Losing My Virginity and Other Dumb Ideas by Madhuri Banerjee Page A

nonplussed and introduced himself.
    ‘Hi, I’m Arjun.’ The Greek God had a name, a name that was eulogized in Indian mythology. I was swooning. I needed to get a hold of myself. Maybe it was because I had too many drinks on an empty stomach, or maybe because he oozed sex. I felt as if I was swirling.
    I took my hand out to shake his and found the courage, ‘I’m Kaveri.’
    After what seemed a long time but was actually a few seconds, he asked, ‘Like the river?’ I nodded. He continued, ‘So you’re south Indian?’ I nodded again and added, ‘Partly. And partly …’
    ‘Beautiful,’ he said without missing a beat. I smiled. I might have been looking like a tomato. Suddenly hiding my big stomach and small cleavage was the top most priority on my mind. So I leaned forward and sat up a little as close to the table so he couldn’t see too much of my body.
    ‘What about you?’ I asked, sipping on my beer and all the while thinking that it would be so wonderful if we got married and had sex!
    He took a long gulp of his beer and said, ‘Partly not beautiful and partly from here.’
    ‘Ohh but you are …’ I mumbled. Oh god, I wish I could have kissed him. I was going mad.
    ‘What?’ he smiled and asked.
    ‘Um … I mean, you’re from Goa?’ I corrected myself.
    He nodded. He stopped drinking, eating, being. He just kept looking at me. In a deep, intense way and his eyes said a lot more. But I didn’t want to misread them. That was it. I knew then that what we had was chemistry.
    ‘Yup, from Ponda,’ he said, finally looking away and then asked looking back at me, ‘What brings you to my land?’
    ‘Work,’ I replied and smiled. I tried to sound normal. Instead a squeaky girlish voice came out and he smiled. I had not done this in a long time. Flirting didn’t come easily and my back up called Aditi wasn’t around to make me look good.
    ‘Oh, you look like you’re doing a lot of work!’ he smirked.
    I smiled, ‘I have an afternoon off.’ I ran my fingers through my hair, desperately wanting him to fall in love with me.
    ‘Let me guess, you’re an agent to a Bollywood star?’
    ‘No,’ I laughed softly, trying to be coquettish.
    ‘You’re a model in search of real food?’
    I laughed out loud, secretly happy he thought of me as a
model
. ‘No! I’m a freelance interpreter.’
    ‘What’s an interpreter?’
    ‘A person who translates languages for delegates coming from different countries.’
    ‘Oh, there’s a job like that? Wow. That must be cool.’
    ‘Ya. Sometimes. And sometimes it can be extremely taxing,’ I said nonchalantly. ‘What do you do?’ I asked politely.
    ‘I’m in TV.’
    ‘Are you an actor?’ I asked.
    ‘No,’ he said very seriously, knowing how good looking he was, ‘I work in syndication for the media.’
    ‘Wow, that’s exciting,’ I said, not knowing what it really meant but wanting to impress him.
    ‘Hardly exciting. Makes you travel a lot and you get to drink a lot of airport coffee.’ He left it at that and looked away. And I didn’t pursue it. I guess he didn’t want to talk about work. We sat there for a while not talking and just looking at the sea.
    ‘I love this place,’ he mumbled after some time.
    ‘Hmmm,’ I agreed.
    ‘It’s so much better than beaches across the world that are more famous.’
    I looked at him stunned and asked, ‘Like?’
    ‘Miami, Hawaii, Mexico, France.’
    ‘You’ve been to all these places?’ I asked.
    He turned to me and said, ‘Oh ya. My work made me travel to all these places. I hate travelling though. If I have to do so, I will, but otherwise my idea of a perfect vacation is right here.’
    ‘Home, you mean?’ I said. He nodded. I didn’t want to tell him about my world travels. I loved travelling. I thought it enhanced you as a person. And I didn’t want to tell him that I would rather be travelling than be home with my parents. Just then, there was a strong gust of wind and the ketchup that