Are you politically-inclined or a poet?
This is a topic I got from one of my second dates. Let me back up a bit and start from the beginning though.
I went on a blind date and the guy was distinguishable from other guys I have met in that he had very similar views as mine on most topics and we did not end up arguing and setting the tone for our relationship on the first date. Not only that, we had very dissimilar views on topics that I had always found hard to disagree with others, vis-à-vis, weather. When we went for a walk on the pier, I thought it was chilly and he said he was stupefied on hearing that and would have fished out his phone to check the temperature for me but that would be horrid date manners. He then closed the zipper of his jacket and moved around me so that I was facing the breeze from the sea.
On second date, we again started talking about different things: on cooking as a leisure, writing classes, reading habits, interacting with new people, dislike for formal events, and on and on. Of course, it got a bit boring — because there was no blood boiling and I did not get any chance to sneer and smirk under the breath of my wine because we mostly agreed — it almost felt like two sisters catching up. As such, I could sense the urge brewing inside me to sense the slightest disagreement on his behalf so that I could push back my chair, stand up, hop on the table sitting between us, and start pulling his hair, yelling, “How could you ever think that?”
Sisters are too much that way. I gather from the plethora of YouTube videos on the topic that they always fight about everything in sight (chronologically, starting in the formative years): pencil, swings, mom, dad, face-wash, dresses, friends, another pencil. I held this view close to my heart, but then two sisters never fail to surprise. I was recently talking to a cousin who also happens to be an elder sister to another cousin of mine. She was seething in anger and lamenting her husband in front of me and touching upon other anger management topics, she told me that she had not talked with the younger sister for over 11 months now. She told me how pathetically immature the sister was. I nodded in agreement, and this triggered yet another bout of anger, and I barely escaped with a wobbling head still tethered to my neck.
I started rueing to my date how I was not at all into sci-fi and felt that I was missing out on something ‘yuge’, as if I am not “in” on the thrill. One day, I was feeling at the rock-bottom because I had ordered an inflatable mattress on Amazon and it had come without the air pump and then I ordered the air pump which was delivered without the batteries. I declared that human beings keep discovering new sore points at a speed higher than they can solve them. I still have the deflated air mattress and the air pump waiting to be called to duty. So, I decided that I would go to a writing meet-up to make fun of people who look sadder than me. It turned out 80 percent of the people there wrote sci-fi, and I did not have a category for my profound wisdom. They asked whether I write fiction, I said no, I write nothing but the reality of my life. They said it is non-fiction then — I said I am not sure if the essays would help anyone. Then they asked the person next to me how his comic book was coming along.
It was beyond my comprehension why I was not into sci-fi considering that I have always found solace in shutting out reality. My imaginary mom used to prophesy that I would open a cupcakes shop in rose-colored and ivory décor when I would sit looking at the books in a bookshop along with a chocolate cake. I’d wish that there were Rocky Mountains visible at the horizon outside the window and an amber fire to spread the warmth around while we sat in our antique chairs with blankets on our knees. My real mom had no idea what was going on in my head during those hot summer months in India where everything was either dripping or dried up because of the heat and I laid on bed in air-conditioned room all day long.
Given the situation, why wouldn’t I read sci-fi? He (my real date) asked — do you like fantasy?
I said I loved Harry Potter if that is what he meant; but I am not too keen on Game of Thrones. I am not super excited by the premise of it. I have a friend who talks about it so passionately, about the fight between made-up kingdoms and I just didn’t care about the doomed kingdoms and their fluffy, frothy babies. It was similar for games: I am interested in Kinect Adventures and Pictionary kind of games, but I like to call a bad headache out of games like Bang! and online games where you are supposed to build empires, trade horses and gold, and then fight later.
I wanted to go on to tell him about the time we played charades in a train, but he interrupted me by remarking that it was getting chilly. Then his eyes widened and stared at the candle in front of us and said: Ahem — all I meant was that I understand that you are astonished that you don’t like sci-fi.
Me: I wouldn’t say astonished, just a little musing. You know, I don’t cudgel my brains about it.
Him (rather shortly): Do you like Politics? Do you follow it?
That got me thinking. I follow the news because I think it is something that I am supposed to do and to carry around an appearance of being intellectual and keen enough. Don’t get on high horse and smirk! — Everyone has that desire. What else would explain a teammate ruining a perfectly fine summer evening backyard party at Manager’s home by asking: “What are your views on the state of infrastructure in our company as compared to your last company?” In an event like this, it comes handy that I glean at daily headlines, because I can always pitch in and steer away the conversation by saying, “Did you see what Trump said …?”
He said that I have a lot to say for a writer.
I came back home from the date — not the backyard party because it was months ago and I am not into time travel — and thought that I needed more poetic friends. The people I mostly hang around with, are political. It excites them to chase power, to follow the power play between nations, to see the play out of dynamics between leaders, people. No wonder they think I am a cuckoo.
So, now my Bumble-BFF profile reads “Are you politically-inclined or a poet?” and it’s been 3 months that I have not heard back anything.
