I’ve agreed to meet someone via the e-list. Seeing as I didn’t get laid in London despite two Gaydar dates, this is the next best thing. I’m beginning to feel guilty about my fleeting, sexless visits to the gay hedonistic capitals of the West. In a curious reversal, London is dominated now by the baggage of ex lovers and family and Delhi is where I am free.
We’re meeting in my local Barista in the early evening. I’m trying not to become too frazzled by domestic water and power issues, trying to maintain my cool, ditch my cold and fight off jet-lag. If we can meet by 6 as planned, I’ll be fine. However there are sms’s and phone calls to the contrary. Can we meet later? Can we meet another day?
This is not looking good. Why did I agree to this? I’ve thought about this encounter for nine hours on a plane. If it’s not going to happen this evening, it’s not going to happen at all. I’m trying not to feel irritated by gay Delhi’s latest closet of the internet and mobile phone. Finally by 9, I’m unwisely pushing for us to meet at home, not fancying another pointless visit to Barista in my increasingly jet-lagged state.
The bell rings. He’s not what I expected at all. At least he’s not in his twenties. We talk for a longer time than usual. I find out, that like me, he’s also been recently dumped and we’re both in an emotional free-fall. I was expecting to offer him support, but I think he might offer me some in return. He’s struck a chord in me. It’s what they call chemistry. This is not just any old meeting, I’ve met someone!