I don't much like chronology and I do meander. But that may be why I am able to simultaneously occupy so many different worlds. Its a skill I developed when I lived in hostel in Bangalore. My life in school, my life in the dorm and my life at home during the holidays were not one life, because they had nothing in common but me. They were several lives, to be lived separately. This is a bunch of stories, in no particular order, of events in my world. I start with the Story of Sam.
On Friday evening, once again I found myself waiting impatiently outside the bathroom door, trying not to tap the pointy toes of my new shoes against the wood panelled floor. It was even harder to not stamp my feet and scream in frustration. The sassy strain of the music just made it harder for me to control myself. Finally, I hear a whooshing noise and with relief I imagine the door is about to open and the bathroom will finally be unoccupied.
It is not the bathroom that I am waiting for, it is its occupant. Sam. A guy I have been dating for about 2 weeks. We are in Sam's apartment, a huge modern expanse of space where one wall is just windows with an open bar across the room facing the city, the ceiling is high and the furniture is minimalistic. An elegant bachelor pad near the Schuylkill river. And Sam is that elegant bachelor.
I school my features away from impatience, deliberately running my fingers over my brow trying to smooth out the lines, forcing the corners of my mouth to turn upwards and exhaling deeply. Tonight is the night Sam meets 'the gang' for the first time. I've stopped by his apartment for an pre-party aperitif.
The gang- that includes me- is a bunch of foreigners in Philadelphia, we come from all over the world. I am, as you know Indian, and the gang is a mixed and exciting bunch from Europe, the Middle East and Asia. I confess that sometimes I look at a world map and play a little mental connect the dots marking our spots on the world. Except that our spot is now Philadelphia.
Though we live in the United States of America, at least at present, we do not for most part like Americans or easily admit them into our little circle of fun. And so I rarely date American boys. There is something very unattractive about the twenty eight year old clad in a wife beater and overlarge shorts, with a baseball cap backwards on his head, wearing sneakers without socks, who constantly talks about rugby and baseball. At the other end of the spectrum is a twenty eight year who wears two hundred dollar cheap suits and talks with relief about how he pulled out of the market just before the great crash of 2008, the notional value of the money he saved, how much actual cash he has and how he's going to multiply it. Brag, brag, brag. The great thing about America is the non-Americans it houses. This is what really makes America an interesting place. Anyway, back to Sam.
Sam, Samuel Wright, is British. Sam and I met, like people our age usually do, at a party. I am in my late twenties and I should be part of the internet dating generation but somehow, I am not, although of course I hear the match.com stories from others. Sam and I have been hanging out together a great deal, talking about books we have read and places that we have both travelled to, how only in America could Sarah Palin be considered a serious political contender and how long Obama would continue to remain the darling of the media and the masses. Linked together in our superior intellectual cynicism, we have connected. For two weeks, Sam and the gang have occupied different worlds and tonight I would see if two could seamlessly blend into one.
Sam emerges from the bathroom. I am hoping that my brow smoothing, lip curling upward and exhaling technique has helped mask the irritation I feel. Sam smiles and kisses the top of my head murmuring something that I dont quite catch. Sam is not very much taller than me and we really look like the mirror opposite of each other. Like negatives of photographs. Hes white, Im brown, hes blonde and light eyed and my hair and eyes are as black as black can be. A striking couple, I hope the gang will say. I have rehearsed this meeting in my mind many times already. Its one of my quirks. I can sit for hours constructing a scenario and then imagine the things people will say, the conversation that will be had. But right now Im upset. I dont really know why I'm upset. But I have a feeling it goes back to a conversation Sam and I had the day before when I asked Sam if he would like to meet my friends.
"So hey", I said leaning towards him awkwardly over the coffee table, "some of my friends are planning to go Monks this Friday. Do you want to go?" We were sitting at Saturn Cafe, a coffee and snack shop that was also a hair dresser salon.
"Sure, I like Monks," was Sam's response. And then a second later "Excuse me I'll be right back."
Except that he wasn't right back. He took eight and a half minutes to return. I'm the kind of person that notices things like that and besides, I dont like to be kept waiting. "Is everything okay?" I ask him coldly. "Yes, I had to use the bathroom. I have irritable bowel syndrome," he said matter of factly. I wondered if he was making a joke I should laugh at, or if he was trying to get me to dump him. "Ahuh", I said noncommitally, "irritable bowel syndrome". I nodded a bit too, just to indicate I got what it was. I had a friend in college, Rachael, whose boyfriend had IBS and I used to hate going out with them because we'd invariably end up with the awkward eight and half minutes bathroom interludes.
Nothing more was said on the subject, but from that moment on, I started mentally noting bathroom absences, both the frequency and the time taken. I know it sounds insane but it was just something that annoyed me. Something I felt I shouldn't have to deal with. In short, his irritable bowel syndrome was irritating me too. And then another thought struck me.
"Umm, Sam", I said, "Do you think you will have to, you know, ummm, use the bathroom again this evening?" I was stupidly worried that if Sam disappears into the bathroom for an interlude that lasted ten minutes or more (which was, I knew the average, thanks to the meticulous mental note taking), my friends would notice. Someone may even comment on it. And then I would be like Rachael from college. Sam just looked at me. "Because," I hurried on, "it would be great if you didn't, not because of anything else but just that I think Monk's bathrooms are terrible". I looked at him nervously. I really couldnt believe I was having this conversation. Sam couldn't either because before I knew it were fighting about how I was a control freak that was trying to take over his life. And five minutes of yelling later, I was walking out of his apartment building- alone. That was the last I saw of Sam.
I landed up at Monks alone, found the gang. They all asked about Sam of course. And I couldn't bring myself to tell them the story. "Oh," I said breezily, "Sam and I aren't going to be seeing each other anymore. Didn't I tell you?!"
The beauty of living in many worlds, is no one world ever holds all of you and everything you are.
