Easter and Forgiveness

 

Three weeks ago, one of my doe hunt from the treadmill enquired about my ex’s and if I were in touch with them and how I managed to move on without any trace of bitterness or longing. I could sense a lot of pain when he asked me that question, but I didn’t have much wisdom to share then, despite truth being that no one plans to fall in love or fall out of love and every relationship naturally blooms and withers, and one gets into the relationship ahead of the other and one leaves earlier than the other. I had no clue that Easter will spring in surprises to some and liberation and clarity to few.

 

Easter is all about resurrection, forgiveness, moving on and making a new beginning. To some the new beginnings don’t have to wait for Easter, but to some it takes many Easters to finally get to the Palm Sunday. Today is Monday after Palm Sunday, and I had no plan to stay home or I had no clue about the messenger, a message and an envelope was going arrive that afternoon, but for some reason I decide to work from home.

 

What do messengers and envelopes bring? Do they deliver caution or hope? Krishna played the role of a messenger brokering peace between the warring brothers in Mahabaratha and Hanuman in Ramayana played the role of a messenger carrying symbol of love between the celestial couple and delivering the message of hope to crestfallen Sita and also cautioning Ravana about the arrival of Rama and his army.

 

It was 3.30 in the afternoon; the door bell rang and as always mom opened the door. For some reason I didn’t hear the door bell. This was the same guy who came into the operation theatre and signed off on the papers and also spent 6.5 hours comforting my family. And today, despite my brother and mother inviting him into the house, he adamantly stood outside and handed over a pregnant envelope to my mother. My mother puzzled at his postman behavior, refrained to accept the package and quickly decided to come and get me. Her walk into the room had a sense of urgency and her voice confirmed it. And she asked me to get to the door immediately. I was a bit surprised by the unannounced visitor and when I got to the door he handed out the big envelope with an indescribable look on his face. He handed over the envelope and despite me asking him to come in, he descended the stairs.

 

So, what did the messenger pack into the envelope? He packed all his sorrows, burdens and bitterness (to be read as money for all the gifts that I bought him during our relationship) and traveled 350kms to hand over and move on in life. It sounded ridiculous for an ex to pay for all the gifts given out of love, but if that was going to give him much needed peace and help him move on in life, I wouldn’t mind doing him that favor as a token on love and friendship. Well I never knew that there was a fine print that read “Money back guaranteed” when relationship curdled.  

 

And before I could open the envelope to examine the contents, I received a message from my other ex from London. And this one apologized for the long and abrupt silence and how his partner appreciates me and went on to enquire about me and my parents.

 

Today two men walked back into my life, 30 mins apart, to resolve their unresolved, tallying accounts and gaining their much needed freedom, while I was on my next journey. For a minute I was so happy that I had only two exs’!

 

Everyone opens envelopes in life, while some bring happiness and redeem them of their guilt, there are others create a puzzle and confusion. And there are some envelopes you want to tear into right away, but then are others that you never want to open. But still everyone needs to be enveloped in love, happiness and redeem their sense of guilt and baggage. So, let us not stop loving people and be afraid of envelopes being delivered at our homes.

 

May be I should call the doe hunt from the treadmill and ask him to put abundance faith, forgiveness and friendship before he puts together the envelope for the final trip. And should also tell him that falling in love and falling out of it is both a pilgrimage? It teaches many things about you while you are in it and the journey makes you understand the other person, but the key is not to carry crosses on our back as we exit and be prepared for the next pilgrimage.

 

Today, I learnt that only sad endings need happy and new beginnings and there is no better day than the week of Easter!

 

Incest in zest!

 

What differentiates us, humans from animals is our ability to form relationships, define it, enjoy the benefits from it and also whine when it is turns sour. And interestingly, for us, humans, procreation is a recreational outcome of sex. Sex is as much biological cement in a relationship as dynamite and hence calls for calls for pru(dent) usage.

I had no idea that the bed room would be turned into a hunting ground that night. The lights first went out and then he waited till his roommate, sleeping in the living room, snored his way to slumberland. I was lying physically exhausted next to my friend, sharing his bed, and my body language clearly said that I was not interested. Earlier in the day, during a conversation, I had told him that I was not looking for any flings and I was taking a sex-holiday. And that night I even built a mini Himalayas between us with pillows and crossed my legs indicating my disapproval for any touch or recreational accident. But he still didn’t seem to get it.

Next morning I dragged something along with me to the restroom; it was not my growling tummy and ready-to-burst bladder, but a strange feeling of violation. While the tooth brush was busy freshening up my teeth, my mind was busy chewing the cud from the last night. My eyes were still closed, matching and processing the imagery with sensory from last night; It was so blurry that it seemed I was suffering from both myopia and hyperopia. So what happened the previous night?

Not reacting to his paws and prowls from last night and noticing my normal behavior during the day, he asked me if I recollected his kisses, a dozen times, from last night. I was not prepared for this question, though I appreciated him putting it out there for a discussion. I told him that I felt someone feeling me up and kissing me all over my face, but I wasn’t sure if I was imagining or it really happened. His incestuous smile confirmed the truth, but I told him my choice was always the same irrespective of dream or reality.

Was my mind conjuring the un-happened or did it really happen? I was unable to make that call. Since I was staying with him for only a night I didn’t want to bring up this topic and embarrass him, but nevertheless the thought of failing to respect boundaries of friendship and terms of endearment bothered me. I was his guest, his friend, but I was definitely not ready to be his friend with benefits.

What if he was my type and I trespass the blurry boundaries of friendship and scaled the walls of morality that I suddenly seem to respect and invoke? Would incest vanish then? I paused and asked myself, what kind of beings are gay men?

Why do gay men assume that friendship always comes with benefits and there are no rules when it comes to bed of pleasures? May be that is the price we pay for practicing sex for recreation? Or May be this a price for being someone’s guest and letting guards down? So should gay men be trusted?

While putting this blog together, I also recollected several “manminds” that I and my friends had been through. After I broke up with my ex we were trying to weave back our friendship and on a bus journey together, he tried to get physical with me. When I asked an acquaintance in Singapore to meet up with my closest gay friend, who just moved to Singapore, the acquaintance tried to feel him up in the movie hall.  Visiting a friend, traveling with an ex, going out with a new acquaintance for a movie or spending a night with a long known friend, why should it mean I am available for a touch, taste and toss to them?

Now do you understand how sex turns from being biological cement to dynamite in a relationship and how gay men irresponsibly use sex? This brings me to the point in discussion for this blog: Do bedrooms, acquaintances and friendships have rules of engagement and endearment? And lastly, are gay men epitomes of incest?

Manmathan Ambu (Cupid’s Arrow) on OMR – Part 2

It can be fun when it comes to defending cupid’s arrow and frustrating when none comes your way, but it can also be more fun when you send the arrows back. On the train/auto rides I have had several instances where I have been felt up by co-passengers and there have been days where I have put up the straight-face act and not ready to settle for any low hanging fruits! So, what is Manmathan thinking for the morning? Will he finally do me some good?

This morning after getting down at the station I ran towards the share auto and I was the last but one to get on the all-male ride (mela ride?). May be because I had a delayed start for the day? After settling down in my seat I checked out the guys on the either side and in front of me, none of them seem interesting. But then suddenly I spotted the Young Turk in a bright green tee-shirt and a red cap below which his smooth, soft and silky hair was hidden. He shelved his backpack on his thighs and wrapped his arms around it, while his broad shoulders where being compressed by shoulder blades of men on either side. Beauty was held between two shoulders.

Like a curious dog that turns its heads in all possible angles to capture, process and figure out the prey of interest, this morning I turned into one, indeed a salivating one. I tried to get a glimpse of his facial features, especially nose. I have heard people tell me that sharp and long nose defines keen interest in sex.  May it I should test the hypothesis on this ride?

The last time around I wanted to lift my hands and curse Dan Brown, but this time I wanted to lift my hands and bless the guys who came up with the concept of share-autos. Share-auto rides are enjoyable if you have candies sitting next to you and it turns all the more fun when they play along. Nothing can beat respect that comes with reciprocity!

I badly wanted him to remove his head gear so that I can make a go or no-go decision. And when he did I was unable to get my eyes of him. His nose was long and sharp and his eye brows looked like eye-bows sending arrows my way. The heat from the morning sun and co-passengers finally got him to remove the cap. And the heat from him was also getting to me. His thin long fingers forayed into the dense forest while his palm kissed his forehead.

I got into the same position as he did and let my fingers hang from my knees. Every now and then when the auto-guy hit on the brake my fingers kind of went down his lateral muscles. We were faster and more effective in communication than 140 characters available on Twitter. Seeing him not react to my touch in a negative way or pull himself forward I calibrated and strategized my next move.

We were not seated in an easy position to make eye contact and I think he tried a few times to turn to the left and take his eyes to the suburbs of the back seat, but it didn’t seem to help. Very soon his back came closer looking for my knees and he pressed his back hard against my knees giving me a signal. Was it a real approval and not a false alarm? I was hoping for a few more braking opportunities to make sure my analysis was on the money.

10 minutes into the ride, I set my eyes on him, made my moves and also received an agreeable response, I took a picture of him and the only thing that needed to seal the deal was to exchange numbers. But how is that possible in a crowd and when surrounded by strangers?

I was just one traffic light away from getting off from the auto. My mind was scheming to find an excuse to strike a conversation with him. I pulled out my mobile and charge stood at 1% and it could die any moment. Should I write my number on a piece of paper and shove down his hand or pocket? How would he react and how would public react?

Usually I keep cash ready so that I don’t delay the auto, but today I decided to dig into my pocket so that he gets to see me clearly and hopefully he will make the move or suddenly realized that he knows me from before.

When I thought I almost hit a jackpot, Manmath released the arrow of hesitation and reluctance at me. I got off the share-auto without leaving any trail other than the Twitter touch and his image on my phone. As the auto proceeded he turned around and look at me through the rear window, I could see a deep longing in his eyes.

I have his picture, but I have no idea where he works. But he knows where I work because I reminded the auto driver where to stop, with the hope that he would pick-up the cue, lets see if he did. May be I should have gone on the auto for longer and gotten down along with him and exchanged numbers? Well it is too late now to ponder, wonder and wander. Is Manmathan god of love or villain of love?

In the meantime when I went to work and shared this brush the fire with a friend, he recollected the scene from the movie “Alaipayuthey” where Madhavan first meets Shalini on a train journey and the following conversation he had with his friend. My friend almost convinced me that it was easy to locate someone with a green tee-shirt and was even willing to take me on his bike for man hunt down the OMR.

I had to tell him that day that life is not all about getting our desires fulfilled; and sometimes it gets boring to sleep with everyone you see. The real game begins only when you send back the Manmathan ambu or save it for another day. And this wisdom dawns only after 25 years of experience and when you stare at lust and casually hold it like a wine glass and have a conversation with it. But don’t know why this generation of EMI doesn’t seem to believe equated monthly installments when it comes to lust.

Every morning when I step out of home a quest(ion) comes along – will I meet him today or not? And maybe that is another incentive to travel by train and share auto?

Manmathan Ambu (Cupid's Arrow) - Part 1

 

I didn’t wish to win millions in a Power Ball Lottery, I only wished for a ride along with eye-candies in the share-auto, and may be a few occasional touches when the auto driver forces his feet on the break or goes over a bump or tries to avoid a pot hole and may some eye exercise (I call it eye-pradakshinam, similar to angapradshinam) and some hand exercise to beat carpel tunnel syndrome. Is that too much to ask? Isn’t that an easily satiable wish given the population density of our metros? But for some reason luck never favors me.

Like the same sun that rises and goes down every day, my commute to and fro to work is almost the same. More women than men board the share auto that I board. The smell of jasmine, manicured and painted nails, faces covered with shawls and duppattas (to protect them from fierce sun and not me) has always been the peoplescape during my commute. Not sure if this is god’s way of ensuring women safety by sending them in an auto with a gay man.

Some days he plays his cruel pranks and gets me an auto with men who can asphyxiate you in minutes. The fragrance of choice offered for asphyxiation varies from Ponds Talcum powder to solar powered and self-manufactured sweat to Parachute coconut oil. And that makes me feel that I am better off in an auto with all women than men. Occasionally, Manmathan, sends also some good ones my way. But again some of those are either boringly straight or lack of crowd gives you no room for a touch, play and convert. I tell you, sometimes, this God of love, Manmathan, acts like Villain of Love!

The other day, not sure if Manmath decided to throw me a surprise or I decided to throw him a surprise by leaving work at a different time. The surprise came at the train station and not in a share-auto. I reached the station at around 4.30pm and it was almost empty. I could still kiss a man right in that day light without offending anyone or being caught by someone. Believe me, such an occasion is a rare occurrence in Chennai suburban stations. And if it does, there must be a strike that day.

From a distance, I noticed a tall, athletic built, smart young man seriously pouring his eyes over a book. As I got closer to the chair where he was seated, his eyes took a break from the book and he glanced at me, but didn’t seem too interested to read me like the book. Infact he occasionally distracted himself from the book to check the time and check on the light at the end of the track. Between me and the book there was just one alphabet that was different, I was tan brown (tan color and my eyes were brown), while he was immersed in Dan Brown. How unfortunate!

I wanted to check him out from head to toe, but I didn’t want to make it obvious and send his stock-value up the roof. So, I decided intercept his reading and assault him with a few question about the next train, with a hope that I can capture a better image of his face and may be use it as a raw material to prime my hormones that is otherwise unused.

And when he lifted his head to answer me, I noticed his facial hair was manicured very differently and was running all over his fair and lovely cheeks. OMG! that facial hair almost turned me nuts and churned my nuts. I was definitely lost looking at him and was even getting ready to skip a work related call that evening if he said Yes!

I fervently prayed to Manmathan asking him to release his arrow now or atleast delay the arrival of the train so that I can try my touch, play and convert trick. I lowered my hands down my crotch area and checked on the fly with my index finger with a hope that the young man would lift his head to catch my expression of seduction.

We didn’t have much time left for the train to arrive and this was my best chance to convert. Should I make another conversation with him without getting too personal?

Damn, Dan Brown, he seemed disinterested in the world around him.

With no success in the past 20 mins, I decided to change the script of my play, and started ignore him. Promptly few minutes later the train arrived and I boarded the bogie through the first door, while he got in through the second door and walked down towards my direction. Giving myself no further hope and after adding Dan Brown to my curse-list after Manmathan, I found an aisle seat closer to the door and pulled out my iPhone and started to fiddle with it.

He came and sat right across from me and left his back besides him. For the first time I get an unabated view of his sexy and slender thighs and sleeping snake inside his pants. Was he leading me into something or was he just playing his power games like Manmathan?

He opened the book, removed the book-marker and picked-up his reading from where he left. Sitting across from him, the angle was perfect and I tried the crotch trick again to get his attention. The guy was deeply engrossed, but every now and he took his eyes of the book to check on the location/stations. I was pissed off at his insensitive behavior and was just short of lifting my hands and cursing Dan Brown and if possible make that book disappear.

Had I known his name I would have written ours along with other couples on hall of fame on the train, but the shrewd man didn’t leave his identity hanging from his neck or waist. Once again I abandoned my hopes. With only three more stations to my destination, I turned on the camera on my mobile phone to see if I can alteast take home a picture of him, if not take him home like a book, lay him supine and turn him over like the pages of Dan Brown.

But it is not an easy job to do a paparazzi shot sitting a feet across from the subject of pleasure and the object of tease. I erected my iPhone vertically on banks of Sunderbans (my thighs), rotated my neck like an Ostrich to compose the shot and waited for the prey to move into the cross-wire. And I patiently waited for the train go over the noisy bridge to shutter noise from the camera. As soon as I got the shot, I looked around to confirm that nobody including him noticed my first success in this voyeuristic ambition.

All I didn’t do that evening was get on top of the train like Shah Rukh in the movie Dil Se and break into a song, otherwise I tried every trick I had mastered in the 25 years from chasing and choosing men.

He continued to remain an elusive, ferocious Bengal tiger with manly whiskers both in my mind and in picture. Today I had no luck in trapping and taming this tiger, but there is always another day and another time, and if not, another tiger. I could very well send this picture to a website that posts pictures of attractive men captured on subways globally - http://nycsubwayguys.tumblr.com/

More lusted and found stories from OMR will continue, so come back for more next week! (Email me if you need to see the picture of the male tiger!)

Trick or Treat (Part 2)

The two-way conversation…

We headed to a nearby snack place to feed his growling and inebriated intestines and while at the place he almost convinced me to have a strip of pizza and insisted that he pay for it. Not sure if it was from the 6 drinks or his innate kindness and fondness for me. And to add to this his non-sexual speech and touch made me hold his hands tighter and my heart grow fonder. While he waited in the line to get his pizza, I let my emotion cool and engage in a two-way conversation with my intellect and fate. Why do I have to meet such a warm and loving person when I am getting ready to leave the country? Strangers rarely come with such warmth and friendliness, so should I just draw the line of friendship and carry on with no emotion, desire or disappointment. Even if we decided to take it any further, distance and time-lag would make it impossible...OMG, why this? and why again?

The ride back home…
It was getting close to 3am and empty taxies were hard to comeby given the time of the night and the big crowd at Castro. While I thought I had to say good-bye to him, my friends obliged to his request and agreed to give him a ride till his car that was parked 30 mins away. The back seat in the car was filled with 5 men, and the ride back home almost felt like the morning after.  I felt heavy, gloomy, confused and I wanted to erase everything from the previous night. And to top it up, we got separated for the first time in 5 hours - I was seated in the front, while he was seated in the back.

The seat belt running across my torso restrained me from turning around to get a glimpse of him. May be that is why they call it a safety belt because they don’t want you to stay in your comfort seat and not be thrown around during accidents. Is it a tease or truth hidden!

Not sure if my friend read my emotion, but he suggested that the guy come home with us and spend the night in the spare bed room rather than drive home in an inebriated state. And when I was just turning hopeful and a smile was beginning to bloom on my gloomy face, he decided not to take up the offer. What ended my hope abruptly – was as it familiarity or waning power of alcohol or the logical side kicking in?

Before the car took off, I lowered my window, shook hands and exchanged numbers and I asked him to text me once he reached home. When the car drove by I realized I was the one intoxicated with the stranger and I was way beyond the permissible limit for the flight back home.

The morning after…

I came home and snapped right  into the flight back home mode, but before I feel asleep my mobile lighted my dark world again. The message confirmed his safe return home and asked me for my flight details. Will the morning after paint a different story?

That morning I didn’t let me heart nurse any feeling or hope though I let it replay the warmth and respect he showed last night. At around 2 pm, little after lunch, he called me to confirm my flight departure terminal and time. On the way to the airport my mind replayed rushes from last night and as I reached the terminal I called to check if he wanted meet me by the curb. Why would a stranger drive 20 miles to see me at the airport? Is there something more that the night brought upon us? What should I expect him to say and how do I react? Reaching home love lagged was worse than being jet lagged.

The L-words…

I hardly finished checking my baggage and I saw him at distance scanning the monitor and checking on the flight status. I pushed my empty trolley aside and ran towards him in excitement. I still had 15 minutes to get through the security and reach the departure gate on-time.

We found a quiet table by the café area and I held his hand tightly and confessed to him how a stranger’s hand overnight gave me unexpected security, warmth and comfort. Did I check in my logic along with my baggage? Who cares as long as it gets home fine and free!

Don’t we all know that both L-words (love and logic) don’t go to together? He made his share of confessions and we spoke a little more. I wanted to ask him why didn’t he come home with me last night and say all this to me. Well hardly 10 minutes to spare there was not time to waste or argue, but only time to make memories and express love. What else do I share with the guy and shower on him for spending the past 15 hours with me and more intimately than my shadow. It was getting intimidating and may be this is a feeling every single and loveless guy goes thorough at some point in life.

Manathon in a four by two..

We dragged my baggage and ran towards the nearest men’s room which happened to be deserted at the time. I pushed him inside the 4 ft by 2 ft gift box and stuffed my bags around him and made it shock-proof (not sound proof) We held each other’s face and passionately exchanged kisses. I still kept tabs on time and hissed into his ears to double-up. In the meantime my ears picked up movement in the next stall, but we continued the manathon that we ran since 10 pm last night.

T-Shirts went up like national flags and the motion sensor in the toilet went berserk from our movement and played our union anthem. Toilet floors usually littered with tissues was today littered with our trousers and briefs. Should I blame gravity or our hyper hormones?

I can’t tell you where all my lips and hands trespassed in those 7minutes, but it was mutual, well and reciprocated despite being illegal. The 16 hour foreplay, the longest that I have ever had, finally came to an end making me think if I should I apply to the Guinness book of records?

The goodbye…

In the past I have used sex to exude and experience power, traded the currency of love and lust irresponsibily and today life taught me to celebrate a stranger’s longest foreplay of kindness and love in union.I immediately stopped questioning the economics and opportunity cost of intimacy and left my senses of gratitude command my hormones without worrying if it was trick or treat.

I hugged him one last time and I disappeared into the security area with great satisfaction. I lifted my hands for the second time that afternoon and let the machine scan by body. And if they were to question me on those hickies I would have said, “Some friendships and sex are born out of respect and love and it cannot be labeled as a quickie, fling or escapade.And we all know there is never a good-bye moment to love and kindness...and it continues till life exist on this planet.”

Trick or treat – OMG!

In a few months I will be completing 25 years of being physically active with men, not sure if my Silver Jubilee is worth celebrating, but I don’t fail to celebrate the interesting ones that have come my way since I began writing this blog.

What do people say when unexpected expect happen to them - Oh my god? Here is an experience I had at OMG, a newly opened Desi Gay bar in the Castro area of San Francisco.

It was Halloween weekend and the club owners at OMG were expecting more people to stop by that night, but coming early always gets you the vantage seats and stares in the house. That night when I entered OMG he was the only one seated at the bar. My friend knew the owner/bar tender so he occupied the seat by the bar and besides him sat a fair and tall man, hair closely cropped and neatly gelled and was casually holding the drink and his demeanor beyond reasonable doubt confirmed that he was a local.

It is not common to meet strangers at the bar, befriend them for a quickie and move on. I am okay with that idea, but I hate men who incessantly stare, send confusing messages, and who don't show courage to come up and strike a conversation when interested. And during the ride to the bar that night I told me friends how such passive and shy men are a big turn-off for me.

The meat

Finally when I came back after doing my club recce, my friend introduced me to this ubersexual man. He readily put out his hands for a shake, while I had to hiss my name in his ears at the noisy bar. His eyes were not the roving kind; his chin was up, he held his drink steady and looked unlike many of the wam bam thank-you mam types, not atleast for tonight. We exchanged minimum personal information and I told him I was visiting from India and was just 24 hours from taking my flight, just incase he had bigger plans for us and then we went our ways at the bar.

Very soon the exotic costume clad women swarmed the floor and danced to some hot and groovy Bollywood songs. One of the women dancers was in her early 70s and she flew all the way from DC for the performance and I found this when I spoke to her after the performance. Infact I even told her she was turning me straight with the moves and the way she swerved her hip.

The dance to courtship….

Soon the man whom I met at the bar came from behind and asked me if I would like to dance with him. This was a question women folk were asked during the bride diligence process in those days, but I wasn't taken aback. But how sure can I be if this question was just a casual invite to dance and there was more to it? I openly confessed that I am not a dancer and threw back a challenge at him to either teach me to dance or tease me to get to dance.

He accepted my challenge and taught me a few steps. I danced a bit with him and that was when I discovered that the man was like a patiala glass, tall and broad, with palms as big as dinner plate (I could have a meal out of his palms) and his long and fleshy fingers were a big turn on. In the darkness at the club I saw my desire dancing in front of my eyes. But more than that what attracted me was his demeanor. He was calm and despite being on his sixth drink he was well behaved and far from being frivolous and silly.

And when you least expect…

Neither of us was at the bar that night looking for a pick-up or hook-up, but then why does life offer you something when you least expect? Every now and then I would see him with a gang of friends, but his eyes were curiously looking for me. Finally before I exited the bar, I went up to him to exchange good-bye courtesies and that is when he asked me about my plans and if he could come along with us to Castro.

Two months after we met, over Yahoo chat he tells me that he was attracted the moment he saw he entering the club and asked my friend who sat beside him for an introduction. That night we left OMG and walked towards the Castro area. Leaving the bar with a stranger, holding hands and kissing him during the tram ride to Castro and taking a few pictures was our way celebrating togetherness. In the end life comes down to good moments and memories and I don’t deprive myself and others of OMG moments!

Marriage talk in half-hour…

Did you guys just meet at the bar or do you know each other from before asked the half American and remaining Iranian girl in the queue outside Q bar at Castro. And when we said we had just met at the bar she remarked, “OMG” and said we were a cool couple and would like to be invited to our wedding. It was nice and refreshing to hear that, but don’t we all know that gay meets and dates are pretty much like trick or treat!

I excused myself to go to the CVS Pharmacy hardly a block away from Q bar to get a few bottles of water and suddenly he appears from the behind and tells me he wants to spend more time with me. Both of us were aware that I would leave the city in the next 14 hours and this infatuation will get us nowhere, but still this man was hunting down every minute to spend it with me. I also enjoyed the attention and company, and deep inside those were the two qualities that tore us apart in my previous relationship.

The two-way conversation…

We headed to a nearby snack place to feed his growling and intoxicated intestine. He tried to convince me to have a strip and insisted that he pay for it. Not sure if it was from the 6 drinks or it kindness was his innate nature, to add to this his non-sexual speech and touch made me hold his hands tighter. While he waited in the line to get his pizza, I let my emotion cool and engage in a two-way conversation with my intellect and fate. Why do I have to meet such a warm and loving person when I am getting ready to leave the country? Strangers are rarely come with such warmth and friendliness, so should I just draw the line of friendship and carry on with no emotion, desire or disappointment. Even if we decided to take it any further, distance and time-lag would make it impossible...OMG, why this? and why again?

The ride back home…

Come back next week....

Finding a roof for love

Last evening at 6.30 pm I spotted a young couple stopping by every house in my street and striking a quick conversation with the watchman. I had no clue if they were they searching for a door number or looking for a missing child, but I could not afford to miss the cloud of anxiety replace excitement when spoke to the watchman.

Are they newly wedded? I looked at her neck and toes for the marriage license, but the dim street light sponsored by Chennai Corporation returned my scan with an inconclusive result. They must be in their upper twenties, and very much looked like our Madhavan and Shalini from the movie “Alaipayuthey”, so next door, and eyes loaded with love and anxiety.

How many times do we come across a young couple holding hands and anxiously walking the streets? I know it sounds like a scene right out of the movie, but how could I ignore a couple in love and anxiously pacing my street?

I intercepted the couple and asked if I could be of help to them. And before the young man replied I scanned him from head to toe and then came back to catch his lips move. He was my height, 5’10’’, and clad in business attire, sporting a scruffy look, and in perfect shape with no paunch. Since he didn’t sport a paunch, the probability of him being single was higher. While he kept talking, I quickly scanned the young women. She was his height, clad in a hand printed mauve color Salwar without a duppatta, with no bindi on her forehead and her hair let down. What a pair! Bombay Kadhala?

I was lost looking at the couple’s simple beauty, their complementing personalities, and how they let each other speak and at the same time paused and completed each other’s sentences. My heart felt they were still in love with each other and always in love to be with each. By the time I scanned the couple and made my first impressions, the man had almost completed answering my question. All I remember hearing was that they were looking to rent an apartment in the street.

The young woman’s casual evening wear contrasted her body language. Her speech and facial expression confirmed that she was definitely more anxious among the two. Her body language clearly said that this is the man of my life, we are starting a life together, and we want rent a place to start our life together and grow our love. How could I turn blind to such passionate, innocent and rightful claims of love walking my street?

Before responding, I asked them a few preliminary/customary questions – their budget, no of bedrooms and how soon they were looking to rent. My mind was again on a trip recollecting the song “Puthu Vellai Mazhai” song from the movie Roja. Madhubala’s expressions of innocence, blossoming of first love, and trust she had in the man dawned in the young woman’s face. And the young handsome Arvind Swami was resplendent with confidence, zest for life, courage and joy from bringing her into his life.

During the interaction they revealed they were classmates from college and were classmates of my neighbor who also got married to his love from college. Were they all enrolled in the college of love? They must have been in love for atleast for 6+ years and they had grown their love to the next level. They also revealed that were trying to find something on their own to avoid broker commissions and use that money towards furnishing their home. They were not banking on their parents and they knew their priorities, responsibly managing their finances, and how they wanted to start their life, and all they needed was a roof!

I felt intoxicated and enamored like the vanaras in the jungle watching Rama and Sita in love. Having bet on the wrong horse twice in my life and my dreams still being dreams, I wanted to play a small role in their life. I wanted to help them find a roof for their love and I wanted a small part in their love story.

And within the next few minutes the three of us walked down the street sharing anxiety and joy. That evening I went home with an invite for their wedding and I felt like I was holding my own wedding invite, I was ecstatic, exuberant and for the first time I felt I had won in love. I also felt I had known them longer than love.

Among Countless Shades of Grey...

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The gay clichés…

I left America 10 years ago and back then I hadn’t even visited gay bars, saunas and hadn’t even thought of a relationship with a man. And 10 years later, after 2 fulfilling relationships, a million miles accrued from sleeping around, visiting gay bars and saunas across the world, a backpack full of lessons and experiences that revealed more of my personality and character, I landed back on the soil built on freedom and liberty for some new learning. And to my surprise I discover that gay men in the land of freedom and liberty live and repeat the same clichés that gay men in Indian cities do…. So what are they? 

Cliché 1: Gay men in this city suck! 

I asked few of my friends and new acquaintances on the gay dating scene in the city and their plans to settle down with a man of their choice. Is there a Cliff notes out there on such frequently asked questions? Well their answers bewildered me. “I don’t meet anyone from this city,” said one and when I prodded further the other one said, “Gay men in this city are more often confused, all-over the place and are not sure what they want and as a result the dating game turns into a mind game. I don’t see my man in this city and I have to either move out or stay single in the city”.

We have heard psychologist write on Men are from Mars, and Women are from Venus, but do they know where gay men are from?

Cliché 2: Sad, bitter, and lonely!

There is one common gay flavor across the world, and it often smells of sadness, bitterness and loneliness. I don’t know if I should call this a curse or a cliché.

 I thought they must have gone around the block, learnt their lessons and must be ready to settle down by the time they reach their mid thirties. And I was surprised when their bandages dissolved over a few drinks the alcohol and exposed their wounds and scars deep below.

One said he realized that he is not a relationship material and is prepared to live a “lone wolf” for the rest of his life. The other said he has lost hope to find love in life and has signed up for a life with a fag hag. And the last one other said if he doesn’t find love by 40 he would move in and start living with his gay friends. What do you call these people, pragmatic, practical and pessimistic?

These are men in the Castro area in San Francisco, who had left their country to finding it difficult to manage their gay identity and lifestyle. But far away from home their lives were still painted with melancholy and misery.

A few wrong meetings, a few bad decisions, a few failures and disappointments definitely seem to push gay men and down into bunkers of sullenness, grief and misery. 

But where do I find gay men who are really contended, happy, peaceful, clear, and who are devoid of sourness, baggage and drama? Drop me a line if you find their coordinates….

Cliché 3: Waiting for the best!

While the sad, bitter and lonely belong to one end of the spectrum, there are the “stupidly optimistic” on the other end. It is good to know what you want, but sometimes it is unreasonable to have lofty expectations and foolishly throw away worthy ones hoping that the best is yet to arrive.

These men have unreasonable demands, foolish expectations, relentlessly play the field and constantly go on the trip looking for their prince charming and picture perfect and dismissing their discoveries to be mortal pond frogs.

I am not asking them to settle for less or go for a compromise, but there is a big difference between being stupidly optimistic and foolishly pessimistic.

The above responses pretty much matched with the responses that I heard back from my friends/acquaintances in West Asia, and South East Asia, where there is not a lot of freedom and liberty for gay men. All of them extinguished the lighthouse hope I had on the land of freedom and liberty. May be freedom and liberty guarantees clichés and not clarity?

We all know that it takes one of every kind to make this world colorful; however, being gay can sometimes be as much a cliché like poverty, unemployment, ailments, and illiteracy.

When a noun morphs into a transitive verb and turns verbal

Just like we all come in different shapes and sizes, we also come with a variety of emotional, physical and psychological needs. May be that earned us the “queer” title? Sometimes we discuss and understand each other’s need before we jump into the bed, while many at times we discover each other’s kinks and fetishes in bed only to feel exorcised more than exercised. Here is an experience that created a little storm in me.

Sex as a noun sounds plain vanilla, while its usage as transitive verb sounds hormonal, recreational and exciting. I am sure you will not contest this statement of mine. I looked at his picture a dozen times and we also did the size talk before I decided to take him up on his invitation to sex. And finally when I rang the door bell, little did I know his lurking fetish for unparlimentary language behind the unopened door. I checked out the face and statistics to ensure it matched with the text and picture he shared and when it did, I started mileage counter with a kiss. Every step we made towards the bedroom there was a piece of clothing one of us shed. And by the time we made it to bedroom the house was strewn with clothes that couldn’t contain our lust.

Since we had sexted our preferences before I arrived, I didn’t have to do much courting. And when I was cajoling him to get into the perfect yoga pose, the downward dog, he turned around and asked me to abuse him in my native language. We had never discussed this before and now I was confounded with a challenging tasks and shooting from my hip and lip at the same time. For me anger and verbal abuse went together and not sex and verbal abuse.

I have abused men who ran into my car, who jumped queues, who honked from behind, but this was the first time I was asked to abuse during a sexual act. His fetish was unfathomable, but given his cute bubble butt how could I not make an effort. Without knowing what I was getting into I decided to offer him my choice of words in a few languages, while he offered me the rubber and lube menu.

I ripped open the plastic sachet and with pride dressed up my little man in a ribbed rubber suit smeared with strawberry flavored lube, but every time I tried to utter an expletive my mind turned blank, my tongue froze and my drippy hard went into the downward dog pose and failed to penetrate his tight ass.

How do I tell him that I don’t have a performance issue? How do I tell him that my body doesn’t secrete endorphins and testosterone while abusing his mother, his birth and talking ill about his sister? I had no idea how a man could be turned on hearing volley of abuses. I confessed that I am not good at this game and cajole him to give me another chance. This time I bargained to get inside him and then start the abuse.

I got him out of the downward doggie pose and with mutual effort and focus we got my boneless muscle back to the horizontal position. I realized the extra skill and effort one needed to turn a noun into a transitive verb and risks of turning it verbal.

Pictures and descriptions on gay men profiles have no forbearance to their behavior and most often what they share is their wannabe self rather than the real self. Irrespective of how you engage with gay men, horizontally or vertically, there can always be surprises. May be should we run a disclaimer like what those on the rear view mirror?