Last night, my cousin brother took me out for dinner to one of my favorite restaurants, ‘Bukhara’ in Maurya Sheraton. He was accompanied by his friend, a rather nattily turned out man, whom let’s just call Mr X. It transpired, during exchange of pleasantries, that Mr X was my bro’s cunning idea of a date for me and probable future possibilities.
Mr X had got me chocolates and a book. I could imagine my bro telling him conspiratorially ‘She is a reader’. I opened the wrapping paper to find Paulo Coelho’s ‘The Alchemist”. Horror galore. Conversation, thus turned from banal to vitriol, and the excellent food was enjoyed only by me. Both men looked accusing and glum. Few times my brother stabbed viciously at the excellent roast with his fork and knife, though, and gave me pretty nasty looks.
Since he was almost eight large pegs down, I offered to drive. A secret thrill because my brother owns a BMW X6.As we sped away on a lovely, chilly December Delhi night, he fixed me with a baleful gaze and said scathingly “You better get off your high horse! What kind of a guy appeals to you, anyway?”. He frowned and turned off David Bowie intoning on the SUV stereo deck” I’m an alligator.. I’m the space invader, I’ll be a rock ‘n’ rollin’ bitch for you.. “
Alright, I rattled off “Ummm..very tall, long hair, should breathe Led Zeppelin. Not think Ayn Rand is rad or Ishiguro, the latest Japanese joint. Would help if he overdoses on ‘bun anda’ and personally keeps me caffeinated. And, yeah he shouldn’t bat an eyelid when Jigar, my bulldog girl , farts”.
Brother’s face turned an apocalyptic purple. His sister is irretrievably doomed. ’Let us be more organized, systematic. He of course has to be Indian..but needn’t be from our state’, he said expansively and graciously, fueled by the warmth of the single malts.
West Bengal: We start with the state from which his super vivacious wife, and lethal Bong femme –fatale hails from. I refuse. In all probability, the guy has wet dreams about Marx? And what about his ‘maaafler’ and ‘maaaanky cap’ as he braves the mildest winter like a Viking? By Valhalla, smoking endlessly and nervously. He would also passionately sing ‘Rabindra Songeet’ because ‘gaan is better than gun’. He knows. He knows all. *Adjusts ‘choshmaa’.*
The South: The bro doesn’t distinguish between the states there. South as in South vs North.Jeez, but yeah that’s the way it is. Nah, I say, South Indian guys are fanatics about their ‘sambhar/rasam’. The ‘idlis ’have to be white and fluffy too. My ‘dosas’ are invariably amoeba shaped! Most get up at the crack of dawn and listen to devotional Carnatic music. Too taxing on the body!
Sardars: Absolutely not, bro! I wouldn’t know whose hair I would be pulling in moments of passion and excitement! Mine or his! Moreover, they morph into symphony/orchestral conductors when given a chicken tandoori leg. Such is their ecstasy.
Bihar: Genuine guys but overdose on mush and sentimentality. A friend had once proudly stated “Bihar is situated in the heart of India’. Ouch, in this age of high cholesterol? Not to forget the ‘dahi-chuda’ breakfast I may have to partake religiously. Pizza, pizza says my soul.
North East: Again, all seven states clubbed together by him.Tsk..tsk..ignoramus.I brighten up a bit. I suffer from a Keanu Reeves syndrome. A weakness for slanting eyes and long hair. But, nah, too incessant guitar playing. Maybe on the pot , too?
Haryana: Umm we are not talking about Arjun Rampal or Randeep Hooda. So nah, he would be ‘Tau’ ( Eeek) to many. Possibly, would lovingly ‘rape snakes’( wrap snacks) for me on his way home from work?
Uttar Pradesh: Very amorphous. Cannot pinpoint an identity on them. But, nah, they all eat ‘chaat’. And make that excitable sh-sh sound as they ask for extra paani while eating gol gappa.Totally un-macho!
Gujarat: To a die hard Coke ( the aerated drink, please) addict, I ‘d be terrified of his pronunciation of the drink…a ‘c’ is added before the ‘k’ and the ‘e’ is struck off. Remember the movie ‘Kal ho naa ho”? Oh yeah, this too http://youtu.be/9JY67OZ0fiE
Odisha: Jeez, ‘ghar ka murga dal barabar’! I hate ‘daal’ anyway!
Brother got tired out. Became philosophical and recounted with dejection how I had refused to marry a ‘prize catch’ of a guy way back. He still hadn’t gotten over what I had told my Dad then :” But, I can’t marry him Dad. He listens to songs of Mukesh and cries”.
Brother then passed out .My ‘sad’ fate and his utter helplessness to do anything about it cruelly accentuated the Patiaala pegs 😀
Shania Twain sings: http://youtu.be/mqFLXayD6e8
I dream of Jimmy Page 🙂