The Last Desi
For those of you that don’t know was a Desi is, it refers to someone from India, loosely translated. In some American movies, they’ll refer to the first generation child of Indian immigrants as an ABCD, American Born Confused Desi. This is the child that is so hell bent on seeming American that the parents fear the next generation will lose their culture.
So, for some reason, I’m a magnet for Indians. It used to be just black men, which might be explained that curves and curls. But in recent years, I’m the Desi magnet. Perhaps I might go out on a limb and say my pale skin isn’t hurting me in this sector.
The latest guy to disappear from my radar is who I have dubbed The Last Desi. He will be the last Desi I date. He entered Planet Andrea thanks to eHarmony. A friend of mine, not American, once said with great candor, “well grad school is your last option,” meaning that since I’ve tried Jdate, Match and eHarmony once each in the last seven years, I’ve exhausted the online world and graduate school is my last option for mating. I laughed because I know her and she means no harm. I’ve also learned that Americans are often more concerned about hurting people’s feelings, so they bend the truth. Not so with my friends Central and East Asia.
Anyway, back to The Last Desi. Let’s call him B. He was about 35, a 10-year veteran of NYC, MBA, sales strategy, and tall. Good looking and had a great tight little round ass. Always paid, was respectful, and still had manners. You don’t realize how nice it is until you’re with a guy that let’s you walk first in a narrow space or still holds doors. But as you can probably tell from the title, he is no more.
Just like in one episode of Sex and the City, when Carrie is wondering why Aiden doesn’t want the booty, I had to remind myself that it was good we’d been on six dates and he hadn’t tried to get in my pants. That was until I realized that the sixth date would be our last. I have no idea why. Sometimes, the most frustrating thing about dating in NYC is that you begin to realize most men are afraid of commitment despite the fact that most of us don’t want to marry most of them.
It’s as if it never occurred to them to say, I’m not ready for anything serious, but if you don’t mind dating and not being exclusive, let’s see where this goes? To that, I think many NYC women, who themselves have a BC (booty call) and a Plan B guy stored in their cell, would say sure. They would likely acquiesce because they aren’t monogamous themselves.
After a certain period out in the dating world, one realizes that monogamy only starts after a serious talk that usually requires the following phrase “do you want to be exclusive?” If you don’t hear that, he’s double dipping.
I assumed this of B because I assume it all of the men I’ve dated until which point we are talking multiple times a week and are exclusive. How do you know you really like someone in NYC? When you are willing to travel on the subway to another borough. I’m serious. You don’t go Brooklyn or upper Manhattan for just anyone!
With this guy, I just wanted to date someone with potential and he seemed to be baggage-free. Come on, it’s summer, it’s better to be dating in the summer and it’s unbelievable that men don’t understand that women who ultimately want to get married and have kids are equally concerned with finding a summer romance. The lack of communication on the part of the testosterone-driven near-humans that we share this planet with really kills most almost-relationships. So much so that the next guy I date, I might start our date with something like: “so listen, I’m not so into monogamy right now and I’m dating others and have a friends with benefits situation that is working out well now, so let’s just see what happens with us, no expectations, OK. I have a heavy work load and I’m working on a side business, so I don’t know how time I can commit. Cool?” I wouldn’t be surprised if this approach would result in more contact from a straight man than otherwise. Why? Everybody wants what they can’t have and what B taught me was that letting the man initiate all interaction is simply not enough to keep him chasing.
Let’s delve in. He was about 6’2”, lean, tight ass, decent job, smart, and into the indie shit. He also seemed to keep a decent distance between his life here and his family back home in India. This is a rare and good thing with a Desi in NYC. Now, these all seem like truly appealing characteristics until one is again alone and realizes that there are many men that would claim to embody said descriptors in NYC, San Francisco and Austin. I was after that former booty that I began to really like and that’s why it hurts. But, what hurts more is the confusing disappearing act.
B and I never spoke on the phone. We only emailed to set up the weekly date. I always let him send the email. I didn’t bother to call or text because I thought I’d really let this one breathe. He’d plan every date, occasionally grope, but never tried for the booty. This was a little perplexing, but hey, I’d come to think that even if I wasn’t the only one in his book, as he wasn’t my only option, the courting could be good.
So we’re a few months in and still no sex. Wow, I was proud of us! Of course I’m sure we each had action on the side, but that doesn’t count. It’s a Monday and we head to an indie movie. After he asks if I’m free to hang out Friday. I’m thinking wow 1) have I graduated beyond once-a-weekday date girl and 2) could Friday mean the door is open to sex? Women like sex too, right?? (Read: if you are a man in a committed relationship and you’re female partner doesn’t like sex, ask her to point out the clit and gspot next time. She might like sex more if she comes. And BTW, groaning does NOT mean she climaxed. Don’t you expect noise from someone if there’s something moving inside her?!)
So Friday comes along and no word. I sent a brief light email saying I thought I’d hear from him and I’m escaping cubicle hell and TGIF. Then I head for Tasty Delight and the magazine store and ring the longtime backup. He takes me to dinner and does what B never did—shags me. Meanwhile, on Monday, B responds, sorry, busy with work, made no plans, let’s hang out later this week. Fine, all is going along well. I’m thinking, could it be that I found a nice guy? Well, I quickly learned, no, I did not.
So we hang out again and then about a week later. I’m totally patting myself on the back for letting the once or twice a week email suffice for communication. Finally, we hang out Thursday before Memorial Day weekend. He is affectionate, smiles when we leave, but at one point during the date, I fear I’ve scared him because I- GASP-suggested we might one day cook dinner together. Here goes the male and female thought processes:
MAN—oh no, cook together, shit, she might really like me, she’s probably already naming our future children. Run, Run, RUN!!
WOMAN—If we cook we’ll be at his apartment and I’ll get to snoop for shit and get some real information on him and maybe, finally, have sex. You can tell a lot about a guy from his mail and medicine cabinet!
Well, by Tuesday we’re all recovering from the long weekend, back to our cells cubicles, and by Wednesday I’m wondering where this guy is. Remember, when we parted, he had a huge smile and usually, that’s not the face of a guy savoring your image ahead of the Big Bail. If you don’t know, the Big Bail is that moment when a guy that likes you for whatever reason decides he needs to leave and without saying anything, his face tells you that you will NEVER see him again. I’ve become quite adept at detecting that moment. I missed it here.
So I sent him a brief email on Wednesday. I knowingly broke The Rules but it was brief and light. It’s now a week later and I’ve deleted all contact from him. No word. No explanation. No nothing. In these moments, our family and married friends will still wonder if we are omitting parts of the truth or exaggerating. They will also secretly appreciate their somewhat dull marriages. They will also try to fix your life or more common, pity you. Pity is worse and usually leads to me hitting a punching bag and then drinking red wine while watching Basketball Wives. So after the disappearance, I’m sad, for about a day or two. Then I’m mad. WTF, I didn’t want a ring, I wanted to date someone!
And then I return to the idea that started it all, a pitch for polyamory. Some women will say they just date one guy and “keep their lives busy.” I have a FT job, my own website, a gym routine, a business plan in the works and two volunteer gigs. Those are all great but none replace the need for sex and romance. And funny how it’s always the coupled ones that say these things will fill the void. Try sleeping alone for eight months and then tell us how easy it us! Try waking up alone six out of seven nights a week for eight months and you too will trip and fall on the dick of an ex-lover you promised to never fuck again. Funny how five minute orgasms kill the ability to keep those promises.
And so we keep a virtual black book and get tested at each annual checkup. We have the freedoms our mothers didn’t—the decision to have a career, and/or a family, multiple partners, true financial freedom as women—but, we also have to watch out for assholes, STDs, and subtle pay discrimination. And that’s why we keep the BC around.
But as for Desis, well I’ve learned, finally, that the white girl is only good as a temporary option. One day, mommy will ask dear prized Desi boy if he has met anyone special and god forbid he says he met a 30-something independent Caucasian American girl. That is not a good thing to Momma Desi. And soon he’ll find a reason to keep me at a distance. It’s happened before.
It’s funny because I’ve had people, non-Jews, tell me, a reform Jew, that Jews like to “keep to themselves.” I started thinking of all the same race relationships but decided to remain silent. We all judge and some judgments are based on realities we’ve witnessed. But, generally, I think most stick to those from similar economic, religious or ethnic backgrounds. To prove this, I have experienced rejection from two mothers of former boyfriends/lovers. Indian mommy convinced an ex it wouldn’t work, lest he need to move back to the motherland. Funny how as he broke it off, he told me the next step would’ve been marriage. Funny how mommy came into the picture and suddenly I became a friend again. Korean mommy wasn’t thrilled either when the Jesus-loving hard working Seoul-based woman heard about the –GASP–white Jewish girlfriend.
And so what will does said girl do? Usually reasonable, I can only allow myself one Cheetos and Chunky Monkey binge session. No one wants a fat girl, right?! After that, I’ll do what any modern independent woman will do—turn to beauty, booze and sex to get over an almost-relationship lost. Hit a bar for sangria or dirty martinis with the girls. Plural. That’s the weekday solution. Weekend solution: get a mani/pedi and ring Mr. Booty Call. He’s good for one thing☺