Column

Dating in Mumbai is like checking your wardrobe before an evening out. Both are full of options in theory and woefully inadequate in reality. It’s an inescapable urban truth; when push comes to shove, a single girl has nothing to wear and no one to date. Lately, every time I meet a single girl, the conversation quickly veers past the best shoe sales in town, last Saturday night at Wink and the upcoming American holiday, and hits brass tacks, “So, any new man on the scene?” And the unanimous wail arising over countless martini and wine glasses is, “There are no nice men left!”

Singlehood in this Maharashtrian Manhattan isn’t the dating heaven Hollywood rom-coms are made of. If one has grown up in Mumbai and gone to one of the ten decent schools and/or five decent colleges in the city, then despite the 15-million population statistic, chances are that everyone knows everyone through two degrees of separation and no one ever meets anyone completely new. Anyone somewhat interesting has fled to foreign shores (and is trickling back if at all with wife in tow) and the remaining ones can be safely categorised into two slots; the Nice Bores or Interesting Rogues.

Recently I met a guy at a friend’s wedding who hadn’t lived in this city for the last 5 years and looked like he had some potential. Well, that’s before my school friend who was browsing through the wedding pictures on Facebook identified him as the horror who had been dating her roommate a year ago, and had broken her heart and self-esteem through a long-distance break-up. Eww!

If spontaneous coincidences turn out to be lemons then set-ups get even worse. A friend of mine got set up to meet a guy through family friends, and a couple of dinners down he seemed funny, well-mannered, sensitive and urbane. It all looked well till she discovered that one of her work acquaintances was his ex-girlfriend and apparently that relationship had been shelved due to. . . errr . . .certain size concerns!

Maybe we girls are partly to blame for this. Sandwiched between our busy work schedules, gym, spa and salon sessions, and family and friend dos, we have no time left to venture out of our comfort zone and into the Wild, Wild West of the dating jungle. I mean if we’re going to spend all our daylight hours with the bland yuppies at work and me-time with the same old friends we’ve been hanging with since diaper days, how in heaven’s name do we expect to meet anyone new?

So I tried to buck the in-breeding trend of my dating karma and go for the out-of-towners.

A couple of years ago, at a work trip to Jaipur, happenstance got me introduced to Mr Dreamboat. He was good-looking, soft-spoken, sophisticated and considerate. It didn’t hurt that he was some sort of minor prince (aren’t they all, in Rajasthan?) and was turning his haveli into a resort (don’t they all?). It was too good to be true and I was almost about to extend my stay in Jaipur at his charming insistence when I happened to get a call from a friend of mine who’s a Rajput and apparently clued into to everyone and every piece of gossip in the community. The minute she heard the guy’s name and details she ordered me to get on the next flight home.

Apparently Mr Dreamboat was too good to be true; he had neatly forgotten to mention that he had an ex-wife tucked away somewhere who he used to slap around with charming regularity! Needless to say I took the first flight home and since then I never add anyone as a friend on Facebook, GoogleTalk or MSN that I don’t know from somewhere or through someone I know.

I can’t say I have given up on the thrill of strangers entirely, but a little bit of familiarity doesn’t breed as much contempt now.

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