Before I left the US for India, I set a very important condition for myself: I promised myself that these five months would be completely romance-free. No flirting, no coffee dates, nothing physical, and absolutely, positively no relationships. These things just brought unwanted stress, something which I figured I would already have more than enough of just learning to live in a foreign country. Not to mention, freeing myself from college hookup culture and the GW dating scene would allow me more time to reflect on myself and my experiences in India.
But the truth is, I'm a romantic through and through. I love the playful back and forth of flirting, and I thrive on the mystery of would-be love affairs. Honestly, I was probably lying to myself the whole time I made those promises about avoiding any kind of romantic intrigue. And while I did manage to hold it together for a full two months, I can't say I was particularly disappointed (or even actively resisting) when an opportunity arose for me to get a glimpse of dating in India.
Last week, I wrote about my inadvertent flirtation with a few male classmates, and the stalker-esque Facebook messages, overly excited greetings, and date proposal that followed. This last occurrence was simultaneously the most concerning and the most exciting. On the one hand I hated myself for foolishly being so open with my male classmates, particularly the seemingly non-traditional Kartik -- after all, how many times had my program leaders and host brother warned me that most Indian college guys had a much broader definition of flirting than American ones did? But on the other hand, the idea of experiencing a date in the Indian context intrigued me. Considering how vastly different social norms are here than in the US, I had a feeling this wouldn't be remotely similar to the run-of-the-mill American coffee date, and I was curious to see what format it would take. Besides, dating in the US had always frustrated and exhausted me with its small talk and superficiality; maybe I'd actually...enjoy dating in India?
I left Kartik that day still uncertain of whether or not I would meet him the next afternoon; luckily for me, the first major difference between an American date and an Indian date that I noticed was the complete lack of a concrete meeting time. There wasn't even a rough time to work with; instead I received something more along the lines of "If you're free tomorrow afternoon, just drop by the studio, and if I'm here and I'm free, then we'll go." Without his phone number, email, or any other method by which to contact him, I was fairly worried that the two of us would just miss each other should I actually decide to go. However, the ambiguity enabled me to think the whole thing over a bit more. All the way home I weighed the pros and cons of meeting up with him. Pro: learn more about Indian youth culture. Con: potentially cause an entire semester of awkward art history classes. Pro: finally find the elusive Mushroom Rock on campus. Con: inadvertently lead a genuinely nice guy astray. Pro: Kartik was friendly, witty, good-looking...As that thought crept into my mind I realized that I was forgetting the most important factor in deciding whether or not to go on a date with someone: the person himself. Maybe it was okay if I wanted to go on this date because of Kartik too, and not just as some ethnographic study in the dating habits of Indian college students.
Once I accepted that I was actually genuinely interested in Kartik, and not Indian youth culture, my excitement started building. I promised myself that despite my nervousness (and the very real possibility that the lack of planning would cause some sort of time or place mix-up) I would get myself over to campus the next day and go through with this thing. I became more and more nervously excited, and I wondered why I hadn't realized from the very start that maybe flirting with Kartik could be a good thing.
After what seemed like an agonizingly long twenty-four hours, I found myself walking into the printmaking studio at the school of fine arts, heart pounding as I scanned the room for a pair of aviator specs. I caught Kartik's eye and he waved me over, telling me it'd be just a second before we were on our way. I attempted to casually look around the studio as he grabbed his keys and went over to talk to one of our classmates, a shy girl who often sat next to me named Anjali. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he rattled something off to her in Malayalam, the language of the Indian state of Kerala where both of them are from, and caught the phrase "Mushroom Rock" and a quick gesture in my direction. "Chalo! Let's go Meghan!" he called over his shoulder. I followed him outside to the rain-soaked courtyard where we had parked our cycles.
"Let's wait just a few minutes, I asked Anjali to come with us," he said, not quite meeting my eyes as he unlocked his cycle. I froze, my stomach turning as my mind worked over this information. Oh my god, I read this situation totally wrong, I thought. This was not a date. Anjali was undoubtedly the most gorgeous girl of all the first-years in the art department, with silky black hair, big eyes and a shy, sweet smile; not to mention she had a charming little laugh and was an extremely talented artist. Boys don't just invite absolutely incredible girls along to third-wheel on a first date with someone else. As Anjali skipped out of the building to meet us with a big smile on her face and Kartik laughed and teasingly called out to her in Malayalam, I actually started to wonder if maybe I was the one third-wheeling on their love fest.
The three of us got on our cycles and rode off down the road towards the jungle area behind the fine arts school, and as Kartik and Anjali chatted with each other in rapid-fire Malayalam I mentally cursed myself for being so naive. I had gone and gotten myself so excited, convinced that this boy had to be interested in me, when he and -- was she his girlfriend???? -- Anjali were probably just being nice to the awkward foreign girl who didn't have any real friends. Once again, I had proven myself completely incapable of understanding social cues here on any level. Though I had made no indication to either of them that I had expected to be going on a first date, I was terribly embarrassed.
"Poor Meghan, she must be bored out of her mind. We should be speaking English!" Kartik exclaimed, grinning back at me. I shrugged. "It's okay, Malayalam's beautiful, so I don't mind listening even if I have no idea what you're saying." Kartik shook his head. "No, no, this is about you. English it is."
As the conversation thankfully switched back to my comfort zone, I learned that Anjali wouldn't be on campus the whole next week. "Oh no! Why are you leaving?" I cried. Despite my fear that for the past two weeks I had been flirting with the boy she was dating, Anjali was one of my favorite people on campus and I desperately wanted to be her friend. And now, just as I was getting to know her, she was vanishing.
In classic Anjali fashion she simply giggled shyly and shrugged. "Oh, she never hangs out with us if she can help it," Kartik chimed in smartly. "She's always running off on the weekends to meet some friend or relative out of town." I glanced over at Anjali, whose pretty cheeks were turning a ruddy shade of pink.
"No, no, not true!" she squeaked with another giggle. "Meghan, Kartik's lying. I'm going back to Kerala this week to visit my husband."
It took every bit of strength I had not to lose hold of my cycle handles and swerve off the path into the dense bamboo forest. "Wait, you're....married?" I croaked, hoping the shock, confusion, and utter relief weren't too apparent in my tone of voice. She nodded. "Yes, and my husband still lives in Kerala. This is the longest we've been apart since we got married last year and I want to visit him."
I probably made some kind of polite comment about how nice it was that she'd be going home to see her husband, or how I hoped she had a lovely trip, or how I'd miss seeing her in class the next week. But inside I was grinning, jumping for joy, and dying of laughter all at once. Because yet again, I had failed to understand the social situation I had gotten myself into. Anjali wasn't my competition, and she definitely wasn't dating Kartik, that much was certain. As I watched the two of them interact the rest of the afternoon, it became increasingly apparent that Kartik's teasing toward Anjali wasn't that of a boyfriend, but that of a brother. And it also became apparent that Anajali took a step back so that Kartik and I could talk, acting as the buffer during an awkward silence or whispering some clever jab at Kartik into my ear when he wasn't looking. But she didn't play the third-wheel. Rather, she acted as chaperone. Why hadn't it occurred to me that it would have been incredibly improper, even creepy in the Indian context, for Kartik to take me out into the woods alone, even if it was daytime and we were on campus? In the US that might have seemed totally innocent, but here that would have been read as entirely scandalous and overly forward. Anjali, the quiet, married, sisterly figure, made the whole thing acceptable, and saved both Kartik's and my reputations.
Although I had an amazing time that afternoon, our foray to Mushroom Rock mostly left me with more questions than answers: did Kartik's hand linger on mine after he helped me onto the rock, or had I imagined it? When he invited me to his house in Kerala, was that as suggestive as it sounded? But in the end, I forced myself to quiet my mind, to just stop thinking about everything for once. Because in India, anything can happen; the only predictable thing is that you can't really predict anything at all. So instead of worrying about translating actions and words into meanings I could understand, I decided to just enjoy the beauty of feeling for once as we flew back downhill on our cycles, a flurry of indecipherable Malayalam ringing beautifully in my ears.