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If you are a regular reader of my blog I’m sure you will be happy to learn that in January – after about 18 months – I finally met a SINGLE smart, handsome Indian power guy (ahhhh the best kind!
) who I basically fell head-over-heels coo coo for ‘at first sight’ and we started dating.
All things said and done, even though I have no idea what our future holds, I don’t regret a moment of it and I love the way I feel …
both about him and the general aura of being a woman in love. Do not reproduce any part of this article without the author’s permission.
He felt the same way and for a few weeks we dated, spending every possible moment together getting to know each other.
In the end, I don’t know what will happen with us and if we have a future because we live very far away from each other – but two interesting things happened while dating an Indian man for the second time since moving to Bangalore that have really made me stop and think … First, it was great to realise that not all Indian men are afraid to be with a white, divorced women for fear of what their parents will say.
I noticed her stop so I looked up, and she turned to her daughter and said something along the lines of “ohhh, look at him trying out a gori’ loud enough for us to hear across the room.
Then she proceeded to point, bring in what looked like her sister into the gossip-fest … She stared with a look of disgust at me and continued to gossip to each family member as they filed by, pointing and judging us. I had a pashmina around me, no skin was showing except from around the collar bone up to my neck and I looked ‘nice’ and moderately conservative so it wasn’t my attire.
All this time I sort of thought that if I were younger, or maybe if I’d never been married, or if I didn’t have my lovely daughter in her last year of high school that maybe I could have a relationship with an Indian man.I was sat next to my ‘power guy’ on the same side of the table – instead of across from each other – at the quaint and lovely North-West Indian restaurant Samarkhand, enjoying some wine and their damn tasty lamb chops.A large table of 10 guests across the room stood up and one by one started making their way for the door when the ‘mom’ spotted us sitting close to each other and chatting.After a spell, I stared hard right back, waved to them (though I had considered flipping her the bird, I did decide to take a classier approach to the situation).That sort of broke it up and they continued out the door.
I am used to being stared at simply in their sweet pink sarees, to little girls who wave as they pass by me, to uni students or power women and, of course, most Indian men who spot me.