Ode to The Date - Not of the Palm Tree

I was getting ready for a date after a men-sabbatical of two and half long years. My heart pumped bubbles of anticipation as I felt like a teenager going out to meet a boy for the first time in her college days.

To my dismay, there was a power cut just as I got back home from office, which meant that I had to continue being in my office attire.

To add to it, his good looks, money and age (younger than me) were perfect ingredients for diminishing my being to that of a 5 year old child. I grounded myself – reminding myself I am beautiful, successful, energetic, dynamic and a creative human being – and it would be an honor for anyone to spend time with me.

Stay Calm, you are just going out for dinner. And that is the end of it. However, stay Open. 

He picked me up from my home in his flashy C Series Mercedes. I bent down to adjust the seat, fumbling for the seat adjuster. When he pointed out the seat adjuster to me, I immediately retorted, “Thanks but I was just scratching my itchy leg. Do you have a handler for an itch?”

We drove down to Funky Monkey in Vasant Kunj. Now for the socially ignorant, Funky Monkey is ex-Sound of Music that happened to be a raving nightclub once upon a time. 

All the seats on Level I were taken, so we had to settle down for a table right in the center of the domed restaurant on a raised wooden platform – probably the ex-dance floor of the ex-nightclub.

He ordered beers, I ordered Red Bull. Over our drinks and amidst the loud music, we started discussing spirituality since both of us have a strong interest in the subject.

“We are not our feelings and thoughts” resonated during our conversation over beers and Red Bull. Our spiritual conversations were interjected by cracking of jokes and the loud laughter that ensued.

He shared his experiences with de-conditioning himself. As a biker, his rides took him into uncertainty and new experiences that forced him to overcome his fears and think fresh. He wanted to change his name as that was also part of his conditioning. I argued about life throwing new experiences and challenges at us serving the same purpose; that chasing these experiences was part of a craving and obsession process.

Half-way through the evening, it amused me to realize that we were both gently trying to convince each other about the righteousness of our beliefs.

In the middle of it all, I put a napkin on my head to test his embarrassment. He quoted from Carlos Castenada, I brought John Bradshaw''s Healing of the Shame into our world there.He told me about his father, I shared about my wild hippie days.

He had recently gotten his heart broken after being in a relationship for one and a half years, and I was coming out of my two and half years of self-imposed virginhood after breaking up with my 8 year old sweetheart and love.

Despite factors funny, I still could feel stars. Two hours later, I was done with the place, its boorish music and the idea of discussing my personal life and beliefs in the center of pandemonium. Luckily, by this time, we were in agreement over quite a few things, and the argument had transformed into communication and exchange.

Outside, we argued over whether it was the full moon. I felt like kissing him, but did not have the courage to ask him. We discussed Wicca instead.

Inside the car, he said the next meeting would not take so long (this dinner had been pending for over a year), and offered to take me on a long planned "Unplanned” ride on his BMW bike on coming Sunday. He promised me the seat of the bike offered comfort for long rides.

I waited all Sunday. There was no call or message. I was tempted to message him, but my wizened old friend warned me against it, saying “You don’t do that with a monied guy. They are used to having their way in life, and are insecure about people chasing them.”

I wondered to be spontaneous or not. 

I ended up spending time with my time-tested friend – my blog - relieved in the revelation of my heart’s secrets to it.