Friday night, and the gang heads over to Zenzi, for a couple of drinks. As soon as we enter, I spy Upen Patel with his Delectable Cleft In The Chin, and VJ Yudishter in an o-so-awesome tight white shirt, and as far as I'm concerned, the Rs 250 for the shooter has been worth it. For the record, I tried a concoction called Lemon Woo Woo, not half-bad really, a mix of peach schnappe, vodka and cranberry juice. I was all ready, if the waiter turned out to be a hot and hunky Upen type, to get up and whisper in his ear: "I want your Lemon Woo Woo, please...!"
But, dancing free style with some firang chick, there was this other specimen at Zenzi, who completely grabbed my attention. At first, Emily was being bitchy about the guy's completely random moves, while I was being o-so-cooey about how 'the guy is dancing with his soul and heart and thoroughly enjoying himself!', but as the moves became more and more (um....!) retarded, I was soon gaping openly. He was doing these weird crosses between your Hindi film jhatkas and the dirty salsa moves I'd learnt recently, punctuated with bursts of hiphop hand movements, shrieking 'Yay, bab-ay!' to his firang co-dancer who looked impressed and mortified alternately.
"He's embarassing!" shrieked Emily, and after a point of time, I had to agree. Even though he was kinda cute, with a great smile, trimmed French beard and obviously very flexible body, I was entranced with how whacky he made the whole dance thing look. My salsa dance teacher would have fainted.
Saturday night, I found myself at a performance by the New York-based Battery Dance Company, courtesy tickets from Chimneypot. Enigmatic dances, while the music was a decidedly eerie cross between jazz and world music, and the entire recital was simply divine! Flatmate, sitting next to me, whispered enviously, "Do these people have any bones at all in their bodies?" and I had to murmur my agreement to that one. Of course, I was also thinking at the back of my mind, that the gorgeous men doing those scandalously astounding moves were probably gay, - blame it on the stereotypical thinking! - and I might see them at the GB party later that night.
So, when finally I hit the GB dance floor at Liquid Lounge, in my slinky black shirt and tight dark blue jeans, I was eagerly scanning all the firang hotties around, trying to make out if I had seen them on the stage an hour back or not. But even though, there were quite a few handsome Caucasian faces on the floor that night, I couldn't recognize anyone at all.
And besides, even if I did, what would I go and tell them? Ask for another Lemon Woo Woo?
;-)
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