Seems like I'm in a Musical Mood lately...

Seems like I'm in a Musical Mood lately...

Have highlighted in bold my favourite lines...

You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire
Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are...

You live in a fancy apartment
Off the Boulevard Saint-Michel
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records
And a friend of Sacha Distel, yes you do...

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do...

I've seen all your qualifications
You got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does...

When you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-les-Pins
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit
You get an even suntan on your back and on your legs...

And when the snow falls you're found in Saint Moritz
With the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon brandy
But you never get your lips wet, no you don't...

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Won't you tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do...

Your name, it is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha...

They say that when you get married
It'll be to a millionaire
But they don't realize where you came from
And I wonder if they really care, or give a damn...

Where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do...

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly-born tags, so they try...

So look into my face Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
But I know you still bear the scar, deep inside, yes you do...

I know where you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
'Cause I can look inside your head...

(na na-na-na na na-na-na na-na na na na na)
(na na-na-na na na-na-na na-na na na na na)

- Where Do You Go To My Lovely, Peter Sarstedt (1969)

One of the songs I love the most - simply adore the tune, and after listening to it over and over again, the lyrics as well. Apparently, some say it's based on Sophia Loren, and that just adds to the overall colour of the song. Marie-Claire can by anyone, really. Maybe it's because I've just finished reading Breakfast At Tiffany's, and I'm still in the Holly Golightly mode, that the entire idea of this song is so... appealing. I would love to drink wine and not get my lips wet; to keep a racehorse just for laughs, and do millions of other mad, extravagant things that don't seem so mad or extravagant at all, really. :)

One Night In..

One Night In..

One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster...
The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free.
You'll find a God in every golden cloister...
A little flesh, a little history...
I can feel an angel sliding up to me



One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble...
Not much between despair and ecstasy.
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble...
Can't be too careful with your company!
I can feel the devil walking next to me...

- Head Murray, 1984

Now just put Bombay in there, instead of Bangkok.

:)

On the Closet TONIGHT...

On the Closet TONIGHT...

*background music: drum rolls, which give way to jazzy tune composed of loud trumpet and electronica version of I Will Survive, while graphics play scenes of Closetalk's life*

Hello and Welcome to the Tonight Show with Closetalk.

Our Top Story tonight...

*graphics swipe*



India celebrated 51 years of being a republic today, on the 26th of January, 2007. What's that got to do with the Closet? Well, while the Indian PM and the Russian President oversaw the lavish Republic Day parade in New Delhi, homosexuality continues to be a taboo word in India. Other than the sadly-it-seems-it's-here-to-stay Section 377 that outlaws homosexuality in the country and the fact that even Princes become Paupers when they admit they're gay, back home in Bombay, the Beer Man serial killer has been dubbed a gay antisocial by the police and the media. It reminds Closetalk about all the brouhaha in Delhi some years back at the height of the Pushkin Chandra murder case - which ultimately turned out to be a case of egg on the Delhi police's face. Meanwhile, on the social activism front, many gay men in the city ask whether Gay Bombay has failed them: the Mumbai Marathon was concluded last week, but where was the much-expected Pink Contingent??? Questions are bound to be asked at the GB Republic Day party on Saturday, so watch this space for more details.

*graphics swipe*



In the UK, the Roman Catholic Church is expecting the government's decision on whether it will be excempted from having to consider gay couples as prospective parents for its child adoption agencies. While Protestant leaders and the Muslim association have sided with the Catholic body, saying that the law may be well meaning but should not infringe on the 'Right To Conscience', Tony Blair's government is showing some balls and saying it's just plain discrimination against gay couples. A final decision is expected next week.

*graphics swipe*

Last week, there was much furore over a study that allegedly tries to turn gay sheep straight - this week though, it's time for the counter-argument: Oregon Health and Science University researcher Charles Roselli stormed back, saying that his study was to investigate sheep sexuality - and has no links whatsoever with sexual eugenics or trying to turn gay humans straight. For anyone who's interested, 8% of all rams are supposed to be gay - something which has irritated the bejesus of most redneck country farmers in the US. At the time of compiling this report, it was not clear whether the Global Organisation for Homosexual and Other Motivated Organisms (GO-HOMO) would finally take a decision on adding an icon of the ram in the middle of the World Rainbow Flag.

*graphics swipe*



And on the entertainment front, the place for you to head after saturday night's GB party is West Hollywood, USA, - because that's from where the world's largest and newest cruise liner, the Freedom of the Seas, will set off for its all-gay Caribbean cruise on January 28th. On board are going to be more than 20 entertainers, including some of the world's top DJs, comedians, singers and performers, though the company will draw the line at having live sex shows on the high seas. While ports of call for the cruise will be Jamaica, Cayman Islands, and Mexico, the Closet is sincerely hoping that Bombay also finds its way on the wishlist.

That's it for tonight, people. See you again soon for another edition of the Tonight Show with Closetalk. Adios, sayonara, al vida, and do take condoms with you to the GB party just in case you get lucky. :)

Queen of the Dessert

Queen of the Dessert

It's physical
Only logical
You must try to ignore
That it means more than that

That's what good ole Tina says, while crooning what's love got to do with it, and when you think about it, it really is the truth. About sex, I mean, and about rampant sex in particular. In the last few weeks, I've basically been really getting around, if you know what I mean, and while that may cause several of my friends to drop their jaws and treat me like Priscilla Queen of the Dessert, pun intended, it also has seen reactions like: don't overdo it.



The other night, I was chatting online with Sin, and while he was cluing me in on the strange subterfuge of aloofness he has had to adopt to get a certain boy into his life, I was regaling him with stories about the men I'd done on my Delhi holiday and after coming back to amchi Mumbai. I told him about my lust affair with the American, and how I was quiite disappointed that he didn't have sex with me despite acknowledging my (ahem) charms, and Sin chortled, "O my god, you're real easy!"

And the truth is: I am. I am easy. In bed, at any rate.

I'm the kind of guy who grins and smiles and charms, and gets charmed by the other person's grins and smiles and charms as well. And I get charmed very easily. There's only so much I can blame it on my sun sign for - and despite all the "careful, I'm a leo: flattery will get you everywhere" dialogue that I give on the chatrooms sometimes, I know that my swollen head and easy capitulation has got less to do with my sun sign and more to do with the way I am.



... which brings me back to Tina's song. Because, for all the eagerness I display to get in bed with a random stranger, that has zero impact on how I fall in love. I'm one of those strange creatures that can very successfuly divide the left side of the brain from the right, have loads of great sex with a hot guy but not fall headlong in love with him if I don't feel the spark. I can pine in lust, as much as I can pine in love. So when I come back and complain to SnowWhite's Stepmother that the American refused to have sex with me, he gets all alarmed and exclaims: "O, don't tell me you're falling in love with another foreigner, I'll smack you!", while I wonder what the big deal is about. Of course I'm not in love with anybody - but can't a guy just wish that he'd been laid when he wanted it so bad? Is that so difficult to understand? *food for thought*

That explains my utter lack of relationship chemistry with the Cute Doc, whom I went out with on a date a couple of weeks back and spent (by all accounts) a very enjoyable coffee and conversation, minus the sex. But we never met up again, and though we bumped into each other online later many a time, neither of us broached the topic of a second date. The verdict is clear: we share great sexual chemistry, sizzle the dance floor together as if it's all just an elaborate bedroom set for us performing pornstars, but as far as the dating thing goes... we had better find other people.

And then there's the other case: TinselTown Man. Not really the type I'm physically attracted to, but so much fun to talk to. So much fun to drink coffee with for hours. Yet, when I received a weekend invitation to a seaside resort, I turned it down. I know he'll ask me again sometime soon, and the strange part is: I don't know whether I'll say yes this time or not. Am I that desperate for romantic companionship that I'll get into bed with a man I'm not very attracted to, but who makes great flambe? Uncomfortable question.

But who am I fooling? I know myself, and I know sex is a very important part of my life. I may overdo it a bit, compared to most other guys in the city/planet, but I can't get into anything in which the sex is bad.

...As Tina says, it's only logical.

Closetalk Conquers Delhi

Closetalk Conquers Delhi

After all the sobbing about misplaced anniversaries , I decided I needed a break. So I packed my bags, convinced my boss there was urgent work required at our Delhi office and I was the only superhero who could handle it, and left for the capitol.

There were days of preparations prior to the trip: most tourists scour the travel websites for places to visit, while I, having lived in saddi dilli and well versed with its lanes and by-lanes, decided to embark on tourism of another kind. So there was Closetalk in the chatrooms of gay.com, gaydar, guys4men and all the rest, buzzing the Delhi boys, informing them of an impending cyclone and a torrid lust affair with Bombay that was soon to hit them. I compiled a list of 11 hopefuls.



The idea was to go about my conquest of Delhi in an orderly fashion. That was how the Rajputs conquered Delhi. That was how the Aibaks and the ud-Dins conquered Delhi. That was how the Mughals conquered Delhi. That was how the Brits conquered Delhi. And that was how Closetalk was going to conquer Delhi.

So I started at Central Delhi, called up my old friend/lover, the Ponytail Boy and got to work. We had an excellent date at this quiet restaurant in Connaught Place, got suitably high on red wine and knee-rubs against the table, and then drove over to his place. As the cold biting wind cut through the open window I muttered how Delhiites ever get the urge to procreate in the cold - to which Ponytail Boy came up with the simple truth: never heard of body heat?

Ooo, he showed me enough of body heat, though, as we copulated all night. The fact that we left the next day for some utterly sweet pancakes with dollops of maple syrup on top for a late brunch just made the episode more memorable.

I bumped into Ponytail Boy again a couple days later when my friends and I hit Pegs 'N' Pints, Delhi's answer to GB parties, and of course we did loads of grinding on the dance floor. But I had my eyes fixed on the American that night, so I didn't go back home with Ponytail Boy again. And though I got busy with work/socializing/regular sightseeing for the next few days, I decided to resume my exploration of Delhi with quaint little Hauz Khas and a sturdy as-burly-as-you-can-get Punjabi Doc.



Punjabi Doc comes from a rich merchant family who own shops in Hauz Khas, and after the infamous Delhi sealing drive, they were forced to let these premises lie unused. Well, not exactly unused, since they now constituted Punjabi Doc's love nest. So, while I was supposed to meet Lil Mizfit later that night at South Extension, I decided to make a stopover at the Punjabi Doc's love nest.

The thrill was quite exhibitionist really: picture a basement shopping space below a very busy complex on top, and we climb down, where the windows are quite apart, with only glass panes, so that if anyone walking on the road overhead knelt down and peered through, they would be able to see the two of us panting and groaning. Body heat came to the rescue again, as Punjabi Doc unrolled some bedding onto the cold floor, and before long the doctor was giving me some much-needed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. After a couple of hours, flushed and happy with a great after-sex glow, I meet the Mizfit for coffee and soon we're discussing the lesbian ways of entrapment. Fascinating discussion...

Round three in Delhi, and I sms my first love: hey, strange to think I'm living in your neighbourhood here for awhile. Don't really know what I was thinking, when I messaged him, but he replied back and said he was out with pals, but would like to meet up for a walk later that night. So, while a party was in full swing at the Chimneypot's place, I took a short hop to the park where he was waiting for me.

Surprise surprise, he was actually looking damn cute since the last time I saw him, and we started walking over and over and over around the block. Walked through the park, got chased by stray dogs, kissed in the shadows passionately while hiding from the lurking neighbourhood watchmen, till he finally got the bright idea to take me to his building. It's 3 am at night now, and the two of us climb up the stairs to his landing and go ballistic. This is Exhibitionist Thrill in capitol letters, as we got buck naked on the landing and were soon hot and heavy at it. Fond memories of making love to each other for hours at a stretch earlier, but then those kind of memories don't really have much of a place when you're that aroused and excited, so we took our own sweet time, careful not to grunt or moan too much, highly excited at the thought of discovery and scared too, and I finally make my way back to the Chimneypot's place in the wee hours of the morning, my legs still rubbery. He said, I was the first one he ever loved, and while it all felt good to hear that, I'm not walking down that path again.



Finally, my last day in Delhi came knocking, and I had a brunch date with a cute Spanish guy from Manila at Costa Coffee. Coffee was excellent, and it was better because I knew things were soon going to get steamy...! Thrashed around in the Spanish guy's hotel room for what seemed like ages, till we were both satisfied and then we were out sightseeing - time to watch another great erection: the Qutub Minar. Maybe it was the subject or maybe it was the company, but by the end of of our sightseeing trip, I was up for a second round, and we hightailed it back to his hotel for a quickie before I caught my flight. And while we hurried it up this time, an hour later I was left ruing why we did, because my flight was declared two hours late at the airport.

Waiting at the airport, I sms NatureBoy the woes of my life: only four different guys from a list of 11! The dear boy told me I mustn't be too hard on myself and my standards tend to be much too high for normal mortals like him to follow suit and well, that made me feel marginally better. And like a good little boy who's completely innocent, I decided I must come back and prop up this poor little neglected blog of mine.

Lest anyone think from the whiny post earlier, as was told by a blog reader to a close friends that The Closet is "bottomish and ditsy". (Private joke revealed)

Anniversary

Anniversary

Twenty four hours earlier, I sat here at my computer and watched time tick away slowly, till the day arrived that would have marked one whole year with Boy. And now, I sat here again, waiting and watching till the clock announced the day was finally over. A part of me was dreading if he called or messaged, wondering what my reaction would have been - I know, though: anger and irritation, coupled with a lot of relief. But he didn't call. Or message. Maybe he was waiting for me. Maybe I'm just pathetic.

It's been two weeks now, or something like that. And today, of all days, they played Strangers In The Night so many times in the world - once at the five star hotel lobby where I waited for my client to arrive, and then at dinner, when the family and I went out. And despite myself, despite my resolve to not let myself delve on him or the past or my version of the possible future, I allowed myself to get melancholic. For the record, both the dates I mentioned in the previous post went rather well - I thought I struck a great connection with the Party Guy, and even Cute Doc was terribly sweet on our date last night. And while I'm looking forward to meeting both of them again... especially Party Guy... I also know that none of them are... Boy.

*sigh*

None of them are that cute Gujarati guy with the long nose and the stupid American accent who came over to my house for afternoon sex, and then stopped in the middle, asking if he could come back later in the evening to take me out for a 'real' date because he wanted to 'know' me... I remember, I made him wait that first time - he was waiting patiently, while I was hurrying up in the shower, throwing on a shirt, a pair of jeans, and then when we finally stepped out, he got into the elevator with me, and whispered, eyes gleaming, 'You look stunning...!'

That first date, we went to Bombay Blues and he wanted me to order. He looked cockily at me, and said, 'You can tell a lot about a person from the way and things that he orders for dinner,' and I grinned back at him. That was when I learnt he doesn't eat sea food or prawns or mutton, and only has boneless chicken. Your typical Non vegetarian Gujju.

On December 30, we went to this Punjabi restaurant in Dadar, which had the full ethnic look, complete with shamiana and sitar-strumming musicians, and the NRI in him loved that stuff. And then he surprised me by saying he knew a Bengali song, cuz he'd performed to it once, and then he proceeded to sing it. I still have that recording of him singing 'Aay re aay' on my phone.

On December 31, we went to Bandra, shopping for the New Year's Eve GB party. We went to this shop on Hill Road, where he tried on these outrageously shiny shirts, and I dissolved into laughter and took snaps of him on my cell phone. He protested his innocence, saying that he needed shiny shirts for when he performed with his dance troupe on stage, but I refused to buy it. Then, later on, when we came back to my place to dress, I tried one of them one, and he had his moment of 'I told you so!'.

I remember the party - Karma, the lower level. I was waiting for Chimneypot to arrive, and was heading out to check for her repeatedly. Then coming back and dancing with my date for the night, who was looking so amazing. There was a stupid Hindi song playing, and he liked my dance moves so much, he hugged me and called it my 'dhishum dhishum' dance steps... and then, that one time when I went out again to check for Chimneypot, I received an sms on my phone from inside: I think I'm fallin in luv... I went right in and kissed him long and hard, without a word. I was stupid. My flatmate said I looked terribly happy that night, and we made a wonderful pair. We did. I was stupid.

When I kept him waiting for four hours at Bandra some weeks later, I knew he'd be livid, so I bought a bunch of daisies for him and thrust them at him as soon as I saw him, before he could say a word. His face changed... completely...!

Why am I writing all of this down? Because I know, if I don't, I'm going to reach for my phone, punch in the US numbers that I know by heart now, and type something stupid I will hate myself for, tomorrow. The blog helps. The blog helps in giving me the space to write what I really wish I could say, but know would be disastrous to. When I have to sit through two sessions of Strangers In The Night, there is not much even Gloria Gaynor can do to get rid of the butterflies in my stomach. And I thought she was foolproof.

Strangers in the night, exchanging glances,
Wondering in the night
What were the chances we'd be sharing love
Before the night was through.

Something in your eyes was so inviting,
Something in your smile was so exciting,
Something in my heart
Told me I must have you.

The verdict: Frank Sinatra wins, hands down.

The verdict: I hate you, Boy. I hate you because despite everything I've tried to do, I realize in my saddest moments that I feel terribly alone without you. I love you still, damnit.

And I'm glad you never came by to read this blog.

It's Raining Men...!

It's Raining Men...!

Some time back, it was the season for long distance relationships, and then earlier this month, it was the season for break-ups, as two close friends and I found ourselves single again. And suddenly, post break-up, it seems to be the season of new encounters and new men.



Some weeks back, during the phase of utter uncertainty as far as Boy and I were concerned, I happened to catch the eye of a very cute guy on the dance floor of a GB party. There was instant attraction, and we met the following day for coffee - just coffee. And as we talked, I wondered to myself how perfect he seemed - how well put-together, how cute, how smart, how sexy, and how very much connected to Bombay, unlike a certain long distance (ex) boyfriend. Since the break-up, I've wondered about him again, and we've planned a date soon. I'm intrigued and interested in him - my first official date after the break-up.

And then, on Christmas eve, I bumped into the Cute Doc again. As usual, we got along famously, we boogeyed on the dance floor, we joked about stilly stuff, we exchanged notes on the GRE exam. And as I was a bit tipsy, after one steamy dance ended, I followed him inside the loo, pushed him up against the wall and kissed him. While it felt nice to remember the old flames - "Nostalgia", he said raspily, after I got my tongue out of his mouth - I thought to myself: why on earth have we never dated? The first time Cute Doc and I met, we got along so well and had such great chemistry, we headed to my place for fun - we never had the conventional date. So this time around, a couple days after the party, I called and asked him out - for a proper date. When I was done with my fumbling, he happily accepted, and we're on track for some time later this week.

And finally there's the man from TinselTown, who I met online at a chat room. Older, yes. But also cute and smart. We've both recently stepped out from relationships, and he joked that we must bitch about our exes when we get together. That was his way of asking me out on a date. So I said yes, and we should catch up later this week, or early the next.



When I told SnowWhite's Stepmother this afternoon over lunch that I was going to play the field now, and not get hung up on any one guy till I knew where I was going, he replied, "When have you not played the field?"

But that's not really right here. I may have been seeing a lot of guys for sex (hell, there's this married guy I know who's arranging some group sex next week!) but I haven't really dated men at the same time. Not since my stint in Delhi, and that was way too complicated for words! This time, though, I've reasoned:

1. Cute Party Guy may be gorgeous and I may have kept in touch with him all this while, but at the end of the day, we've just had one proper date, so there's nothing exclusive here, really, and I can do what I want, when I'm not seeing him.

2. Cute Doc is sweet and great, but hell, it's probably just going to be a great momentary fling, since I'm planning to study abroad, so there's no reason why he should complain.

3. TinselTown man may be nice too, but what the hell, everyone dates simultaneously... at least until they're sure of what or who they want.

And I'm not sure. I thought I was, at one point of time, but then not anymore. So it's up to me then, to just... play my way around, feel around the crevices and make up my mind. It's raining men right now, or so it seems, and for once I don't mind getting soaked!

I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus...

I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus...

So I get all happy and high every year when Christmas comes knocking, and I'm excited cuz we have this great party planned tonight at the Guppie's place. Thought I'd write a suitable christmasy post, but then changed my mind and decided to collect some XXXmas eye candy instead. So here goes...

Cooling My Heels

Cooling My Heels

The days since my break-up, I've gone down the predictable path of being a Break-up Boy Slut. In the past four days, I've had sex five times. Mindless, brainless fun with loads of chemistry and smiles and deliberate attempts to get the guy out of my place asap after orgasm. I've gone on a couple of dates with some cute guys with some cute smiles and I've been talking to those migratory foreign birds who arrive in Mumbai every December.



And I've been chatting with this other migratory bird who seems so perfect. All smiles and all chemistry and all sex appeal. I'm a bit overwhelmed, or at least I was, before I gave myself my early morning pep talk. It goes like this, a cute li'l ditty sung in a Busta Rhymes beat, complete with finger noddin' Black Gu-url Style:

Sex and Dating is the key
Nothing else will do for me!

I'm not going to get stuck in another relationship. Not till I'm more clear about my life. The Study plans are still on, despite the break-up, and my career needs to get in shape. And no more migratory birds for me, no way. I can deal with the penguins here in Mumbai, but not those stupid squawking birds who promise heaven and sky and then fly, fly away.

***

I've wondered what went wrong with us, and frankly I still don't know. He says, he doesn't either. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. Maybe we just burnt up too bright, too fast, and it just wasn't to be. I felt that he never prioritised us enough in his life, even though it was replete with his familial and work problems... and now he says I'm right. Last night, I met him online and he told me he's received my Christmas-cum-Anniversary parcel (I'd mailed it before the break-up) and he cried on reading the cards, and told me how Karma loves the doggy treats I bought for him, and how he misses us... I tried to be all cold and said that it's a pity he didn't miss us enough when we were still together.



What I don't get is: why the f*&k is he saying all this now?! Sin says he's just a prick, and SnowWhite's Stepmother says he was never good for me. The good part, though, is that all that incessant listening to Gloria Gaynor has at least lifted my spirits: if you thought I'm moping around, thinking of my lost love, you'd be sorely mistaken. I'm loving working, joking and chatting with my friends, making Christmas and New Year plans, dating cute guys, and going out with the family (who's in town for the holidays).

Now I hold my head up high...
And you see me, somebody new...
I'm not that chained up little person still in love with you...
And so you felt like dropping in and just expect me to be free
Now I'm saving all my loving for someone who's loving me...!

But of course... much, much later. Back to the ditty:

Sex and Dating is the key
Nothing else will do for me!

Closetalk-Boy

Closetalk-Boy
(December 29, 2005-December 15, 2006)



It's strange being single again. I thought I'd post some song lyrics here - maybe Don't Go Breaking My Heart, or even I Will Survive (god knows my flatmate is tired of hearing me play that song over and over again), but I thought, everybody already knows I'm 'histrionic', courtesy the last post, so there's really no point in being that extra OTT, is there?

Suffice to say: it didn't work out. It hasn't been working out for almost a month now, and I've been trying to hope it does. But we had a conversation the other day, and I realized I'm not ready to keep on waiting like this, hoping for some miracle. Suffice to say: it feels strange being single again.

Yea, yea, so I'm a Drama Queen. D-uh?!

Yea, yea, so I'm a Drama Queen. D-uh?!

Personality Disorder Test Results Paranoid |||| 14% Schizoid |||||||||| 38% Schizotypal |||||||||| 38% Antisocial |||||||||| 34% Borderline |||||| 26% Histrionic |||||||||||||||||| 78% Narcissistic |||||||||||| 46% Avoidant |||| 14% Dependent |||||||||||| 42% Obsessive-Compulsive |||||||||||| 42%

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It's A Bombay Rainbow Over Goa!

It's A Bombay Rainbow Over Goa!

It was Goa over the weekend, a loooooong weekend to hang out with pals, soothe the frayed nerves and retrain the ole flirt techniques. So CT hops on the bus with Diamond Choker Diva (Baccha, no more!), SnowWhite's Stepmother and Gupshup, and almost dies of the ensuing backache and headache, but manages to land in Mapusa in one piece nevertheless. The goal for the week: Anjuna and Baga and cute foreign gay men.

Of course, I'd already elucidated in an earlier post, how the hot gay firang men in Goa head for cover whenever CT is in the vicinity, and the situation was much the same this time around. So while we all drooled at the guy in red shorts and chiselled abs with the Microsoft backpack on his very well sculpted back, and the cute furry Israeli guy sunning himself on the beach with his wife, all of our fervent prayers could not get Microsoft man to stumble and fall on top of us, or drown the Israeli's cute wife. All of which leads me to Hypothesis 1: It's actually easier to sleep with hot gay firang men in good ole Bombay, than it is in supposedly libido-strung morally-deficient Goa - us morally-deficient gay Bombay boys didn't get any candy in Goa. *sigh*



Then, there's also Hypothesis 2, which was strung together after consultations with the rest of the boys: The online gay community in Bombay seems to be shrinking in variety and spread. It's usually the same guys night after night who come online, with the same pick-up lines and the same pictures, and the only new elements happen to be visiting foreigners or visiting NRIs. Suddenly, there's a spurt of gay NRIs - something to be expected, I suppose, every December. The new breed of Migratory Birds.

Regardless of theories and hypotheses, the boys had FUN. Breakfast (rather, brunch) at the most awesome places by the ocean, beer and more beer till we shifted to suitably pansy breesers, and plenty of rave nights to bond over. It's clear that the gay boys in Goa have a horrible deal, given the utter lack of places to hang out at, and all of this suddenly makes GB parties appear the coolest shindigs this side of the Big Apple. While SS and I were crooning godawful karaoke at Paradise, we were woefully aware that Velocity in amchi Mumbai must have been rocking at that same time to the strains of gay Shakiras and their ample hips that always lie. Aa, well, no matter - we sang I Will Survive in a way it's never been sung before (and hopefully, never will again!) and we got tremendous applause from the assembled old gay men, ugly gay men, old straight couples. (You get the point.)



But we were at our element as far as beach gear is concerned. That's where CT slips on his teeny-tiny black trunks and proceeds to cup his groin and parade up and down the Baga road. That's where DCD drapes on a pink sarong with a pink sleeveless, sashays up and down the beach a la Ursula Andress, dances like a gigolo on the steps of the beach shack when they played Shakira, and promptly gets invited for "a private party we're having later tonight". That's where SS suddenly looks dynamite in his Posh Spice pout and oversized Guess glasses, and the two of us get into rather Slutty Diva Poses on the beach, right after we shoot a spreadeagled SS in a snap that would get even me aroused! And that's where a finicky Gupshup tosses and turns his head angrily, whining that none of our snaps do him justice, till he is finally mollified by a side profile under the rainbow umbrella that looks very Greta Garbo.



Cyndi Lauper was right: girls do just wanna have fun! And we do it soooo well!

The Date Diet

The Date Diet

The question you're most likely to come across in a gay chatroom (after the all-too-regular "do you have place?") is "bored and horny?" That signifies: you're ready for action. Not a week later, not three days later, not even later that night - the buzzword is now. And that's quite exciting in its own right. The other day, however, while chatting with a cute investment banker based in South Bombay, he asks me how I usually prefer to have my dates.

For a second, I'm stumped. I 'm wondering whether I should just be carnal and say something like "Sex sunny side up, coffee on the side, conversation brief", but then decide against it. This guy is one of those who don't get around much - and my frankness might well cause the poor cloistered fellow heartburn. So I play safe, and ask him what he means. His reply: lunch/dinner?



Whew. Safe.

But this is actually a question I haven't dissected before, so I think for a minute, before giving him my answer: coffee. Coffee, I say, is the safest option for a first date, followed by lunch and then dinner, last of all.

This flummoxes the staid investment banker. From what he's told me, I 've gathered that a lot of his dates have met him for a movie, and attempted to neck in the dark hall - something which I find a bit icky, really - though I shouldn't, given my record of exhibitionism in the past. So, anyhow, he asks me to explain my reasoning. And I launch into my flowchat stream of Logic. (capital L).

Coffee is best, because... It's a neutral venue, got bright lighting so that you can see what the blind date (not-so-blind, if you've seen his snap online before agreeing to meet), and best of all: has flexible timings. If the guy is a complete zilch, you can a) beg off coffee, saying you got an urgent call from work and you're wanted back right away, or b) be a bit more considerate and gulp your coffee down in five minutes and rush out of the door. Or, if things start going well, you can take your time licking the cream off the rim, look longingly into his eyes, touch his fingers 'accidentally' when he reaches for the sugar cubes, and suggest that you do something else after your looooong coffee date reaches its end.

Lunch is next, because... The timings are less flexible than for coffee. You can still come up with the 'have work must run' excuse, but that has to be used as soon as you see him and not later. And, if you do decide to stick around, the coffee-in-five-minutes thing doesn't work. You have to make more of an effort at conversation here, though, because there's all that food to eat. The good part is, if it doesn't go the way you'd like it to go, you can still use the 'have lots of work' stunt to run as soon as you pay the bill - strictly, Dutch, by the way.

By this time, I'm sure than the investment banker thinks he's netted a Complete Professional, but then I'm beyond caring in my fervour, and carry on with my Logic...

Dinner is worst, because... There's that awful thing called Obligation. Plus, there's the time factor. Not so easy to duck out of the dinner thing altogether, or convert it into a coffee thing instead of a dinner thing - not unless you're a whiz at polite dismissals. Dinner is a longer deal than lunch or coffee - and the work excuse just cannot make an appearance here. Things are that much more convoluted, so you have to spend at least an hour with him. And then there's the question of "what now?" after the meal is over. The question is that much more loaded and ominous than it ever was with coffee or even lunch. That's when you gulp... and wonder what you're going to do.

CT: "So, yea, coffee is definitely best for a first date!"

Investment Banker, after two minutes of cyber-silence: "You're mad!"

Huh?!

Back to Basics

Back to Basics

Samantha Jones: I'm a trisexual. I'll try anything once.

That's more or less the way I feel. When I get down to gay.com and the stupid asses online ask me that same clinical question: what do you like sexually, I'm really not sure how to react. A part of me would have slapped the ass if he was in front of me, the other part is chewing my lip, trying to come up with an answer that is not too insulting, exhibits my witty side, discourages him from asking too many dumb questions, and tells him that I'm the best lay he's ever going to get. Samantha has just provided me with the best quote of all for these occassions.



:)

The other night, I met up with the Penguin and Vivian for some SATC Season One viewing, and we ordered in pizza and went out to grab gelato after a couple of episodes. While chatting about stuff, I made a comment to something Vivian said, and Penguin responded with "Of all of us, I'd thought you'd be the last guy to get shocked by that!" I don't really recall now what comment I'd made, but later on, it struck me that I have this funny reputation of a Jack-of-all-trades. With good reason, perhaps. SnowWhite's Stepmother, for instance, says I routinely shock him when I tell him about my exploits - and then I wonder whether I really am that sensational. A part of me is thrilled at the thought, mind you.

Sex in the shower? Love it.
Sex in an elevator? Done it.
Sex in a park? Ho hum.
Sex with a hooker? Tick.
Getting paid for sex? I call it a 'learning experience'.
Sex in the office complex? Exciting.
Sex on the dance floor? Watch me at a GB party.
Sex with an underage kid? Yep.
Sex with a married guy with/without kids? Yes.
Sex with an old guy? Don't get shocked, but yes.
Sex with poppers? I used to live in Delhi, you know!
Sex for seven hours? *beams*
S&M sex? On both sides of the great divide.
Group sex/threesomes? That's not even considered 'kinky' these days.
Sex with foreigners? Only not with an African.

Hell, I'm even having a Long Distance Relationship, for crying out loud - and according to me, that's probably the most outrageous of everything I've done! But even as I model myself on gorgeous gorgeous Samantha Jones, I'm also aware that I'm pretty Carriesque at times. And that's scary. I whine and obsess too much about my relationships - ultra-cool Samantha never does that! And I have this blog, which is as newspaper-columny as you can get. And while I don't have frizzy unmanageable hair like Carrie Bradshaw, I'm smart enough to notice I have enough of her to make my life complicated. I have enough of her for Penguin to make that observation of me, the other day. That was one of the virtues of being Samantha - no hang-ups.



Right now, however, I have a mission: back to basics. The idea is to go back to being as much of Samantha as I used to be. No hang-ups. No obsessing. And no regrets. I'm trisexual. I'll try anything once.

Her Majesty's Service

Her Majesty's Service

Well, after all the brickbats have been fired and everything, Daniel Craig is supposed to be one of the best James Bonds ever. Personally, while I think he looks more CIA than MI5, with that compact muscular body and blond tufts of hair, I don't really care about all the 'Is he the right Bond?' arguments. Honestly speaking, I thought Connery was over-rated, and Brosnan defines sexy for me, but Craig is not too bad really on the ooomph quotient. One thing I'm definitely glad of, is the fact that finally after all the Ursula Andresses and whoever they get a hunky man out of the water, dripping wet. Excuse me while I lick my lips. :)

And then, of course, there's the fact that our man is supposed to have loads of gay fans worldwide because in his latest film Infamous, he's done a man-to-man kiss, while playing Truman Capote's gay lover (rather, one of his gay lovers). Add the fact that he apparently broke his teeth in his first Bond fight sequence, and the pansy tag gets attached to him. Of course, judging from the pic down there, not much about Daniel looks pansy to me... (amen)



Then there are the amusing little online tidbits where you hear that the next Bond movie is going to keep in mind Craig's huge homosexual fan following, and include a 'homo-erotic' angle between Super Spy and Arch Villain. Wonder if our hero will then give up the tux for... tights?

And there are other strange bits of gay Bond trivia. Sample this: Pierce Brosnan thought he was gay when he was 16. Of course, good ole Pierce hurriedly adds that he didn't turn out to be actually faggoty, but there it is - the confession.

And while we've all heard about a certain flamboyant black star wanting to be the next black James Bond in Her Majesty's Service, there's also my favourite living gay personality, Rupert Everett, who says he wants to be the next gay 007.



Personally, I think he's much more MI-5 than Daniel!

Strong Arm Tactics

Strong Arm Tactics

The other day, while the music was blaring loud at this funky pub in downtown Bombay, Helen of Troy told me that I was "very strong" for sticking on in a Long Distance Relationship, and that I was doing something really "good". At the time, I suppose I must have beamed in joy, thinking about Boy, but didn't really consider what his words meant. Hell, I've heard variations of that comment so many times from Vivian. So it really didn't hit me. Till, perhaps last night, when I was pondering over them, and wondered why they think I'm "strong" to carry on in a LDR.



Is it because of the no-everyday contact? Probably.

Is it because of the no-everyday sex? Perhaps.

Is it because I cut a sorry figure at GB parties, all dressed to kill and slut around, but going home alone each night? Most definitely!

:)

My friends are beautiful, and of course they would never imply I'm pathetic(ally strong) because I don't get laid every GB night these days. So it's not the sex part. It's the part where you realize you've found the guy you want to spend the rest of your life with - but you have to stay apart for a significant period of time. It's all about the lack of companionship, the holding hands, the everyday phone conversations, the every night dinners, and all of the stuff that you would do with someone you're crazy about. So that makes me... "strong".

And then I thought about it? Why on earth do I do it? The other night, Chimneypot and I were having this conversation, and she was telling me, she realy hoped things went well for the long haul with her boyfriend - because quite frankly, she was too tired to start from scratch if this relationship didn't succeed. I identified with her. Walking out of a GB party alone, even though I hate the fact that I'm not going to get laid, I also love the fact that I don't have to work/charm/ cruise my way so that I can find myself a mate - pun intended. Like Chimneypot, I am terrified at the thought of having to start all over again, if things with Boy don't work out - especially, since it just sort of... fell into my lap, really, without me having to really try.

But that's not the reason why I stuck it out through the absence - nor should it ever be. I don't ever want to be with a man just because I'm terrified of being without one. The reason why I'm still wearing his ring is because it felt so natural... because it fell into my lap.



Does that make sense? I want to preserve this beautiful feeling that I have for this creature who just walked into my life one fine day, and showed me such grand things. I've given him so many nicknames, attributed so many special qualities to him, and all of it because they're true. His voice on the telephone gets me grinning, and I'm thrilled to bits that he loves the sound of my laughter. I've been with my Boy, despite the distance, because in spite of all my bitching against the LDR, this one has taught me some special things.

It's taught me to be patient. To be much more at ease with myself than I have ever been. It taught me to not turn my lover into a superhuman demigod - he's human, I'm human, we're silly creatures who might slip up now and then, so be kind. It taught me to stop living my love affairs all the time like a teenager. And, yes, it did teach me to dream.

So, if HoT and Vivian thinks I'm "strong" for sticking onto this relationship, the real reason is because this relationship has made me Strong.

Shopping List Item #24678

Shopping List Item #24678

Despite what men may say and what men may want to hear, the fact is that Size Does Matter. There's a reason why I'm so proud that my Boy is B-I-G. There's a reason why size S is preferred to size M. There's a reason why the Dud of the Day is the Dud of the Day. And there's a reason why Australia's latest invention has seen HUGE sales (no pun intended) since the seven days it was announced.



The Wonderjock is a hit.

This morning, I was leafing through my copy of BombayTimes, and there was an article there asking our homegrown 'celebs' what they think of men displaying their bulges for the rest of the world to see. While some made myopic har-de-har comments about it, and others gave the usual "men still don't know what we women really want!" quote (well, of course not, dimwit dah-ling, they know what other men want!), there were a couple who were brash enough to say it like it is: well, why the heck not?! If perverted straight men like seeing big boobs on a woman, what's wrong with perverted homo/straight men seeing a big bulge beneath a hot guy's pants? The battle of the sexes is finally getting interesting, methinks!

So, this evening, I amble over to the website for those responsible for giving us the wonderjock (beautifully titled Aussie-bum) to see what they have to offer. While I grinned at the silly name of the wonderjock - it's called PATRIOT, and comes in four editions of four countries: Property of Australia/ USA/ England/ France - it's also breathtaking to see just how far the damn thing makes your package stick out. I mean.... the makers say there's no padding or rings or strings or whatnot at work here - just a simple case of a 'cup' - and yet - the effect is startlingly mouthwatering. I would love to see a guy walking with that around at the beach.



Now I know what I need to buy, ahead of my Goa trip.

Some smokin' times

Some smokin' times

Chimneypot is the first friend I came out to. Ages back, over an impromptu cup of coffee at a Barista, there was an impromptu coming out, and the best part was, how well she understood me. There have been so many cups of coffee shared at that particular Barista with her, when I've accused her of flirting with the coffee-guy and she's accused me of the same, where I told her about Boy, and she told me about the love of her life.



So that, when she informed me today that she's leaving the city to be with her boyfriend by the end of this month, I was quite speechless. My first reaction: terrible! Of course, I couched that properly. I know this is what she's been looking forward to for so long now, and I know that this is probably the best thing for her. But I always kept on hoping that her boyfriend would come down here to Bombay, instead of taking her away like this from me. The thing is, in Long Distance Relationships, the rules rarely stay unbroken. And that's another reason why I hate LDRs, despite being in one myself: it forces you to choose between the love of your life and the friends who have meant so much to you for so long...

I probably shouldn't say 'choose' here. It's not that exactly - there's email, there's sms, there's the phone and all, I know, but it's not really the same, is it? Somehow, even though you tend to meet just once a week or so, knowing that the person is there, just a mere hour away, feels... reassuring. But I'll have to survive without knowing the Chimneypot is right there nearby... Hell if I can make the LDR work, I can make the Long Distance Friendship work!

In the meantime, I'm going to reproduce here, something that she wrote about me - about us - ages ago. She wanted to post it on her blog, but at that time, I asked her not to, and she gave me a copy instead. I'd given it to Boy to read while he was here, and he loved it. It's the kind of thing Chimneypot does.... the Nutcracker that she is...

An observation. I have been spending a lot of time with my gay friend. He is fun. He is perpetually happy, though certain speed breakers in his rampant sex marathon in the city finds him frowning a bit from time to time.

I walk with him, we hug each other a lot. We show affection physically. The relationship is as platonic as platonic gets. It is just good ole friendship, though we do end up talking about our sex lives a lot, my non existant one and his rampant one which is a novella-like experience each time. He gets lucky more than anyone I know. Which is good for him. Do you smell jealousy here?

So you watched 'Will and Grace', and you don't need another rext version of it. He is a friend with whom I share an increased level of comfort. (I think the fact that the 'sex' part is totally negated makes it more comfy.)

But thanks to him there have been so many firsts for me - in terms of how I have been perceived around people.

- I was the 'in-law' when I met his boyfriend.
- I am termed a fag hag by my absolute straight cousin.
- Talking about relationships, both of us bitching about guys in detail. We are on the same side of the discussion. Most people around us have their eyes knotted wondering how a man and a woman can have this sort of conversation while waiting for a play to start. (It is always too quiet before plays start. Everyone around is all ears.)
- When I am pissed of at him, I shout 'bitch', 'slut' and he does actually get offended sometimes. Flattered, most of the time.
- A cute guy walks in, and we both are looking at him. And my friend always has to smile at the guy first.

:)

Just observations.

He is my bestest friend.

And she is mine.

Closetalk and Don

Don: Jungli billiyan mujhe pasand hain (I like wild cats like you)
Closetalk: Mujhe bhee! (Me too!)

Sometime back, I'd blogged about how yummy and uber-cool SRK has been looking in the promos of Don. Well, I finally went to catch the movie tonight, with Viv (earlier, named Emily) and it was simply awesome! For those who came in late, it's a remake of a 1978 Hindi movie, complete with international gangsters across continents and all sorts of amazing Matrix moves and costumes. My stupid assistant at work commented, "It has everything but the blind mother", and though she didn't mean that kindly, I'll agree with her on the sheer versatlity of the film - the movie has everything you would ever dream of in cinema: humour, romance, action (tons of it!), mistaken identity, adopted children, gangsta rap, sexy molls, scintillating music, and a twist in the tale. The plot is way too complicated for a single blog post, so I'm not going to even attempt that here.



Viv and I had been dying to see the movie, ever since the promos with SRK first started airing. The man wears his coolest clothes ever here, and the new way to wear a tie nowadays is inside the shirt, not over it. His sunglasses are the hippest ever, and his shoes are divine. Memorable line any (and every) gay man will treasure: when Don tells his colleague, after killing his traitorous assisstant, "Always make sure you check the shoes before you hire anyone!" *in Hindi* Clappity-clap go all the Red Tapes and Manolos! ;-)

Aside from SRK, Viv and I were going gaga over most of the men onscreen. List of candidates include:
1. The cute police inspector who looked dapper in his suit while briefing the Malaysian cops, and showed off his sexy butt like anything in his tight khaki police uniform while chasing Don in the jungles - the camera for some reason kept on panning to his butt, not that we complained. Sadly, I just could not find out his name on imdb.com.

2. India's First Beauty King, Grasim Mr India 1998 Diwakar Pundir who plays a sidey role as the informant who Don bumps off. Viv says, Diwakar has appeared in TV serials in Speedos - that means, I must start seeing soaps now. *drool*

3. An ugly ape called Mac who plays Don's moll's pet poodle. Viv kept on gushing about his barrel chest. Loudly.

4. Arjun Rampal, who of course had Viv gasping every time he did a push-up. Beats me though, how the character is able to beat Don to a pulp if he's supposed to be limping throughout.

Viv also informed me that the two producers of the movie, Farhan Akhtar and Ritesh Sidhwani are rumoured to be gay lovers. When I pointed out that both were married and Farhan's wife is expecting their second child, Viv promptly pointed back that that was hardly an obstacle to be gay lovers, ala SRK and Karan Johar. So, then, Viv and I started fantasising about possible sexual roles (top/ bottom/ whatever) between SRK and Karan, SRK and Farhan, Farhan and Ritesh, and even maybe Farhan and Hrithik Roshan (Hrithik was the original choice for Don, but then SRK was roped in instead). And all this at voices loud enough for the entire theatre to hear whom we considered 'hotttt' and who was 'sexxxxyy' *please include giggly gay squeals*.



I'm hoping I won't be sued for this post.

But let it not be said that all our attention was focused on the men. When Guest Star Kareena did her Helen-number lying down on the rug, I nudged Viv in the ribs and coo-ed, "I looooove that rug!" and Viv agreed with me. Honestly, that golden dress they dressed Kareena in for thatnumber was garish like hell - and every time she did her jhatkas, you could see the cellulite dangling on her arms. Ew, ew and all that...!

Isha the Moll was perfect. She did absolutely nothing, had about three lines of dialogue to say in the movie, looked suitably devilish in her Item Number and the climax, suitably jealous in Title Song as Don flirted with the Heroine. She kept on changing her hairdos with such vigour that Viv and I were left gasping in admiration. First the bouffant, then the empire wig, then the plaits, then the.... most perfect moll ever!

Heroine Priyanka enters the scene with a very weird set of karate exercises and then proceeds to get all Power Puff Girl-meets-Mushy Thing for the rest of the movie. Her all-white outfit, teamed with the white bike, when she she 'rescues' Don was superb. And though she replied to Isha's jealous glares with great bugger-off-lassie looks of her own, she was looking a teeny weeny plump in that hideous pink gown she wore during Title Song.

Best songs from the album: Aaj ki raat is wonderfully pacy and retro - complete with shiny disco ball in the video, and has Hero, Heroine and Moll boogeying together in a line. Waiting for GB to play it at their next party - pretty please! Then there was the famous oldHelen-newKareena number, Ye Mere Dil, which was a great remix. Title Song, Main Hoon Don was so racy, it was simply great - old tune but wonderfully remixed to set the dance floor on fire. Perfect for egoistic divas like me on the GB dance floor to proclaim to the world. :)

O, and you must check out SRK's outfit in Title Song: dark purple silk shirt under dark purple velvet jacket having Chinese collar and huge lace-embroidered buttons, teamed with slim-fitted cord trousers, and sleeeeeeeeeeek Givenchy shades.



Instant hard-on.

The Bitchy Avatar, Anonymity be damned!

The Bitchy Avatar, Anonymity be damned!

The first rule of starting this blog very clear: I'm going to be nameless. That's why I invented the ridiculous name of Closetalk/CT/whatever to fit the role of the gay immigrant guy in Bombay, and tried a myriad of silly things that would cloak my identity. Enter the whole 'delete blog name from the username profile'. Delete all reference to the other (sort-of straight) blogs. All of that was not just cuz I was in the whole closet thing, but also cuz I knew from the very start, being the kind of guy I am, I'd soon end up dissing some guys here and there, be a first-rate bitch now and then, and I just didn't want to deal with any of that on my conscience. So, Closetalk was supposed to be nameless, faceless.



Obviously, I haven't been exactly successful.

I don't know if it's inevitable or not, with blogs like this one - that you tend to get to know the readers out of cyberland, and that same old level of anonymity of course doesn't exist any more then. And I don't know whether it's just as inevitable, that once that threshold is crossed, another one gets crossed too: sometimes, it's not just your readers who know who you are; sometimes, the reader turns out to be someone who knows who you are in real life. And that can be embarassing when you've just penned a not-so-flattering account of that person.

I felt awkward when that happened, but then, at the risk of sounding inconsiderate, I shrugged my shoulders, and decided that there's no use in crying over spilt milk: if I bitched about someone online on my (supposedly anonymous) blog, then it's pretty obvious I didn't care too much for this person ever, and hell, it's supposed to be a flaky blog in any case. If you're going to get all ruffled up about a random blog account by a (more or less random) guy whom you met here and there, (may have slept with a couple of times), but then that's it - hell, you seriously need to get a life.

Ummm.. ok, that sounded decidedly inconsiderate, na? O shucks, what the hell...!

***

On a tangential note, I love playing around with Yahoo Avatars these days. Have designed some ten-odd avatars already, and I'm going to keep on changing/adding new ones to my existing list. It helps that you can now convert them into JPEG form and store them in your online/offline album. So, while the one below was my first avatar, labeled Corporate Kaleido, the one I've put in the left hand column on the side is my Rainbow Boy avatar...



Pink is pretty, na? Even on a suit. Aaa, well.... Fashion Week is on, so I'm excused! *grin*