“He’s from Kaneda??? Kya baat hai!”

The way Jaishree aunty uttered those words, it appeared that if given the chance she would be quite happy to moonlight as the bride to woo this dulha from Canada.

My parents seconded her, with their dazed expressions.

Yup, after my date with Vicksss didn’t quite work out, mom and dad are dreaming about seeing their daughter take the pheras with this ‘homesick hunk’ from Canada called Ajay. And of course, as usual, Jaishree aunty is fangirling over the fact that how this guy, Ajay has a pay package of Rs.90 lakh.

“And all this only within the first five years of his career!” she had swooned.

To cut long things short, Ajay is now in India in his quest to find a ‘desi’ bride and courtesy a marriage website (I despise each one of those) my parents have listed him as a potential groom for me.

Well, I had learnt my lesson since last time when it took Vicksss ages to arrive, and now I have my guard up. With no intention of waiting awkwardly at a posh restaurant for this ‘munda from kaneda’ to come, I am adamant that the place of our ‘date’ will be according to my choice.

And since I had promised to myself that I will not be judgmental (given the jerk my ex-boyfriend was, I can surely cut out some slack for this guy), I make the call to him.

The Call

‘Jaawahaar Kela Kendraa? Are you sure? You know I am comfy with restaurants if it’s okay with you,” said AJ (oh like Vicksss, Ajay calls him AJ), the pitch of his voice a little high and his accent seemed to be a cross between American and British English.

Apparently I had chosen the coffee house at the JKK as our meeting place (here, at least, I have the option of checking out art exhibitions if AJ is much late, instead of waiting stupidly) but it seems that the guy is not much amused.

“Umm…Ajay, it’s not Kela but Kala Kendra. It’s one of the coolest places in the city, and I think that you will like it.”

“Okiee, anything for the lady,” he said, albeit a bit morosely.

Hmm… from this cheesy line I understand that AJ has gotten over the initial shock of meeting me at the austere coffee house than any hi-fi restaurant, and so we agree upon the venue.

But at that time, little did I know that this would be a date that I won’t forget easily.

AJ with his PJs

“Back in Ontario, where I live, it’s snowing, and here I see people not even wearing a sweater,” could you believe it?

“Yes. Because that’s Canada you’re talking about and this is Rajasthan.”

Seriously AJ, you could do it with some geography lessons, I think.

So the man of the moment, Ajay aka AJ is sitting in front of me at the coffee house in JKK and for the last 20 minutes, all he has done is to rave incessantly about his life in Canada.

Along with his heavily gelled hair arranged in a spiky do and sleek shades, his face gives an impression that he has taken a lot of pains ‘grooming’ himself.

“You didn’t get it, it was a joke,” says AJ before breaking into a sudden laughing session that appeared as fake as his accent.

Now, how do I tell him that if this was a joke, then AJ is a master in the art called PJ. Neither would I believe that such abominable jokes could find favour among the girls in Canada.

“Why’s our coffee taking so long to be served? In Canada, we just need to pop a coin in the machine, and it doesn’t even take half a second to get the cappuccino.”

For some unknown reason, AJ takes off his shades and then puts them back again.

“It will arrive. We just placed our orders. Do you like this place? You, know, JKK is the cultural epicenter of Jaipur.”

“I would like it better if the coffee comes early,” AJ makes a grunting sound and gestures with his hands like he is brushing away some fly.

Grrr… now I’m pissed off

Now, by this time I was mighty pissed off and decided to go on the offensive.

“Tell me AJ, you have already expressed your love for Canadian ice-skating, the Thanksgiving turkey, the wine and roads, but you haven’t said anything about the girls there. Is it taboo to speak about past relationships in an arranged marriage date with an Indian girl?”

Just then our coffee arrives, and AJ is so taken aback by my question that he doesn’t seem to remember that he had said he would give the coffee house staff an earful for coming late.

“Ok, I am making it easier for you. Recently I broke up with my boyfriend. He was pretty good in bed but otherwise was a scoundrel of the finest kind. Since you find everything in India not up to your taste, I was wondering that how you are not shuddering at the prospect of marrying an Indian girl,” I carry on.

“Ehh…I…I think that there has been some misunderstanding. I was just saying life is much better in Canada. Of course, the Indian girls are much more sanskaari than their Canadian counterparts.”

Before I could say anything about this moronic argument (Now, this guy AJ could give my ex-boyfriend serious competition on who’s the bigger jerk), I hear a familiar voice.

This date is a threesome!

“Hey, I didn’t think to see you here. What’s up?”

Unkempt beard, a DSLR in one of his hand and a cigarette in his other, it is none other than Sarthak, the struggling artist who spends most of his time at JKK tripping on God knows what. Not quite popular among the artist fraternity because of his know-it-all attitude, Sarthak gives an impression that he kinda doesn’t care to mingle among mortals.

Not to mention that almost every time I stepped inside the coffee house, I had bumped into him, and when he is high, he always tries to hit on me with his sketchy ideas about art (he seems to have no idea about what they are). PS. He also thinks that art is a territory which is the exclusive monopoly of men. But today, I am actually happy to see Sarthak. You know why? Read on!

The plan

A terrific idea occurs to me at the moment and within seconds I flash a grin at Sarthak and invite him to sit at our table (Mr. AJ looks not happy), and Sarthak happily obliges.

Hiee… Sarthank, this is AJ from Canada, he was just saying to me that how the life sucks in India and I am quite tempted to marry him and go to Canada (at this point AJ is so clueless that he is staring open-mouthed). What say?

“What? What’s bad in India, tell me, is there a JKK in Canada?” from his impossible argument it becomes quite evident to me that he is already quite high on weed and won’t easily let go this chance to impress me by defeating AJ’s arguments.

Now it seems that the ‘man’ in AJ suddenly wakes up, and he too squirms in his seat, “Canada is the best place to live in the world, there we get to skate on real ice.”

Sarthak’s marijuana laced voice reverberates throughout the cafeteria, and he fires counter arguments.

“Is there any match between the Canadian and Indian cricket team? Shah Rukh Khan was escorted by the Canadian prime minister for a Bollywood award.” And many more!

I take my leave

By the time, I am about to exit the cafeteria quietly (after paying the bills of course), both the men in question were engaged in an animated discussion over which country was better. AJ was smoking one of the weed-filled cigarettes of Sarthak and lecturing him on the many merits of Canada while the latter was singing Sare Jahan Se Accha Hindustan Hamara, beating the table as a tabla.

A motley group of the crowd has also assembled around them, occasionally cheering for them.

“Madam kaha se mile aapko, ye dono?” asks a staff, whom I know by face, courtesy my frequent visits at JKK.

“Don’t disturb them, they are the perfect antidote to each other,” I say, before leaving unnoticed, deciding not to interrupt AJ and Sarthak’s ‘date.’