Save for the acne covered cheeks, he was a fairly good-looking guy. Fair with think jet black hair, he exuded a certain charm that his compatriots did not possess. This was the third time I was seeing him and the second time I would utter something to him. “Are you making pancakes?”, he inquired in an accent that was manifestly not natural to him. It was reminiscent of my own efforts to sound American by tonguing the words. What resulted were words that sounded like they required great, deliberate effort. “I first made pancakes when I was four”, he carried on when I nodded in agreement. The accent had already made the alarm bells in me ring. This made the wail a little louder. I laughed, faking surprise. He returned to conversing with his friends in Hindi. I caught a few words here and there. It appeared to revolve around lesbians, nudity and some indecent acts. “Sex in public. Is that common?”, he exclaimed. There was silence. The sudden turn from Hindi to Englis