Glitter, gloss, candyfloss of yet another suburban gay party

I enter my meccah of sins after a long days work. Its not Amsterdam or Bangkok but a shady pub where my city's minority of alternative sexualities mingle amidst the myriad coloured lights and infinite layers of smoke. I see less but hear more about the various bizarre incidents in these improper lanes and the interesting people who cause it. The spectacle for me lies in ordinary but not in cliche. For me its an endless crowd of many known and some unknown faces in these backdoor gangways of Gay Bombay, while for most, it is an endless series of bodies repressed socially from indulgence. The choice of majority makes these parties an absolute marathon of sexual conquests, contact number exchanges, close dancing and above all kissing coupled with great sense of rhythm and movement unlike the Indian straight parties. A sight unseen by newbies and unwanted by the veterans, these gatherings of my cult invoke mixed feelings within me

Its not just bodies in a fancy discotheque, but their chemistries, their emotions and their stories that intrigue me. I would have many other parties to attend at that night, might even have an important presentation next day or a family function but I wont miss my fortnightly fare of Gay Bombay parties for any of these restrictions. I savour each sight, analyse each act and observe all the while, whether it is on the dance floor, where the couple next to me is lip locked and another slut is heading towards my date or at the bar where often my little touché is hit upon more than the cute bartenders.

As a result of years of social networking and a brain sharpened by my moms recommended routine diet of almonds, each time a familiar face passes by, his story and my opinions flash instantly in front of me. Their categorization and classification though discriminatory is a sublime experience for connoisseurs like me. I rejoice finding the right tag for each face, even though it may mean customizing a phrase to arrive at a Slutty Savio, Motormouth Michael or Ravishing Rohit. Not aimed at writing a bitter diatribe about the Mumbai's black listed rainbow commune of queers, its a harmless exercise that helps me decide the peripheries of my circle of comfort. I don't know about you, but for me judging a person from his vibes, body language, grooming and more isn't as interesting as this practice of scrutinising him when his thresholds are low after consuming a heady mix of alcohol, eye candy, testerone, party spirit and dance mixes. this is when the basic instinct predates over the night prowler ruling his head for one deepest desire of that night, maybe booze, sex, attention from a cute unknown muscle mary or a space to stand with an optimum view of the dance floor.

You can also say its my way of association through which a quick gaze turns into a scan of probabilities in a room full of strangers, be it for conversations, debates, friendships, kisses or a serious relationship. This is the moment of clarity for those who believe that a man's true nature is revealed in bed... or atleast as he gets closer to it.

Unlike, the veterans in this game who often go sour, I look forward to stepping on the dance floor meeting each one of them, no matter what my tag had been. When it comes to shaking my booty to the gay anthems, I hold no discriminating process or make any distinction from the high pitch shrieks of crowds cheers reflecting their upbeat mood and contagious enthusiasm. Its that time where the lavatory cruisers, sugar daddy seekers, slaves looking for masters, bottoms looking for tops all get lost in the frenzy of the moment. A moment of unification of sinners and sins, of bodies and heart beats, of music and mayhem. The moment when my my mecca echoes with sounds of its rituals in full furore and leaves me with an idea to leave the labels behind right where they belong.....on the food tins