If you are a regular reader of my blog I’m sure you will be happy to learn that in January – after about 18 months – I finally met a SINGLE smart, handsome Indian power guy (ahhhh the best kind!
) who I basically fell head-over-heels coo coo for ‘at first sight’ and we started dating.
Obviously I haven’t dated much in India, two men isn’t enough to make a truly convincing case on the subject, so my experience level is low.
But I hear time and time again from dear friends who really do LIKE me as a person and care about me something along the lines of “Indian men want to take a foreigner out for a drive but they will drive home an Indian woman to marry.” So that mixed with my first experience dating an Indian man who told me straight-up from the start that we “have no future” because of the pressure from his family and the media due to his profession …
well, it was a nice change of pace to be with someone who told me he had no issue with that at all.
All this time I sort of thought that if I were younger, or maybe if I’d never been married, or if I didn’t have my lovely daughter in her last year of high school that maybe I could have a relationship with an Indian man.
The white women in their 20s and early 30s who I know don’t seem to have any problem.
But it just turns out that I haven’t met the right Indian man for ME yet.
Feelin’ pretty good about that realisation I’ve gotta say because I do love this country and I sort of thought there was no relationship hope for me if I stayed.
The second thing that happened really took me by surprise.
I am used to being stared at simply in their sweet pink sarees, to little girls who wave as they pass by me, to uni students or power women and, of course, most Indian men who spot me.
Normally it never bothers me at all but this time it did.
I was sat next to my ‘power guy’ on the same side of the table – instead of across from each other – at the quaint and lovely North-West Indian restaurant Samarkhand, enjoying some wine and their damn tasty lamb chops.