Guysexual looks at 'happy, damaged men': Is broken the new bad, damaged the new dashing?

It’s the second date.

We are in that no-man’s land between deciding whether we want to tell each other our favourite Game Of Thrones character or deciding who pays for dinner tonight. In the last 40-odd minutes, he’s told me he’s an alcoholic, wrote a long vicious email to an ex who he broke up with and is now so broken that he can never get into a serious relationship. And I thought we were only getting dinner.

If I collect any more red flags, I can start my own souvenir shop. Would you like to buy one for your friends back home?

“So I might have to go grab dinner with a few friends later. Do you mind if we just get a drink at home instead?” he asks me, stirring me out of my monologue-inspired reverie. It’s only 6.30 pm. The sun is still out, deciding what to do in the dull city sky. Ranveer is an executive producer with a media mogul — in his plush suburban apartment; he only sees the things I don’t. I don’t blame him — why would he see the white picket fence dream when he has a sea-facing view? Why can’t he be like every second profile on Grindr — sane and sorted, but looking for fun?

I agree to the drink nevertheless (White rum, four cubes of ice, some lime water). I also agree to other things.

Hugs are exchanged when I leave two hours later.

He never calls me back. Is Ranveer with the mousy hair and the droopy, beady eyes, the conventional bad boy? He’s not. According to him, he’s ‘broken’ — damaged beyond repair. He doesn’t cheat. He doesn’t get abusive. He doesn’t even steal your fries. He just can’t feel.

‘Do you know a biological electrician who’d help re-wire me?’ His question had sounded genuine. Ding ding ding. We have ourselves a Prince Harming (and he will be soon be coming to theaters near you) who will always be far, far away in a time long, long ago.

There’s only one question: is broken the new bad?

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