How I Lost My Virginity

Runa was born in the sixties – a lot of importance was placed on being a virgin until marriage. It was referred to as ‘the first night’ in hushed tones. Runa was a curious girl and though she got all her information from her school library, she soon realized that this was a matter of practical experience and she wasn’t waiting for The First Night. In 1975, she got through the tenth standard board exams with flying colors. What else could one be in those days except good at studies or sports? She was also a terrific sprinter and her coach wanted her to train for state-level running.

Her school library had also fattened her imagination with all the fairy tales that she could have asked for. Then there were the Mills and Boons romances, Georgette Heyer, and page 98 from The Godfather with Sonny having raucously aggressive sex with the heroine. Every convent schooled girl thought she would find her TDH – tall, dark and handsome – man to sweep her off her feet and they would live happily ever after.

The year was 1976, she was 16 and the bubble burst – her brother was diagnosed with schizophrenia and she knew no respectable family among the Syrian Christian community who would come forward with a marriage proposal. That she was brilliant and beautiful, did not count, her father did not have the monies to make up for the stigma of mental illness in the family.

She was never indoctrinated enough by the church or society to follow the rules, and smart enough to not let on. Then, she came upon the book Memoirs of Geisha; the hymen or mizuage gave way to the next stage of training, the senior maiko. Mineko Iwasaki, a geisha who Arthur Golden met while writing Memoirs of a Geisha described mizuage in her autobiography as being an initiation party, symbolized on the geisha-to-be by a change in hair-style rather than the loss of virginity.

Runa decided that she was not about to pay a dowry to marry a Malayali Syrian Christian to take away her virginity and continue slaving for him the rest of her life. In Fergusson College, she did not find anyone worth her mizuage among the Maharashtrian mama’s boys; fair and cute, but no spark.

So here she was seventeen years old, wearing saris, and ready-made blouses from Calcutta, where her folks were transferred. She lived in the 100-year old hostel building and was lucky to have a single room. She was studying Chemistry, was studious, earned good grades and was quiet, radically independent, though no one would guess that from the outside.

Then the universe conspired to give her a gift. It came in the form of selection to the first ever admission to 5 girls from Poona into Air Wing NCC. Parades were on Sunday at Wadia college’s immense grounds. On the first day, she took the first bus from Deccan Gymkhana at 6:45 am. Not a soul on the ground, but a grey overcalled man waving at her from the far end of the grounds.

She had on her blue uniform and smart topi-like cap and shoes and stood transfixed on the spot, with her eyes locked on this figure running nimbly down the steps from the C-shaped stadium. By the time he reached her, her heart was galloping, her ears turned red and she stammered a ‘Good morning, Sir.’

Out went the D of the Tall-Dark-Handsome, standing in front of her was God-towering over her at 6 feet-2 inches, blue-green-grey eyes, and a shade better looking than George Clooney. He owed his stunning looks to being a second generation Jew, and his fitness to being an ex-NDA cadet and graduate. An air-force officer, he trained cadets in flying and was CO of the NCC HQ in Senapati Bapat Road. This place was walking distance from her hostel.

She liked to think that he had seduced her intellectually – he gave her a book on Gestalt by Fritz Perls, and they discussed matters of psychological interest and Transactional Analysis. Thirty-seven, married and with an 11-year old son, he taught her to fly – in the NDA campus. He initiated her to much more – when on one Sunday afternoon he looked her up in the hostel. She had failed to show up at the parade and he was concerned. She was recovering from a fever. “Hop on,” he said. “Come and have lunch with us.”

From Fergusson to Hadapsar where he lived was about 10 km, and halfway through the ride on his grey Vespa, he told her that his wife and son had gone to Bombay, to her parents. Her heart skipped a beat. She said nothing. He further went on to ask her whether she realized what that meant? She thought in her mind. Yes, she knew. She could give this man her mizuage. A mixture of dread and excitement filled her. Never once did she think she was doing wrong. This was her moment and she grabbed it. It was not a conscious decision, but in her mind, the jackpot was won. He met all the criteria to be the recipient of her virginity. If nothing else, he had twelve years of experience of making love.

To cut the story short, after a warm shower that they took together, he stood her in front of the full-length mirror at the dressing table and the memory of this gorgeous man holding this superbly ethereal girl in the nude was etched into her mind for eternity.