It's our Two Month Anniversary!

It's our Two Month Anniversary!

Not too long a time really, when you think about it, but I guess every milestone counts. Especially, when you're in one of those hated LDRs. What have we done in the two months? Been through a lot, Boy and I. Extraordinarily special moments, where we've shared and understood so much about each other. Good things, and also the bad things. Like me being egoistic, impatient, slow to move, slow to wake up etc etc etc. Like him being stubborn (so stubborn!), whiny, manipulative, impulsive etc etc etc. But in the end, it doesn't seem to matter.

I love him.

And he loves me.

And to all those silly, silly people out there who don't think it's going to last: Go Jump Off A Cliff.

It's going to take work. A lot of work. A lot of effort. A lot of patience. A lot of love. But we have all that. And what we don't have, we'll muddle through. We'll understand so much more about each other. We have hope.

So, BigNose, I love you.

Another Old Favourite

Another Old Favourite

Don't go breaking my heart
I couldn't if I tried
Honey if I get restless
Baby you're not that kind

Don't go breaking my heart
You take the weight off me
Honey when you knock on my door
I gave you my key

Nobody knows it
When I was down
I was your clown
Nobody knows it
Right from the start
I gave you my heart
I gave you my heart

So don't go breaking my heart
I won't go breaking your heart
Don't go breaking my heart

And nobody told us
'Cause nobody showed us
And now it's up to us babe
I think we can make it

So don't misunderstand me
You put the light in my life
You put the sparks to the flame
I've got your heart in my sights

Don't Go Breaking My Heart
Elton John - Duet with Kiki Dee (1976)

Role-play

Role-play

My first undercover blog had a lot of sleaze. It started with a basic introduction of who I was: Young Turk Closetalk with a swagger, in another city and with no Boy, randomly picking up afternoon mates, and recording them in typical debonair style. Ummm.... so that blog lasted about five posts. After a while, I was quite lost, because... ummm... I got bored. Prematurely. And no pun intended there.

I mean, I found myself at a loss: I got bored of talking dirty talk and sordid tales of sticky afternoons while no one was at home. I got bored of stories of eyebrows rising, and eye balls playing games and cruising in parks. I got bored of the same old fcukbuddies and (possibly) the same positions.

So the blog died its inevitable death.

So, when I keep hearing people ask me to have some more sleaze in Talking Closets, I can't help but wonder why. Can I do sleaze? Of course I can. You only had to see the sketches at the back of my Class 8 exercise copies to see that! ;-) But I also know I would get horribly bored of sleaze. Maybe, I also need to keep on having different sexual expereinces to be really accomplished and eternally hungry for more sleaze: recently, I was going through a couple of international gay sleaze blogs, and the amount of gay bar, sex bar, sauna, steam room etc etc etc experiences there is simply mind-boggling! Mindboggling, to imagine the possibilities, once GB and Humsafar and other noble-minded organisations break Sec 377...

;-)

But of course, there's Boy here now, so all those kitchy little fantasies have disappeared in thin air. Instead, I dust off the cowboy hats, and stick to role play...

Cry Me A River

Cry Me A River

Overheard: The so-called baap of Bombay gay blogging (thanks to FFF, that name has stuck now!) telling budding young professional: OMG, Closetalk and d/d are the biggest women I've known!

;-)

Well, we never denied it, d/d and I, but our issue was the frank airing of such a view behind our collective backs. Yesterday, I realized, just how womanish we really are: The Tapworks.

I cry. Terribly. Hopelessly. And I've realised, I use it as an unconscious defence mechanism. With all due respect to the so-called fairer sex, how womanly is that?!

Imagine scene: Closetalk is cornered into a situation where he's been made to confess. He's scared shitless about ensuing circumstances, and so the bawling starts. The blinking of eyes start. The nose screwing and sniffing starts. And the teardrops form. And roll. Down the cheeks. The hands rise up to wipe away in a futile gesture. It's a beautifully crafted, splendidly orchestrated performance. Only problem that makes me turn blue in protestations: it's not really crafted, and there's no conscious performance: it's just... natural.

Now who on earth would not believe me when I say that?

A quick survey of the Bombay gay world proves that most gay men are pansies, however, so I have misery in company (whatever that means). Emily cries after reading my mushy posts about Boy. He'll probably bawl buckets after seeing Brokeback Mountain. Veed cries at the drop of a hat to get his way at college, and escape having to study too hard. D/d cries as a defence mechanism, like me. Pansies, hankies at the ready... now.... blow!

Oops, did that sound obscene?

;-)

Tying in a bit of current world politics, in an effort to make this blog seem intelligent:

'Me Hearties!'

'Me Hearties!'

Valentine's Day without Boy and I survived somehow. More than survived, actually. It was great fun, as The Gang and I headed out to GB's annual V-Day bash. Minus Two: Emily was in Hyderabad, and The Penguin was overworked and tired. Instead, Veed joined the ranks, much against his initial protests, and there were Gupshup, D/d and yours truly.

Fun!

Veed had given a very clear cut diktat: Get me drunk, as soon as I enter, or I shall whine so much that the sky will fall down on your head. I decided that I had my job cut out for me, what with the extremely diluted drinks that GB parties serve, so on the third glass I instructed the bartender to skip most of the Sprite and go mostly with the vodka. Within minutes, li'l Veed was grinding on the dance floor.

;-)

Of course, d/d and I didn't need any alcoholic fortifications to grind ourselves, and we were soon practising the rainbow rendition of Dirty Dancing, which is way more dirty and has way less of dancing that impersonating copulation. Spotted loads of ex-one night stands, and blew kisses at them. Strange to think that Funny Parsi Guy, whom I'd gone out with on all of two dates, with not a single piece of hanky-panky between us, should be at the party with Delhiwalla Media Man, who's notorious for his sexual hook-ups. But they actually looked happy with each other, and I was happy when d/d agreed that Media Man, despite being much older than I, was reasonably hot, so that my sleeping with him once upon a time ago was quite justified, apart from the free hotel room stay and free hotel room booze.

Then there was Gulf Muscle Boy, who used to live in Thane ages ago, and who felt me up in a local train, when we were out on our one-and-only date. I'd seen GMB for the first time at this very same place, when he'd been dancing very sexily, and I'd sidled up and hit on him shamelessly. I did so again last night, and then danced my way away. I'm evil.

But not as evil as I was with Flighty Flight Attendant, who'd come over from Juhu for a date with me and said he wanted to date date me, but never called back again, preferring to have sex with someone I know well, instead. So, FFA was there last night, getting a drink when I was getting one myself, so I decided to play a game. So I smiled, and teased, and toyed, and soon we were close dancing on the floor, till I felt him 'rising' to the occasion... and then I abruptly turned around and left.

Sweet, delicious revenge.

Other GB regular freakoids? Orkut Muscle, who goes to every GB party in the same white tight tee, and always takes it off after five minutes, preferring to have unknown creatures pet him all night, and always gets slutty but never goes back home with anyone. Ummmm... and of course, the Mandatory Pair of Foreigners in their 'open' relationship, who come and dance and kiss for the first two dances and then flirt/dance/kiss/make out with as many other people as possible, all the while exchanging sweet smiles at each other, in competition. And the Short Bald Pot-bellied Man who hopped his way across the floor, feeling up and pinching as many hottie butts as he could manage, and was actually dancing with one of the Mandatory Pair of Foreigners, who was actually grinding back in turn.

By the way, in case you didn't get the message, I had a GREAT time last night at GB's!


PS: Boy called me up in the middle of the party and we chatted for a good 20 minutes, going mushy while I sat on the steps outside the disc. Came back home at 2 am, to discover that he'd sent me a V-Day Package, and it was waiting for me on my bed, so I chatted with him again at night online. I'm completely in love with this ethereal creature, and I can't believe he loves me this much.

*grin*

My Fair Lady

I've decided that My Fair Lady was made for a gay audience.



Straight people just won't get it!

Knocking on doors

Knocking on doors

Veed and I were sitting at Kaala Ghodaa, eating candyfloss. Pink and deliciously sticky. And discussing coming out. While I may be still very much in the closet, despite my mum's buying me silver bracelets and my brother buying me skin-tight tees, Veed pretty much broke his way out through the wood ages ago. Something which I've admired, but not managed to emulate as yet.



But Veed hates going to parties.

"Why is that?" I asked him, between bits of pink candyfloss, "How come you've never been to GB parties or Voodoo's or anything at all?"

Veed, shrugging shoulders and whining: "I don't knooooowwww. I went to a GB party once... but walked out after ten minutes."

CT: "Why? Someone grabbed your crotch? Or because no one grabbed your crotch? (grin) That's what happens to me, usually!"

Veed, glaring sarcastically: "NOOOOO!!!"

CT: "Then what?"

Veed: "It's just... not my scene. I'm out to my parents and all... I've always known I was gay and everything... but... I'm just not comfortable with seeing all those men out there, openly rubbing and grinding and kissing each other!"

CT burts into laughter and Veed glares some more.

Veed, in icy avatar: "I'm sorry if I make you laugh, Mr Been-There-Done-Them..."

CT, sobering: "Naaa, that's not it at all. It's just that... well, that's what makes GB so special for me... the thought that, here's the place where I can go with a guy and actually do all that rubbing and grinding and kissing!"

Veed, disbelievingly: "Really?"

CT: "U-huh! That's why Boy and I frequented Voodoo's so much, when GB parties were not happening. And now, with all that silly bar license issue, GB parties may be royally fucked even more!"

Well, apart from how GB parties may end up getting screwed/skewered, it seemed strange to me: the dichotomy in what Coming Out means. There was Veed, who came 'out' to his parents at the tender age of fifteen/sixteen, but who hates the idea of public gay affection, even in a gay forum... and there's me, who still likes to believe that my family doesn't know I'm gay (though, my family probably hopes for it more than I do!), but loves to boogey at GB parties in full Pink Gear nonetheless. I'm not completely sure which one is the real 'coming out', and I'm not sure I would be right, even if I thought I did. Veed's parents know he's gay, but his bringing guys back home is completely absurd... and while my mum may buy me a chunky silver bracelet, she still blanches in horror when she sees the orange pants I bought for myself.

;-)

Closets are made of sterner stuff than wood, methinks.

Pink is not the only colour that looks good on me, you know?!

Pink is not the only colour that looks good on me, you know?!

The idea of meeting friends is to chill out. It was, the last time I checked. What do you do, however, when you bump into friends with whom a meeting inevitably means a descent to Gay Blabbering one-on-one? A bit irritating at times. Funny at others, but a bit irritating at times.

Two ways of looking at it. Like the situation a month or so back, when Flatmate said that I've completely allowed the gay part of my life to overshadow me. I retorted, that wasn't true, and even if it were, it was justified. All that ended ages ago, a lot of conversations with a lot of friends went into all that, and yadayada. It all came back however, the other day, in a conversation with Friend X, when he said he needed to maintain a fair degree of distance from one of the people he's out to. The reason? It was clear that To-be Distanced Friend could not get beyond X's homosexuality.



"It's as if he can't get beyond the fact that I think men are cute, and not women," X said, sipping coffee at his place.

I was examining his dark blue linen curtains and smiled, and said I knew what he was saying. I'd been down that road myself, and was still walking along, signposts and all.

"I mean," X struggled to explain, "It's not that I don't appreciate with how nice he is about the whole gay thing .... but it's not COMPLETELY who I am!"

Objectification. Reductionism. Words I do not understand. Words that some artistic or pretentious artistic friends wish I did, but that's another matter altogether. Closetalk is gay. Closetalk is not only gay, however. Drawing lines possibly never seemed so... important, before.

And then, there was Friend Y, who recently came out to his brother's girlfriend, who's quite an established fag hag in her own right, and he's come to the horrible conclusion that he's just become her latest 'project'.

I have a lot of coffee conversations with these people, it seems, for the other day, Y put his feet up in the coffee couch, and moaned about how she was asking him insistent questions about his love life (or lack of it), sex life (or lack of it), and continuously asking him out to watch arty-farty plays, because "...you're gay and clever, so I'm sure you'll love it, Y!..." I burst out laughing at Y's bosom-breaking groan, at the end of his story.

Extremes, really. The world at large knows of how homosexuals are not accepted in mainstream society. Little does it know, that where there is acceptance, there is often a nasty habit of obssessive occupation. Perhaps, Flatmate was right, after all.

Getting homely here

Getting homely here

I've spent three days now, without Boy. I cried on day 1. Day 2 was better. Chatted with d/d on Day 1, and Emily on day 2, and both of them were sweethearts. There's a GB party on tonight at Velocity, and a part of me wants to go and dance. Another part of me feels awful that I'm not going to be dancing with Boy for a very long time. Conundrum. And I'm getting whiny again, so maybe it's time to take a break.

I went to this fabulous home last night. Related to work, and I wondered what it would be like, to live together with Boy. I think ahead, I know. It would be a strange experience. I asked him, when he was here, whether he was as messy a home-keeper as my Flatmate, and his reponse? "Well, I could be."

"Fine," I responded, "Then with me, you'll get both a lover and a housekeeper!"

He laughed and lifted me in the air.



Living with someone always seems so much of a strange adjustment to make. Before I met Boy, d/d and I had decided to move in together if we were still alone by the time we were 45 years old. We would have separate bedrooms, of course, and separate drinks in the bar: port wine for me, and white for him. A corner full of arty-farty stuff for him, and a corner full of books for me. The kitchen would be spotlessly clean. There would be a room somewhere, where we could each enjoy one-night stands. All precisely worked out.

Thank God I met Boy! ;-)

In the more immediate term, I've toyed with the idea of moving out, when my current lease expires. Move out on my own. One of the main reasons why I moved in my current apartment with my current Flatmate was that I didn't want to live alone. That came during the break-up with NatureBoy, and I hated the idea of being in a flat all by myself, and obsessing over heartaches and heartbreaks and being alone in general. So, I moved in, and my mum was alarmed at the thought of me living with a girl, poor naive Bengali mum that she is! ;-) But, of late (and this is even before Boy days) I've been itching to get my own place - not just a room of my own, but a bathroom and a kitchen and a second room kept neat and tidy and spic-and-span, the way I like it. My flattie, God bless her, is a very understanding soul, but she's messy as probably no one else can be!

And now, there's Boy. And dreams of living together someday. Anywhere. Either here in Bombay, if he moves back, after his Green Card. Or in Ohio with him, if I finally become a published author, and can quit my crummy Bombay-centric job, so that I can write/earn from anywhere in the world. And I wonder what that will be like.

I mean: what kind of hitch can there be after all?!

The mother-in-law? Mmmm... well, Boy says she's easy to get along with!