Tuesday, August 30, 2005
In Black and White
In Black and White

I call them penguins. The birds, short and stumpy, cute and sweet, which like to live in the Antarctic, (but if Madagascar gets it right, they thrive in the tropics), can't fly and flip flop on the snow. Penguins. The nice, affable men you meet all the time when you're gay, with whom you get along fabulously with, have a great date or two, fantasize about a beautiful kiss or two with, and then they end up flip flopping on the... erm, snow, in front of you. Penguins. Nice guys, really, but you tell yourself that you can do without them. They just add to the muddled confusion in your head.

So let's count the penguins. There was Nature Boy, about whom enough has already been said, and since we're on good terms now, I shall refrain from being bitchy against (for some time at least!). There's my friend K, who recently found himself dumped by one more bird. Very lovable creature, fine plummage, great smile, and admirable intelligence factor. Two months later, however, the expected jitters came out. One fine morning my friend could hear the penguin squawks, and the writing was on the wall.

And then, of course, there's me. There was this tall, lissome bird I was seeing, and after around three weeks of dating, he turns around and says that he really didn't think we were 'seeing' each other: things had reached a very nice and comfortable 'platonic' stage for him, and he 'assumed' that things were the same at my end, too.

Penguin squawks.

I wonder if I'm being bitter. I wonder if it's a coincidence that the book I just finished reading was one which tries to describes why men leave women and women keep wanting more. Just substitute both 'women' and 'men' back there for 'gay men', and there you have it: the living proof of both why penguins thrive in subtropical Bombay, and how gay men are perpetual Old Cows looking to turn into New Cows.

But bitterness is frankly beyond me. Or perhaps, it empowers me. Isn't every gay man out there bitter to a certain extent? Every smart gay man? I know that my last penguin's a nice guy (heck, that's why he qualifies as a penguin in the first place, and not a jackal), and maybe I shouldn't really be so vocal about my disappointments, but hell, maybe that's just me - "bratty" and "childlike". Maybe I'm the stupid ass who needs his head cleaned of all the "intellectual blah" inside, because when one partner sees things all friendly, the other should certainly stop imagining the bedroom. Right?

Probably.

But then, I guess, I still let those damn penguins fool me.

Labels: ,





Thursday, August 25, 2005
"That don't impress me much....!"
"That don't impress me much....!"

So, we're discussing impressions today. What do people make of you? Yesterday, someone I'm dating currently told me that I'm either 'childish' or 'childlike'. I had a lump in my throat then, and wondered to myself whether he was a nutcase or not, but then I relaxed when he smiled and said I was probably the latter.

So that's impression number one for me: childlike.

Then there was the SourApple who called me many moons ago, and told me that I should go easy on the sleeping around and one-night thingy, because (heaven forbid!) I might just go ahead and get myself a reputation!... and that might be tricky, if I planned on getting into a relationship anytime in the future. It was basically the 'loose character' tag that our grandmothers had to protect themselves from, when they were being wooed, courted and generally being married off.

Impression number two for me: slut.

(And of course, there was Bombay Godmother who once affectionately called me slutteshwari. Sigh...!)

When we broke up and all, Natureboy once said that he couldn't handle being in a relationship with me, because I would want to be in the know of his whereabouts, and would want to be the centre of his universe, yadayadayada, and all that jazz.

So, impression number three for me: Narcisisstic prick.

(Of course, everything is quite fine now with Natureboy, and I plan to break an earthen vessel on his head sometime soon because of the comment he made.)

Walk into a party with me, and I'll be dancing merrily to some stupid hiphop tune, then stand sedately with my drink in hand when they play Kuan mein doob jaungi, but then do the John Travolta moves when ABBA squeals Voulez Vouz, and then head bang if they play the scarce U2 number. And of course, nobody ever approaches me at any of these parties. A number of queries to a number of friends have yielded the same result...

Impression number four for me: Wallflower-cum-sex god-cum-Diva.

Hmmmmm....

And what about the sweet little boy inside? The sheep in wolf's clothing in sheep's clothing? What about the great guy with a sense of humour and a sense of ease to match? Mmm.....

I think I like 'childlike' best. ;-)

Labels:





Friday, August 19, 2005
The Ex Factor
The Ex Factor

So when do you decide that you can be 'friends' again? After going through a phase of wishing away your ex-lover, when do you actually start looking at him like a nice guy again - and it really doesn't matter that he's not got the hots for you at all.... mmmm, excuse me while I lick my lips, before proceeding to jump into a lengthy expplanation.

The trigger for this post is a recent event: I'm meeting Natureboy again. Strictly on a platonic basis, however. I'm talking to him, meeting him for lunch, and even discussing the cute firangs who traipse about South Bombay with him. Of course, my close friends think it's ludicruous. As far as they're concerned, Natureboy is still persona non grata, or at least, should be, around me. I agreed with them... till about a month back.

What happened a month back? I'm not sure - I think, it happened when I decided I want to look for date-material again - and not just the one-night stand variety. I think that signified: if I can look again, I must be over him. And of course, it's a farce to not indulge. We both crack lousy jokes, we're both sluts (I still am, he seems to have turned asexual now, though! heheheh), we both follow porn movies avidly (he never stopped, I've restarted), and we both love fatty food desserts. Hell, there was always chemistry there - I guess it depends on where you take that chemistry to.

But... getting back to the WHEN???? question at hand, I wonder if my answer ("When you're ready to date again") works. I have five exes, including Natureboy. The first was an asshole, and I'm never going to forgive him because of something particularly venomous he did, though I would smile at him if I ever meet him and would probably go to bed with him if he begged me - both of which have happened, since we broke up. (I said I was a slut!)

The second is a ghost in Delhi, whom I smile at, and exchange mouldy jokes with, but would never consider being friends with or even sleeping with again.

The third is a great friend of mine - one of the very few gay friends I have, and though we always make plans to have sex when we meet up next, that never happens - perhaps that's why we're still going strong! ;-)

The fourth is an angel, but I'm not in active touch with him. He called to wish me on my birthday, and I felt glad. We still call each other friends, but there's... distance. Somehow. Very little chemistry in the first place, I think.

And the fourth is Natureboy.

Yes, I never had a point to prove, really. Just wanted to talk about my lovely exes. ;-)

flashpoint:
You can vote against Article 377 online here. Just doing my bit for Gay Rights. Ahem, ahem... ;-)

Labels: ,





Monday, August 15, 2005
Independent closet?
Independent closet?

Ok, so this post was written on August 15, and I delayed in getting it out... Also, the words/ phrases in blue below are corrected mentions, after my goof-ups were reported to me. Sorry :-)

I feel like Bill Pullman of Independence Day saying: Today.... is our Independence Day! August 15, and hello to all of you. Get your tricolour jhandaas out, for this is the day that your country achieved independence.

I'm at pains here to find some gay angle here to Indian independence. If this were the didactic kind of a blog, I could talk about the irrelevance of Artiucle 377 that still disallows homosexuality and other 'sexual acts outside the order of nature'. If I go out and proclaim that I'm gay, chances are, I may be put away in jail. Archaic laws remain in use.

That reminds me: there's a rally tomorrow, organised by some leading LGBT groups, including India's most famous gay man, Ashok Kavi, at what is arguably Bombay's second-most famous landmark after the Gateway of India, Flora Fountain, to protest Article 377. According to sources, more than 200 people are expected. Perhaps, the number would have been greater, had they organised the protest march on a weekend, rather than on a Tuesday afternoon. Then again, perhaps, the impact would have been greater, had they organised it today.

Now, that would have made headlines!

Being a gay Indian in the 58th year of Indian independence... hmmm... perhaps that merits a long winded essay or two. A friend of mine is going down for that march at Flora tomorrow, and I asked him why: there might be cameras there, they might take your picture, I cautioned, the typical closet talk. My friend hesitated, then said, "Well, if I see that it's getting very public, I might just hang around at the sidelines, and not join in the actual march, but I want to be there, all the same. If we don't stand up for our rights, who on earth is going to help us get them?"

My frend, by the way, is hardly reknowned for activism. He's just an ordinary gay man in Bombay, from a "decent" family, quite well-off, and prone to partying every other night. I would call him a Page 3 person, were it not for the negative hues associated with the term. And he's going to lend his voice against Article 377.

I'm going to confess something here: I told my friend that I'm not going along with him, because I have a fixed-hours job that I can't circumvent for a rally of any sorts... I'm actually glad I have that excuse. I guess, I'm still not ready to leave my closet. Not even to stand up for my rights.

Labels: ,





Friday, August 12, 2005
Sometimes, I think I'm all smart and all... hehehe
Sometimes, I think I'm all smart and all... hehehe

This one is actually going to be about gay blogging, and not just me spewing out crap about my erratic and erotic escapades (though some would say, that's what I do best.). Indian gay blogging, to be precise. I've always wanted to find out some guys in India who blog about their homosexuality, whether openly or from within a closet, and I found a couple of them, the other day.

My favourite is Kris', to which I've added a link on the right hand side. Kris is a gay doctor somewhere in Bombay, who saves lives by day and dreams of men by night. Wow - a hot Baywatch hunk gone gay? hehehe.. I wish! (which doesn't mean that he's not, of course.....!) The reason I like Kris' posts? They're amazingly easy: they're about a life, and the fact that he's gay is not the be-all and end-all. There's no sermonizing about gay people - and that's great. In the last few days, I've come across a couple of gay blogs which are full of activism - and it simply leaves me cold.

And that begs an explanation. The critics would slam me for being a 'bad' gay person: I stay behind the closet, I write trivialties about my gay sex (and otherwise) life, and I try to stay as noncerebral as possible. I love the feeling of being unattached. I love the feeling of being independent. I hate to stand up for (and this demands capital letters) Gay Rights. I'm an awful (awful!) person.

That's one way of looking at it. ;-)

But I love the idea of meeting up people who talk about their gay lives online. It's a thrill, perhaps. Something like being a voyeur. Something also like seeing a mirror reflection. A gay person in another situation, in another city perhaps, talking about.....

Balderdash!

I can't explain it. I just love it. Sheesh! This is the last time I try to be all profound. Will stick to the sensational stuff from now on! Harrrrrummmph!

Labels: ,





Wednesday, August 10, 2005
First Cut
First Cut

I'm in the mood for Irani these days. The other day, a colleague from work and I visited this Irani joint in the back alleys of Fort. Nestled there, close to the Bombay Stock Exchange, frequented by middle aged Patelbhais and fat Parsi ladies with striped skirts, sits this place called Cafe Military, which serves up the most divine kheema with egg. Picture a bowl full of horribly unhealthy oil-laced kheema fry, topped with a poached egg, and we have three rolls of bun-maska (bread-butter, in Mumbaiya Irani lingo) alongside. And, yes, two cups each of the strongest, sweetest tea. Irani ishtyle.

Irani Heaven.

I've always wanted to try food at one of these old-world Irani food joints, and especially after I read that much-hyped book The Boyfriend. While the book itself leaves a lot to be desired, its descriptions of the Irani cafes dotting South Bombay, with their unique marble topped tables, and their bearded servers in shalwar-kurtas tantalised me to no end. So, alright, Military has no shalwar-clad servers, but Cafe Olympia on Colaba Causeway does. In addition to an amazing kheema-omelette, Olympia whips up an utterly divine mango juice.

Irani heaven made sense again to me, later that day, when I bumped into A. He happens to be this particular young man I had indulged in some dirty dancing with ages ago, at one of the GB parties, and exchanged numbers as well. Three months later, after absolutely no correspondence from either side, we bump into each other again at last week's party, and exchange numbers for the second time. Finally, that evening, I get a buzz from Iranian A, and I meet him at a ticket counter at one of Western Railways' hyper-efficient stations. Picture 5'9'' tall, lovely tanned frame, biceps that make me salivate, strips of black hair that curl above the two top buttons of his shirt (which are undone, by the way), and a lovely bubble butt. Mmmm..... so.... we chatted, smiled, and walked back to my place. Shut the door, and let the fireworks begin.

Two hours later, after I closed the door behind him, and plopped down on my bed, I took another glug of the vodka bottle we'd uncapped, and smiled to myself.

Irani heaven!

Labels: ,





Friday, August 05, 2005
Medicine isn't bitter, all the time
Medicine isn't bitter, all the time

Ta-da! There's a gay party on tonight, and I'm going! Of course, there have been lots of parties between now and then, though I haven't blogged about them. Most of them were fun, actually. I've been meeting a lot of interesting people. Like, at the last one, I bumped into Cute Doc, whom I haven't seen for ages, and it was wild! Cute Doc and I get along like a house on fire, we go at it hammer and tongs in the clever repartee front, and we're fabulous in bed! He wasn't in town for the last few months, though, so he fell away in limbo... but, the other night was great: we swung like crazy on the dance floor and even did a couple of make-out sessions. I've considered telling Cute Doc that we should date... but... not too sure about that. We're both sluts and we have great fun, but I'm not sure how great it would be like, to be together together!

Anyhow, Cute Doc had his friend from Hyderabad, Cute Punjabi Doc with him, and I rocked with CPD last time.

;-)

Flashback over now.

The party's in less than two hours, and Cute Doc is over at my place. (Yes, he still kisses divinely! hehehe) He's watching some silly music show on Sony with my flatmate, while I'm typing. We're gonna talk about what to wear and we're gonna get in a cab together. Flatmate will get all misty eyed and parenty and tell us to have a great time.

I'm hoping they play Aajaa balliye on the dance floor! tonight.

Labels: ,





Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Closetalk goes to Gay Porn Land
CloseTalk goes to Gay Porn Land

I've been surfing the web, and talking to a lot of old friends. have been staying up late chatting in gay rooms and typically trying to hold on to the 'slut' tag. (Kidding!) But I did come across two very interesting blogs.

Warning: What you're about to see may just tantalise your tastebuds, so make sure you're well within your diet limit.

Also: There may be some nudity involved, so make sure your boss/ parents are far away when you're viweing this.

First on the list is Michael Lucas' blog. Lucas is one of those legendary gay porn stars with a killer smile and killer strokes to match. I have loads of pics of the guy in various states of undress/ copulation in my computer at home, and so it was a pleasant surprise to find out that he actually writes a blog. A well updated one, at that! What does he talk about? Well, obviously, porn (which is his profession!), but also almost everything under the sun. The man gets controversial at times, is opinionated always, but he puts his point across clearly. Hell, it's his blog, and he can do whatever he wants to on it! Love him, hate, love to hate him - whatever! - I think it's a cool place to wander by, if you want something fun and sexy.

Next up, is this other place called the Gay Porn Blog. Yes, it's about the gay porn industry. Everything about it you'd probably ever want to know, and a tad extra. Complete with all the spice and the gossip. Strictly for those into porn and the funnies associated with it. The gals who read this could find it hilarious, but I'm warning you guys that they have a lot of full frontal nudity posted on this place, so be careful to clear your history cache after you've gone to the site, if you're on a shared computer. But, generally, I think you should have fun with this one - the guys write very in a very pacy style, very bitchy sometimes, too. But hell, that's all part of being gay, right?

For the record, I've provided links to both blogs, under the right hand corner of this page.

Labels: ,





Monday, August 01, 2005
Slut in my soul
Slut in my soul

A friend of mine is turning slutboy, and I'm wondering whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. Being a slut appeals to me; in part, a lot because of the steady diet of porn I've been watching through my formative college years. I've got a very simple logic: like every other sensitive young man out there, I'm looking for the Love Of My Life (tall, dark, handsome, yadayadayada...), but till such time I actually bump into Mr Right, and both of us take the time off to understand and accept each other, I'd be an asexual dolt to refuse the free sex that comes my way. Strangely enough, that eminently principled logic serves to categorise me as 'slut', according to some people I knew.

All very well and good, since I really don't care a fig.

But... a friend of mine is turning slut. A friend of mine has decided that till such time in the unforeseeable future that he finds the Love Of His Life (he can't be tall, dark, handsome too, or else, the two of us would be at loggerheads!), he will go out there and look for the free sex that's always available in the Meat Market of Bombay. By all accounts, he's getting to be a pretty successful slut too - even by my high standards - and that's what sets me thinking. Perhaps, even something as drastic as soul-searching.

I don't want him to be a slut. It's as simple as that. Why? I'm not exactly sure. Something just... stings. I want him to be happy, and I don't think that slutting around is the best way to be happy. I want him to wait this one out, at least for some time, and be a teenyweeny bit patient. But I can't help thinking that I'm being hypocritical here: why on earth what's good for the goose not be equally fine for the gander? What on earth can I say to that? Does that old adage about people knowing how to live their pals' lives well enough, but not their own, hold good here? Will I be able to escape scrutiny with that line of argument?

Knowing my pigheaded friend, it's not bloody likely.

So, that's it then. This is my venting space. My space to sigh and hope that it all turns out good for him, hope that he doesn't take me in the wrong sense, and realize that I only want the very best for him - while he sluts around.

In the meantime, I have competition! ;-)

Labels: ,





footer2.JPG