Do I know you from somewhere?

When one stranger asks you “Do I know you from somewhere?” it is okay, but what if multiple people ask you the same question in one week. I know I am not a celebrity, nor am I a socialite/page3 figure in the city. But have I met these people somewhere or sometime? Or do I have something in common with these people? It is him or his penis that made me ask the question? Hmm….interesting thought…

The first time the line got hurled at me when I was walking out of a movie hall. The guy was tall, handsome and was starring at my while I was in the queue to exit the movie hall. I was waiting outside the movie hall for my friends and this guy charges towards me, ignored my friends and instantly puts his handout and stuns me with the line. My friends were around and I couldn’t do much other than say “I don’t think so”. But then he didn’t seem convinced with my answer, and then came the next one “You seem familiar”. Now I was kind of embarrassed and didn’t know how to handle this situation. Does it mean that he doesn’t know and he wants my number and wants to know me better? He he he…. My friends were helplessly looking at the volley of questions and replies flying between us. I didn’t know he was a male model who posed for the recently released male bikini calendar. I could hear some of them go “he is the November guy” and I had no clue that this guy was trying the clichéd pick line on me. After so many questions I wanted to atleast introduce myself before I left. But then he wanted to know how I spent my weekends. Wow….that was too early to go to my weekends and my free time. With just a smile and handshake I left the venue.

The same week I am on the last train to Bangalore. I reached 20 mins before the departure and before boarding the coach I checked out my co-passengers in the list outside the boggie. It was all youngsters and I didn’t have to worry about obliging and swapping my middle berths with elders. The air conditioned I found place for my baggage, pulled out “Love, Eat, Pray” and settled myself comfortably in my seat. I lent my book the guy besides me who was trying all possible angles to catch a glimpse of my book cover. Every now and then I peeped at the door at the end of the doorway impatiently waiting for the ticket examiner. There were two guys to my left occupying the side lower and upper berths and one of them was lost in the music playing in his ipod while I settled for the book. I walked out to get a bottle of water and when I boarded the boggie I saw the ipod guy near the doorway and he asked me the same question again. I was shy and didn’t know how to respond, I didn’t introduce myself or shake my hands, but still gave my canned reply. I could have stopped there and extended the conversations with a few more questions like where do you live, where do you work? But these questions have just one underlying intent – I like you. But looking at my physique he didn’t pursue any further. He went back and settled in his berth and that was the end of it. May be he genuinely meant it and he was not trying a pick-up line.

“Do I know you from somewhere” is one of the most common, cheesiest and direct pick-up line. Some feel it is an innocuous question, agreed, and it is better than asking someone for time or starring incessantly. It doesn't say if you want to know a person or you want to enjoy the person. I would rather appreciate when people directly ask me out of coffee or tell me they want to know about me than try these deviant pick-up lines. But someone can be genuinely can be mistaken to belong to the pride. I agree sometimes you can’t judge a person’s sexuality and you need to use such questions to hint the other person about your orientation and subtly let him know you like him or like to know more about him. But still can’t we try something better? Or next time when someone tries that line on me should I tell them I am taken?

Shift+Delete

What happens to you when you’re gay friend decides to get married to a woman? Does he continue to be your friend? Do you continue to be his friend? How do you re-define the friendship space?

More than a year ago I received an email from a FWB. I was rudely surprised when I got an email from him with the subject “Wedding Invitation”. Whenever we discussed topics like our future, male partners, loneliness, old age, and marriage, he was so sure he would never get married for convenience, for society or for his parents. And now there was a wedding invite from him. I didn’t take it seriously and thought it could be an invite for his brother’s wedding. Could it be a virus? Could it be a spam email? Every possibility ran in my mind. I mustered up courage and clicked on the subject and some more surprise unfolded.

The mail was marked to many others (FB, DF, FWB) and said he was getting married in Madurai on Sep 15. I opened the invite in awe and shock, but with a flickering hope that it could be prank. My eyes searched for his name, his father’s name and bride’s name on the invite. I even rechecked the date and venue. May be he was fooling around after tampering with an expired old invite in Photoshop. But it was all there in bold and red. I froze for a minute and replayed our conversations and decisions on marriage and how we guys could all stick together and care for each other. Now all that seemed far, distant and a big lie. It left me with one question - Can humans change their orientation and preference that easily? Was it due to undue pressure for family and society? Or was it a biological need? I couldn’t go back and talk him out of it, but atleast pray for his happiness and continue living with a hope that I would still be on his list of friends.

Losing a gay man to another gay man was something that I am used to, but losing to a woman was not acceptable. This is not the first time such a thing in happening to me. A good friend of mine in the US did the same a few years ago. He came to India to get married, but didn’t even inform me of his trip or marriage. One fine day he saw me online and told me that he was married, my heart just sank. I asked him when and he said it happened 6 months ago. I asked him where and he said India. I didn’t ask him anything more and the chat was punctuated with silence more than words.

More than disappointment, I felt hurt because I was kept in dark. Leave alone an invite for the wedding, I was not even worthy of an information. How will we define our space and friendship? But then he was clear, he didn’t want to remember his past life and friendships and he wanted to put an end to it. That was the last chat we had and his marriage was the funeral of our friendship.

I closed the e-invite in disappointment and loss. More than what bothered me was the text below the first few lines of the invite. He said he is sending this email as a FYI and not an invite. He said he will not be accessing this email anymore and his phone number was already changed. I could not believe my eyes. Is he out of his mind? Why would I trouble him after his marriage? Can’t we still remain friends? I closed the email and again opened to make sure I was hallucinating. But it was in black and white and our friendship was “Shift + Delete”. It was an irrecoverable loss, and friendship.

Am I such a bad human being that he wants me out of his life? Isn’t it easy to say good-bye to people through email and walk away turning your back at them and your past? I felt like a cigarette and marijuana, I gave them happiness and at the end of it I was stomped. Rather than going through this grill mill every time, I have told me friends who are getting wedded to send me just an email with just the subject “I am getting married” and I will instantly rearrange my life.

Sometimes the shortest distance between two gay man is never a straight line, it is devious, long and abruprt. Anything that you can’t share it with family will always remain in dark and what happens in dark…stays in dark…

99 out of 100 times gay men are hurt by their own community more than st8 men and women and rest of the community. There is no use holding pride parades and talking about gay rights if you cant treat your own community with respect and love.

It is time to move on…..

F-Words

I was shocked the other day when my close friend of 15 years failed to introduce me his “friend” at a social gathering to which he dragged me. Am I not eligible for the “friend” title after 15 years of association and kinship? This incident made me examine the meaning of the frivolously used word “friend”.

Maybe introducing someone in the straight world as a “friend” has no other connotation than in the gay world, where friendships are fleeting and forged in the market driven by lust, needs, meats and measures. This was a completely straight gathering and no one would even read otherwise, but still I remained on his “acquaintance list”.

I came home that night in slight funk after the friendly humiliation. I flipped through my contacts on my mobile, trying to decide which friend to call and unction my bruised spirit. As I scrolled through the mobile phone contacts something struck me really hard.

Next to our families, we all invest in a circle of trustworthy people we call “friends” with an unspoken agreement that we will be there for each other. I began counting the number of contacts that I would truly acknowledge as “friends” and I tried to remember how I forged those friendships and if the relationships were psychological bonds or physiological needs or both? This is when I realized be it straight or otherwise friendships come with boundary conditions, retention clauses, expiration dates and no guaranteed satisfaction clauses L.

What does the word “friend” mean to a gay man? What did my contacts list say about me? Could all the fuck buddies be referred to as friends? This humiliation made me honest, and turned me inwards. I christened all friends on my contact list with suffixes.

FWB– friends without benefits - these are just plain vanilla friendship without any benefits, they could be straight or gay, but no physical boundaries trespassed in the past and no intentions for the future

DF – dial a fuck – these are mere fuck buddies, sexploration, could be one night stands or get you to be a repeat customer, and driven by lust, pleasure, hormones and not for issues and tissues

FB - friends with benefits – these are guys whom you can connect with emotionally and physically (shoot from the hip and lip), they can wipe body fluids and bind raw wounds (gauze)

I was happy I was able to be honest and segregate my friends from FB and DF. Now I had to deal with all these contacts with suffixes. Should I make the DF and FB ones a little more perky and juicy by adding statistics to it? I know I sound like a herbiwhore now.

Some guys are really adept in handling friends, fuck buddies and friends with benefits. Now I kept thinking how am I going to handle them? I could name them however I want on my mobile, but in the real word “friendship” word comes with a set of rules and grammar. Do I call them as friends, though they would typically fall in the “DF” category? New words come with tenses, degrees and usage rules.

Should I call it a plain English grammar class or a word power class with Norman & Lewis? Doesn’t matter, it was a night of revelation. Mobile scrolling taught me other words apart from the flippant one – friendship and fuck. FWB, DF, FB got added to the dictionary of f-words. It exposed my oscillating between a predator and a prey, and brought back memories from the past – some names smelled of sweat, some smelled of gooey body fluids, while some were just plain tears. But the there were a few friends who started as FB but who got upgraded to FNB category and some who got downgraded from FB to DF.

But honestly I was coming to terms with my randy, gaudy and slutty side. I realized had used people like surgical cotton and disposed them without any reverence and gratitude. I will let you scroll down your mobile and repeat the same exercise …..let me know where and how I feature on your list.

Wh…moments…

Flex your muscles and try holding back to the moving arms of the clock, did you succeed? Even strongest men like Hercules will be crushed in the paws (pause) of time. As powerless humans we all can re-visit time, like the visit to a museum filled with memories and memorabilia.

During such walks I spent some moments in awe and some moments in thaw… Not all moments in life are captured and made available in glass chambers with a discolored and oxidized note that reads “Do not touch”. But there is always a silence, and contemplation when you do such trips.

My recent visit to the museum was to explore the Wh…. moments of my life from my sexuality point of view. When I knew…. Life gives you clues and hints about yourself, but not everyone is agile and smart to decipher them. Only after passage of time, and going through mill of experiences we get to pause and stretch on the paws of time and re-visit to the grail trail to read the clues and finally realize “I missed it then”.

But interestingly when I knew piece always comes with a denial. To some it lasts for a few years and to some it takes decades to reach that point of acceptance. That is when I realized that sometimes things outside the glass chambers are more brittle than the ones inside.

The self-realization happens only after passage of time and after the world realizes the “me”. Twenty five years later when I sit back (not in an easy chair yet!) closing my eyes to recollect my growing up days…. and realize the real “me”. It felt very much like deciphering from a piece of Braille, though weird and rough, I was reading my own life. How did I miss the cues? Did my own eyes not turn blind then? Even co-passengers on the trip were not able to spot them, now I realize I am my own curator.

When others knew….rewind the tapes, and look at the first moment when you couldn’t express your longing for men or the first instance you exhibited your feminine side and your care for men?

Some dressed up in grandmother’s clothes, tried on mother’s lipstick and mascara, painted nails with sister’s nail polish, breast fed and nourished her dolls with care, and some even wore her fancy jewellery and danced to racy bollywood tunes to flying duppattas in front of the mirror. Is imitation the best form of flattery or is it a deep sense of longing? Call it the peacock moments or whatever….but for some this was the defining moment of their sexuality.

But others knew your longing then…. we wanted to be caretakers like womenfolk in our households. Our innocence limited our expression and we choose to express it differently.
It was not easy when other knew….Our families got to see the uncensored premiere of our sexuality. Some scorned at our longing and innocence, some stole our happiness in bud, and some dismissed “all this gimmicks” as a growing up thing, while some knew the real “fruitcake” in the family.

Was our flamboyance underrated as frivolousness or was our sexuality overrated as perversion? I had no clue then and it was easy to deal with ignorance and innocence. But now thinking about it and looking at the reflection of my sexuality, it was always glaring and quirky.

When I am ok with it…. is the toughest of the Wh… moments…after having gone through the torture and taunt for being and behaving different in school, trying to solve the mystery about ourselves, constantly caught in the low tide of pride and self esteem, living with the feeling of “victims of my own sexuality”, going through the denial mill for years, and finally end the years of freedom struggle within and reach our destination – I am ok with it.

Should we call such holy grail trips as defining moments in life or re-defining moments in life? Once you reach the destination the overbearing cross of sexuality disappears, gasping for survival ends, a fresh lease of life infused, a feeling of re-birth, a smile of approval and acceptance, and shoulders feel light, and finally what the world calls perversion becomes our pride. A life that was once seemed a dead end and dusty is now a paved road and clean laid out directions.

In the journey of life nobody can bring back the lost moments be it happiness or time, but can rewind the moments, come to terms with it and replace the old discolored and brittle piece and sad piece of paper in the museum with fresh, and clean paper that reads “I am special”.

Smitten or bitten?

In the divine language of love some expression and terms of endearment are never uttered or written but painted skin by breaking the capillary below the surface of the skin. And the final painting is a red patch that serves as an evidence and embarrassment. Such an expression of love are called a “hicky”.

For Indians such an expression of love does exist but seldom revealed or discussed because it is considered a taboo more than embarrassment. When I asked some of my straight colleagues if they knew about hickies they carried a blank look on their face, while the liberated ones (married men and gays) broke into an instant smile and even narrated anecdotes of their first one and how they managed to fool their mothers.

It really doesn’t matter if you are single or married or in a relationship, hickies are embarrassing. In a house where tattoos are considered blasphemy, hickies spelt instant banishment. I landed on a Monday morning from Bangalore and along with my dirty clothes came 2 hickies on either biceps. Should I be arraigned on multiple counts for accommodating them and for ticket less travel to Chennai?

If I were married hickies would mean a fertile conjugal life and nobody would even ask or discuss about it. But my singlehood put me on a jittery wicket and I had to cover up the weekend T20 match filled with bites and hisses apart from regular bats and balls. Facing my mother was like facing those bodyline bowlers.

Are they really lovebites or dynamites? Hickies are like an entourage; they follow you silently but attract attention, raise eyebrows and let audience make instant judgments. Dangerous, huh? If my hickies are spotted at home how can I explain myself at home? I was nervous and at the same time cautious and very thoughtful. Can I fool people that it is bite from a hospital bed bug (a 160 cm tall, 60 kg handsome man with 32 healthy mandibles) or Lyme’s disease? Ha ha…in both arms and at the same place?

I locked myself in the toilet and removed my shirt to examine the size and shade of the hickies, how innocent huh? I was not a spotted Deer or a Leopard, but just a love bitten soul. Reflection in the mirror showed two hickies size of a 50 paisa coin with a deep shade of pink marked by a deep red boundary. How did it happen to me was the kind of look I showcased. I shifted my eyes from the mirror and looked at it directly, it was true and real. I was loved and devoured in a way never before.

To me hickies are symbol of love and represent the passion in the love making process. And darker shade meant more the passion in the love making process. Why would someone paint that on you if he or she is not interested in you both physically and emotionally? Can I flaunt them be vociferous at home. Hell no!

Single men seldom exercise caution before the game, but however prepared you get some
expression of love always lands you in trouble be it on your skin or on your shirt, irrespective of
your status (single or married). All said, seen, and every minute spent on looking at my private
body art reminded me of the intimate moments, unsaid, but expressed love through clenching of
jaws, sucking of skin and lubricating with the saliva and slowly smacking the tongue. Does it
sound delicious or salacious?

I didn’t want the hickies to fetch me other titles though I would rather like people to know that I am single, monogamous happy and live an action packed life. Over the next few days I made frequent trips to the toilet to examine the size and color of the hickies in the mirror. I had no choice but not to parade around the house shirtless or step out of the toilet with just the towel around my waist. And I was doubly wary not to expose my burly biceps at the gym. Looking at the body art at times I reminiscent the culmination of emotions and hormones, but at times it was like watching crescent of Moon wax, when will it fade? There was some pain every time I ran my fingers over them, but I must confess I enjoy it.

The C-Word

I have never thought so much about this “C” word until recently when I ended up calling a long time friend for a casual talk. The casual conversation turned very pleasant and cozy when he mentioned about his recent vacation with his longtime partner (5 years now) and I could sense the excitement and josh in his voice. But when I asked about the life beyond vacations there was a pause initially, and then came a stutter and finally boulder came rolling “I don’t know…..” ended with a sigh.

That was the one boulder that started an avalanche of question in my mind. I wasn’t sure if the word was removed from their dictionary or may be I grew up the Victorian way. Commitment to me means being emotionally and physically tethered to the same person irrespective of differences till the existence of the relationship. But for many it was either alien or pre-historic.

Before I say and write more I decided to check if the dictionary still had this word. The word was still in but it sounded so utopian…..

> the act of binding yourself (intellectually or emotionally) to a course of action
> the trait of sincere and steadfast fixity of purpose
> an engagement by contract involving financial obligation

Why do people shy away from it? Does commitment make them more responsible and accountable? Does age become a determining factor for commitment? I had met a dozen of commitment phobics after my previous relationship and not even one was able to give their definition of commitment. A 26 year old who just returned from a longish US stint was one of the prospects interviewed. He was attractive, smart, and very sociable – scored straight A for my next round. But when it came to commitment and long-term plan he was candid. He made a bold statement, “I am too young to think of commitment and I still have fields to explore, wickets to bat and balls to pitch.” I learnt my lesson that day - Casanovas are never committed!

The last time I was in a relationship commitment came out of love, respect, physical and psychological chemistry that we shared. We never spoke about it and it just happened naturally. Coming back to my friend’s case, can’t men have a vacation together without commitment and long term plans? Well they can, but why do responsible adults who’ve been in love for over 5 years turn cold feet when it comes to commitment? May be 5 years was not enough to be sure if this is the right man to be committed to? Does he doubt his choice or the man? Commitment is like Vitamin C, you will need it only when you have a drippy nose and teary eyes. So until you catch cold, you don’t need Vit C.

For some being commitment is like having the same cuisine for dinner for the rest of the life and may be that is why they stay away from boredom. Some are not sure how soon they will outgrow their taste buds and hence commitment makes their knees shaky. As long as people are honest about their taste and likes you can stay away from them, but it hurts only when they dance to your tunes to just entice you for the evening and leave you with a bleeding heart. Commitment is like having garlic and onion and it leaves a bad taste at the end of the meal and then there is always a lot of brushing to do in the end….

Is commitment a sin word? By sin word I don’t mean it is the most hated word by single people, but even couples treat this like an over burdening cross on the back. Brad Pitt could not stay committed to Jennifer Aniston. You can live under the same roof, but commitment is never guaranteed. Do emotionally and psychological stable and secure humans need commitment? The “C” word only seems to electrocute relationships and not electrify.

Are humans (like animals) biologically and psychologically challenged to stay committed? When I think about my earlier relationship everything was just fine and fidel until I measured him on the commitment scale. What followed the measurement was dissolution of wonderful 3 year friendship built on the foundation of TLC. Offering commitment is like giving away a blank check; he can wipe away your account and leave you bankrupt in no time.

Why do people invest time, emotion and much more in relationship and stay vested for a long time just to casually end the conversation with “I don’t know” ….? Well this opens another box of questions - Do all relationships culminate into a commitment? Do committed people have plans? Should commitment be discussed and made contractual? Or should life be simple a fuck and flush? Is commitment today looked upon as a mental disease, and unnecessary emotional clinging?

Should I be dogmatic or pragmatic when it comes to commitment? More importantly I think I should be single, hot and whacky….

I love it……

Treadmills and Doe hunt

30+, single, never married and running on a treadmill like a maniac. Do I sound like an aspiring Olympic athlete or like someone desperately running away from mid-life and mid-riff crises? Is there any difference between desperation and vulnerability?

I was early to gym that Saturday afternoon. Since my exercise routine was a bit monotonous, I was giving my mind a workout. I was thinking about how choosing a treadmill in the gym was sometimes like choosing a urinal in a public loo -- hormonal and exciting. I was looking for a clean spot with the best view. With only a few people there, I didn’t have any difficulty in making the right choice. I settled for a treadmill with a view of the main door and next to a mirror through which I could scope out the rest of the room. I settled into my jog and waited for a handsome payout from my strategic choice.

As I ran along, I thought about how treadmills are similar to the crossroads of life. People on treadmills and people at life’s crossroads have accumulated lots of mileage but still look ahead toward hope and good fortune. Spending time at the crossroads – just as on a treadmill -- is not always fun. If lucky, some discover their futures at the crossroads, while not-so-fortunate ones reflect on their pasts. And, as always at intersections, a few other passersby come into the picture and peering at the mirror can prevent collisions and collusions.

As I finished my first kilometer on my treadmill, I spotted him. A 22-year-old fawn with an athletic build, long legs, just covered with tender cartilage and right amount of fat, a broad forehead, bright smile exposing 32 and an impressive stamina for one so young. I tried to decide if I was running towards a brighter – and slimmer – future or if I was still mired in my past.

Be it on the treadmill or otherwise inclininations and speed changes can turn anyone sweaty, salty and salacious. I caught myself soaked in all three without ever having adjusted a single setting. The hand towel was not enough to cover or wipe away the evidence.

The mirror in front of me turned into binoculars as I scoped out the fawn and noticed that my prey was casting a few furtive glances at me. Thank god the treadmill I was on did not have a hormonal sensor showing my excitement levels.

I flashed a smile or two with no covert intentions. The fawn, arms length away, was struggling to focus on me without being obvious. And the chase was on!

Aren’t we unexposed, raw, and ridiculous just below the surface? I was already sweaty and nervous. His stare at my package and seductive looks were an aggressive move for a fawn as our chase thundered along. When did fawns turn carni-whore? I thought to myself. This was no fawn! This was a 22-year-old buck in full glory.
Suddenly instead of me chasing the fawn, I looked in the mirror and could see the fawn chasing me. Was it for real or lateral inversion from the mirror? Was he chasing love? Or lust? Was I trying to get away or let him catch me? I had only a few seconds to make a decision. Hormones were clouding my judgment and I was feeling short of breath. I was debating if I should ignore my conscience and moral principles and indulge my hormones.

Where was that emergency stop button? I managed to step off the treadmill without hitting the panic button and moved into the locker room. “Do one thing every day that scares you” Eleanor Roosevelt said. But was this young buck scaring me or himself? Should I really conspire with a stranger and satiate the hormonal villain in me? Or should I wage a war to protect my re-virginized self?

This old, shaggy and long-denied "doe" was being teased, taunted and awakened by this magnificent buck. I feigned bravado at his hormonal challenge as I tried to decide whether to pass through this crossroads or engage in the hormonal downpour?

I have been through many crossroads of life, but never in the past have I been a rudderless boat. Finally, I left the gym with my moral compass intact, but nevertheless I was lost. Was it always right and happy to follow the moral compass? Are the ones who throw the compass away lost and unhappy? For now I decided to walk the mill of life rather than worrying about the compass. Treadmills are stationary and unidirectional and don’t need compass.

I had gone to the gym to tackle a mid-riff crisis; I had not expected to meet a mid-life crisis while on the treadmill. Passing by a bakery on the way home, I forewent a glazed donut. Doe’s and Donuts are not scary anymore!

It is a little over 2 months since I met the Doe and neither of us has stopped running our treadmills of life. However transient life and friendships may be, some friendships are born and thrive on the move. Today both of us spend our evenings tackling our mid-riff crisis on the treadmill, not my mid-life one. We discuss the present, we ramble over the hits and misses in Doe’s life and we reminiscent the past without any repent. Isn’t this the best way to tackle mid-life and mid-riff crises?

Prospecting - An art or fart?

Prospecting for a job and prospecting for soul mate, are there any similarities or many similarities? For those of you who swear to be happy in your jobs and relationships, may be you have found the right one, or may you have learnt to change yourself and stay happy and contended or may be you have multiple jobs and relationships for complete satisfaction. Am I being cynical or honest?

For those looking for one keep reading…

Are you wise, smart to jump ships and walk tight ropes when the economy is on a downward spiral and when your cake is filled with more than 30 candles? This very though today left me polarized, sweaty, quizzical and left feverishly looking for an answer.

In the economic parlance such downturn in job market and love market leads to cyclical unemployment and forced separation. Both these terms doesn’t mean the end of life, all it means is that you will have to spend some time on the sideline to re-skill/re-badge and then enter the market with fresh confidence and like never been there before. Isn’t life all about learning and unlearning?

Is it easy to teach the old dog new tricks? If you are young and smart, you are pardoned for your mistakes, but if you are old then there is Senior citizen discrimination and not discount. However young or old, it is difficult and icky. We have no choice but to turn up with an iron chest and fist for these meetings. It is a price we all pay for a job and partner, and there is a secret hope what if the dream materialized this time? Or may be the story gets told better every time?

The first homework one has to do before re-entering the market was to ask oneself if they really needed a relationship/job, and why not I be on their own. It took me 3 years to answer this question, to sort myself, and get ready with my elevator pitch and marketing collaterals. Be it a relationship or job you will have to make you look perfect and best. It is all window dressing!

Well some employers offer your placement services after they let go of you. Would you believe if I told you that my resume was written by my ex? Is this an act of kindness and gratitude? Should I be happy or grumpy?

Though we don’t carry my resume for such interviews, we rehearse the script in my head more than one hundred times a few nights before and spend hours trying to decide what to wear for the interview. In the speech first goes family, education, hobbies, relationship stint with roles, and then we move into the ex-talk, but keeping it polite and not condescending. Sounds ghastly similar, huh? Is it a job interview?

I was not aware that these prospecting meetings can also be filled with lies, surprise, conceit, hypocrisy, blame game, ex-talk etc. more than honesty, ownership, lessons learnt and filter coffee? Interesting….huh? Can the ego ever be cremated? May it can only be tamed.

Well the battle gets tougher when the candles on the cake are directly proportional to the number of Exs. Go through one break-up and try to getting back into one, climbing Mt. Everest would be even easier. You will be surprised at the questions being tossed at you, judging that happens in the name of prospecting will bewilder you. Who takes the ownership of failed and fractured relationships?

Some meetings are easy, they just look for positive attitude and adaptability, and they supplement it with on the job training to make it a win-win. While some get caught up in the past and do a laparoscopy of your life on the internet by turning a simple browser into a camera fitted probe and make you wonder if it the process is prospecting or suspecting.

Some meetings can go in your favor. You get to make a choice, command your price, and put down your terms, but not always. When you get there learn to negotiate so that you don’t undersell. Are jobs and relationships emotional transaction or just plain emotional manipulation or cold and calculative?

The most grueling part of these meetings is the hope with which you get in and how humiliated and desperate you come out when the prospect is not clear what he wants or just says “let us just be friends”. Don’t ask yourself if you are unworthy for the partner role? Just believe that your future partner’s prayers are not potent enough for him to find you. Isn’t it better to be happy from being rejected than being unhappy in a wrong relationship? May be that is the price we all pay a price for being positive and hopeful?

We can come up with myriad excuses and reasons for exiting the relationship, and the clichéd one being “the other person screwed it up”. Everyone knows nobody is perfect, but still expect you to act like one. Who should be blamed for your disappointments – is it the employer/partner or you for your insatiable expectations?

Isn’t there always something better? Should I look around till you find the best or should I grab the first one that come my way or how long do I play this wait and watch game? Until you find the right one, the process is emotionally famishing for the ones who want to be paired up. However calm and composed you act, there is always fear deep within when it comes to choosing between a known devil and an unknown angel. And even after you find one there are questions that you need to answer.

For those of you, who get accepted, there is only more work in maintaining the art. Relationships are no free lunches and there is no guarantee, loyalty and remember relationship can’t turn sour after a few years. All relationships come with contract, some are written and some unwritten. Some get negotiated and re-written, some renewed and some just expire. Also remember contracts have service level agreements, and maintenance fee. Sounds mechanical?
After all this rambling doesn’t it sound easier to change jobs than changing partners? There is no emotional swamp to wade through, and even if there is one, there is no need to prove it by getting physically. Have things changed now?

How does one tide over the crises, and wade through the emotional marsh without feeling trapped, bankrupt, useless, unloved and miserable? Doesn’t it get strenuous and emotionally exhausting that you even entertain the thought of going back to the same employer/partner and asking for another chance? Is the cycle of looking out inevitable? Are we displaying our desperation or vulnerability? How do I insulate myself from the market dynamics, relationship rigmarole and hold on to the wheel of fortune?

Just stay single, self employed and happy!

The Ex-files

Interestingly there are 64 words that start with "ex” among the top 5,000 most commonly used words in English. Where dictionaries can accommodate an “ex”, why can’t we?

Some Ex-es survive the break-up tempest to become friends, while some completely vanish as if into the Bermuda Triangle. Do relationships ever really vanish, though, or do they experience a transmutation?

Why is that we keep looking for Ex-es even after the relationship has disappeared? Is it because Ex-es make us feel guilty for letting go or are we jealous a Harley kind of new boyfriend will replace us? I secretly searched for my Ex on Google, Facebook, Orkut, and Linked in and prayed to run into him on the street corner, at a traffic light, or at the grocery store. But why? For atonement or attainment in the unrealized dream turned nightmare?

After spending 6 months with tissues, issues and searches on the World Wide Web, I finally thought I had climbed out of the emotional dumpster and gotten over the rocky terrain. But the cell phone ring that morning made me fall right back into the dumpster. The call was a familiar voice from the “Don’t call registry”. Obviously the Ex-orcism didn’t work; my Ex was back. Now I felt as if I were being chased and possessed agained.

Sleepless nights and a re-hash of our relationship -- tender moments and haunting memories – followed the phone call. And I bought a few more boxes of tissues to sort out my issues. Was this call an act of kindness or an act of cruelty? Was he back so soon to again teach me more lessons? I badly needed a class on “Ex 101”.

Back at the bottom of the dumpster again, I was swamped by questions weighing on me like a mound of earth over a grave. It’s not that easy to transmute an “ex” into a friend. For that matter, it’s not even easy to move an EX from the (almost) the blocked list back into the “accept incoming call” list. Aren’t rules of engagement different between an Ex and a friend?

Equations change when that someone special gets downgraded to Ex. Families on both sides are instantly forgotten and abandoned; friends are torn apart and left hanging clueless; anniversaries and birthdays are like Friday the 13th; and gifts and pictures are packed in cartoon boxes and labeled with a skull and crossbones and put in the attic.

Are expired relationships dangerous? Should they be quarantined or disposed in outer space? Can they cause an “Ex”plosion if handled carelessly? A friend of mine was outed to his parents by a spiteful Ex, but not all Ex-es are nefarious and vengeful. Some are kind, caring and humble … just not to their Ex-es.

So, there he was. From the phone call I knew he was living my dream happily in the US with a boyfriend and making plans for a union ceremony after eight months of being together. Eight months! Could someone erase my three years of hard work in just eight months? Could I be happy for someone living my dream or was I going to turn green with envy and plot sabotage? Should I extend ex-gratia in the form of kindness, unconditional love, forgiveness, and moral and financial support? I happily mutated into a protector, and took the new avtar as a friend, philosopher and guide – all in one.

Do Ex-es come back looking to pay the accrued interest from our earlier deposits in their emotional bank account? Yes they do!

There I was in the red after a few family emergencies. My cell phone cried out again. Another forgotten ring tone from the Do Not Call Registry. Well, it was my ex-gratia! He was offering me a relief package and rope to climb out of the hole that I was in with a no-interest loan. Maybe we can extract more from an ex as a friend than a partner? I didn’t take up the loan offer, but nevertheless I upgraded him from don’t call registry to occasionally call registry.

Do Ex-es come back to remind us of our past (mistake!) or do they come back to express their regret and rebuild the burnt bridges? I thought this was one question that I would never be able to answer, but then Newton seems to have the perfect explanation for why Ex-es keep coming back into our lives. Matter can neither be created nor destroyed, and it always reappears in another form. I’m just glad my Ex is now a friend.

Journey to the ‘Villes

Life comes with no road maps for love, relationships or sex. Some serious travelers try to follow directions; some carefree souls just drive for the fun of it. Some make the journey interesting by picking up fresh travel companions after dropping off the tired ones. For some, the journey goes seamlessly and they continue with the same travel companions even though the ride is sometimes bumpy and rough.

Looking at my parent's generation I was almost convinced that love, physical intimacy and a relationship were to be found during one trip traveled with one person. Comparing my generation which suffers from one night syndrome (ONS), I questioned if we needed to make this journey to feel complete in life? I was not hopeful to complete this road trip, with its many pit stops through different towns.

'Sexville' is pretty easy to find and reach. Starting out early, I found many people willing to travel with me. Traveling with the same person always seemed too much of a hassle when I was younger. I was not looking for love or a relationship, and my raging youth only believed in physical intimacy.

June 13, 2003 was yet another typical day on my journey. I was confident my travel companion on this day to Sexville would leave after a few milestones, and I that I would pick up a fresh passenger at the next rest area. I had traveled before with the companion and was feeling powerful and wanted. Little did I know I was turning into unexplored territory.

My travel itinerary failed to carry a warning about stopping for repeat passengers. It definitely made no mention of the risks of emotional entanglement and bonding. And, here I was. Traveling like a madman without taking my foot off the gas pedal, flying past the rest area and my companion not getting out as we sailed past Sexville.

This journey took me to a remote place, an oasis of love and relationship which I never planned to visit. At first, I felt trapped, but then I began to enjoy the scenery and thrive in the oasis.

My trip lasted 3 years and was full of discoveries. I realized I had out grown my ONS and had developed a new taste – a taste for love and relationships. I was convinced that love, relationships and physical intimacy did exist, even in my generation of fast food and scratch lotteries. What was happening to me? May be I was discovering the beauty of life like my parents?

My journey, however, took a turn in a completely different direction as I continued to drive along the same route as my travel companion decided to take an airplane to the US. We didn’t realize we were leaving the Oasis. Distance made our hearts grow fonder, but the libido stronger – at least in the U.S. I was at the other end of the spectrum, now believing in monogamy, relationship and love. How retro!

We explored new ways to keep our journey together going. We tried to bring back physical intimacy. Phone and web cam sex to satiate hormonal outbursts were added to our travel kits. Unable to bear the churn of desires, my travel companion began to invite more passengers on the trip. He called it an open relationship. I called it a fork in our journey.

I soon found I was taking the road to Singleville and passing through the Valley of Self Discovery. Maybe love, relationship and intimacy are parts of a perfect road trip that is never forgotten. Do we need to cover all three, though, in one trip? Can't they be separate journeys? Importantly, do we have to cover all the destinations with the same person?

As I left the Valley of Self Discovery and while still continuing on to Singleville, I passed through Marriedville. I picked up my fair share of travel companions – all married -- as I passed through the area fraught with side trips. Married men brought physical release devoid of relationship and love. These side trips were short journeys and emotionally safe for a guy like me. As long as the journey included a bit of protection, my travel companions had no problems in knowing how, where and when to get off.

No one warned me, though, of the cops along this route watching out for speeding cars and negligent drivers. Very soon the blue and red lights went on and I was asked to pull over with one companion from the Marriedville turn off; I was ticketed for negligent driving. I thought this was a scenic route to travel, but didn't realize a sudden unexpected storm could make it ugly. In the rear view mirror as I finally left Marriedville, I could see a wreck of a marriage after an unexpected storm and I could see a companion’s spouse shaking a fist as I drove away. I left instructions for my travel companion on how to reach Splitsville.

Why do journeys end abruptly? May be every beginning has an end and every end has a new beginning? I know that Sexville, Singlesville, Marriedville and Splitsville are not destinations for me, but states that I drive through. I know that journey is not linear and perhaps I will revisit these places in the future. I know next time, though, I will pass through the regions with a heavy chest loaded with guilt and questions. Shouldn’t life be punctuated with road signs pointing to love, relationship and sex?