I wasn't aware I had a love life in India.

[OK, OK, the blog's not over yet.]

I remember once, towards the beginning of the summer when Jishnu, the son of Vikramshila's director, walked in the office. He started talking to KP, and she starting talking back. They did not touch, they did not say anything mushy, but I thought to myself, "They are an item." Immediately afterwards, I reined myself back in.

"No, no, Sam. Cultural signals are different in foreign countries. What you think is a signal of affection may well be a signal of some other feeling; gastrointestinal pain, for example."

And yet, a week later, Jishnu and KP and I all went out to dinner the next week. I told Jishnu and KP about Rachel, the girlfriend from back home*, at which point KP told me, "Yeah, Jishnu and I are a thing." A few days later, someone told me that thing actually meant that they are engaged.

Then, last month at the Lake Centre, Swarupa, a very cute 13 year old girl, and Subhadeep, a very cute 14 year old boy, would not stop punching each other. I was trying to lead some activity (probably very boring) and they were refusing to pay attention. I debated with myself whether or not to intervene, until it occurred to me that when teenage boys and girls touch each other, it's probably because they enjoy touching each other.

So, I've been feeling pretty good about my ability to interpret intercultural romantic signals. People flirt pretty much the same way everywhere, I was beginning to believe, and I, observant fellow that I am, can read this not-so-secret lenguaje de amor.

Until today. I had asked KP and Shubhra if they would like to go out to lunch with me before I take off to Delhi. Shubhra, at least, will be gone when I return, so I thought it would be a nice goodbye to people who have been very good friends to me since I've been here. Shubhra, as it turned out, was busy; but as of this morning, KP and I were still on.

I was reading at the table in the office's modest conference room, when KP plopped down across from me. She said,

"I don't think we should go out to lunch today."
"Oh, that's too bad," I replied.
"I think you'll agree with me once you hear my reasons." She was giving me the classic KP smirk, but seemed to be getting more serious by the second.
"Well, you are very persuasive."
"You see, relationships between men and women are very different in India, and there's all this gossip in the office. About how you and I have been spending a lot of time together alone."
"We have?" I asked.
"Well, you know, we were both in the office last weekend alone," she explainied
"We were working. In the office." She remained expressionless. I continued the explanation: "Where people work."
"Well, but you always come talk to me before talking to other people in the office, and they are wondering, 'why did he ask KP out to lunch and not anyone else.'"

Absolutely none of this stuff had been on my radar at all--so much for stealth-like interpretation of romantic signals. When she told me that even our physical proximity had sent up the antennae of our gossip-starved co-workers, I was completely dumbfounded, "What physical proximity?" I started laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing. My sense of humor about the matter was not appreciated. KP told me to quiet down, lest I provoke further speculation.

"And it's hard too, because they all know Jishnu," she said. I was confused.
"Why wouldn't that make them less suspicious?"
"Well, because then he's the poor guy who doesn't know what's going on behind his back. And since I've been told by people that you like me, and I continue to lead you on in this way, then I'm partner to the whole thing."

I was, at this point, utterly befuddled. She seemed to be saying that being aware of an untrue accusation (that Sam and KP are having some romantic fling) compelled her to act differently, in case she encourage my non-existent behavior.

"So people think that you have this crush on me." KP pauses, becomes more serious. "Do you?"
"No," I responded. "Well, I mean, I like you, and I like talking to you, but I certainly don't...I main, I wouldn't want to....no."
"OK."

What was so difficult about her question was that: yes, of course I have a crush on her, in the same way that I have a crush on so many of my good friends. What's a crush except enthusiasm about a person? But all of this, the revelation of all these thoughts, the quiet accusation, put me on the defensive. I felt like a 5th grader trying to deny my classmates' jeers--"No way. I don't like girls. Girls are gross."

"So, if the way you and I behave is cause for office gossip, is there a way we could have acted that would not have made people talk?" She thought for a minute.
"No, I don't think so."
"Then are men and women just not friends in India?"
"Not really."

I have been better friends with KP than with other people in the office, in part because of the time she's spent in the US. That gives her the ability to speak my cultural language a little bit, which is obvoiusly welcome. Furthermore, I'm not sure exactly who in the office people expected me to be friends with; I was the only male.

The more I think about this whole thing, the madder I get about it. I composed a short speech in my head after KP left to go do something.

"KP," I would say, in this imaginary world, "I'm mad at you about the lunch thing. Essentially, you're saying you'd prefer to bypass mild ridicule on the part of people in the office, rather than say a proper goodbye to a friend who you likely won't see for years."

Intstead I said, "Well, I guess I'll see you sometime, then," and waved, and marched off to catch my plane to Delhi. At the time, I reasoned that, on my last day, there was simply no compelling reason to ruffle feathers, and that it's better to leave on good terms. But really, I said nothing because I feared that this misunderstanding was simply the inevitable result of the wide, impassable cultural canyon separating KP and I. That's the classic crutch: "It's culture." KP had explained it that way, arguing, "you couldn't understand--things are just different in India." We, as individuals, had no part in the interaction--it was just the natural result of two opposite civilizations making contact. An Orientalist theory of friendship.

What I mean is, I didn't tell KP I was mad at her, I didn't afford her the respect I afford my closest friends, because she's Indian. And so, on the day I left Kolkata, I felt as as alien as I did on the day I arrived.

*Rachel, ie Raquel, has a fantastic blog about being in Juarez, Mexico, so here's a little blog tag-team shout-out action: www.encontrandolafrontera.blogspot.com.