Hurry up, love

Jeans and T-shirt it is. I land at the south Delhi bar-cum-restaurant around 11 pm on a Saturday. The rules are simple. I am supposed to meet eight men for eight minutes each. I am handed a score sheet with the names of all the eight. If I tick 8220;Yes8221;, it means I8217;d like to date them; 8220;No8221; means I wouldn8217;t like to hear from them again; 8220;Friend8221; means I8217;d like to stay in touch. So far, so good. The host rings a bell and we all settle down at our assigned places.

The first guy is the son of a state minister in Punjab. I know this because he mentions it thrice during our conversation. 8220;I have to enter politics eventually. So I8217;m having all the fun I can while I8217;m young,8221; he grins. Obnoxious brat, I think to myself. 8220;So, what are your hobbies?8221; he asks me. 8220;I enjoy reading, watching movies and listening to music,8221; I tell him. 8220;Reading? Boring. My hobbies are clubbing, driving sports cars and hunting.8221; 8220;Hunting? Animals?8221; I ask. 8220;Yes, my brother and I hunt animals when we visit our village. It8217;s a lot of fun. You should try it sometime,8221; he says. I tell him sternly that killing poor, harmless animals is not my idea of 8220;fun8221; and that he could go to jail for doing so. He laughs scornfully. The host rings the bell and signals the men to move to the next table. Still fuming at the first guy, I remain monosyllabic during the next eight-minute encounter.

Guy no. 3. For a moment, I think I am staring at a young Anil Kapoor. 8220;What8217;s yours name?8221; he says. It8217;s written on the sheet of paper that is in front of him, I am tempted to tell him. But instead I answer his question. 8220;Whats?8221; 8220;Ishita,8221; I repeat. 8220;Whats? Rishika? Beautiful, beautiful.8221;

Guy no. 4 is an overgrown seven-year-old and a self-proclaimed Wrestlemania addict. 8220;Do you watch wrestling?8221; he asks. 8220;I used to when I was eight,8221; I say. He looks hurt. I feel a little bad. Maybe the kid isn8217;t that bad after all. Now who were those wrestlers I had once spotted on TV? Ok, here goes. The Rock, HHH, Stone Cold Steve Austin and The Undertaker. His face lights up and he starts talking enthusiastically about a 8220;TLC Tables, ladders and chairs8221; match in which 8220;Edge and Christian defeated The Hardy Boyz8221;. The host rings the bell and announces a 15-minute break. It is past midnight and I frantically message Mandakini. I want to run away. She convinces me to stay 8220;You need your story8221;.

The next two men are unmentionable but Guy no. 7 is a miracle. He8217;s a 27-year-old British actor. He looks a bit like singer John Mayer, except that he has blue eyes and blonde hair. 8220;I8217;ve never really done this before, a friend of mine forced me to tag along with him,8221; he says. 8220;Me neither,8221; I give him a smile. So we talk about books, movies and music. We agree that Aldoux Huxley8217;s Brave New World was a better dystopian book than George Orwell8217;s 1984, that 24 is the most addictive TV show on earth, realise that both of us cried while reading the last chapter of The Great Gatsby, and we both love gummy bears. Dream man? The bell rings and I tick 8220;Friend8221;.

Last date is wearing a Ralph Lauren shirt and a flashy watch. He8217;s good-looking and smells nice, but I am completely drained. It8217;s past 1 am and I don8217;t feel like talking. 8220;So, are you from Delhi?8221; 8220;Yes,8221; I say. 8220;What school did you go to,8221; he asks, in an insipid tone. 8220;Carmel Convent,8221; I reply, in the same tone. 8220;My ex was in that school, her name is Ayesha,8221; he sighs. 8220;Which batch are you?8221; 8220;2002,8221; I offer. 8220;Oh, she passed out in 8217;99,8221; he says, dejectedly. He spends the next five minutes talking about her. When the the bell goes off, I tell him he should give his ex-girlfriend a call since he misses her so much. At least, someone should go home wiser.