My mother very poignantly with great feigned trepidation but much perverse curiosity asked me if I was 'sexually normal.' I wish I could say I was shocked at her audacity, but mostly I was just a little flabbergasted contemplating the missed opportunity for exercising my narcissism because I had never sat down and evaluated my sexuality on the rigors of the deeply etched behavioral scale we all carry in our minds. I asked, if she was asking, whether I was a lesbian - she said 'no no ! I am asking, if you are, you know, normal' - curiouser and curiouser ! I laughed a breathy laugh, and told her that no I was not a lesbian and I have never really concentrated too much on the possibility or my desire for real, actual sex.
This is the funniest life anecdote I have gathered in a very long time. I look forward to building it up with funny interjections and laboured pauses to build it up to the dramatic crescendo I know it has the potential to reach. But for the larger part, I am genuinely shocked into the realisation that my sexlessness has reached a scale where my very Indian, very middle class mother is worried about my not getting any. I wonder what a colourful stereotype I must be in her mind - it would have been wonderful to be that complicated. In reality however, I just don't have it in me to take seriously this concept which is always so beautiful in fiction and so banal in the manner it happens in real life.
Or I will just ask my mother if she wants me to join Tinder. Where all idealism and belief systems lay dashed, my romantic notions may also meet their fateful demise.