There are myriad varieties of young men in our cities. Among these I have noticed two that are of particular interest.

First there is the wolf.

You will see him from a distance for he wears one of two attires -- either a starched shalwar kameez or a bespoke suit, waist-coat and pocket square optional respectively.

These young men know the management at all restaurants and dining with them, if you ever chance upon it, is a special experience. They wait for the valet to open their car door before stepping out, they talk shop with the managers while they are being seated, and always keep crisp hundred rupee notes handy. Though they pay gratuity they are not gracious.

You will never quite get a straight answer if you ask them what they do. Some tend to lands; some parade the successes of their fathers as their own. Others still, hide the fact that they work desk jobs in the development sector.

I wonder what happens after their cigars slowly burn to ash, and the cheap qawwals-for-hire call it a night after singing in their lounges for an inebriated audience of three. Is it then, when there are finally no eyes on them, that they shed the garb, the high-nosed-ness, the aristocratic performance they put on for the rest of the day? Or, has the starch on their shirts permeated to their skin such that they truly mistake their indulgent habits for refinement?

Then there is the sheep.

Though less conspicuous, he can be recognised quite easily not by his attire, but by the look of nicety he has never questioned, which he wears on his face. You can fill a stadium and then some with this kind, so many are they. They lurk behind in the background of pictures. They too have a story to tell but seek escape from the opportunity to tell it.

They too go to parties but never make friends. Instead every weekend they gain a raqeeb or two. They eye their beloved from a distance while her hands rest on his arm, while her eyes dance in his gaze. And in the moment when her eyes stray by accident to their direction, they are left with no choice but to make an enemy of the wolf that stands beside her. Too afraid for confrontation, too bland to stand out, they will repeat this night for many a winter yet.

But between these two, at the point these two categories overlap resides the Wolf-In-Sheep’s-Clothing.

He wears a plain T-shirt paired with a set of pants that are just right. The look is simple and he doesn’t advertise any large brands on his clothes. This is not entirely an aesthetic decision, but rather one borne out of logic.

He has thought long and hard about the function of clothes, debated on the matter in college dorms, glanced through books on objectivism and utilitarianism and only then come to a decision. If the big horse emblazoned on the shirt plays no part in keeping him warm, then might as well do away with it.

That is not to say he does not dress to impress, just thoughtfully so. After all he works quite hard on the angular body that lies hidden within.

At any given party he will share niceties with the sheep, and a few loud laughs with the wolves. On the dance floor he’s not overeager but knows how to move to the beat. If his eyes meet yours’ ladies, he will come talk to you. But the conversation is not laden with the usual machismo of the wolf nor the shy timidity of the sheep. Instead, you will think to yourself, it’s actually fun talking to this guy.

When you go out for coffee with him the next weekend you will discover that he reads books. He will pepper otherwise impeccable English with a few words of shusta Urdu, words that you otherwise find hidden in books of poetry. And fair warning, this part you’ll find out later, he speaks Punjabi too. He listens to tabla-techno, once more walking the tight-rope between two distinct categories, this time modern and classical. He will soon open up to you about his past and lend an understanding ear when you too are ready to do so.

He will parade his vulnerability, make a show of it, but unsheathe it further and you’ll find in its stead a weapon. Because just as you start to fall in love he will end things for he likes to keep his options open. In fact, he has kept his options open all this while, you weren’t the only one. But do not despair. You never loved him, just the idea of him.

The wolf is too uncouth, the sheep lacks flavour, and the third is always one step ahead of you. None can be trusted. Good luck finding love.