a grid locked corpus callosum

Which is as precise a description of my state of mind as I can come up with. Although, now that I think about it, I’m confused about why I feel it necessary to describe my state of mind. This is a blog, for sweet Gaia’s sake. There is absolutely no need for me to introduce myself.

Oh wait, I think I know why I feel the need to introduce myself. It isAngelaCarson’s fault. [http://angelacarson.wordpress.com/] I’ve been reading her blog and she does such a… well… the word perky comes to mind, perky job of letting folks know what it feels like to be an expat in Bengaluru, or B’luru as we older expats say. So very upbeat, positive, and yet, real way of saying things, has ourAngela. Makes me want to invite her to my parties, if I should ever have any. She sounds like she’d be a stone gas at parties.

In her latest blog Angela is rather bemoaning the fact that she doesn’t have any male friends qua friends. That is to say that the men she meets here in B’luru all seem to have but one thing in mind, or if they are well mannered, one goal. To the point that she wishes she could find a gay bar where she could have a beer with a man and not have to worry about his intentions. There is a suggestion in her plaint of things being different back home, in sunny SoCal, or its accented counterpart, Spain.

Now, aside from the fact that i’d be happy to step out of the closet if that would get  Angela  to split a pitcher with me, i need to disabuse her of one notion. American men are just as horny as Indian men. In the event of Indian-Americanness, the problem is compounded.

See –

Had we met, dear Angela, in a bar in San Diego, chances are we might have had a conversation. After all, both of us are traveled, have been expats in more than one country, (Cholula, Mexico, 4 years,), have daughters, are otherwise unencumbered (except of course for the various neuroses that are part of a peripatetic existence), enjoy a good turn on the dance floor and not really cared that you are probably taller than me. And in the course of the conversation had i evinced an interest in anything other than conviviality, and as an as-red-blooded-an-american-as-the-next-republican, be assured that there is an interest, you would have nipped it in the bud with your body language and language codes. You know the ones i mean – “”You are so easy to talk to” while leaning back in your seat, “Its just like talking to my brother”, sort of thing. And i’d read the signs, sigh, and change the subject to something more fraternal. I’d have assigned your perky good cheer to the essential Tuesday Weld in you and probably call for the check. Still interested but accepting rejection.

Now here, in B’luru, your perkiness is associated with the sort of spunky spirit shown by women of negotiable affections as they, uh, initiate negotiations. Your perkiness making you a sort of approachable Priety Zinta what with the openness of American women and all.This is a terrible state of affairs and imposes on your Right to be as damn perky as you want to be.But, That’s the wayit is, this 2011 day, Bengaluru, as Uncle Walter might have said, were he able.

Now, i’m not suggesting that you change your ways. I am suggesting however that you change the crowd you run with. Try the artists bars. The ones where India’s ill paid creativity hangs out. Oh the guys will be just as horny, but not necessarily for you.

I must agree with Ms. Carson on one point. There are not enough unescorted women in B’luru’s bars. And i do so miss the social company of women.