wanted to Have Fun
Whilst scanning the room for potentials, I noticed a rather good looking guy standing at the side of the dance floor. He was in a smart black shirt and jeans and was talking to a shorter, dark haired guy in a similar outfit. I turned away to talk to my friend, but before I could say anything, we heard the beginning of the next song, and excitedly made our way to the dance floor. As we stopped to let someone else pass, I looked up and found myself standing by his side. He looked at me and smiled. By this point, I'd had enough cocktails to boost my confidence, and the usual side effect of verbal diarrhea was fighting its way through. I returned his smile and asked him if he was having a good time tonight. "No." He replied, wiping the smile off my face. "I'm pissed off...I thought there would be an equal number of girls and guys, but there are no girls here." He said angrily. I looked around the room, and for the first time, I noticed that he was right. There were definitely more guys in the bar than girls - something which seldom happens. "I've been single for three months you know." He continued. "Oh, okay.." I replied, quite unsure what else to say. "Why did you break up?" I asked, not really expecting a response. "She wanted to get married..but I didn't want that." He answered. "Oh, okay.." I repeated slowly. I wasn't quite sure whether I should walk away before he started volunteering any more information about his personal life, but I couldn't resist pointing out that the majority of the girls he'd find here were probably looking for some sort of long term relationship or commitment. "Well, I just want to have a bit of fun," he sulked. "What's so wrong with that?" He said, before he drank the last drop of his Stella and walked towards a girl dancing provocatively in a t-shirt sized dress.

The Boy Who Didn't Believe
After much dancing, we stood at the bar, waiting to place our order for much needed refreshments. "Hi." The guy standing next to me said. "Hi." I replied with a smile. He introduced himself to me and then looked at me inquisitively. "Are you Indian?" He asked. "Yes," I replied. I was quite used to being asked this question so wasn't particularly offended, though I was slightly put off by the way he continued to stare at me. "Even if you weren't, it doesn't really matter - so you can tell me if you're not. You see I don't believe in religion or castes or anything. I think it's all about the person. I mean if I liked you and you liked me and you weren't Indian, then we could still be together - it wouldn't really matter." He went on. "So do you want to dance?" He asked, placing a hand on my elbow as if to lead me onto the dance floor. "I'm just going to get a drink." I said, moving my elbow and taking a step closer to the bar top. "Don't you want to dance with me?" He asked intensely. I apologised and explained again that I wanted a drink. "Maybe I'll find you on the dance floor later." I suggested half heartedly. "Whatever," he replied. "I bet you're not even Indian." He said bitterly and walked away as I stood at the bar, slightly baffled.

At the end of the night, as we collected our coats, and put on our beloved folding shoes (perhaps the best invention ever made by man), we discussed the night's events and found ourselves laughing at some of the lines, conversations and unique dance moves we'd been surrounded by in the last five hours. Perhaps neither of us had met our prince charming on the night, but for the first time in a while, I really enjoyed living a night on the town as a single girl out to party.

Wednesday 18 November 2009

A Handful of Dates in One

Some people are quite sceptical about speed dating, but I have to admit, I'm not one of them. That's not to say that I'm a regular speed dater, but I have been a couple of times and enjoyed the nights (with a little thanks to a glass of wine and cocktail or two).

Most recently, a couple of friends and I went to an Asian speed dating event in the City. Whilst on our way to the venue, we took a little detour to a small, secluded bar, where we shared a bottle of rose - a little dutch courage was much needed. An hour of chit chat and an empty bottle of wine later, we made the short walk to the next bar, not quite sure what to expect for the rest of the night. What the three of us definitely didn't expect was an almost empty area with approximately eight guys, one of whom wasn't even Asian. In an attempt not to let the lack of daters discourage us, we walked towards the host with a smile on our face and an appreciation for the wine that had already taken effect. Once we'd registered and stood by the bar with cocktails in hand, we looked around the room nervously. Let the speed dating commence...

The Cutie
I was pleasantly surprised when the only good looking guy out of the group came and sat opposite me as we were told to sit at our numbered tables. After introducing ourselves to each other, we had a brief conversation about what we do and quickly moved on to more interesting topics, like travelling and our mutual desire to attempt spontaneous holidays, but the need to plan every minute detail taking over. The three minutes originally allocated to each date soon seemed to pass and I realised the organiser must be extending the time due to the shortage of attendees - thankfully, in this case, that wasn't a bad thing and continued to talk at ease. As the bell rang, indicating that our 'date' was over, he gave me a smile and moved on to the next table.

The Freshie
As soon as he sat down opposite me, I couldn't help but return his cheerful smile. I noticed the Indian accent when he introduced himself, and though this would usually be quite a turn off for me, I found myself enjoying listening to him speak. Perhaps this had something to do with my new found love for India following my recent trip out there. We spoke about the differences between life in the East and West and when I mentioned my desire to spend more time in Mumbai, his face instantly lightened up. "Right, that's it. Let's do this now - what's your number?" he said in his distinct accent, his smile even bigger than when he first sat down. I was a bit taken back and was about to tell him that I wasn't going to give him my phone number, when I realised he meant my 'date' number instead. When he saw the 2 on my card, he noted this down and wiggled his head in excitement, just a few seconds before the bell rang again.

The Host
Another speed date later, the bell rang twice, indicating a short break for some canapes and a trip to the bar before the next round of dates. Whilst making our way through a bowl of chips, we were approached by the host who came to ask if we were having a good time. "Yes," we replied, and then followed this with a lighthearted remark on the lack of attendance. Fortunately he didn't take us too seriously and as we continued with our alcholol led teasing about the night's crowd, we managed to convince him to buy us a round of drinks to compensate for the poor turnout. Whilst at the bar, we learned that he was single himself and it made me contemplate the advantages of organising an event like this - afterall, at the end of the night, he's the one who's going to have all our numbers and he didn't even have to go through any awkward dates. Quite a clever idea actually..

The Ghora
For reasons unknown, I've always found myself drawn to the non-Asians in a group and tonight was no different. With an odd number of girls and guys, I was left date-less during one round and was soon joined by a friend of the organiser. I don't quite remember what we talked about now, but I do remember laughing quite a bit during the date. Perhaps because there was less pressure on either side and thus the conversation was more friendly banter than a question and answer session where each was judging the other. In hindsight, I would've preferred another ten minutes with him, than the date that was to follow.

The One Who Wouldn't Leave
"Ask me anything you want", was his opening line. He then quickly introduced himself and looked at me expectantly. "Ask me a question then", he repeated. Not one to usually be lost for words, I struggled to come up with a question and for the first time, I was grateful for the card we were asked to fill out at the beginning of the night. Along with our name and a few other details about ourselves, we had to list what one item we would take with us if we were on a desert island. My item was a book - an original answer in comparison to almost everyone else's choice of a satellite phone. "What's your item?" I asked, expecting the same answer as I had been getting all night. "A book", he replied. "Me too!" I said excitedly, and rather surprised. He then went on to explain his love for spiritual books and his most recent read which had helped him to understand why he was here on this earth. When he finally stopped talking, he looked at me and smiled again, "Ask me another question", he said. This went on for another six minutes and when the bell finally rang for the last time that night, I sighed in relief. Unfortunately, "Mr. Ask me a Question" had no intention of moving from his seat and continued to explain to me what sort of oil and gas projects his company was currently working on. It wasn't until after I stood up and picked up my drink, that he finally quietened down.

At the end of the night, I realised that I hadn't actually ticked any boxes and quickly replayed the evening's dates. There were some that had left no lasting impression on me, and so were forgotten as soon as our time was up, but others which I clearly remembered - for good reasons and bad! I looked at the card in my hand and checked a couple of boxes decidedly- we'll just have to wait and see if the feeling was mutual...



Thursday 22 October 2009

Thanks, But No Thanks

I think that I could almost guarantee that everyone, at some point in their life, has been rejected. Whether it was from a potential job, bank loan or love interest, I'm sure everyone's felt the hurt and pain of not being accepted. To be honest, I don't even like the word rejection. It just seems so harsh, and in an attempt to find a better word, I consider its synonyms. Words like dismissal, refused or brush off come to mind (Microsoft's thesaurus's mind that is, not mine) but they still evoke those same feelings of hurt and pain.

I think about this one morning as I go through my text messages on the tube to work. It's a rare occasion when I don't have a book to read and I find this keeps me entertained for the journey. I come across the text I received from last month's coffee date and feel a slight pang of guilt. I didn't mean to be rude, but I'm always a little confused about what to do in situations like this;

A week after our date, I received a text from him - he asked how I was and whether I fancied meeting up again. I was quite surprised when the text came through - I assumed the short date and lack of communication instantly after was a mutual understanding of disinterest. I waited a couple of days to reply - not because I was trying to 'play it cool' (those that know me, will know that this isn't something I do particularly well!), but because I wasn't sure how to respond. I didn't want to be rude or ignore the text, and wondered whether it would be best to just say 'thanks, but no thanks'. Although I've been in this situation a few times now, I still struggle with the decision. Fortunately he sent the text during the start of navratri and a week before I was due to go on holiday. This meant I was able to explain that I was quite busy for the next few weeks and would maybe give him a call when I got back. I thought my text was quite a polite one and didn't actually commit me to contacting him on my return. I also thought adding the 'maybe' would be the subtle hint to show I wasn't particularly keen - which is why I was again, a little surprised to receive a reply less than an hour later, telling me to have a good holiday and ending with a 'see you when you're back'. Not quite the result I had expected.

It's been a few weeks since I've been back now and I still haven't got in touch, hence the guilt pang. In my defence, compared to some of the ways that I've been 'turned down' I think I was quite nice. I remember one guy that I met told his mother that I was too short for him. When I was told this, all I could do was laugh at the irony of it. He was the first guy I'd met in this way, and quite liked, and I imagine this wasn't the real reason for his disinterest. After all, I'm not that short and he wasn't particularly tall himself - so why he chose to blame my height will always be a bit of a mystery to me. I would've preferred it if he was honest and just say he didn't fancy me.

I guess I should be grateful that at least he wasn't attacking my personality - that would've hurt more. Like when I once got told by a guy during an online argument that I was 'too sarcastic to the point that it was annoying', just before he blocked me on msn messenger and then spent the majority of my final year at uni ignoring me. Yes, I may laugh about it now and as I write this, I have a smile on my face as I reminisce. But at the time, it wasn't funny - and I admit, I did shed a tear (or few) at his words. I've been told many times that my sarcasm would get me into trouble one day and maybe it did mean that I lost out on his friendship. It took me a while to realise that I wouldn't want to have a friend who didn't understand me or appreciate my sarcasm so I guess I was better off in the long run. Eventually he came running back and tried to befriend me again, but by then it was too late.

Most recently, a potential suitor's mother decided that I wasn't good enough for her son because I eat meat - which is quite ironic because my family have a tendency to frown upon vegetarianism, especially my brother. As he's mentioned numerous times before, he's not particularly keen on having a man-to-man talk with his future brother-in-law over a plate of chilli paneer at Sakonis. Nope, in his world, there are some situations where only a kebab will suffice.

And so, here I am - to some I may be a short, sarcastic, carnivore, but I'm hoping it's just a matter of time that I find someone who appreciates my slight quirkiness, understands my sarcasm and who doesn't think my 62 inches isn't enough for him..

Thursday 17 September 2009

The Beauty of a Coffee

Whilst growing up, I thought it would be quite cool to have a job in the city. Not always, but after my childhood desire to be a teacher ended (homework post-school really didn't appeal to me), I thought it would be quite exciting to work in an office in the heart of London. I would walk around in my suit and high heels, lunch with colleagues, and meet up with friends in the new trendy bars around town. In reality, I wear nothing but my flat shoes, have lunch at my desk and am quick to escape the office to join the thousands of commuters on their journey home. It's an even more exciting life than I could've ever imagined.

It's for this reason that I was actually looking forward to the evening's date. I was determined to start creating the exciting life that I had envisaged and even a busy day at work, with the rain attacking the streets of London, wasn't going to discourage me.

Fortunately, the skies cleared by the time I left the office and as I made my way towards the station, I received a text from him to say he was already there. Now I love living in London, but with my non-existent sense of direction, it's sometimes not the best place for me to be. In my defence, we have almost 300 tube stations and with several exits for each, it isn't always easy to know which one you're supposed to be at. This is why we spent approximately 10 minutes trying to find each other first.

Whilst on the phone to him, walking towards the exit that I hoped he was waiting at, I saw the back of a tall, smartly dressed dress guy on the phone in front of me. Though it's pretty difficult to tell what someone looks like from the back of their head, I caught a glimpse of the side of his face and smiled. I reverted my attention back to the phone, and asked my date if he was standing right outside the station, hoping that he would say yes and the potentially good looking guy in front of me would turn around. Kind of, was his response, before telling me that he was standing at the exit by Starbucks. I looked around me and sadly there was no coffee shop in sight.

I continued to walk further, cursing my heels and longing for my flat shoes, until I spotted the Starbucks. It's at this point that I wondered what it would be like to see your blind date, be disappointed, and then walk away. Personally I don't think I could ever do that to anyone, and I hope that it never happens to me, but there have been times where either one, or perhaps even both, of us probably wished we had. Luckily, this wasn't one of those times. I saw him walk up to me and he looked quite friendly. Though I wasn't attracted to him, he gave me a big smile - one which was difficult not to return.

I tend to prefer going to a bar during these post work dates, but due to the miserable British weather, we both opted for the warmth of a coffee instead. I ordered a skinny latte and said thank you after he'd paid for the drinks. I did spend about a second wondering whether he would think I was one of these weight-obsessed girls just before I ordered my coffee, but I wasn't quite prepared to change a long-term habit for someone I'd just met.

It was actually quite nice to just sit back on the single sofas and talk. My busy day in the office working (contrary to popular belief, I do actually do some work) meant that I didn't have much time to participate in the usual banter amongst my colleagues. For this reason, I found myself with a lot to say, and instead of any awkward silences, there were several occasions where we both started talking at once. Whenever this happened, he instantly stopped and gestured for me to continue with what I was saying. Our conversation varied as the minutes passed and I noticed we were both coming to an end to our coffees. Though I was having a good time, I wasn't particularly keen on continuing our date and wondered whether he felt the same. Before either of us could comment on our empty cups, we were approached by the waiter who told us they were closing. I stood up and picked up my jacket and we both walked towards the door. I asked how he was getting home and although I already knew the answer, I thought this saved us the awkward conversation of trying to decide whether to continue our date or not. As we parted by the station, I told him it was nice to meet him - a line which I usually try to avoid, though this time I genuinely did mean it. It was nice to meet him, just not nice enough to meet him again.

Whilst making the 40 minute journey home, I began to re-think the post work coffee date. Though a drink is much needed at a time like this, the advantage of going for coffee is the 7pm closing time. The dilemma of wondering whether one drink is too short is taken away. Instead, you're given a chance to end the date early after being asked to leave the venue. There's always the possibility of a successful date, in which case it can be continued at bar or even dinner, but having to leave the place you're already at, is the perfect 'get out of jail' (or more accurately, 'get out of bad date') card. I wondered why nobody had told me this before and I feel obliged to share this with all the single ladies out there. The beauty of a coffee is that it generally takes longer to drink than a cold beverage and so doesn't seem as though you're actually rushing the date to its end. From now, I think it's going to be skinny lattes all the way for me. Unless of course, I see those fireworks when our eyes meet for the first time.

When I got home, I relayed the basic details to my parents and told them that unfortunately I had not just met their future son in law. My mother, like all mothers, wants the best for me and believes that whoever I end up with should treat me well and care for me from day one. This is why she always asks whether my dates care enough to know if I got home okay. I believe that asking a girl to text you when she gets home is the perfect, subtle way of showing that you're interested and would like to keep in touch. When I told my mother that he didn't do this and that neither of us seemed particularly interested in the other, she simply shook her head and mumbled, "aaj kal na chokra..." I completely agree.

Monday 14 September 2009

Where Have All The Boys Gone?

With a recent night out still in my mind, the question most of my single girl-friends have been asking is reinforced. "Where have all the boys gone?" Previously, a night out on the town would consist of a few drinks being consumed, the exchange of smiles between us girls and those around us, and perhaps a little flirtatious chit chat with the guy standing next to us at the bar. He would then of course kindly allow us to be served before him. Nowadays, the smiles become less frequent, the crowd seems predominately female, and I'm still holding a grudge against the rude guy who refused to let me be served first. Knowing that all I wanted were two vodka cranberries, he began to place his order, plus that of all his friends who were standing behind me. With these kind of guys out there, what hope do we have?

It's for this reason that I try not to expect too much in the bachelors that I'm set up with. With low expections, it's harder to be disappointed. Perhaps not the best attitude to have, but it works for me, and it's the attitude I'll take with me on my next date.

I find myself going through a range of feelings before I put myself through one of these 'blind dates'. I get a bit scared because I don't want to make a fool out of myself - something which isn't particularly rare. I get nervous like I would for any date, and then I find myself looking forward to it at times. After all, it's another chance for me to talk about myself - how can that ever be a bad thing? And of course, listen a bit as well. Hopefully more so than last time.

In advance of a date sometime last year, I tried to explain this to a friend - these were the days when I refused to acknowledge my so called outings as dates and was determined they be labelled 'meetings'. I told my friend that I was nervous, yet not at the same time and asked if that made sense. Her response was to explain to me that I was nervous because I was going on a date, and not nervous because it was a meeting. I remember laughing to myself when she emailed me this and her comment still makes me smile.

And so, before I meet the next one later this week, I try not to think about it too much. I ignore the fact that his texts don't always make sense, and instead appreciate the lack of abbreviations used. Some may call me anal (okay, a lot may call me anal), but I'm quite particular with the language used in messages and just don't see why people can't text in proper English. We've decided to meet in town and though I was extremely tempted to ask him whether he drinks, I stopped myself. I don't think my mother would be very pleased with me if that's the reason I gave for not meeting up with him. I guess I'll just have to wait a few days to find out for myself. In the meantime, I've got to try to recall our conversation and remember what he does for a living - perhaps I'll play it by chance and ask him how his job in Accounting or IT is - surely one of those will be close enough...

Thursday 20 August 2009

First Crush

I rushed out of the office last week, making a quick trip to the ladies and spending no more than a second looking at my reflection in the mirror. A trip to a friend's house had been arranged for the evening so I was eager to start my journey home as soon as possible.

As I reached the platform, I jumped onto the train that was being held at the station. It wasn't until the next stop that I realised it wasn't a direct train home, and I would have to make a small change towards the end of my journey.

30 minutes later, I walked over to to the opposite platform and squinted at the digital display. 4 minutes. Once I'd stopped squinting (something my optician friends will probably pick on when reading this), I noticed a guy smile and move towards me. It took me a second or two to realise who he was and when it hit me, I instantly wished I'd spent a bit longer checking my reflection. He was my first crush. He was the guy whose name would appear in the pink hearts on my work books, who made coming into school that little bit more exciting, the guy whose birthday party I somehow managed to forget one year and spent the rest of the day sulking.

My memory can be a bit fish-like at times, but there are somethings that I don't think I'll ever forget. I still remember the day he retrieved my stolen pencil case for me - going against the boy code and snitching on the thief when he saw how upset I was. And the time he asked on my behalf if I could get a glass of water when I had the hiccups in class. It's ironic that a 10 year old is more attentive than the majority of the guys that I've 'dated'.

We've seen each other a few times since our school days - a class reunion, mutual friend's birthday drinks, and a spontaneous group dinner last year - so we're not complete strangers, nor are we the best of friends. I do sometimes wonder if he remembers an online conversation we had a few years ago - a conversation in which we made one of those pacts and agreed to marry if we're still single at 30. He probably doesn't remember, and I doubt I would ever mention it to him. Even if he did, and with less than five years to go, neither of us would actually follow through..I don't think..!

I returned his smile and said hi as he walked towards me. We spent the 4 minutes talking about work, old friends and life in general and as the train approached the platform, I noticed how busy each carriage was. When the doors opened, we joined those struggling to get on and as we were forced to stand close together, I become extremely self concious about my unkempt eyebrows and hoped this morning's perfume was as long lasting as the advert promised. He looked good. Perhaps more so than I remember, and I liked that we could instantly pick up where we left off - there was no need for small talk and definitely no mention of how the weather had been holding up recently. Unfortunately, the journey was quite a short one, but this time when I got off the tube, I took my time and we agreed to organise another group drinks. The brief trip down memory lane was a nice way to end a less than interesting day in the office.

As I walked home from the station, I smiled to myself and thought that the 10 year old me would be quite happy too. I then got my mobile out of my bag and made a phone call to my beautician - next time me and my eyebrows will be prepared!

Monday 10 August 2009

A Date in the City

When my dad started playing match maker, I wasn't sure whether I should be worried or pleased that he was taking an interest in my love life. Either way, perhaps it would've been wise not to agree to meet his colleague's son - for if I was wise, I would've saved myself from an extremely difficult date.

We spoke one Friday night - a conversation which I was purely dominating. Not particularly by choice (though I am known to have more than my fair share of talk time), but to avoid those awkward silences that dared to arise. After he mentioned for the second time that he was quite tired, I cut the conversation short and we ended the call without any mention of speaking again. I was quite surprised when he text a few days later asking about my weekend - I didn't think he would.

A handful of texts and a week later, we decided to meet in his part of the city - an area which I wasn't familiar with and so was happy for him to arrange the venue for our 'date'. We met outside the tube station and I noticed that he was perhaps one of the better looking guys that I had been set up with. I assumed he would take lead and suggest a place, however he asked me where I wanted to go. I told him that I didn't know the area well and was happy to go for a drink or coffee wherever he thought best. Turns out that he didn't even know which direction to walk in - something which surprised me as I thought he would've had some sort of plan or idea where we could go. Definitely a bit of a turn off.

We settled for a small cafe where I ordered a cranberry juice - though much needed, luckily I chose not to ask for the vodka, as it wasn't until half way through our date, that he mentioned he doesn't drink. Not that I'm an alcoholic or big drinker (anymore!), but I'm definitely one who likes to enjoy a social drink or two every now and again. I have to admit, to be with someone who doesn't drink, even a little bit, would be a little weird for me.

He ordered a coke and some fries, which he later doused in tomato ketchup and picked at whilst making his way through seven or eight napkins, making more a mess than my six year old niece.
The conversation between us just didn't flow and I found it extremely tough to make small talk which wasn't weather related. We spoke about mostly work and holidays, however with no intention to be rude, just honest, I would say I found the evening as difficult as having a conversation with a brick. As the waitress asked us if we wanted another round of (soft) drinks, I declined and we settled the bill. Unfortunately the most awkward part of the night was not over - we still had to get through an eight stop tube journey together. For once in my life, I was extremely grateful for the noisiness of the Jubilee line which gave us a reason not to attempt to speak. As we sat there in silence, I felt my foot being (accidentally) kicked by the guy taking his seat opposite me. I didn't feel guilty at all when I returned his dimpled smile and paid more attention to him than my reticent date. When my stop finally arrived, I thanked him for the drink and stepped onto the platform as fast as my heels would allow.

It's been a little over a week since our little meeting and neither of us have made any attempt to make contact - something for which I'm truly grateful for! As much as I may enjoy hearing myself speak, it's not as satisfying when the other person has no interest in reciprocating.

Thursday 30 July 2009

Trials of a Singleton

People often ask me whether I have to have an arranged marriage and my immediate response is always an exasperated "No!". But when I spent some time thinking about this one morning, I realised that the criteria for what would be perceived as a 'suitable match' has been drummed into my head so much that I, myself, have started to believe that this is the 'right way'. As much as I may want to resist, I find myself with a mental check list every time I meet a guy and wonder whether he ticks all the boxes. Boxes which part of me feels as though I've been brain washed to recognise as acceptable.

As a young 25 year old, I'm constantly being told that I should be looking for a husband and aim to be married - something which is seen as bizarre in today's Western world. Don't get me wrong, I do want to find what someone would call a 'soul mate' or 'Mr. Right', get married and have kids, but the pressure that is put on twenty something's really doesn't help living life as a singleton.

I don't think people quite understand how difficult it is to be in this position. My mum and numerous aunts (most of who have had an arranged marriage themselves) keep telling me that I shouldn't be picky, that love will grow in time and I just need to let it. Perhaps that was okay for them in their day and age, but I don't believe, nor do I want to believe, that that's how it works. I admit, I'm an old romantic and I've always longed for that destined meeting where violins play and fireworks explode. Realistically, I know this seldom happens, but I know that I won't settle for anything less than those butterflies.

I guess the million dollar question now is "How am I going to find this guy who gives me butterflies and fireworks?" I wish I knew! I would imagine that living in a large metropolitan city wouldn't make this too difficult, but in reality it actually is. I work in the city and with over 2.5 million people using the underground every day, you would think that was a perfect opportunity to spot that special someone. Even if you did see someone that caught your eye, realistically, what could you do. There's no bar where you're both 'conveniently' stood next to each other, waiting to be served, or trip to the ladies where you can 'accidentally' brush past him. Take for example, one Friday morning. I'm waiting on the station platform and see a good looking guy to my left. As the tube arrives and we get on, we find ourselves sitting opposite each other. Whilst we both listen to our iPods, him tapping his feet and me drumming my hands to the music, he looks at me. I look up and he turns away. Similar behaviour continues for a while; quick glances here and there, but never meeting eye to eye. That is until we arrive at Oxford Circus and he gets off the tube, a quick look behind as he steps down. I'm embarrassed to say that was in fact the highlight of my week. To this day, I've never seen him again.

So with not much luck finding my own Prince Charming, the alternative is going through what me and my friends call 'The System'. The System is where all the aunties and uncles get out their own little black books which are filled with details of nice chokras and chokris that they're dying to set up. Basic details of both the girl and the boy, for example. age, date of birth, height, education etc are exchanged between elders in the family and phone numbers are passed on. In theory, this definitely has its advantages. It cuts out the awkwardness of asking for someone's number and instead an eligible bachelor's number is handed to you on a silver plate. Going through The System means that I already know the guy is 'suitable' on paper. Now it's just a matter of attraction, compatibility and luck!

It wasn't until I felt as though I'd run out of excuses that I agreed to try this way. I was doing quite well putting it off intially. The first time my mum mentioned introducing me to someone, I was still at university so there was an excuse right there. It wasn't until I'd graduated, had settled into a new job and was entering my mid twenties that I finally agreed to be introduced to that 'nice chokra' that some aunt somewhere or another knew. A first date in itself is quite nerve-racking, but to go on a date with someone you know very little about, you've never seen, and you've spoken to for all of 5 minutes, is a little terrifying.

The first 'blind date' I went on was...interesting. My intial reaction was one of disappointment. I think the idealist in me had pictured a true Bollywood style meeting - Girl meets Boy, Boy is mesmerised with Girl and declares his love for her in song, after which they live happily ever after (overcoming the interfering mother in law and defeating a love rival or two in the process). But life isn't a Bollywood film and there definitely wasn't going to be any singing or dancing on this date. We went for coffee - always a safe bet as there's no decision to be made about whether it would be okay or frowned upon to have an alcoholic drink. I have to admit, it's difficult to know what the protocol is - Do I offer to pay, should I admit that this is the first time I'm meeting someone in this way, am I okay to just be me? I think when I knew there defintitely wasn't going to be a second date, I relaxed a little. He paid for the drinks, I admitted it was the first time I was meeting someone in this way and I was just 'me'. I do however, think he wanted me to pay him back for the coffee! Needless to say the date ended short and I could be found a couple of hours later gossiping with a friend to discuss the finer details.

I'd put the date down as an experience and moved on, however he contacted me a couple of days later. It's at this point that I wondered whether it would be best to ignore the text, send a detached one instead, or reply with one of those 'it was nice meeting you, but I don't think we're quite right for each other' messages. I opted for the second - I thought it would be quite rude to ignore him and the thanks, but not thanks text would've seemed a bit inappropriate - he'd only asked me how work was, not given me a marriage proposal! His texts continued for a while and I have to admit that I did ignore the last one. From memory, it wasn't one that needed a reply and my offhand responses most likely showed I was uninterested.

Some of the dates that followed ended in a similar way and some went well but there was no spark. Through each one, I did learn a little something about myself and at least I have a better idea of what I'm looking for in a parther, and what I'm not. I have to admit, I still struggle to understand the opposite sex and I'd be keen to meet someone who does!

At the moment, it's been just over a year now since I've started dating through this method, and I still haven't found Mr Right. I don't quite remember how many blind dates I've been on - more than five, less than ten perhaps. I wouldn't say they've all been disasters, and perhaps I am being too picky like my mother suggests. All I know is that I won't settle for anything less than perfect...I just have to figure out how to find him!