Anyway there we were in the lobby of the Al Falaj Hotel in the Sultanate of Oman. I was a wide-eyed 23-year-old and the handsome Lebanese (he hated the fact that I mistook him for Lebanese) was a dashing, suave 28. There was no sign of Mr Mesquitta who had arranged this dinner. After sitting there for 45 minutes, my hunger pangs drove me to the concierge to enquire if there was a message from Mesquitta. Jerome was behind me inquiring about him too. Then he said: “Anyway since we are here, why don’t we go for dinner?”

He was surprised I knew my wines and spoke French. I was impressed with his manners and the fact that he came from this rare brood of nine children. A very Catholic upbringing added the lustre. And then there were those eyes. Sparkling like diamonds. So luminous I was drowning in them. I told him pointedly that I was getting out of a relationship and I was not keen to begin another. The next day he left for Brazil. He sent me a letter (Jerome never writes letters) and I sent him a bouquet of flowers.

When Jerome returned from Brazil we began a wonderful friendship. A part of me believed that having a relationship with a foreigner was a no-no. My mother would never approve. We were brought up (sadly and wrongly) to think that all foreign relationships ended in divorce.

When I later told Jerome about my dreams of becoming a fashion designer, he immediately put a finance plan in place and insisted I open a recurring fixed deposit to earn enough to pay my way through college. Six months later, we fell hopelessly and madly in love. We have the same sense of style, travel to the most exotic places and enjoy great food. For Jerome, each moment should be spent in style. No keeping the Limoges teacups for a special occasion. So Idrin from Villeroy and Boch each morning and it is not unusual for Jerome to have champagne at 4 pm instead of tea.

When I left Oman and moved to Los Angeles, Jerome left his job and looked after my meals (resulting in a wonderful 12-kilo weight gain). He took a year off from work and just took care of me. Through the years, we kept dancing around the globe to be with each other. Paris. Istanbul. New York. Lisbon. Bombay. And finally Goa.

Though this sounds exotic, it wasn’t. I was always applying for visas, standing in different immigration queues and not being able to explain why we were together. Once at Tel Aviv airport I finally told the immigration officer that we were gay lovers for 12 years , to which he replied, “So why did you not tell me that earlier? I was wondering what you both had in common.”

Even now, in India, it is frustrating that Jerome has to apply for a visa each year. When I see my model friends who marry foreigners and get a PIO card for their spouses, I wish the Indian government would be kind to our love. After all, it is 25 years this year.