The Date-A-Base

The Date-A-Base

Sometime back, I found myself jobless at Bandra in the middle of the day, thanks to a client meeting that had finished way too early, and a mind that balked at the thought of going back to work before time like a good li'l lamb. So I roamed Hill Road, picking up lampshades and wondering if I could drop by somebody's place for a quick encounter. A glance through my phonebook showed me, however, that I was in a dry zone indeed as far as my personal acquaintances were concerned, so I called up Vivian for assisstance.



Vivian: "Sorry, darling. I just deleted all my numbers. I'm stepping away from the Slut Stage now, I've decided. At least for some time. What about you? Hard to believe you don't have Bandra numbers!" *shock and awe*

CT, groans in despair: "I'd gone through that silly phase myself sometime back, you see, and that's when I deleted all my Bandra numbers. Now the only Bandra contacts I have left are hard at work in some boring office in Fort or Nariman Point. Think I should go over and take some dick-tation under the desk?"

Vivian squeals: "Oooooo, you must, dah-ling!"

CT sighs again: "Naaa, if I'm going back to South Bombay, I may as well go back to work. Looks like this is going to be a no-hookey day after all. What we need is a safeguard against such silly situations that crop up because of a moment's deliberation of virtuousity!"

And that's where the idea of the date-a-base was born. Think about it. It's so deliciously simple, really. I mean, every single gay boy goes through those phases, those ups and downs. Those times when we decide we've had enough of searching for heartbreaking love, and sex is the only real thing out there in Gay Bombay, so then we hunt and hunt and hunt some more, collecting numbers like locusts and screwing throughout the city like good ole Bathsheba (actually, she was much maligned, methinks), until, somehow, we get all tired of it all, and arrive at that silly Sanyas Stage.

No sex. No casual sex. Suddenly, all those columns of delicious numbers, arranged in As, Bs, Cs and so on, from Cuffe Parade to Borivili (some even go as far as Dahisar!) , and likes and preferences and body types... those marvelously detailed databases are erased at the press of a button. 57 CONTACTS READY FOR DELETE... DELETE? blinks that foul blue indicator in your phone, and you tell yourself that you are headed for greener pastures, love and longing, to hell with mindless sex, and you get seduced enough to press the button. DELETE.

You exist in your fool's paradise for all of three weeks. Maybe five at the most.



And after those three weeks are over (five, at the most), you find yourself slapping your forehead at your momentary lapse of reason and over-reaching principles that made you think that love will come drifting down to you in Gay Bombay as soon as you stop slutting around. But the hormones are still roaring like crazy and you're left high and dry. Without numbers. Without contacts. And you go back to work on a day which could have included a wonderful mid-afternoon lay instead, if you had never been so sodding stupid!

CT: "We need a date-a-base! A technological network equivalent of a Black Book."

Vivian gurgles on the other end: "Oooooo, I like, I like. Go on, go on."

CT, seeing the light of Sudden Inspiration: "Yes, yes.... it will automatically get filled in as soon as any of us - the Family - exchange numbers with any one out of the group. And it stays there, even after we cut ties. Like a reference book, for the rest of us!"

Vivian claps his hands: "And we can label them according to types and preferences!"

CT: "Of course. Top/ bottom/ versatile, hairy/ smooth, old/ twink/ middle ages/ thirties... the works!"

Name	Location	T/B/V	Age	Remarks
Ashish	Bandra	T	28	'pure top' - no oral sex, likes being sucked
Raj	7 Bungalows	V	32	excellent head, anal sex not a specialty

Vivian: "Can we rate them too?! On a scale of one to ten?!"

CT screws up his face: "Well, I dunno about that. That might not work too well. One man's prince is another man's pauper, you know. But maybe we can work things out as we go on.... what do you think?"

Vivian whoops in joy: "I love it! We must spead the word! To SnowWhite's Stepmother and the Penguin and to Helen of Troy and the Guppie and to Diamond Choker Baccha!"

***

We're putting out the ad in the papers tomorrow, so all you top-notch computer geeks out there who want to make Gay Bombay a cozier place, feel free to apply.