Twice the Fun - 1
The Introductions
About a Common Whore is still an ongoing story and there’s much more to tell you about Roli. However, for the past few weeks, I had been a little slow. Over the weekend, I went to Goa with Nidhi. I know, it’s not the best time for Goa, but we both needed a break from the city and work. It was an intimate trip. I didn’t get any time to be sober and continue the story about Roli. Instead, I made notes about another thing that happened the weekend before — a double date.
I usually conclude a story from Dominoes of Desire (fictional stories), before starting a story series for The Escapades (non-fiction). But, I don’t want the story about Tara and Khushi to get stale. I won’t preface this story series further, except that it’s about a double date. Tara, Me, Khushi and Aniket. Two’s a company, Four’s a crowd. It was a fun crowd, to say the least.
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1
Dating is horrible. There’s catfishing, ghosting, and of course, the good old-fashioned rejections. All these years on this Blue Dot and still, it hurts, if a girl texts back “not interested”. But there’s an addictive thrill to it. Dating girls is not only about sex. It’s about polishing yourself, of finding a version of yourself that best suits the date. For one girl, you have to be fun and superficial and for the other, you have to take everything seriously. For one you have to be a fuckboi and for the other, you have to be a hopeless romantic.
It’s dishonest. Sure. But I already have Nidhi for whom I wear my heart on my sleeve.
A couple of weeks ago, while browsing through profiles on Bumble, I got the notification of a match with Tara. I checked the message that I had sent her. It was a rather quaint compliment about her hair. In her dating profile photos, Tara had curly hair, which she wore loose up to her shoulders. I especially liked the one in which she was wearing a plain white tee shirt, tucked inside a pair of blue denim jeans. She had her hands pocketed and looked at the camera tilting her head. The background wasn’t Bombay, probably a hill station. The Sun hit her face, just right to highlight her light brown eyes.
I sighed, before texting her “Love your hair! Hopefully we get to chat a bit”. I had shaken my head, at the unlikelihood of Tara ever replying.
She was 21, still in college, studying Law at GLC. And she was pretty. Those girls usually don’t scroll through their messages and see a message from a man who 10 years her senior and think “I should text him back.”
I had forgotten about Tara until my phone buzzed with a notification of Tara replying.
“Thanks,” she had replied.
“Hey hey. Glad you saw this message. Lemme know when’s a good time to text,” I replied.
It was a sluggish conversation. We texted back and forth on Bumble, sometimes hours apart, before I told her that it’d be nice if we connected on Instagram. She said yes, and sent me her handle. I sent her a follow request and it took her two days to approve it. But it was worth the wait.
I have been with younger girls, but Tara wasn’t just young, she was full of life. I know, it sounds superlative, but every photo, every Reel, and every saved status, was about Tara laughing. Her teeth were perfectly straight, and white, a contrast to her dark skin. Her lips were thick and sensuous.
Whenever she smiled, her cheekbones went up, and you could feel the warmth of her smile, even through the photos. I didn’t know what she sounded like, but I could imagine her having a sweet and infectious laughter. And the eyes. Her laughter always reached her eyes. Light brown and yet, they always seemed to hide a joke or a secret.
Tara was pretty. The way she kept her hair, always loose, always curly, framed her jaws just the right way. In some of her silent status videos, she will simply look at the camera, and shake her head, as if saying no, and her hair moved, bobbing about. It was mesmerizing to watch her doing that.
Her body, well, for a girl who posted often, Tara’s dressing style was rather subdued. She wore a mix of classic elegance and edgy streetwear. Sometimes, she will be in a fitted kurta, and other times, in a casual top and jeans
I spent almost half an hour, scrolling through her photos, reading the comments, and just staring at her photos. It was only when I have had enough of her photos that I texted Tara on Instagram.
The conversation on Insta was much smoother than on Bumble, well at least much more continuous.
“I would love to meet you. I have the entire Friday evening empty,” I texted.
She started typing and didn’t reply. I waited, controlling the urge to add something to make it sound more casual, to appear cool if she said no. I was having my dinner when Tara replied.
“Sure. But what will we do for an entire evening,” she replied.
“The Classics — I pick you up around 6. Then we go to a mall. I think Phoenix is near your place. We can have some coffee, and walk around. And if you can tolerate me, we can have dinner, and maybe even a late-night movie,” I wrote. Well, I wanted to reply instantly, but it took some time for me to type all that. Tara replied a little later.
“Woah. That is a long commitment. I am not sure I can do that now,” she replied.
I sighed, before typing, “Yeah it is. But then again, it’s a mall. You can uber out whenever you want to. It’s just a lot of bandwidth to play with,” I replied and kept my phone away.
I finished the last of my dinner, rinsed the dishes, and lit a cigarette by the window. I am trying to cut down on smoking. So, instead of two full packets of cigarettes, I smoke only one.
My phone was still at the dining table. It buzzed, but I decided to finish my cigarette before reading Tara’s reply.
It has gotten much too hot for March. I tapped the ash off the cigarette and sent the ashes down for a 10-floor fall. My window doesn’t have the greatest view. There are more towers to see, and only if you move around can you see the city lights, twinkling, and chugging away.
I leaned at the edge of the window, resting my elbows. I would be turning 31 in a couple of days. And yet, there I was, scrolling through a 21-year-old's Instagram account, waiting for a reply, hoping for a date.
It's hard, this dating thing. Especially when you have someone like Nidhi in your life, someone you love deeply, someone with whom you have started building your life. What good would come out of spending an evening with Tara, going around a mall, which I have been to countless times, walk past stores filled with things that I didn’t need or want? But then again, it's not always about the end goal, is it? Sometimes it's about the journey, the experience, and the thrill of meeting someone new. Of doing someone new.
And Tara, she's new. She's young, vibrant, and full of life. The prospect of going on a date with her made me feel young again, made me feel alive. But at the same time, the age difference between us made me nervous. Ten years is a lot. I wondered if she felt the same way.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. It's just a date, I told myself. A few hours spent with someone new. Someone young. Someone beautiful. It doesn't have to be more than that. But then again, it could be more. It could be a new beginning, a new chapter in my life. But do I really need another chapter in my life?
I stubbed out my cigarette, looked at the city lights one more time, before walking to my phone.
“Okay. But, let’s start at 0630 PM. I will send you my location on Friday,” she replied. I smiled. She was nervous about sharing her location with a stranger, a couple of days before the date. It was cute.
Sometimes, all you need in life is a spark of a new thing. Something new, something exciting. And that's what Tara was. A new adventure, a new experience. And besides, it’s good to be young again, even if it’s just over a cup of coffee.
The Friday that I was to meet Tara, I pinged her around 4 PM, asking her for the place where I should pick her up.
She sent me a location, which seemed like a landmark rather than a residential society. It was an address in Lower Parel, a few kilometers from the Phoenix Mall, where we were to go. I sent her a thumbs-up. There was no way for me to go home and change. So, I had worn my whitest shirt and freshly pressed jeans, when I left for work.
I left the office around 0545 PM, keeping a comfortable padding for any freak traffic gridlocks. Before starting I texted Tara to send me her number. It’d be easier to coordinate a pickup, without texting on Insta.
When she didn’t reply, I texted her my number and started driving.
I was about 5 minutes away from the location when I got a ping on my WhatsApp from an unsaved number. It was Tara.
It was a smooth pick-up.
After spending hours browsing through her photos, having seen her face and body from all sorts of angles, I could identify Tara in the crowd.
She had dressed the way she did in most of her photos. A pair of denim jeans, a denim jacket (although it was quite hot for a jacket) and underneath the jacket a white top. She looked fitter in person, which rarely happens. Her tee shirt made a steep descent from her breasts to her belly.
She was standing, with her arms crossed, clutching her phone tightly, looking at the wrong side of the road. For a passerby, it’d have seemed that she was waiting for a bus, although it wasn’t a bus stop.
I stopped my car in front of her and rolled down the window.
“Hi, Tara! Get in,” I said.
It startled her. She looked at me for a moment. I smiled.
As Tara got into the car, I couldn't help but notice how her denim jacket hugged her curves in all the right places. Her white t-shirt was simple yet alluring, and her denim jeans were tight enough to make me wonder how she managed to put them on. But what really caught my attention was her hair, curly and short, bouncing with every movement she made. She had a youthful energy about her that I found irresistible.
And then there was the nose ring.
I don’t like jewelry on my women. But on Tara, the nose ring looked just perfect.
“Hi,” she said, buckling down her seat belt.
I smiled, looking at the road, and nodded.
Tara’s voice, was exactly as I had imagined. Soft and delicate, yet full of life.
I resisted the urge to talk shit, like about the traffic and how crazy it is in the city. Or how the metro constructions have fucked the road and it seems it will take years. We were quiet.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. She was biting her lips, looking out the window, lost in her thoughts. Her hands were fidgeting, and she kept adjusting her denim jacket, trying to make herself comfortable. She unlocked her phone. and then locked it back without doing anything.
“We are almost there,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said, as a matter of fact. Because it was a matter of fact. It was impossible to not know when you are near the Phoenix Mall.
After parking the car, as we were walking towards the parking lot, I pocketed my hands and said, “Let’s sit down for a coffee?”
“Sure,” Tara said, adjusting her denim jacket. I stole a glance at her breasts, before saying, “Well, Starbucks is this way.”
I walked a little ahead of Tara. I sighed quietly, telling myself that this date may not turn out to be as fun as it I had imagined. I turned my head to look at Tara. She was walking, looking straight ahead, her eyes darting around. When she saw me looking at her, she smiled.
“Are you nervous?” I said.
“Why would I be nervous?”
I shrugged, “You have been quiet, all along.”
She squinted her eyes, and smiled, “Maybe I am a quiet one.”
“Really? Your Instagram doesn’t look like it belongs to a quiet girl,” I said.
She laughed out loud. We reached Starbucks. I held the door open for her to enter before me. As she walked in front of me, I stared at her ass. The jeans were tight, and yet, as she walked, there was a slight jiggle to her ass. For her height and slender build, Tara had a big ass.
She looked back and quickly looked up. Our eyes met, my transgression all too obvious. I smiled in my defense.
We ordered our coffee. I found a cozy table at the end and cushioned seats.
We sat opposite each other, and I finally got to look at Tara properly. She was still fidgeting, trying to find the best distance of her chair from the table, the best place to keep her phone, and the best way to keep her jacket.
When she looked up, I said, “So, Tara,”
“Yes, that’s my name,” she said, in a sing-song voice.
“How long have you been dating?” I asked.
“What?” she laughed.
Tara had a small, delicate nose piercing that accentuated the curve of her nose. The ring, glinting in the light, was a subtle yet bold statement of her individuality. As she laughed, I found myself drawn to the way the ring caught the warm yellow light of Starbucks and sparkled, almost as if it was dancing with her laughter. It was a unique and alluring addition to her already captivating appearance.
“I know, it’s a random question. But really, how long have you been dating?”
“I don’t know how to answer that. I mean, if you are asking me when was my first boyfriend, I —”
“No, I meant, online dating. Not first boyfriend, first kiss, and first sex,” I said. I didn’t need to add sex, but I did. Because, well, it’s me.
“Okay…” she said, tilting her head. Tara had this way of moving her head with jerks, abrupt movements and suddenly holding an angle.
“Let’s see,” she said, pursing her lips. “Beginning of this year,” she said.
“Ah, that’s very recent. And how many such dates have you been to?” I asked.
“Countless,” she said. Her eyes sparked with mischief.
I nodded.
The barista shouted our names. Tara was getting up, I touched her hand and said, “I’ll get them.”
I smiled at the barista and collected our drinks. As I turned, I almost bumped into another couple, who were standing right behind me. I looked at the girl, I smiled, and apologized. She had a stern face and long loose hair with brown streaks. I walked past them, looking at Tara at the far table.
She was typing on her phone.
Sitting down, I asked, “Are you making notes?”
“What?” Tara asked, without looking up.
“Notes on this date,” I added.
She shook her head, smiled, and said, “Why would I?”
I sipped my coffee, and said, “Countless dates, it’d be hard to remember. How would know whom to meet for a second date or reply to a late-night message.”
She ignored my joke and kept the phone down after she finished typing whatever she was typing. She sipped her coffee, looking around. I followed her gaze and found the couple with whom I almost bumped, sitting at the table adjacent to us.
When I turned to them, I saw the girl looking at Tara. She was older than Tara, well, she was my age. She had stern eyebrows, which was probably the reason why she looked so stern. The guy she was with, was tall, probably taller than me, slender, and wore Harry Potter glasses.
I looked at Tara, and said, “I almost spilled our coffee on them.”
“Oh,” she said.
The rest of the conversation was pretty standard. Tara asked me how long I had been dating, what do I do for a living, and where do I stay. Unlike me, Tara has always lived in Bombay. She studies Law, is in her third year. One day, she wants to argue at the Supreme Court, and maybe move to Delhi to continue her practice.
Once she started talking about herself, Tara’s demeanor changed. her shoulders relaxed. She stopped adjusting her jacket, and she sat up straight. I would sip my coffee and steal a glance at her breasts, which looked even more stunning, now that she was sitting with her chest pushed forward and back straight.
We finished our coffees in about half an hour. There was a concert in the Courtyard of the ball, and a random band playing their music.
“Do you want to check out the concert before we have our dinner?” standing up from the table.
“Yeah sure,” she said
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I am not much of a concert guy. I don’t like crowds, and I don’t like loud music. A concert almost always has these two things. Tara and I found a cozy place to stand in the crowd. She was standing close to me, so close that our shoulders were touching. She clicked a few pictures, and then, stood there, watching the proceedings at the stage intently. It was a band that specialized in playing western music with Indian instruments.
The crowd cheered loudly when they played their rendition of Senorita. They did a nice job, especially the guy with the tablas. He had curly hair, just like Tara. And his hair too bounced, when he played the tabla.
I was looking around in the crowd when I spotted them again. The other couple from Starbucks. The guy had her arm around the girl. They were laughing, whispering things in each others’ ears. I looked at the guy’s finger. He had a tight grip around her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh. The girl was wearing a long kurta, which wasn’t tight but was just fitting enough to follow her pelvic curve.
I felt a tug at my shirt. It was Tara. I leaned forward, bringing my ear close to her mouth so that I could hear what she was saying, “Let’s get something to eat,” Tara said. I nodded.
I am not a picky eater, and I said yes to the first bar that we saw.
The bar was loud. It was small and it was dark. We were shown to a couple’s table.
While browsing the menu, I asked Tara an important question, “Are we watching a movie after this?”
She checked her watch. “I am asking to know if I should order alcohol. I would hate to wait here alone for the alcohol to wear off before I can drive,” I added.
“What movie do you have in mind?” Tara said. Well, we had to yell at each other, because the music at the bar was loud.
I shrugged. “Whatever. Any movie will work as long as I get to sit with you for a bit,” I said, caressing her arm.
She nodded, “I will drop a text that I will be late home.”
I decided to test the waters. “Why don’t you keep some headroom? Is it possible to make an excuse that you might simply stay over at a friend’s house? You can always leave early. I mean —”
Tara laughed, and said, “You are an ambitious man.” She started typing on the phone.
We ordered the food. I ordered a large peg of whisky. Tara ordered a Bud lite. We didn’t talk much, till the food came. The music was loud but was soft Bollywood. Tara sang along to some of the songs. She had a melody to her voice.
In the dark, Tara looked pretty. While she ate her food, I looked at her lips — thick and full. We were sitting opposite each other, so all I could see was her upper body. But all the time walking around, I loved how her jeans hugged her thighs. She had delicate shoulders, although the denim jacket added some padding to it.
“Aren’t you feeling hot?” I said, tugging at her jacket.
“Is this your way to get me out of my clothes?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Actually,” she let her fork down and started taking off her jacket.
Under the jacket, all evening, Tara was wearing a sleeveless white tee shirt. Without it, I could see how fitting it was, hugging her waist, hugging her breasts. It was dark, my eyes sharp from less exposure to light. I could faintly make the outline of her bra cup’s edges. She folded her jacket and was looking for a place to keep it, when I extended my hand and said, “I can keep it here,” I patted the backrest of my chair. It’s always fun to take a woman’s clothes off her hand.
I chose a movie and booked the tickets. Tar was the only moving playing, and I doubted anybody will show up for a 9 PM show of Tar, considering there were other Hindi movies playing.
When I kept my phone down, I looked up and saw her again. She was walking in front, with her guy behind her. They were the same couple. That time, when our eyes met, I smiled. It was a practiced smile, something that I had to teach myself to do despite my instincts telling me to not smile at other women when I am with a woman already. Especially when that woman was with someone already. She didn’t smile back. Instead, she looked away.
Tara saw me smiling at her.
“Do you know her?”
“No, it’s the same couple. They have been doing pretty much the same thing we are doing,” I said, sipping the last of my whisky.
Tara was looking at them. I turned my head discreetly to look at them. The guy pulled the chair for his girl.
“The guy seems to adore her,” she said, before looking at her food again.
“Well, on a date, guys usually adore their girls. I adore you too,” I said.
“I don’t know about adoring,” Tara said.
“What? Really I do. I love your hair, that beautiful nose ring, and…” I paused to sip my whisky.
“My boobs,” Tara added, biting her lips.
I coughed a little hearing that, having mis-sipped the whisky.
“What? I was going to say your voice,” I said.
“Yeah, but, we both know it’s true,” Tara said.
I sighed, “I didn’t know I was so obvious.”
“You didn’t? I thought you were doing it on purpose,” Tara said.
“Which is why I texted at home that I would be late, may even sleepover at my friend’s house,” she added.
Tar was a shit movie, I knew that. But, the night seemed to be looking up suddenly. I didn’t know then, that it would be twice the fun that I was expecting.
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