The Life Of A Modern Man
a.k.a excerpts from Adhith’s Blog
(These are deleted scenes from the first draft which were rewritten to suit a blog post. I might post more such scenes at some point).
On the art of complimenting women
Men,
Back when Vikram—my best friend—and I were in our second year of college, we ran into a small problem with our social lives. Vikram figured out his dates expected him to hold up his end of the conversation. He couldn’t get through dinner with a couple of grunts and a few carefully placed nods. It wasn’t enough for him to suffer the heartbreak of opening his wallet and actually spending money; he had to talk to the ladies. We—and by that I mean I—decided what Vikram needed was a little practice at small talk. Who better to mastermind his education than moi, Adhith Verma? I wasn’t called Mr Smooth and Charming for nothing.
Week 1: A crowded auditorium in IIT Bombay. Even with the air-conditioning on full blast, the BO was nauseating. The conference on semiconductor technology had lasted a full eight hours, and most of the audience was on its way out, but Vikram was still next to the podium, bombarding the Swedish physicist with questions. For a woman who’d come close to a Nobel, she looked young. No ring on her finger. Vikram needed to stop talking about artificial intelligence and put our plan into action before she marched out to join her colleagues, heavy briefcase in her grip.
I tried a small cough. Without even pausing, Vikram continued elaborating on some theory he had.
A hard kick on his shin.
“What the—” Vikram turned. “Oh… right… Professor, let me carry it for you.”
“Vat?” asked Professor Swede, her heavy eyebrows crinkling like electrocuted worms.
Vikram tilted his head. “Your briefcase.”
The professor’s nostrils flared. “You think I cannot carry it myself? You must be yoking.”
“I’m not yoking,” Vikram said, stumbling over his words. “I mean, I’m not joking. Just thought you’d like some help.”
“Vy? Because you’re a man?”
Bad choice of a test subject, I muttered to myself. I needed to get Vikram out before things went any further south.
All right, men. You may call it the arrogance of youth, but I’ll admit it didn’t occur to either of us a woman who’d come within sniffing distance of a Nobel would probably puke her guts out laughing at the idea of dating a nineteen-year-old engineering student. One with a severe case of foot-in-mouth disease, no less.
Eyes wide in panic, Vikram stammered, “No, no. I’m sure you can carry it on your own. I mean, you seem strong. Look at your shoulders. They’re big.”
The professor scowled. “Are you calling me fat?”
“Heh?” said Vikram, his head swivelling side to side, the red flush on his face getting darker. “You’re not fat. Just a little chubby.”
An angry growl.
“Run, bro,” I snapped.
We managed to shove through the crowd and get to the men’s hostel, but there was still a summons from the department head in the morning, demanding an explanation for our “astounding lack of courtesy and common sense.”
“‘Just a little chubby?’” I snarled, striding back to the lab we’d been hauled out of for the lecture. “How could you say something so dumb?”
“It slipped out.” Vikram skirted a couple of senior students poring over a textbook. “Also, if I had a few seconds more, I’d have invited her to the gym. Not just for your stupid idea. I really liked her.”
I halted mid-stride. “Invite her to the gym? Finesse, bro. Finesse. Let me show you how it’s done.”
Week 2: “Watch a master at work,” I mumbled to Vikram, eyeing the first-year cutie peering into a thick tome at the table by the library window.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered back, flipping the page on his own textbook. “You talk a good game. Let’s see some of it in action.”
Chair scraping the floor, I stood and sauntered over to Ms Cutie. “Hey.”
She looked up. Behind the large glasses, her eyes blinked once. “Hey?” she said, voice uncertain.
Asking girls out was never a big deal for me. Nothing to it. You get to know a girl in your class or gym or wherever; you ask if she’d like to hang out sometime. Only, I’d never put on an academic demonstration on flirting. Don’t screw it up, I told myself. It wasn’t just about losing face with Vikram; I was responsible for his social education. My failure would mean his failure. He might never find a woman to marry, never have children. Future generations of Joshis depended on me. Clearing my throat, I smiled at Ms Cutie. “You look nice today.”
The slight puzzlement on her face vanished, replaced by outright hostility. “I had to cram for the mid-sem exam, okay? I didn’t have time to do laundry. You don’t have to remind me how I looked yesterday.”
“Huh? I didn’t even see you yes—”
“If you don’t go away right now, I’m calling the librarian. I don’t have to sit here and be taunted.”
“I’m going,” I said, jogging backwards.
“Dude,” said Vikram, returning to the hostel with me. His face looked nearly purple with all the howling he was doing. “You ain’t any better at it.”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Don’t forget I’ve successfully dated women before. We just got the wrong test subjects is all.” Not to mention catching them at the wrong time. “Also, I was nervous, and it always shows. We need to take baby steps. Let’s try small talk for the sake of small talk. Nothing else.”
Week 3: Vikram’s parents were part of Mumbai’s social elite, and they’d always received an invitation to my father’s Diwali party for the movers and shakers of India’s business world. Papaji was the nation’s finance minister, so no one ever missed the party. Still, this year, the Joshis would be attending as my guests. In fact, I was planning to wander in with them.
I tilted my head at Vikram, glancing meaningfully towards his mom.
He nodded and grimly squared his shoulders, wiping his palms on the front of his pants. “Mom, your hair looks good. Smooth.”
Uncleji—Vikram’s dad—continued struggling with his tie, but Auntieji looked up from her purse. “Why? Is my sari wrinkled?”
“Heh?” said Vikram. “No. I only meant—“
Auntieji turned to Uncleji. “I can’t go to the minister’s party in a wrinkled sari. Vikram, let your father and sister go ahead. You and Adhi wait here while I change. We can go in Adhi’s car. It will be just a couple of minutes.”
Men, it was not just a couple of minutes. We missed most of the main course.
At the crowded restaurant on our way back to the hostel, I spoke through a mouthful of flatbread and fried meat. “We made a mistake.”
Vikram didn’t glance up from the plateful of bheja fry—spiced goat brain. “Ya think? When my own mother can’t figure out what I’m saying, it’s time to quit trying.”
“No, bro. You don’t get it. We were too specific.”
“Huh?”
I took a gulp of cold water. “Remember, I said to the girl at the library she looked nice that day. With your mother, you said her hair looked good. We should’ve just said they looked good. No qualifications. Which means no room for confusion.”
Week 4: Stuffing textbooks into his backpack, Vikram muttered, “Are you sure about this?”
“Positive,” I said, keeping my eye on Ms Sweet and Pretty. I had to catch her before she left the lecture hall with the rest of her gang. “Take notes, Vikram.”
I ignored his snort and slung my backpack over one shoulder before jogging to Ms Sweety. The chatter stopped. Several pairs of female eyes turned towards me.
Men, I’m sure you’ve noticed women tend to travel in packs. To the movies, at the club… but I digress.
First, I shot the entire group my usual charming grin. Then, I turned up the wattage and smiled at Ms Sweety. “Hey, you look great.” I congratulated myself on the casual tone. At least, I was over my initial nervousness as a social life tutor.
One second, two seconds… she kept staring unblinkingly at me.
“I mean, you always do,” I emphasised. Just in case.
“You perv,” she ground out.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not that sort of girl.”
“What—“
She spun on her heel and marched away. Her friends followed, shooting accusing glances at me.
Vikram walked up. “What just happened?”
I wish I knew.
Week 5: “Trust me,” I insisted. “I know what I’m doing.” With one notable exception, I’d always taken care to get to know the ladies in question a little before asking them out. Discovering mutual interests, etc. A step I skipped with Vikram’s education. Even with his mom, we’d made the mistake of focusing on appearance. “This is the new millennium. Women like to be complimented for their brain and what they do. Not their looks. Plus, Kusum’s almost like your mother. She won’t get mad.”
From the living room couch in his parents’ apartment, Vikram glanced towards the kitchen. Kusum was his former nanny who now worked as the Joshi housekeeper. “Yeah, but—”
“Do you really want to risk talking to one of the professors after what happened the last time?” I snapped. Or even any of our classmates. His mom was out of the question. What would he say—you’re an excellent gynaecologist? She’d think he’d gone nuts. “You have to be able to talk to at least the women in your own family before looking for romance.”
“I… ahh… okay.”
The subject of our conversation bustled in, setting a steaming dish in the middle of the dining table.
“Know what, Kusum?” started Vikram, keeping his voice carefully casual as I’d taught him. “The one thing I miss about living in the hostel is your cooking.”
“No.”
Vikram frowned. “Heh? ‘No’ what?”
“No to whatever you want me to make. You’re going to eat what’s put in front of you.”
The episode marked the end of our experiment. By now, Vikram and I had gotten used to the idea what was said by us might not be what was heard by the ladies. If we wanted romance in our lives, we’d just have to live with the illogicality of it all. Hell, even if one out of ten responded positively, it was still a win. Right?
We did learn how to smooth our way into their good books, eventually. For the men who’re still stumbling around, we have the following advice. No personal comments in the beginning. You do need the compliments but keep those for the women you’ve known more than a day or two. Make sure to keep it vague. “I’ve learned/am learning so much from you” and “I feel I can completely trust you” are usually winners. “You make me laugh” is a good one, too, but be careful how you deploy it.
Above all, always remember. Men are earthlings. Like the rest of the animals on this planet, we say what we mean. Nothing more, nothing less. The human female on the other hand… when you venture into the dating pool, go warned. Follow rule number one of intergalactic interaction. Be ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice and run for your lives.
