I like to watch movies, read books and travel. I also write dense post-colonial feminist essays for fun when nobody's looking.
I like going out, but I'm not, I think, outgoing. I have an introverted streak, sometimes.
I'm musically challenged! The ideal 'me' of my imagination plays the drums and dresses stylishly. The real me.. disappoints.
Making people open up to me.
And.. I can cook decently.
.. That's about it. :)
Movies: Popular Bollywood (except the abjectly schmaltzy ones) and Hollywood. Usually. Eclectic "world cinema" stuff sometimes.
2) 5 years ago if someone showed me this profile (esp the questions I've answered) and told me it was me, I'd never believe them. I'm not entirely sure that's a bad thing.
(More seriously, I don't have a routine. I could be catching up with friends over drinks, watching the latest release or having a quiet dinner at home with myself)
I took down my photos because I'm paranoid that I'll be recognized! I'll send you photos by email if its that big a deal and you're totally free to never talk to me again if you think I'm an ogre.
Chat me up? I don't bite.
Time was, Okcupid had this thing where you could post "notes" in addition to your profile. (Ok, I've been here a loong time). I miss those notes. I'm in a chatty mood now and I want to be making the kinds of public utterances I wouldn't care to admit to friends and acquaintances. Which leaves, oh only the 30,000 or so of you, persons-of-no-consequence, who could possibly lend me your ears. I demand an audience!
--------I am a sex fiend (or atleast my Okcupid profile is)----------
I arrived at this epiphany in the course of answering some 397 questions on this site.
Out here, I find myself being blithely receptive to enacting the masochistic rape fantasies of a fictional girlfriend. I might consider "cutting a partner (who asked for it) in sexual play". I would rather "do the tying than be tied up". Faced with the opportunity, I *would* have sex with even a cousin who's attracted to me. I would be "pleased if a partner expressed the desire to be sexually humiliated" by me. I would date someone just for the sex. I would date someone I had a one night stand with, "but only if the sex was good". All of this, without once having actually been in a situation that required me to act in these sociopathic ways.
But I wasn't lying.
Thanks to the perverted geniuses who design these questions, I'm pretty sure I'm the kind of guy parents teach their daughters to fear. I always knew I had a high libido, but a sex fiend?! Is there somebody I need to report this stuff to?
But, surely, could it possibly be, is there someone out there who's equally twisted as I am? Now that I've minutely cataloged each of my inner perversions, is it unreasonable to expect my candor to be rewarded by finding on this site, my own 'customized' sexual twin?
Guess what? I found some 50 other Indian men on this site who have almost *exactly* the same sexual fantasies. It's not really helping my chances of finding my perfect sexual soulmate if I'm like @#%$@# EVERY GUY on the bloody site!
I'm not shockingly immoral - I'm banal!
------- On Sexiness and Spelling -------------
There's a WAR raging on this site against misspelling! It's insane just how many Indian women consider "grammar and spelling" a qualification for sexual attractiveness. Beating all the odds, it's the fucking spellcheck that's the latest aphrodisiac!
This is not something they tell you in kindergarten - learn to spell or you'll never get laid! Pedagogy is in need of serious reform.
I admit I don't care for poor spelling myself. I couldn't do SMS talk if I tried. But I'd sleep with any woman I found attractive (not least because I'm a sex fiend) - regardless of whether she can spell. Here's one example I randomly ran into for instance sags_taco. Cute! I'd totally hit on her, despite her very evident difficulty getting her spelling right.
I think the women of this site should learn the virtues of inclusiveness from men like me. Call an immediate end to this grammatic apartheid. Make love not well-shaped sentences!
--------In praise of sluts - including myself -------------------
Anne invited me out for drinks last night. She was at a bar with two of her single girlfriends, one of whom I’d met previously at a party. She wasn’t bad looking, this 30-something woman, and apparently she thought I was cute and had insisted that Anne invite me. I demurred briefly, but decided to join them in the end.
I’m comfortable with older women (26+) – I like hanging out with them, and I think it’s fun not to have to plough through the pubescent games and anxieties that accompany younger women. The game of seduction can then be played, as it should, between adults, with the due sophistication it deserves. Don’t mistake me, I like flirting and all the coquetry that goes with it as much as the next guy. What I like about older women is that there isn’t, or ought not to be any mystery about where the game is headed (unless of course, you’re one of those infamous 30-year-old virgins, in which case, the gods help you – and kindly keep out of my way!). There’s something calming about not having to view sex as an abnormal, illicit bodily activity.
I enjoy being not-young anymore. I enjoy how confident and comfortable I’ve grown with my body and it’s a relief not to have to associate sex with anxiety anymore. This is an assumption I think is easier to share with mature women, and it is for this reason that seduction is even more enjoyable with them.
How do I describe my disappointment in the “date” that ensued last night? In what words?
There I sat, being my usual witty, charming, clever, quick-witted self. It came very naturally to me at first, a little uneasily as the night wore on, and almost desperately towards the end. It hit me midway through the evening that she had sortof assumed that it was solely my responsibility, as “the guy” at the table, to take charge and move the conversation forward. The success of her enterprise of getting herself laid last night (which she clearly did want) was to depend entirely on me. So whenever I’d introduce a lull into the conversation, just as a check to ensure I wasn’t talking excessively at her expense, she’d spend it looking listlessly around with this silly pout on her face, or fiddling with her phone. In a “conversation” that lasted nearly two hours, I can’t remember a single interesting, engrossing thing that she said. What gets me is that she didn’t even try! I mean, she’d participate in the conversation by laughing when I was being witty or nodding appreciatively when I was saying something serious – but at no point did she even try to charm me in return.
Is that really such an outlandish expectation?
I see that a lot in women these days (maybe it’s just a reflection on the women I’ve been running into)– we men are expected to behave like sitcoms. The onus is squarely on us to be continuously charming, funny, clever, engrossing and inventive. Women can afford to be inert, because in the end, they repay us with their bodies – the only currency they need. Conventional prudishness/morality has turned women into prostitutes – but also worse, into idiots. On this theory, the ‘failure’ of the date is the failure of the guy to the get the girl to subscribe. So I realize in retrospect, she wasn’t being silent at those intervals, this girl, she was waiting expectantly for the channel to flip!
In order for her plan to have sex last night to work out, she needed me to observe all the pejorative cultural stereotypes about masculinity that her liberal feminist prattle overtly rejects. I’d have to make her an “indecent proposal” – nothing less. And then she could have sex with me, and then scurry off and tell her friends what an ape I was. She could still be the “good girl” who fell prey to my rapacious male aggressiveness. No dice. I wasn’t playing.
And then somewhere towards the end she said something offhand, but which I think sums up her entire attitude towards dating men – she said “anyway sex is always good for the guy” – implying that merely the opportunity to lay in bed next to a naked woman was automatically pleasurable to us men, and payment enough.. I ended the date shortly thereafter – somewhat abruptly, but I’d had enough by then.
I’ve slept with enough women by now to know great sex from the rest. I know that sex isn’t always as automatic as the kind we glimpse in the porn flicks. Like all shared activity, it depends on subtle negotiations between the partners about what works for each (and what doesn’t). The best sex I’ve had has been part communication and part pure spontaneity. Sometimes giving (rather than receiving) pleasure is the most enjoyable part about sex. I can almost never enjoy sex when I’m the only one having fun (although I’m in the reverse situation frequently).
Anyway, the point of this epic rant is that I felt both annoyed and sorry for this girl. If sexual desire – especially in women - hadn’t been pathologised so completely in our culture, we’d both have had a good time last night.
I really like older women, but I guess that’s not enough. I need them to be “bad” women, “bitches”, “sluts”, who are ultimately the only ones with the dignity and self-assurance to seek out and get what they want on non-remunerative terms. They’re the ones who see that sexual desire is not a disease, but a healthy, ‘natural’ bodily function that we’ve all been equipped for since the days of Adam. And as Kundera is fond of saying, we only live once in this body. This isn’t a rehearsal for another life we will live elsewhere.
---- Desire --- Sir Philip Sydney
Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's self-chosen snare,
Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scattered thought ;
Band of all evils, cradle of causeless care ;
Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought ;
Desire, desire ! I have too dearly bought,
With price of mangled mind, thy worthless ware ;
Too long, too long, asleep thou hast me brought,
Who shouldst my mind to higher things prepare.
But yet in vain thou hast my ruin sought ;
In vain thou madest me to vain things aspire ;
In vain thou kindlest all thy smoky fire ;
For virtue hath this better lesson taught,—
Within myself to seek my only hire,
Desiring nought but how to kill desire.
What can I say? I too have "too dearly bought, with price of mangled mind" desire's worthless ware.
Too long desire has "asleep, hast me brought", who shouldst, definitely, "my mind to higher things prepare".
What is Litost? Litost is an untranslatable Czech word. Its first syllable, which is long and stressed, sounds like the wail of an abandoned dog. As for the meaning of this word, I have looked in vain in other languages for an equivalent, though I find it difficult to imagine how anyone can understand the human soul without it. Take an instance from the student’s childhood. His parents made him take violin lessons. He was not very gifted and his teacher would interrupt him to criticize his mistakes in an old, unbearable voice. He felt humiliated, and he wanted to cry. But instead of trying to play in tune and not make mistakes, he would deliberately play wrong notes, the teacher’s voice would become still more unbearable and harsh, and he himself would sink deeper and deeper into his litost.
What then is litost? Litost is a state of torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery. Anyone with wide experience of the common imperfection of mankind is relatively sheltered from the shocks of litost. For him, the sight of his own misery is ordinary and uninteresting. Litost, therefore, is characteristic of the age of inexperience. It is one of the ornaments of youth.