The Last Guy Standing (in Delhi)

Throwing down the gauntlet (in response to the Compulsive Confessor)

The Compulsive Confessor is an interesting Delhi woman who writes a lot about her sex- and other-life. She manages to get 50 comments on each blog post. Damn.

I don’t read her. Because I don’t figure in her life.

Anyway, she’s complaining about being single

She says there are no guys left in all of Delhi, because none of them pass her tests.

I’m afraid (and this might shock you a little) that leaves me with NO ONE. In this ENTIRE CITY.

I’m so dying alone, no?

Because I pretend to be a brash, aggressive alpha-male in the blogosphere, I take up her challenge, and I pass her tests.

Click on the read more…

I can’t stand words being mispronounced. I mean really, v is veee, w is when you round your lips together. No clasping of the lower lip with your teeth, just round your mouth. Therefore it is “Way” and not “Vay”. This pisses me off so much that many potential boys have been banished to the Kingdom Of Bad Pronounciation for it. (Ruled by the clan of people who say “My hair are..”. Hello? Hair is SINGULAR, how often do we have to go over that?) There was this boy once, a pretty young lad who I was quite warming up to. And then he mispronounced five words in the same sentence. Gently I pointed it out, but he didn’t react too well to that. If people just DON’T want to learn, what are you to do, right?

I have what somebody aptly called a neutralized English accent. I consider myself James Bond, with a Punjabi twist, so I believe that my pronunciations are correct, and my English will trump your English, anyday. The name’s Gulati. Bunty Gulati. I like my Scotch Whisky-blended with a hint of tulsi-a dash of coke-and-some-cinnamon-then-shaken, not stirred.

Call me Ally McBeal, but getting food on your face is a distinct no-no in my world. Ketchup on fries, not on your face. I hate ketchup anyway. I can’t stand the smell and the taste. This does not go down very well with some boys who like to mix up the ketchup and the mustard into one pus type puddle. Ewwwwwww. I do make some exceptions to the food on face rule though. Chocolate is good. A latte foam mustache is very cute–but not if you do it on purpose.

Food goes in mouth, not on face. Check. In case an accident does occur, the nearby napkin (NOT the pocket hanky) will be out faster than you can say ewww. Ketchup+Mustard is totally ewww. And I don’t dip my pizza in Ketchup either. Check. Chocolate is good. And I know a few kinky tricks you can use with Chocolate. But I’d rather demonstrate those tricks than blab/brag about them…

Tight jeans, worn up to your waist, with your shirt tucked in. Good Lord, boy, it’s 2005, not 1981 as you seem to imagine. And your tush isn’t that cute, and even it were that cute, it would probably look better in like loose jeans. Not baggy, mind you. Baggy jeans are for teenagers with spiked hair with the tops of their Calvin Klein chaddis showing. That’s just trying too hard.

Tight jeans. No. No. No. Baggy Jeans. No. No. No. Jeans which are one waist size too big? Yes. You get to say you’ve been working out at the gym-shym and all. Then… you can also shove your hand inside your pants and say.. “See – I couldn’t do THAT a month ago…”

People who don’t read. Or who say the only book they have ever read is a) Love Story b) The Da Vinci Code or c) Anything by Michael Chricton (I don’t think I spelt that right) or Robert Ludlum or whatshisface, the chap who writes a lot about hunting in Africa.

I read. Reading list includes, but is not limited to:

Maximum City
Guns, Germs & Steel
Atlas Shrugged + Fountainhead
Shogun, Taipan, Noble House
Harry Potter (Yes, I see no shame in admitting this, or including it in a ‘Reading List’. Deal with it, buddy!
Lord of The Rings + Hobbit + Silmarillion
Alchemist + 11 Minutes
Da Vinci Code + Angels & Demons
Anything P.G. Wodehouse
Anything Roald Dahl
Tom Clancy (the old Stuff from the Cold War days)
Interpreter of Maladies
Suitable Boy (ok, so I’m 75% of the way through it)
Midnight’s Children

e.t.c e.t.c e.t.c.

If you’ve passed these high tests, there are also the smaller tests. What music you listen to. Whether you have any passions beyond making money. Whether you get on with my friends. Whether you like TC. That sorta thing.

Music I listen to – diverse. Won’t go in to details here.
Passion(s)? Yes, I have one or two of them. The first is making money without having to do anything. I’m waiting for somebody to start depositing US$100,000 into my bank account every month simply because they feel I deserve to be rewarded for being me. The second passion requires either a bed, a car, whipped cream, chocolate sauce and ribbed condoms for her pleasure.

I’ll get on with your friends. But they might not get along with me!

Ok, and here’s where I admit my first(and only) defeat. What, pray tell, is TC? Tom Cruise? Total Crap? Testicular Cancer?

So there is at least ONE man in Delhi which passes your tests. Bring it on, ma’am!

ThreeDrinksAhead informs me that TC stands for Turquoise Cottage. I like TC, haven’t been there more than twice but I like it. So I don’t even have to admit defeat on that count! HA!

No response from Ms. CC yet… I take passing her tests isn’t enough. There’s a missing X factor.

Also a very big thanks to Vulturo and DesiPundit (looks like I’ll be donating something to them after all :-p). This post got me 183 visits on a single day !$@$!#@$! I usually don’t get more than 8!


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