Let's talk about Sex

I called a Meru Taxi to pick me up at 8:30am for my day of training with the Bombay Psychiatric Society in Goregoan. Roughly a 30 minute drive from my grandparents flat in Bandra West. Shantram, my trusty driver, was a quiet man with a wiry moustache and receding hairline. On the return trip at 3:30pm, the 30 minute ride stretched to 45 minutes and somewhere past Bandra-Kurla complex my laborious Hindi grew more fluid as talk turned from chit-chat to the degredation of Indian youth, particularly in the types of unsavory activities they indulged in within the backseat--where I was at the time seated. Shudder.

Anyway, somewhere between chastisizing the state of Indian affairs brought on by the Western influence, Shantram informed me of my prolific moral standing as a young person, albeit of advanced age in the non-marital bracket. He said (in English), "Sex is not bad." Then continued in Hindi, "But it's the lack of good choices in partners and the absence of good judgement in taking that step that is leading to all these problems." He has 10 children in his village of which 6 survive today. He's 45 years old. He said that he continues to share a bed with his wife for his month-long vacation and he doesn't seen any reason for that to change in the years to come. Especially not that she is no longer of child bearing years, the joy of the undertaking is only sweetened by the lack of repercussions.

When I mentioned birth control, he didn't seem to believe me. He said, "Children just happen. It's not something you plan." I wasn't sure at all how to respond to that in a culturally sensitive way, so I took the entirely relativist approach of suggesting that perhaps that should NOT be the case.

The State Shuttle driver who collected me from EWR to drive me to my mom's lakehouse upon arrival back into these United States was a jolly, chatty fellow. I made the mistake of telling him I already had my PhD in Clinical Psychology and he immediately informed me of his affinity for the science. He insisted, "People interested in Psychology are crazy in some way or there is a crazy person in their famly who piqued their interest. So, which one are you?" I'm still not sure what the answer to that question is...but I am still thinking about it.

After some insight into his father's bipolar disorder, he switched to a conversation about intimacy and the importance of multiple partners for him to feel fulfilled. He spoke briefly about his divorce and his fears for his upcoming nuptials not being significantly different despite his current fianceee being clear on his BDSM needs and the absence of monogamy. I was glad he wasn't seeking my counsel but I was surprised at how easily he shared. Somehow, the very mention of psychotherapy and people just want to talk about sex.

Is life really that Freudian in its simplicity of eros and thanatos?
My recent rides on two continents certainly seem to say so.

Cinema con Cricketeer

I'm playing up the coy angle: family shame and all that. The last thing I want to do is undo my first fling by him figuring me to be loose, albeit in the Indian context. I suppose to some extent a club kiss has already sealed my fate in that regard but I'm trying to seek out the age old "alcohol is poison" bit and rebuild myself as an, albeit, foreign Indian.

It's hard to ignore that he does think my westernization signals a lower moral bar and there is a push to go farther faster. Not that he tried anything at coffee, but we're planning a trip to the cinema. One with old-fashioned boxes=privacy for couples. I'm mostly looking forward to the experience but there is a part of me that fears the implications of agreeing to such an endeavor.

Coffee with the Cricketeer

So I checked out his stats....no that is NOT code. I actually looked up his score stats on Cricket Info where I learned he was 21! He was born in 1987. JESUS---I'm a cradle robber!

I told my grandparents I was going to watch my cousin play football and gave the driver hush money to drop me off to meet the Cricketeer for coffee.

We got coffee at this local chain called Barista--it was full of youngsters with lust in their eyes and fear in their hearts. It's taboo to touch the opposite sex in India. Even married folks don't hold hands or kiss in public. So these kids, who live at home and have zero privacy never get to spend one-on-one private time, so they have to sneak it as best they can.

I had to play the innocent Indian. I'd like to think I delivered an Emmy worthy performance of coy smiles and lowered eyes. He ate it up. And as I left, he grabbed my wrist and pleaded for five more minutes, just five minutes. I looked at him appalled--public contact, NO!--shook free and gave him an over the chin grin as I ran to my awaiting driver.

He's called me thrice and texted me at least 5 times since then--it's been 2 hours!
His last text in Hindi loosely translated to this: "I just want to say, I'm falling for you...hard. Please meet me tomorrow!"

Cricketeer Calling

Alright, so his name is Anand...yes, I know...another A-named Indian to my growing list.

We're going to get coffee this afternoon. He's called me roughly 6 times in the last 12 hours. I couldn't have choreographed a better fling. He lives in another state (Madhya Pradesh) and he's here just for the week to play cricket at this exclusive cricket club (M.I.G) my uncle belongs to--so I can get in to see his match next Sunday. He's already invited me as his special guest. That's pretty long-term for a guy I met at a club 12 hours ago. =D

We may even go to the caves together next Sat. Depends on his practice schedule, but either way I plan to get a pic with him in UNIFORM.

OMG! I feel like I'm 16 again.

The Cricketeer

So, I just got home from a night of clubbing in India...and legitimately THE hottest guy in the club hit on me. Despite my self-assured ways...that never happens to me.

I was with my oldest friend in the world at Hawaiin Shack--a chill four-storey "club" in Bandra (W)--with four of her guy friends and two of her girlfriends. We paid Rs. 1000/couple to get in which allotted each couple a booklet of drink tickets. After my third vodka club soda, I was ready to sway my hips to the best music I've heard in a club off late. Sean Paul blaring sealed the deal.

Earlier that evening, shortly after we walked in and staked seats besides the stairs on the second floor, I noticed the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome sitting at a table with a turbaned lad across from us. He was by far the best looking guy in the joint. He couldn't help tapping his feet and bobbing his head to the music--he even mouthed the words. Finally, he got up to dance and I couldn't tear my eyes off him. He was looking my way as well but didn't approach. Finally, I got up to dance with my bff and her buds when he sidled up to me and smiled, mouthing "hi". I smiled back and nodded.

Soon after they were offering free shots for ladies at the DJ booth in a very down-the-shore, booze-down-your-gullet style. I raced up for two quick swigs and brushed by him on the way back to my gaggle. The boys in the group formed a protective huddle around me and kept steering me away from him. He kept holding my hand when they got distracted from their bodyguarding ways. Finally, he asked me to "Meet by the loo?" I nodded as he stalked off.

He was awaiting me in the brightly-lit alcove between the restrooms, phone in hand. I have no idea what my Indian cell number is, so he grabbed my phone and dialed his number. Saving him into my phone and me into his....as he was handing me back the phone I tilted up my head to thank him and he kissed me. RIGHT THERE. His lips parted mine and I felt his tongue sliding into my mouth, it was so sudden I barely had a chance to react. I reflexively kissed back before realizing we were in a high traffic area and Indians were staring. I broke away quickly and ran back to my group.

His name is Andy and he's a cricketeer (Yes. he's Indian).
Cricketeer is Indian speak for football stud. We'll see if he actually calls me tomorrow....he's called me twice since we left the club but it's only been 30mins and the buzz has undoubtedly NOT worn off.

Here's hoping I have my first fling at 28...in India, no less.

E-mail to Lauren

Lau,

So, you told us we better have something quality to report back and through NO doing of our own, we actually DO!

After two more songs with the band that spanned the style from the second half of the 21st century, we left Rockwood Music Hall and headed to King's Cross (formerly M&R Bar below Marion's).

While we sipped our beer, the following bathroom related events transpired:
1) I had to avail myself of the loo, so I went over to the single room and pushed open the door to discover an inebriated man zipping up. Backing away apologetically, I shrunk in horror as he slurred, "I'm done, didn't flush though!" Clearly, no hand washing ensued either. YIKES. So you're disgusting and you don't have the decency to lock the door...wtf?
2) Soon after I sat back down, the SAME man and ANOTHER man went into the bathroom for about 5minutes, felt like 15 but realistically 5 minutes.
3) Jo and I were impressed by the brazen display, till another young gay couple unabashedly went into the same bathroom together. Kudos! Also, hopeful we were that we wouldn't have to pee whilst there.
4) Moments later, a girl from a gaggle of three approached the door and pushed it open. We assumed she may be joining them (or else they would have locked the door, right?) till she backed away horrified. Clearly, he wasn't holding the other guy's hair back. Sex was being had and girl from gaggle had witnessed it. Another example of people NOT locking this one door.

Lessons learned:
King's Cross Bathroom=Gay Sexcapade Central
One woman's bathroom is another man's sex room.
Always, lock bathroom doors...especially if having sex in said bathroom.
Boys don't wash their hands---EW!

Thanks for coming out! You left JUST in time....
Hope this is a good enough story to warrant a nod of approval from our married friend =D

Saturday Night Fever: Sweet LES

8pm Dinner at Tiffinwallah
Tea girls and their future husbands

10pm Bowery Poetry Club
Shadz of Red

12am Rockwood Music Hall
AKI is the Glue Live

Off Limits

Three days into the New Year, I'm a poster child for Nancy Regan's Nike campaign:
No ex sex. No ice cream. No drunken displays of debauchery. No beer pong. No fun =(

That's not entirely true, it's not that it's been un-fun. Perhaps, I need to re-evaluate my definition of fun or perhaps I need to snap out of my den of disinterest to re-engage with this wanton world.

I've been walking around with my shoulders hunched in lounge wear, donning enormous glasses to avoid eye contact to ward off any potential suitors. It's not subconscious. It's very unlike me, but it's who I've become. These delineations: Me vs. Not Me, seem foolish given the reality that people who make these proclamations often protest too much. To say another way, what they term NOT THEM is often very much THEM.

Indeed, I am not me. Something to think about throughout 2009...

Screaming Couple Fight

Last night, I was rudely awakened and lay awake to hear most of the fight between my building's super, who shares the basement with me--the only other apartment on this subterranean level--and his girlfriend.

Not sure if it was the actual volume of angry epithets or Luckey's annoyed barking that made me aware of these unpleasant goings-on. The actual fight lasted about forty minutes and I couldn't help eavesdropping at rapt attention given my SAVI training. I was ready to make a run for the precinct down the block if I sensed any escalation.

The unfortunate truth is that I felt sorrier for my sleepy super that he had to deal with his agitated woman friend than I did for her. From what I overheard she just went off after he called her a "bitch". Being that they are both black, I felt doubly surprised that such a description garnered such an extreme response from her. I think the added bonus of her being drunk and making an unexpected booty call didn't result in the desired result. He was relatively quieter, harder to overhear, but from what I understood he was doing a bang up job of calming her down.

I've been called a bitch exactly once before by someone I was sleeping with and while I didn't take it well, I didn't lash out by waking the neighbors. Honestly, keep your domestic disputes within your four walls. Geez.

12 बुक्स

I hope to read at least these books in 2009:
Dreamland
When We Were Orphans
The Ten-Year Nap
Mating
A Suitable Boy
Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard
Bombay, Meri Jaan
Dreams From My Father
Duma Key
Anathem
Scarpetta
Book of the Dead

Rang in २००९--Central Park

Jo joined Luckey and me in Central Park at 10:40pm on New Year's eve with two bottles of wine and her high school pal--currently stationed in Germany--yay US Army.

We picked up a Norwegian couple, a lone German dude, and Mr. Talk to Me all on our quest for Belvedere Castle. We watched the fireworks, cheered on NYRoad Runners making the 4-mile loop their first of many Central Park runs in 2009, and saw numerous Time's Up bicyclists at the end of their ride up from Washington Square Park.

Since we ran out of wine and the Army man started whining, we took the listening man's advice and ambled over to Dive 75. No cover. No table service. Not too much of a dive. Managed to smuggle Luckey in without any problems--he dutifully hid in the recesses of my tote which I hung from one of the chairs at the bar--and drank the night away.

Made it home by 3:30am, even found a cab without so much as walking to the curb.
Hope the foreign friends, pseudo celeb guidance, non-VIP ease of entry, and spontaneous fun with puppy in tow all continue through the next 363 days!