Anti-Climax in a Bookstore

Ahmedabad lacks two things. Good men, and good bookstores. They say that some women (like Joey and me, may be?) may even prefer a good book to a man. It's true. I'd rather re-read an old favourite than try out a blind date.

So there I was at Crosswords, the only thing that can pass off for a bookstore in Ahmedabad. I went to look for Orhan Pamuk's "My Name Is Red".

Anyway, so I did what I usually do. I plonked myself on the floor at the Indian Fiction section. And I stacked a whole lot of books that I wanted to check out. And by that I mean, reject with disdain.

I was having a quiet time. I was just beginning to enjoy myself tching tching about the downfall of Indian literature, when I saw HIM standing oh too close for comfort.

Nice cologne. First thought. Tick - No body odour. Thankfully. I swear I don't intentionally start ticking off a mental list, but it just happens. I am so much in search of "my kinda guy" that it's almost like breathing now, you know!

He picked up Amitav Ghosh's "The Glass Palace". Immediate thought. Tick - Likes the same books as me. Some people don't like this book, some people love it. I am one of those who read it repeatedly for relaxation, i.e. I worship it.

He knelt down to look at a few books in a lower shelf. I got a chance to see his shoes. Loafers. With socks. Green and pink. I was really surprised. I am constantly looked down upon by my friends for wearing socks that are bright and most often don't match my outfits. No I am serious. My friend MN, got me 32 pairs from Dubai last year. Pretty, different colours, with stars, ankle length. I will always remember her. As I will, this man with the green and pink socks. Tick - wears lovely socks. Tick, tick - wears PINK!

I found myself giving him a side-long glance. Hey, it's been like years since I did that. But come on, this man and I did have some karmic connection, no? I liked his clothes. Simple. Muted. Faded jeans. Frayed at several places. Gray sweatshirt. Looked worn out.

Rule 1 of dressing down - only 1 item of your clothing can be loud.
Rule 2 of dressing down? Sometimes socks will be the entire outfit.

This man had me eating out of his hand. But waittaminnit. He wasn't even looking at me. That's odd. But okay, some men just take longer than others, right? And then he sat down on the floor. Tick - not fussy about sitting on the floor. Ah, soul mates. He went through each book slowly. He even picked up my friend's book, "A Grasshopper's Pilgrimage". I am partial towards my friends' books. That made me feel fondly for him. Tick - Reads peppy books written by friends on spirituality. Then, he turned towards me, didn't smile immediately. Looked. For a exactly 3 seconds. And smiled. Head rush. Tick - pearly, eventoothed smile.

I smiled back. I think. Don't know. I was scared he would ask me for my number. I was scared he would speak and burst the fairytale. I was scared, I admit, of being let down. Again. So I did what I knew best. Went back to my books and viciously, yes, more viciously than usual, pulled them down, albeit in my head, muttered audibly and put them back into the shelves.

And each time I did that, this gorgeous, almost perfect creature would give me an understanding smile. Damn, he was cute. But I knew I had to walk away.

He didn't make any attempt to follow me. I sighed. He WAS looking at the books and didn't mean to hit on me. I hid behind the music section so that I could get a clear yet distant view of his moves. He browsed more books, I couldn't see what though. I consoled myself, "It's okay, he must be gay in any case. Too good to be true baby. Go home and cry over your complicated relationship."

So I stopped stalking the poor man. I browsed the music section for a bit and then went to the check out counter. I saw the demi-god ahead of me 2 lines away. And this time I got a clear view of the books he had. It was then that I knew. It WAS too good to be true! Far away from "my kinda man".

What was he carrying you ask? "Five Point Someone", "One Night At A Call Centre" and "Two States". Chetan Bhagat. Not one. Not two. But three.

I have dated men whose idea of reading was Playboy and Gentleman. And men who had archived and serialized years of copies of Autocar and Inside Outside. And men who read Business Today for pleasure. And men who preferred women's magazines. But this is where I draw the line.

I hugged my copy of "My Name Is Red" and walked out. Relieved. Happy. Free.

Disclaimer: I have nothing against Chetan Bhagat. I don't know him. But I don't appreciate his books. I have nothing against people who read his books, they just can't be my boyfriends.