On Fleeing Libraries

The MSN homepage has an article every week or so on where/how to meet men. The answers rarely change- and basically amount to any space outside your house. Which is self explanatory, since it would be odd to have potential objects of interest hanging about at home that you hadn't noticed before.

So when I go to the library I am not thinking- 'now I will go to a sort-of-public spot and browse for people'. Though I am vaguely aware that of all places a library is among the most acceptable- as it implies (perhaps not deservedly- because I don't always read everything I issue) that one is there out because one reads books. Books are good.

Today a boy; and I really wanted to ask him how old he was because he did seem too young to be that (and the only appropriate word that comes to mind is a bit archaic) forward was rather surprising in his persistence on making conversation. Having lived in Delhi for almost four years, I am no longer incompetent at making my displeasure known at unwanted attention from boys with too much time and distorted notions of what constitutes an acceptable mode of expression. But this boy- he didn't seem rude or letchy, or anything terrible. Except weird and possessed of a large vocabulary. Which made me want to not be rude, but also to race away. Which I did as soon as I found the books I wanted.

Now it occurs to me that he might have been bored and harmless. Perhaps I am too suspicious.

But kids are creepy.
This much I know this much is true

d school

The D school canteen is now metal and glass- fancy stuff. The outdoor, makeshift version was nice. I did worry about the unwelcome addition that birds may have made (never happened), but it had charm. The new one has a roof. And no sunlight. The mutton cutlets are the same though.

We sat in the winter afternoon sun, S and I. So pleasant it was to just be: mildly traumatised at our lack of direction, complaining about the complications that boys embody, and discussing the many attractions of Pahadganj. A skinny dog walked past and settled on a pile of leaves near my left foot. An equally skinny, but more curious young thing- past the pup stage, but not yet fully grown- at that age when they eyes, tail and ears seem larger than normal- stopped by to make friends. I wanted to take it home, but I fear it will not get along with the cats that currently rule the hostel. Cats which are reproducing at an alarming rate I might add.

Three young men settled, some distance away. One opened a bag, took out a laptop and placed it on the ground- the leaf strewn and definitely dusty ground. What must it take to be that casual with a laptop? I tend mine like one would a rose cutting, which I have found to be a particularly recalcitrant and delicate sort of plant. Constant dusting and virus checking and that kind of thing. Not allowing food near it, washing my hands before using it and not allowing people with colds to venture near- in case they sneeze and release germs. They, on the other hand, didn’t even have a case for it. I wanted to go over and see if it was scratched from this rather disinterested manner of use.

One got up to dance-demonstrating what we took to be a new dance move- because the other two seemed to offer suggestions and make modifications. That was the end of the dancing. And all this while Tarkan was playing. First that cheesy and annoying kissy kissy number which all of us recognise, and then some stuff from later albums. Which I identified and S didn’t, because I went through a major Tarkan-phase two years ago after finding a poster somewhere and discovering that he was sponsored in Basel by the Doner Kebab Association (DKA). This has pleased me muchly. Doner kebabs are my friends. I find the existence of doner kebab society rather sweet- like an idli-chutney organisation, or an appam appreciation group. A harmless fringe activity. Here is some of the poster.


This is where I lived last year. Tarkan smiled creepily down us, and Herb and I had interesting discussions about his appearance. He has always been a source of much entertainment in one way or the other. Once when delirious with fever, and sick from the antibiotics I thought I saw his eyes move. He has not accompanied me to my new room. When I fall ill I do not want to feel like I am being stalked in my own chamber.