On free-loading, manipulative women...

Ah. A good night of dancing is almost like a good orgasm. And then perhaps not, you can dance in public, you know. Two posts coming out, one relatively smaller while the other is loooong. Hmmm…. Funny thing is, I started writing the longer post first, and midway through it, was suddenly struck by some stuff so wrote out the second one, which you will read first.

Free-loaders and Delhi, there is a definite congenital connection there. And you don’t have to belong to the press to freeload off someone else… like I have often seen my brethren do… Order a bottle of wine when it’s a white-rum-only night, come with their entire families for a food review, take home a carton of cigarettes when a packet was offered, ASK for free gifts… My professional fraternity can at times make me cringe. I don’t know why I have this, this morbid fear of anything FREE. I do remember Dad saying, “Never accept anything free. Your papa can get you what you want.” In adult life it has translated into “I can get myself what I want.” Mom says that even as a kid, I had never, NEVER thrown a tantrum demanding things. Hmmm.

And I think THAT is my problem, that I don’t know how to freeload. Or “be” high maintenance. Or take a guy for a ride and make him pay. I just get embarrassed. Damn, maybe I should learn how to make men ‘pay’. I have seen women hang out with guys because, “I want to go to a certain place and the guy wants to take me out and pay for me…so why not? And so what if I don’t like him?”

So then she will go out with the guy and perhaps pretend to be interested while she would check out other people. Or network and leave the guy standing alone. Some of these chicks let the guys paw them. So you would see a very uninterested chick and this guy’s hands going around her waist etc. Or you will see the chick doing her groove-thing on the dance floor, checking out if others are checking her out, all this while there is the guy – obscure looking fellow him usually – will be trying to grind his crotch into her. She is least bothered and behaves as if its her pet dog trying to hump her leg. The dud of course thinks he is ‘dirty dancing’….

And sometimes, like right now, at 4.45 am, when am sitting waiting for the municipal water supply that has been missing for 12 days now… I miss Him. So much. I am ashamed of myself for missing Him. Because apparently ‘emancipated’ me is not supposed to miss him. He has done ugly things to me. I have done nasty things to him, but he has done uglier things. And yet… while I remember only the bad things about other relationships…and despite Him being the HARDEST bastard I have ever dated… I SO miss Him. And I just CANNOT delve on the bad things…I remember the fun things, silly things, adventurous things, trippy things… despite the fact that he did me in. Nearly. And yet I miss Him, not sex, not anything else, just Him. Like when I notice these weird things happening at parties and dos… I miss him. Because I would have noticed all happening around while doing our own thing on the dance floor, and would have poked Him to point it out and spoilt His trip. In a good mood, He would nod indulgently and go right back to grooving. On bad days, which was usually, he would growl and scowl at me. Ha ha. And I would be thrilled – baby, I got your attention na! But then, you never did see that, did you? Maybe because I used to be fat then.

Anyway, coming back… so these women hang with guys to pay for their night outs. I find these chicks strange and formidable. Yes, formidable. Because though I might sound judgmental here, I am not trying to be. Because honestly, I marvel at these women and their kind of bravado that makes them such good cock teases. Yes, I don’t think the Crotch Grinding Guys get laid. They just pay for the girls and the girls go home (are dropped back usually). The girls are getting smarter, you know. So I marvel at how these women can tolerate these duds. I would rather call a cab, pay for my drinks, smoke my own cigarettes — (unless the god-darned bar stacks ONLY ultra-milds, like Ministry of Sound, Delhi; that place sucks) — than suffer the company of these men.

Also, not all guy-girl associations are like this. Friends pay for each other too. And then are cases like me, who, because of their paranoia, just cannot let anyone (say a guy friend am hanging out with) pay for me. So when a well-meaning guy friend does it too often – and I cannot stop him because I KNOW he is just being nice and not trying to take me to bed or something – I begin avoiding that friend. Somehow, the moment my guy friends behave sweetly with me, I get scared and run away or push them away. Or I ensure that I never go “to” a party with my guy friends… I will meet a thousand people at a place, but wont go as anyone’s date. I am no one’s date, thank-you. Well, honestly… I am just TOO chicken about getting into any complications right now.

MAN! How things change… five years back, the world (and men) were a happier place and people because I sought out ‘complications’ to divert my mind from my woes. Yeah, I thoroughly enjoyed getting into ‘complications’… “Hint, hint!” Hah, I could easily write the word instead of ‘complications” but currently, I am feeling bitchy and am masquerading as another good-girl-cannot-decide-if-she-wants-to-fuck-or-what blogger who INSISTS that I need writing workshops. Yawn.

Now I look around, and blog and dance by myself and get REALLY irritated if someone interferes between me and the music when on the dance floor. No complications needed and please do not disturb while crazy-dancing…. Except if it is Could-Be-Trouble.I don’t lust for him, honest to god, I don’t! But… but HELL, I am SO aware of him that I have no other words to describe the feeling, the SENSE of him except for… I am SO aware of him. I think of him at least once everyday, or maybe it’s alternate days. Not in any particular way, just think of him. And before, ass that I am, I get descriptive about him and declare to the world who he is… I shall shut up.

I am getting bloody fond of Could Be Trouble, which is funny, given that I hardly know him. Or hardly meet him. And I am weirdly possessive about this absolute strange feeling that I have, because I know nothing is ever going to happen. Not even just taking off together for a day or two, trippy music and both of us, shooting pictures maybe. His vision and mine. Impossible, uh uh, not happening. Because he is, well.. I just hope she does NOT sing. That will break my heart.
And I just realized, as I am writing this, that I have spoken about two men in less than 15 minutes (it is now 5.10am). Hmmm. Wow! At least I am not mooning over ONE guy, that is always bad news. Hmm.
But what if there was a toss…who would I choose? The Unknown or the Untouchable?
PS: Laughs at herself and says, you really need to look up the meaning of ‘complications’.