This is my first piece out here. Masses of sajha, I hope you will be kind on me. This is a tad "liberal" for some of our literary palettes maybe, but as I mention below, its a work of fiction. This is purely an art of fiction. Resemblance to any person, living or dead, is a mere co-incidence. “Hey! You look really exotic! Can I buy you a drink?” I didn’t know what to make out of that statement when I first heard it. Was he being racist? Was exotic a synonym for pretty and different? Was he trying to get into my pants? I sat there completely struck and numb. “Its just a drink, c’mon now, you can’t reject a free drink!”, Kathy whispered into my ears. As I fumbled with the Blue Moon label on my bottle, I accepted a drink from a guy for the first time in my life – a white guy, to be precise. Honestly, I don’t recall the first fifteen minutes of the conversation. Stephen made some small talk, mentioned his folks, his hobbies, and how he spent the last summer working for some non-profit in Tanzania. “Gosh, white people got money to burn!” was my first reaction. But of course I didn’t say that. I played along, lauded his philanthropic values and generosity, albeit it was backed by his rich dad’s trust fund. “Another one? What do you say?”, he asked me after I told him about my family – a story not as cool as his, but he didn’t seem to look away for a second. Might as well, I thought. This was a pleasant change from hanging out with Nepali guys. I have nothing against Nepali men, however, most of them would benefit from Flirting 101. As I sipped on my second margarita, we talked more about each other. Stephen loved horse riding. The closest encounter I’ve had with horses was when I was ten – I was on the streets of Pokhara when three policemen walked by with horses. Little kids in ragged clothes and smiles ran after them. I didn’t – I was creeped out, to say the least. “That’s so cool!”, I said anyways – I just had to pretend to be interested until the drinks stopped coming my way, right? “Your English, you know, it’s flawless!”, he mentioned after about three minutes of awkward silence. “Rosetta Stone dude, she is everywhere these days!”, I regretted making that joke even before I started, but he laughed anyways. The DJ was blasting Usher’s “DJ got us falling in love again” as sweaty guys grinded on their girlfriends, whereas Usher wasn’t doing it for me that night. “What does your tattoo mean anyway?”, I bet he was staring at my half bare back, but he sounded genuine. “It’s phi”, I replied, “I took real analysis last semester….” I stopped half sentence. Although I wasn’t trying to impress him, I didn’t want to bore him with the golden ratio or divine proportion. “I just like the number, I know its nerdy”, I responded. “This is my favorite song!” he yelled. I knew the basics of bar lingo that guys used by now, so I bet he would have yelled the same thing if Nickelback was playing. “Do you wanna go dance?” “Nah, don’t really feel like it. Also these heels you know, they are killing my feet!” Thirteen dollars down the drain is probably what he thought. But he was nice – “Ok! Ill see ya around” he said. I took a deep breath. I had successfully averted disaster. Stephen was gone; he would probably find a drunken white chick and take her home. I left the bar, took a cab and headed home. I remembered my first date. Well, depends on how you define a date. I was with a group of friends and he was with a group of his friends. As I was sitting on the edge of a sofa at Tantra, two of his friends cornered me and said “Aditya loves you, kura gara na, u sanga”. I complied - I mean he was cute, and regardless of what my mom told me, I wasn’t going to get raped in a restaurant in broad daylight by a stranger. We talked for about twenty minutes, only to be disturbed by my girlfriends who thought it would be a good time to butt in before he even held my hand. “Kasto lagyo ta?” one of them asked. I tried unsuccessfully to change the topic, but they weren’t going to waver. “Kasto churot ganaune”, I said. “Ajkal ka bata churot nakhane kta bhetchas ta, haha”. As I paid the cab driver and lit a Camel menthol, I thought maybe I shouldn’t have discounted Aditya seven years ago. He graduated from Vassar last year, and works for some IT company now. Should have locked down the deal on that sugar daddy when I had the chance. Gosh, we could even smoke together! I lied down on bed, and played Downtown Abbey in the background just so that I wouldn’t feel lonely. It was one of those nights when I was so tired that I couldn’t sleep. Constant thoughts of Stephens and Adityas consumed my head. To be continued…. Last edited: 31-Oct-12 01:36 PM