The chaps of Bangalore

Bangalore has so much to excite the senses: the bright lights of McDonalds, the toxic clouds of black diesel and the scent of sweetly steaming turd on tarmac. But for me, the best thing is the men. Like most Indian cities, the ladies stay indoors sweeping and looking after the kids, while their sons and husbands hang about on street corners holding hands, staring at slutty gap-year students, spitting phlegm and wearing t-shirts with slogans like ‘Sex Machine’ and ‘Rock God’. False advertising or a message from heaven? I decided to take to the streets to find the best date in Bangalore.

Shopping is undoubtedly one of Bangalore’s favourite pastimes. I hooked up with a style-savvy IT consultant called Deepak who promised to take me to the Bangalore equivalent of Bloomingdales for the ultimate consumer experience. I wasn’t disappointed, as it turned out that his dad owned an exclusive city boutique.

Deepak and me

When we arrived it wasn’t like any boutique I had ever seen before. Deepak and I exchanged a few flirtatious one-liners over brass statuettes of Ganesh and plastic trays of bejeweled bindis; but I’m no material girl, I need more than flashy fashion items and smooth talk to keep me interested.

I strolled towards Bangalore’s famous Barton Centre – a thriving hotspot for the city’s college hipsters, aspiring socialites and the Bollywood stars of tomorrow. Through plastic palm trees I immediately locked eyes with a striking young Bangalorian called Raj. I asked him what he did for a living and from behind mirrored aviators he replied humbly, “I am a professional dancer and a struggling model.”

Raj, by day

I tried to hide my excitement as he took my digits and suggested we meet later that night at the underground dance club Kosmos. He informed me that since last year dancing has been banned in Bangalore – but this only added to the thrill. I had a good feeling about Raj.

Chatting up boys is thirsty work so I headed to Coffee Day, the Bangalorian equivalent of Starbucks, where their T shirts told me they were “Nuts about Coffee.” It wasn’t long before I was approached by Krishna, a distinguished-looking Indian gentleman with a long tendril of snow-white hair. He wasn’t my usual type, but my grandmother always told me not to judge a book by it’s cover, (or an elderly man by his white toga).

Krishna, his toga and a coffee

He treated me to a cappuccino and impressed me with his extensive network of friends from the United States, Thailand, East Croydon, Stoke on Trent and the Middle East. Despite his authentic appearance and sophisticated good looks, something told me that this silver fox had a silver tongue to match. I made my excuses – but not before he jotted my email address down in his BlackBerry and made me promise to stay with at his farm in Bijaipur if I was ever in the neighbourhood.

Despite three guys on the backburner, I was keeping my options open. As I was just about to head back to the Komfort Terraces Hotel when I bumped into a suave entrepreneur by the name of Govinda. There was something subtle and mysterious about him that caught my eye.

Govinda the entertainer

I told him I liked his style. He seemed to be playing hard to get, but I’m not one for mind games. So, with a flick of my hair I disappeared into the steamy Bangalore night for some dinner.

Following a tip from a friend I headed for Bangalore’s premier pizza joint for a slice of the local action. Blushing under the bright fluorescent lights, I gave my order to a shy guy in blue baseball cap and tight fitting T. My medium ‘Cheese Burst’ pizza gave me the courage to invite this mystery guy in blue over to my table to share the last of my Coca-Cola. We talked thin crust versus thick, but the chemistry just wasn’t there.

Pizza Pramod

Hiding my disappointment with a smile I went back to my room to freshen up.

Five minutes later I received the text message I’d been waiting for from Raj, telling me to get my dancing shoes on and to meet him at Kosmos at ten. My night was looking up. As I entered the club, I was grateful that the banging bangra house could hide the beating of my heart. I spotted him across the dance floor in matching leather cap and jacket.

Raving Raj

I’ve never seen a man’s feet move as fast as I did that night. He bought me a cocktail and put his tongue in my ear.

Raj, by night

I think I’m in love with Bangalore.

Yours smittenly,

SARAH