An evening chez expats

So S. (le juif francais) called up and wanted to go out for dinner and then to a party for some expat friends who were leaving Bombay to go back to their respective countries. I said yes because I had nothing else to do than have dinner with someone who claims to find me cute but is equally repulsed by my intelligence and lack of I'm-just-looking-for-a-casual-fuck 'ness. And Saturday nights watching NDTV's breaking news about what Monica Bedi wore to her interrogation pale in comparison to going to a party where I knew NOBODY.

So off I toodle off to Pot Pourri where I discuss Paris riots and my life with M. to someone who compliments me on looking like the cutest person at the restaurant (not surprising seeing as the only other people there were a huge Sindhi family and a couple of wannabe models - all bonded hair and pouts) and in the same breath asks me if I have any friends I want to pass off for a quick fuck. Honestly, I'm such a masochist. Every breath in me screams to me that I'm worth more than this but the sheer lack of anything else to occupy my time makes me sit through conversations like this and grin through it all. Though the non-date'ish conversations with S. are actually fun. Not that this was a date by the way. It has been made amply clear to me that I'm only friend-worthy and not fuck-worthy (I'd say sponge-worthy but not sure how many non-Seinfeld'ians will get that).

Then off we go to this expat party thing. In a HUGE apartment off Linking Road in Bandra. To someone who grew up in a 400 sq. foot house, the sheer luxury of 3 bedrooms and an open terrace is like paradise (You may keep your 72 virgins, my paradise is an apartment with a room to myself...and all the Thums Up I can drink). The house was unbelievably beautiful, the furniture was contemporary and the open kitchen was a dream come true (The appliances! Did I mention the appliances!!). It almost felt like I was stepping into one of those Brookline condos I used to go check out on Sunday mornings when I lived in Boston..except this was in des!

Most of the expats there were European..I mean almost all of them. Couple of Americans (I just realized how much I missed hearing a real, honest-to-God Boston accent) there but most were French with a couple of Belgians, Dutch and Norwegians (Or is that Norse?). Lingua france there? French. Even the few desis there spoke French. As did I ... sounding like a mildly retarded Quebecois. Seriously, listening to a question in rapid-fire French, translating it into English in your head, processing it, translating back and then trying to be gramatically correct in French? All in 10 seconds? It's hard! Hence the pitying looks I got when I uttered such gems as (En anglais) "Yes. I lives here in Bandra many years since my house is here" and "I am in Boston for 8 years and I am happy to be in Bombay now" and "But yes! I am liking the wine much and am drinking it everyday with many peoples". But honestly, my franglais paled in comparison to the Hindi most of them have picked up in months of living in Bombay. Sample this : "Seedha" (Straight), "Gadha" (Donkey), "Kitna" How much?, "Bahut khush" Very happy.

Now tell me who sounds more retarded?

But the music was good (Arabic/French and Euro house), the hosts were awesome (made me feel like they knew me all their lives) and I felt very very much in need of some Fair and Handsome. I'm wheatish (that deliciously quaint desi word to mean I'm marriagable) but in front of assorted Teutons and Franks, I'm positively brown. Not the light-brown Bournvita colour, more like the Cafe Coffee Day Mocha with the dark rich chocolate veins running through it. I had a mild crisis when I wondered who would marry me since I was so dark and ugly.. and then I realized I was gay. The Government won't let me marry the man I love and the man I love doesn't want me anyway. Hooray!

*rubs fairness cream into cheeks*

The differences between all-desi parties and all-firang ones?
Desi party: Samosas, chips, pani puri, assorted farsan, coke/pepsi/etc., beer
Firang party: Vodka

Desi party: Women in tight tops, short skirts and impossibly high heels
Firang party: Women in salwar kameez and bindis.

Desi party: Gossip and bitching
Firang party: Inconsequential talk while all the time picturing other person naked in bed.

Desi party: Party games (shudder!)
Firang party: Bring out the hash and weed and life is a party!

Desi party: Everyone macks on the single firang who wandered in
Firang party: The desis are there to answer questions about India

But all in all, thanks to some very gracious hosts and some very nice people I met (all from the French Trade Commission..man! they're friendly!), I actually had a pretty good Saturday night. Drank some wine, boogied to Abdel Khader and Alabina and walked home alone while some drunk in a car yelled out "Woohoo! Sexy man!" at me.

Good times!

Current Music:
Laissez-moi danser - Dalida

This would be the quintessential drag queen song. Oh wait! It IS the quintessential drag queen song beating out such hits as "Thank you for the music" by Abba and "It's raining men".