Affirmation

Affirmation



I believe the sun should never set upon an argument...
I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands...
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you...
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do...
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem...
I believe I'm loved when I'm completely by myself alone...

I believe in Karma; what you give is what you get returned...
I believe you can't appreciate real love 'til you've been burned...
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side...
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye...

I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality...
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy...
I believe you're most attractive features are your heart and soul...
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold...
I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair,
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires...

I believe forgiveness is the key to your own happiness...
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed...
I believe that God does not endorse TV evangelists...
I believe in love surviving death into eternity...

- Savage Garden (1999)

Be Gay Today

Be Gay... Today!

:) When it's this fabulously packaged, who on earth can say no?!



Welcome, newcomers, to the Closet!

Cock-a-doodle-doo

Cock-a-doodle-doo



From my readings...

"McWhirter and Madison (1984) found that 73% of their male couples began their relationship with an understanding, sometimes explicit, sometimes implicit, that the relationship would be sexually exclusive. Yet, 100% of those couples who had been together 5 years or longer who start a relationship with intentions of being monogamous either change their intentions or fail to live up to this standard."

- from J.H. Harvey, A. Wenzel & S.Sprecher (Eds.) "The handbook of sexuality in close relationships".2004.

Wow. I guess I always knew the truth. But seeing it right there, in black and white, supported by all the raw data etc was still... strange. Whatever happened to the girlish notions of everlasting love and undying fidelity that SnowWhite's Stepmother and Vivian and I cherished and hoped and prayed and longed for...? Not very sure, really.

SS and I would sit and talk and we'd try to think of at least one or two completely faithful gay couples and we'd have to admit we didn't really know any. And that would lead SS onto his diatribe about "all gay men are chuts!" The romantic in me would make a last-ditch attempt and argue that it's really all about the intimacy between a couple, and if they think fooling around on the side is ok, we shouldn't be quick to judge... and while I still do believe that, I must admit that the naive little gay boy inside me still hoped... Still hoped to find one - o, at least one! - gay couple who was completely monogamous.

And that's why that para from my reading hit home as much as it did. There was statistical certainty there. Not just of the fact that there aren't many monogamous gay couples out there, but also that even they are exclusive now, you can be pretty sure they won't remain so in a couple of years - if they're even still together then. I know that's really not earth-shattering news for any of us gay men - or straight people who have close gay friends... and yet... the naive little gay boy inside me feels awful. It's like a pronouncement: don't you even dare hope for a cozy twosome - because before you know it, either you or your boyfriend will be found fellating the TV repair guy/ gardener/ UPS guy/ Wal-Mart check-out guy/ what-have-you. And even though I know there are probably millions of gay couples who are happy in their extracurricular arrangements, I'm crushed on hearing this kind of a message even as I start a new relationship. I have half a mind to go and show this article to Irish Coffee and ask him up-front when he's going to cheat on me - and then I'd better go and cheat on him a day before that, just to save face. I'm quite aware of how stupid I sound here... and yet... *sigh*

The same article goes on to state: "... there seem to be no significant differences between gay men in exclusive and nonexclusive relationships on measures of love or liking for the partner, closeness, satisfaction, commitment, or relationship longevity... Research suggests that for gay men, agreement about exclusivity versus openness is more important to relationship satisfaction than any specific type of behavior."

In other words, it's just a matter of getting your rocks off. And then it's fine. As long as Prince Charming tells the Beast (so, yes, I have a thing for chest hair) about his one night stand with the Frog Prince, all's well in fairyland.

Whatever happened to the fairy tale, though?

First hockey, now QT

First there was hockey, and now it's...

Queer theory. I'm getting addicted to studying queer theory. *sigh*



How utterly cliched, I know, I know...

What the puck

What the puck...?!

As surprising as this may sound (perhaps most of all to me), I've become a fan of college hockey. At first, it began with curiosity, mingled with the promise of freebies that no grad student can resist: ooo, free entry at this grand spectacle I've never been to before - maybe I should go! So, I asked Irish Coffee whether he'd be interested, and of course he roared his approval, and off we went.



Of course, my perspective on hockey is a teeny bit different from that of Irish Coffee's and the other hardcore fans who thronged the ice arena... so, while I was definitely checking out the game, I also had some other fantabulous observations:

1. Hockey players aren't really as sexy and chiseled as I expected them to be. Personally, I think the hunks of college football are... hunkier. Irish Coffee assures me, though, they're usually dumber and duh-er than footballers.

2. The playing band was awesome! I loved the little ditties the band would suddenly come up with, trumpets and drums and all... and some of them were even jiving up there while playing! :) I'm not very sure whether their knowledge of the game per se was any better than mine - and let's not even go that far. *sigh*

3. Loads of sorority sisters were there, clapping their hands to the school anthem, and generally squealing in delight. Irish Coffee says, there's a whole organization of "hockey whores" (I actually like that term!) who go big time for the hockey hunks! When I asked him whether there were any groupies for the gay hockey players, he looked at me as if I'd just uttered blasphemy. But then, he pointed me in the direction of the playing band. :)

4. Hockey game food sucks. Big time. The pizza is cold, the cheese on the hot dog is artificial goop which gives you a tummy-ache barely three hours later, and the less said about the bread sticks the better.

5. And I do like the silly sound effects the announcer comes up with - the jingles, the spoofs, the crazy bursts of popular oldies like The Final Countdown and Bad boys, bad boys - very corny, but very entertaining. Of course, while I found the whole ambiance wildly fun, it all served to annoy the hell out of Irish Coffee who was there for the game. (ho hum)

OK, so I'm not a very sports-friendly gay person, and I liked the spectacle of the hockey game more than the game itself, I suppose. I chatter a lot while watching the game about things hardcore fans would probably think inconsequential, but here and there, I did pick up some ideas like the 'face-off' and the 'penalty'. O, and yes, the testosterone activity was phenomenal: and that always gets a rise out of me! :)

So, I wasn't bellowing "KILL HIM!", and "BREAK HIS LEGS!" at the top of my lungs like a very charged-up Irish Coffee was, and my loudest whoops probably sounded very gay, but when the two teams started thrashing and punching each other at the end, I felt like a very happy Roman emperor (all of them were bisexual, anyway!) egging them on.



All said and done, we left the arena, after watching a great game (our team won, of course) and an even better fight... and I even groped Irish Coffee a bit up in the stands. He didn't complain of diverting his attention from the game when that was happening! :)

I feel pretty

I feel pretty...



Oh so pretty,
I feel pretty and witty and gay,
And I pity... Any girl who isn't me today.

I feel charming, Oh so charming,
It's alarming how charming I feel,
And so pretty... That I hardly can believe I'm real.

See the pretty girl in that mirror there:
Who can that attractive girl be?
Such a pretty face,
Such a pretty dress,
Such a pretty smile,
Such a pretty me!

The other day I cajoled Irish Coffee in TIVOing West Side Story for me, and Natalie Wood's little number had me in splits of laughter! Now if that isn't a fabulously fag song, I don't know what is! Even Irish Coffee, all grumpy-gus straight-gay man that he is, had to chuckle when I did a little CT impersonation and almost broke the wine glasses with my such a pretty meeeeeeeeeeeeeee! (Completely worth it, I tell ya!)

Not very sure I liked the movie - o, much too over the top in the melodrama department, though I did like the Puerto Rican dance number - but that little ditty was amazing! If you haven't already, then take a look...

Post-holiday Trimmings

Post-holiday Trimmings

Came back home the other night and started stripping down my Christmas decorations. The holidays are over, my three-week long stay at Irish Coffee's place is done, college has reopened, classes have resumed, and there seems to be a sudden lack of romance. Well, till I make my midnight phone call to Irish Coffee, that is. :)

There's a veritable mountain of work and academic papers to be written just waiting for me, and yet the largest, arguably most important project on my plate this semester is literally that - on my plate. The Happy Holidays are gone, and the pounds I put on during those fabulous times have to be chased away too. Re-enter, the PHAT (Pretty Hot and Tempting) Plan.



Of course, being a college student in the US of A, you're almost expected to put on weight. A friend of mine here calls it "the freshman fifteen". After all, when you're running from class to class, and from paper to paper, it's all you can do to grab a piece of artificially cheesy pizza, or extra-greasy burger with fatty fries, and some fizzy soda pop... And when you don't know how to cook and don't have the patience for it either, like me, you're pretty much doomed to put on those excess calories. And then, of course, it was Holiday time. Loads of great food in Chicago, lots of eating with the Irish brood, and before I knew it, I stood on the weight to realize I'd gained (gasp) ten pounds.

So, the other day, Irish Coffee and I sat on the love seat and pored through this diet book, looking at the loooooong list of banned foods - all the while, munching on low-fat brownies. (Yes, such an unearthly thing actually exists!) Turns out, the genius who wrote the book says that diets should be determined by blood groups, and so an O+ guy like me should stay away from lentils, corn, wheat, bread, pork, cabbage, cauliflower, potatoes, cheese and a whole host of other foods that formed my staple diet a week back. Now, even though I don't completely buy that blood-diet logic, and am scouting around for copies of the South Beach diet, a lot of those aforementioned foods probably are bad for me! *sigh*

So, this evening for dinner, I popped over to the dining room and helped myself to salad. Not the yummy decadent Bombay salad with its dripping meats and pasta and corn, but a rudimentary American-style one: lots of lettuce, beets, carrots, spinach and broccoli, with some lean turkey strips on top, and low-fat balsamic dressing. O, and yes, Diet Coke.

Some time back when I called up Irish Coffee for our nightly conversation and told him about my evening meal, he chuckled and said I shouldn't worry...

My reply? "Thank God, he made boyfriends to say stuff like that!"

TONIGHT in the Closet

TONIGHT in the Closet...

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

Hello again and Welcome to The Tonight Show with Closetalk.

Our Top Story tonight...

*graphics swipe*



Politics takes center-stage tonight, as the results of the Iowa cockus (did I spell that right? Feels much nicer this way, anyhow...) finally came through, throwing up winners Barrak Obama from the Democrats and Mike Huckabee from the Republicans, and now the action shifts to the next state, New Hampshire. Now, according to the polls, the most important deciding factor for Iowa was econmic policies and changes envisioned therein, but it's no secret that the Rainbow Brigade is pinning it's hope on a Democrat President to get elected - either Obama or Edwards or nutcracking Hillary - and push through gay marriage laws, while Huckabee's a Born-Again Baptist minister who thinks fags steal babies brains at night while they sleep. Funny thing, really, that the election action now shifts to a state which became the fourth in the Union to legalize civil unions for gay men and lesbians. It's also a strange and sad coincidence that while all this happens, the first governor to sign a statewide gay rights law (in sleepy ole Wisconsin, no less!) passed away. *sigh* Looks like a long battle ahead, boys - time to emigrate to Canada, you think?

*graphics swipe*



Well, maybe not. Not, if you're a goody-goody sap who likes to donate blood, cuz the Canadian Blood Services has a ban on accepting blood from gay men who've been sexually active since 1971 (ouch!), and that's what student groups there are protesting against now. The surprising part here is that even the American Red Cross which, till recently had a similar ban on accepting blood from sexually active gay men (their limit was 1977), is lobbying to lift a similar ban this side of the Great Lakes! Will wonders never cease...!

*graphics swipe*



When it comes to the "long arm of the law", some of us may well have a fetish for this sort of thing *giggle*, but for others, like this South Korean police officer, it takes on a (no pun intended) deeper meaning. :) Private Kim Hyun-jong is the second police officer in South Korea to publicy come out, and he has vowed to fight social prejudice against LGBT minorities in his country. I'm looking for my pom-poms now to cheer him on!

*graphics swipe*



Meanwhile, here's gay prejudice of another kind... in the UK, a female bouncer of a gay club has won a suit against her old boss, the gay owner of a gay club for harassment and ill-treatment because she was, well, straight. Sharon Legg, 33, who worked at Dreams in Bournemouth, said that her manager repeatedly called her derogatory names such as “breeder”. Legg is, of course, a self-confessed fag hag... and I am being completely politically incorrect and loving the term she was called. *giggle* Breeder!

*graphics swipe*



And, finally, we end this fab-u-lous episode with the news that my boyfriend has long suspected, but never really had the proof to throw back in my face, during my driving lessons: a British study has concluded that women and gay men make lousy drivers. Moreover, gay men rank behind women in terms of navigational skills. Behind a wheel, that is. Cuz everyone knows that we know how to navigate the club circuit better than anything! So there!

Well, that's it for tonight, lovely people. See you again soon for another edition of the Tonight Show with Closetalk. Adios, sayonara, al vida, and don't forget to buckle your seatbelts... as if that helps! :)

Prettier than Russel Crowe

So I'm prettier than Russel Crowe, really...

It's the close of the holiday season with the start of the new year, and it's been an interesting week, really. I've been "meeting the family", you see.



So, the last time I found myself in a similar situation was back in Bombay, when I first met the Wicked Witch of the West, Natureboy's gal Friday. WWW was witty, bitchy and pretty - just the sort of person I gel with o-so completely, and we ended up being great friends even though the Natureboy-Closetalk romance didn't last too long. Aaa, but last last week was different. Last week, I was introduced to a 20-member strong immediate family and a 35-member strong extended family. Irish American. Whoa. And I'm horrid at fake accents.

It's been about four and a half months now that Irish Coffee and I have been together, so when his family moved back for the Christmas holidays, it was quite inevitable that I'd meet them. My first encounter with the aliens was when one of them - his older sister - came over for a midmorning coffee some two weeks back, and so I sauntered out from the bedroom, trying to not look guilty as the gay whore from the subcontinent who seduced her innocent-as-a-babe (yea, right!) brother some twenty minutes ago. We drank coffee, ate slices of pie, chattered about this and that, and by the end of the conversation, I found myself invited to a great prime ribs party she was throwing for the whole family a week later. I gulped and accepted.

As it turned out, I got a chance to meet the Family even before the big prime ribs party. A day before that was scheduled, Irish Coffee got a phone call that the whole family was already assembled and there was a demand that he come right over. So I dressed appropriately (no Boystown tee) and got into the car, and soon found myself surrounded by sisters and brothers-in-law and nephews and nieces and bawling babies and a father. Ummm... okkkkkkk then... So yea I was pretty nervous, not moving much, trying to be very polite and all that, and I kept thanking god for the talkative niece and the cute (if bawling) baby who deflected attention away from me. I got some questions thrown at my general direction and tried to answer them as nicely as possible, trying not to appear as (a) the uppity grad school student who's going to become a high-brow academic who doesn't give a shit for Midwestern middle class people, or (b) the gay tramp who's trying to infiltrate our good Catholic family. *sigh*



Russel Crowe had nothing on me! :)

There was a short break that evening, and then I found out that everyone was then going to pack into their cars and drive over to another bigger party by 'Uncle Dave' in his house. The extended family... ooo, goody.

Uncle Dave's house turned out to be this lovely old mansion-type, overflowing with Irish bric-a-brac, and his son kept on talking about good ole Ireland with me, trying to convince me to go there the very next season. There was booze, loud music, even louder people and interesting artifacts all around, so I actually had a pretty fun time. Before we headed out to meet the family, Irish Coffee had told me he was going to introduce me as his 'friend' and not 'boyfriend', because he didn't want the "o, you slut!" looks from some disapproving elements right after they'd come to terms with his ex, and though I'd agreed, I don't think anyone really bought that story.

Anyhow, the big prime rib party went off quite well, too. I decided to get on the family-pleasing offensive and baked a batch of brownies for the lot. There were party games and yummy food and great wine, and I probably gained five pounds that evening.

By now, most of the Family have departed for their respective homes, and it's back to me and Irish Coffee here again. We brought in the new year, watching the second part of the Godfather trilogy and eating a fresh batch of brownies (that's the only thing I can cook, really), and some great snuggling on the couch. :) I missed my Bombay boys and remembered the great New Year's Eve party we had last year, but was quite content with my Irish Coffee here. I'm not sure whether we'll last forever or not, but it does feel great to be here with him, to cuddle and snog and do up the Christmas lights. And to watch the Godfather over my excellent brownies.



Happy New Year, netizens. :)

Closetalk in Chicago

Closetalk in Chicago
(sounds like one of those Asterix comics... 'Asterix in America'...!)

The ole Midwest is hardly the place for you, if you're a Bombay boi, who's used to 13 million teeming and pulsating around you, so you can imagine how eager I was to finally get my ass out to Chicago for a quick pre-Christmas trip. I'd heard all about the "Windy City" from Irish Coffee, who lived there for ten years earlier, and I was dying to see a real city finally in the States - with all due respect to Indy. So we packed our bags, put the dog in the car, and drove down to Chicago.

We found a motel right off Halstedt Street, Chicago's Boystown, and Irish Coffee and I traipsed down the street. I, of course, found the Rainbow Pillars of Boystown quite freakishly fabulous and got straight down to posing for snaps! Also drove over to Lakeshore Drive, which is supposed to be quite the scenic cruising area, and then back to Halstedt Street in time to catch the play we had tickets for.



Once that was done, it was time to visit yet another icon of Boystown - Gay-Mart, which I can only describe as a thoroughly kooky curiosity shop! Picked up a completely nonsensical Stewie angel ornament for the Christmas tree, and then ambled into the Leather Shop and Cupid's Treasures to check out the merchandise. Was sorely tempted to buy the handcuffs and edible underwear, but then decided I could be quite devilish in Chicago without them! What can I say... I get my inspiration from Stewie! hehehe!



After we finished checking into the motel, Irish Coffee and I hit the bar - the straight bar, that is, where his friend's the bartender. The idea was to get loaded on free beers and (yuck!) whiskey. Anyhow, it was fun chatting with the straight folks (as SnowWhite's Stepmum says, or used to, at any rate: "Straight people are normal too!"), but then I forgot that my boyfriend is Irish whereas I get high on a single malt, so after seven beers I ended up puking my guts all over the floor. Mortifying start to a fun holiday, but there I was. In my defence, we were at the bar for a good six hours till I gave my virtuoso performance.

*sigh*

Anyhow, by the time morning came, I was raring to go again and we dropped by the Magnificent Mile. I drooled at the sight of Prada and Tiffany's and given my Holly Golightly affliction, just had to pop in, much to poor Irish Coffee's vexation! :) Walked downtown some more, posed for cheesy pictures and then into the Millenium Park to watch the city's skyline reflected in the Big Bean. :) When the Traveller first recommended I head over to some place called "the big bean", I must admit I sniggered, but hey, it was actually loads of fun, standing by and watching the skaters whizz by.

Did loads more sight-seeing in the next two days, and we headed down to the gay bars in Boystown each night. Time to show of my Bombay togs, so out came the sexy pink Benetton tee and tapering black leather shoes, and I was ready to sashay. Roscoe's was fun and sexy, great cosmopolitans; Cocktail was amusing with its pretty boys; and Hydrate was fun too, with all the hunky shirtless guys boogeying on the dance floor. I'd been poring over the Gay Chicago reader during the day, over my Starbucks, and noting where all the fun parties were, and though I missed the Wet Bear contest (damn!) I had fun nonetheless. Nights of white wine for me, no more beer (thank you!), and it felt nice, standing and chatting and laughing with Irish Coffee, while he whispered terribly sweet nothings in my ear... :)

There are two different joys in exploring a fabulous city with (a) your boyfriend, or (b) your friends... and though I only have (a) right now, and I miss my (b) terribly, it was still a freakin' fun time in the Windy City!

What did I bring back? Mmmmm... apart from the wicked Stewie ornament, a great Boystown football tee that I plan to wear during the summer and a very shiny Pink Pig dogtag. :)



O, and a bunch of great memories!

White Christmas

White Christmas

Back from Chicago, and it has been a very lovely Christmas, if much more quiet than last year's. :) The streets outside are lined with snow and I took the opportunity to snap a quick picture. Spent the whole day cleaning house with Irish Coffee, since he's expecting relatives later this week, and relaxed at home for a quiet meal. Tried out my culinary skills, cooked some noodles, laid out some marinated chicken from Chicago, popped a bottle of wine and some assorted chocolates for dessert.



A very white Christmas.... which was abso-fcukin-lutely great, because for as long as I can remember I've always wished for one! From my youngest years, Christmas has been a special time for me - we used to spend it at my grandma's home and I would sit up a week before Christmas, listening to Jim Reeves croon, while decorating my grandma's tree (yes, in sub-tropical Calcutta, no less!) and then the whole apartment... What can I say? - I was made for mistletoe and holly! :)

Innocence recalled! *grin*

So, anyhow, this year I didn't get the great big party, and I didn't kiss random boys in closets, and I couldn't even find any hot santas to post pics of for the blog, but I did find this old gem in my laptop that I thought I'd put up here. Just a sexy, smutty X'mas for everyone...

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

It's been snowing here in the ole Midwest, and I've been lapping it up excitedly. You don't get to see snow in gorgeous Bombay, after all! :) So I was there playing with the snow on the pavement, while waiting for the college bus, and the Chinese student on the other side of the road flashed me a queer look (not the good queer look, mind you). And there was me bursting into class, 10 minutes late, with a verybeatific smile on my face, announcing: "It's snowing!"

And then my prof snorts, and says I can have the snow anytime - she wants the sun! :)

But it's snowing and it's going to be Christmas soon, and I've always been a nut about Christmas, so... I'm off the BIG city of the Midwest tomorrow - Chicago, here I come...!

And before I hit the Windy City, I thought I'd post this funny one someone emailed me...

Library Brew

Library Brew

It's hard to believe, really, that four months have already passed since I got here in the ole Midwest. I haven't really been that great intrepid explorer of the new land as I thought I'd be. :) Just Indianapolis and one other city in the Midwest and that's it. Yikes. And I haven't been very adventurous in the last couple of months on the men's side either, as the complaints from my sex-hungry freaky commentors will inform you. :) Well then, what on earth have I been up to here, millions of miles away from good ole Bombay?

Ummm, well...



I've been attending my classes, and writing reams of papers for them, and the general verdict so far is that I seem to be fairly talented here. :) So, while I'm already dreaming up PhD plans (mum always did want a 'doctor' in the family!), I'm also submitting papers and articles to conferences. The good news is: I've already been accepted at a couple of them and come March, I'm going to be in Pittsburgh and then at Detroit, waxing eloquent about my sheer brilliance. Aaa, well, not really, but you do get the picture. Suddenly, I seem to have become (gasp) the academic. As a prof informed me, I'm quite the FOB PIG about town - Fresh Off the Boat Poor Indian Grad (Student). :)

So, last semester saw me calling Famous Activist Guy and asking for pointers on a project I was working on, about sensitization toward gay men and women in the corporate workplace. FAG was a great help, of course, but he did assist me in realizing that I'd turned into one of those gay NRIs (Non Resident Indians, for the uninitiated) who turn toward good ole India for research work. *sigh* To think, I actually dated one of those for some time - o, but then he was cute, so it really doesn't matter that he turned out to be a prick. Anyhow, my project happened to be a great hit here, and then I started on a second one: gay-friendly curricula in US colleges. Of course, when I broke this piece of news to SnowWhite's Stepmother, he huffed and said I was as original as Om Shanti Om, with my o-so-cliched little faggoty research topics. :)

Nevertheless, I am being quite true to my faggoty self. *giggle* In a way, it's the whole "coming out" thing. I'd always planned on being more "out" here than I was back home, and I guess that's showing more in my research projects at grad school than anywhere else. I've already declared my intention to focus on Queer Theory to my professors, and they've been quite gung-ho. I don't think they've had a fag in the department in quite some time, so they seem to be quite excited at the prospect! :)

On the man-activity front, there's a reason for not posting about brand new scintillating sex-ventures, aside from my harried nerdy grad self. And that's cuz I've been getting progressively serious about the thing with Irish Coffee. It's not completely smooth sailing etcetera over here, because there are complications involved: I'm not very sure about my future, and he's not sure about his, plus he came out of a long-term relationship two months before meeting me, so there's "rebound-baggage" involved as well... so... *phew*... it is complicated. But it's also nice. It's fun being with him, and talking with him. Spending a lot of my time with him. He's been my sounding board for all my academic (and not-so-academic) yadayadas, and it's been great finding an intelligent, funny, witty (and patient) person in the Midwest to cuddle in bed with.

And he's a funny foil for me. I'm this weird flamboyant gay guy whose scarf has to be flounced over his shoulders just right, whose leather gloves must gleam, whose hat must be tipped just perfectly, who can only wear well-fitting jackets despite the freezing weather - and he's so butch he might as well be straight. We do make a funny pair. He likes his coffee black, straight up, no sugar, no milk - but he still makes mine for me, the way I like it: plenty of sugar, plenty of milk. India ishtyle.

I'm getting used to my Irish Coffee. :)

Here comes... the SATC Movie

*drumrolls* Here comes... the SATC Movie

So I was all set to write a post on a somewhat 'serious' topic here, and then I discovered.....

...the all-new Sex and the City MOVIE trailer... yeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaa! :)





And that's when you think about the great stuff they ended with:

Carrie: Later that day, I got to thinking about relationships... there are those that open you up to something new and exotic... those that are old and familiar... those that bring up lots of questions... those that bring you somewhere unexpected... those that bring you far from where you started... but the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself... and if you find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous!



O, and I just realized, they show Mr. Big's name on Carrie's phone in the last scene there: John!

Hot Turkey

Hot Turkey

I've been making excuses for quite some time now to my friend the Traveller for not blogging, excuses mainly dealing with work. It's the end of the Fall semester here, and I had tonnes of paperwork to do - theory and term papers to write, presentation proposals to make, etc, and now that I have a kind of respite (one more due Monday, but that's the very last!) I did want to come back here and blog about what a fun time it's been since my last post.

The best thing to ease me into the tough study schedule I find myself in now would be, I decided, a holiday over the Thanksgiving break. So a phone call was made to the Traveller, bus tickets were purchased, and I found myself in Indianapolis. I'd asked Irish Coffee when he dropped me at the bus station, whether there were any cowboys there, and he laughed. I didn't think so, but it doesn't hurt to ask. :) Anyhow, my trip to Indy was simply fabulous. Traveller took me all around downtown, we gawked at the phallic symbol the city prides on, we walked in and out of museums, we snapped pictures of fabulous old buildings and we dined on some amazing food at English pubs and German rat cellars (The Rathskeller was the name of the restaurant). There was even an attempt to change the template of this blog, but I got cold feet at the last minute when the HTML codes started bullying me. O, and yes, we partied. :)



I haven't partied like that in ages! :) Not since Bombay, at any rate! :) Traveller's gay cousins were in town, with their respective partners, and all of us hit the Indy gay scene with a storm. Great music, loads of alcohol, and dizzying dances that ended with the fabulous circle jig. Mmmmm.... even waking up with a (teeny) hangover didn't dull the fun!

So, Indy was fun.

Understatement. :)

A/S/L?

A/S/L?

Back in Bombay, there was this one time SnowWhite's Stepmother and I went across to Bandra to buy tee-shirts with gay messages, and I picked up one that went with the title of this post: "A/S/L?" (Age/ Sex/ Location). I was thinking about that episode right now, when I looked in on my blog traffic after ages tonight. And that's when I thought, I've never really written anything about the people who come in here to this space. Never really said anything about all the guys and gals who come by, scroll up and down, and pass a verdict whether I've done good or sucked royally, and so I thought this would be a great time to do that.

So... where are you from? :)

Well, according to the statistics, TalkingClosets got 969 visitors from 48 countries in the last week. While I expected people from India to bag the top slot here, given that I am a desi boy and all that jazz, I was a bit surprised to note that it was the US of A which was Number One here. Ahem, USA - 374, compared to India's 335. Of course, you can probably shave off 5-10 of those views from that tally, when I logged in myself to check/answer comments, but that still leaves the US in the top slot.

So, now I was a bit curious to find out where my viewers in the States come from. Turns out, California, land of the free, bags the most votes - 89. Strangely though, the centers that I thought TC would be most popular in - LA and West Hollywood - didn't do too well, with only about 7 views from there this week. Nopes, the big daddy of the lot was Piedmont in the San Francisco Bay Area, with about 38 views. Now I was stumped. I mean, I've never even heard of this place before. A bit of googling tells me, however, that it's quite a posh piece of suburbia in SF with a HUGE Asian population - 16% - and well, I guess that's how I got my 38 views this week! :) All the cute and rich gay desi doctors and lawyers in piedmont, I love you, so please come and take me away from the Midwest! :)

The other biggies in the US turned out to be the Big Apple (predictable, I suppose, but YAY, I *heart* NY) with 34 views and Chicago with 27. A place called Blacksburg in Virginia also figured high here, with 30 votes, and I was a bit surprised again, knowing Virginia is God-fearing anti-Christian territory. But then I realized that that's where VirginiaTech is. Hehehe. So, the college boys like me. Nice! O, and Princeton loves me to - 11 votes from there! :)



Back home in India, good ole Bombay wins hands-down, with a whopping 170 views over last week! Funny to think that SS used to tease me earlier, that my dragging everyone to the GB parties was a clear indication I was getting kickback from them! :) O, but I do miss the cit dreadfullyy! Anyway, Delhi came in second with 65, and Chennai third with 26, but my hometown Kolkata saw a lousy 2 views. *sniffle*

This post feels like a horrible lesson in statistics by now, but I did do a little bit more detective work to see where else, other than India and the US, I got page-views from. The next largest is the UK with 60 votes, of which London hogs the majority with 26, and then Canada with 41, of which Toronto claims 25. Mmmm... and I might actually be heading up to Toronto sometime the end of this year. :) Australia gave me 25 views, of which gay mecca Sydney accounted for 15.

O, and I get no views from Africa, and my showing is pretty poor in mainland Europe also - Germany, France and Norway gave me only around 10 views each last week. China hates me - only one lone ranger logged in and I'm going to discount that as a fluke - but Hong Kong made up for that gaffe and logged in 9 times last week! :) Down in Southeast Asia, Malaysia gave me 10 views, and o, I do want to go see the Petronas Towers now. :) Closer home, I was kinda glad to see I got 10 views from Pakistan. Cool - especially since I thought that blogs were not accessible from there. :)

O, and funny thing: stupid Google counts Russia as part of Europe, when everyone and their mother know it's in Asia. Dummies!

Desi Dinner Time

Desi Dinner Time!

So I'm going to pop the corn quotient to 100% and say a silly like like: you can take CT out of Bombay, but you can't take Bombay out of CT! Sitting here in the middle of the sleepy Midwest, Closetalk calls on the all-powerful Youtube.com to take him to the bright gay disco lights of Bollywood to spy on the two brand new releases all of his facebook pals have been chattering about, and he is not disappointed. Nopes. Astounded, maybe, by how wonderfully gay friendly Bollywood heroes have turned out to be, but never disappointed. :)

It seems such a long time ago that Vivian and I were squealing our appreciation of yummy King Khan in his dapper Don look, but nothing could really have prepared me for the sight of SRK's 8-pack abs in his latest release Om Shanti Om. woof! No, no, I mean, nothing at all. There I sat in one of the computer labs on campus, innocently in front of youtube, and when SRK starts throwing his shirt away, gets his brand-new pecs and abs wet in true Mandakini style, you really can't blame CT for getting a woody. Suddenly, all those Irish boys can go hang - give me desi beef any day, baby! :)



And if you think that's yummy, go check out the actual video - Dard-e-Disco - on down here. The drool is inevitable. Quite a different type of drool, though drool nonetheless, for that hot new fireball called Ranbir Kapoor, in his debut Sawariya. O, ok , fine, his heroine is kinda pretty too, but when that hot studmuffin is in the frame, you don't really have eyes for anyone else. Imagine my glee (girlish giggles and all) when I discovered what I think to be the most delicious, gay-est pic of him ever on the net.



Mmmm... just what they needed on that ole Moulin Rouge: sexy Ranbir smouldering the stage in his sailor outfit. yummy! Simply love his dance number in the movie with his o-so false shy act with the looooong towel/sheet/dunno-what-it-is, but despite the thing's ambiguity, you have to love the part where the hottie falls onto the floor and single, slender, o-so-well-waxed leg peeks out. O shucks, now I'm in the mood for some tandoori chicken here...

Wanna Nach All Night...

Wanna Nach All Night...

I guess it's partly the Diwali fever, but here I am in the ole Midwest, and I've been missing amchi Mumbai. I had a formal dinner the other night with the Dean of Graduate Students, and there was the usual introductory round and I do my "I'm the international student from Bombay..." routine, but then he interrupts to ask, "Bombay? Don't you mean Mumbai?" And I'm like: "Nopes. It's Bombay to Bombayites, Mumbai to the rest."

*sigh*



So this weekend, there's a little Diwali something at my li'l Midwestern university, and I'm dragging Irish Coffee over with me. Thought I'd show him some of the desi moves. He's already heard some of the Hindi stuff on my computer and makes a face whenever I play Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, and so now I thought I'd torture him with the sight of some ABCDs and College Curry Bois dance to Where's The Party Tonight. :) (actually, he may like the dance performance more than the music.)

And that's another thing. I am soooo completely behind what's current in the Bollywood scene right now that I still listen to Where's The Party Tonight! Just now, I was so overwrought with nostalgia of the great parties at Guppie's house, and Vivian and SnowWhite's Stepmum dancing to Beedi, that I started listening to the Omkara album on my ipod while studying in the library. While walking to campus this morning, I was playing my five-month old Bollywood collection and snapping my fingers. I miss letting go on the dance floor when they play those fabulous jhatka tunes. I miss seeing the Bombay gay boys do their horrible rendition of the bhangra, and my joining in with my own topsyturvy version.

And the other night, when I found myself alone at the gay bar, I missed o-so much my GB parties and my gang of silly, fabulous queens. :) I missed all the lousy drinks, and bitching about the lousy music, and doing the borderline porno moves with SS, and squealing about the horned-up Punjabis on the dance floor. I missed having friends to dance with. I really want to dance. Just step out there on the dance floor and go wild like I used to in Bombay. With someone (friend or trick) who dances back with me. And while Irish Coffee is so terribly sweet to offer to go to gay bars and clubs with me, he just hates dancing and I know that. It seems somehow terrible to admit that I haven't slipped on those dancing shoes of mine in almost three months!



Ok, so this is the part where I realize that I've been moaning and groaning this whole post. Is life really that bad? Ummm... no. That's just the drama queen in me griping. Halloween was fun, for instance. And even though I was just one cowboy among the 200 others in this Midwestern town, I'm happy that Irish Coffee whispered in my ear that I was the cutest among them all! :)

Things are actually going quite nicely on this end. We still haven't had the "chat" and someone told me the other day that I was a whore to still have random hook-ups now and then if I was seeing someone, regardless of the "chat" having happened or not, but in all truthfullness, the randomness and the frequency of the hook-ups has descreased. Hell, it is true: graduate students don't have time for much else but work! :) And, more than anything, it's fun to talk about Irish boys and college boys and all the other different kind of boys that I bump into here.

That, and Bombay. *happy sigh*

Fairyland's Redheads

Fairyland's Redheads

Sitting here in the ole Midwest, I realize that there's one type of game here which seems especially drawn to me: the Irish American buck. I didn't really notice it much, the first time around. I mean, as far as I knew, there was only Irish Coffee, with whom I shared a fantastic equation. I mean, we ate, we drank, we drank, we drank, we shared conjugal relations *titter*, we drank some more, and we bitched about the British, and then I really didn't think much more about the Indo-Irish connection.

Till I found out, Bearded Boi was Irish American too. Aha. That made me think the world was a small place. Bearded Boi and I drank a lot too (sheesh!) and ate Mexicano food, and drank some more again. And anyone who's known me in real life knows I'm what they call a cheap date: I get drunk after one-and-a-half beers. So, of course, Bearded Boi and I had fun.

And then, I met the Scriptwriter, we had a great date dancing all night, got drunk beyond ourselves, bonked like rabbits till the early morn, and then he tells me at the door while leaving that he's (surprise surprise) Irish American!



So, now I'm left wondering what that special connection between moi and the Irish Americans of the Midwest is all about. It's become a joke for me to ask my hook-ups during the online chat, whether they're Irish or not - and six out of nine times, they are. I mean, back home, I didn't really have much of an idea (or opinion) about the Irish laddies. I knew all about the conflict with the Brits, I knew about the poor ole peasants who had to migrate to America, and I'd seen Ralph Feinnes look very sexy in a variety of Irish roles on the big screen. O, and yes, there was that soppy soap opera movie with Tom Cruise (ages ago, when he looed human) and Nicole Kidman (who is simply gorgeous) playing Irish American immigrants, and that hideous movie with Leo DiCaprio in NYC as an Irish hoodlum. Ahem, ahem.

So... my notion of your average Irish man hasn't really been dripping in style (except, maybe Ralphie). No, they're mostly the rough men-of-the-soil, who drink and belch and fart and laugh, but don't really know much of the finer things in life. But then, neither do I. :) When I tell Irish Coffee this, he has his standard reply ready: "The British stole it from us!"

There are of course, lots of gay men who like swarthy men-of-the-soil. Like me, for instance. :) Like my friend Diamond Choker Baccha for another. O, also Vivian. When you come to think of it, a lot of Indian guys go for that kinda MAN'S MAN - ok, well maybe not SnowWhite's Stepmother, but then, that's not catastrophic. Had sauntered over to an Irish American Festival sometime back, and it was quite fun, watching all the cute redheads fanning around, drinking Guinnes and swearing loudly. I'm no leprechaun, but I do like my redheads! :)

D-I-S-C-O-C-T

D-I-S-C-O-C-T

You won't ever see me in an Afro, or wearing shiny pants (ok, well you might see me in thos e sometime), or doing coke on the dance floor (though prior posts have found me snorting in the bedroom), but don't let this mistle you - I am a Disco Queen.

So last weekend saw me at Irish Coffee's place, and after the episodes of Sex and the City, I force him to sit by me and watch Studio 54. Ryan Phillipe. Yummy. OK, so he's awfully skinny in the movie, but I completely loved the idea of disco-dancing in a great big amphitheater, under a giant shining ball or two. May not be any sort of Ghetto Superstar, but hey, I can do a meeeeaaaan disco! :)

And what bugs me is the complete lack of disco in the gay bars these days. I can't even call it a Midwest thing, because Bombay was the same. Well at least Bombay used to play the odd Shakira and Justin Timberlake which might not be exactly disco, but are gay as gay can be. You can do the sexy shake here and there, raise your arms and scream, get down and dirty with your partner and do everything else that makes a gay man live on the dance floor. And hell, at least they used to play the odd Madonna and ABBA and Cher... sigh. Not so here in the Midwest, though. The staple here is trance. Dance music, they call it. Which means a lot of DJ intervention. Which means that I can't do all my bumps and grinds and tricks with the umbrella that I did back in Bombay.

Throw the DJ out!



(Well, maybe not, if he's that cute!)

Strange to think I'm a puritan like that. I like listening to Donna Summers and all the rest. I like to wear something slinky and sexy and boogey on the dance floor. And I think D-I-S-C-O is the only way to go. Disco complements gay men like no other brand of music can. And it's no just about the tune or the tone, but soooo much more about the attitude! An attitude that you can't find anywhere else. *sigh* Gosh - listen to me: 26 and I sound like a 70s hippie. *grin*

So Irish Coffee watched me dance to the closing credits of Studio 54 with a very bemused expression - I can only imagine SnowWhite's Stepmother's look of chagrin if he had been in the room - but I didn't really pay any attention. There I was, in my cowboy hat, jeans and nothing else, and wishing I could head out to a gay bar right then and there.

Halloween is coming up: I was all set to go as Zorro, but I have a good mind to do a skanky disco queen instead. :)




If I could read your mind, Love,
What a tale your thoughts could tell.
Just like a paperback novel,
The kind the drugstores sell.