Faith and a writer

Assaulted by multiple thoughts, I write every time. I am not left alone ever. It’s a pulsating feeling of restlessness. I am nothing but a burning desire to be what I am meant to be, a timeless immortal written word. I close in my mind’s eye and pledge to reach there not knowing how and not knowing when. Bracing the wings of my imagination with the harness of rationale, my pen moves. The ink flows slowly sometimes and rapidly at others. The words that form are as uneven as the pace but kaleidoscope and asymmetrical, not necessarily beautiful but true nonetheless as real as my journey inwards. Soon I am looking at reflection of my psyche, my world turned inside out.

Each word reflecting labour and pain of delivery haunts me, the creator besotted by his own creation. A feeling of admiration rises from within and am entranced for a while observing the lines on paper which ran through my head a while back as a signal of my nerves, channeled by life and blood. A small prayer moves to my lips and I thank my creator who I don’t know but I do hope would look at me as admirably as I look at these words.

Kaarwaan

Khayalon ka kaarvaan nahin rukta, badhta jaata hai par rokna chahta hoon waqt ko kahin us lamhein pe jab hum dobaara milein… chaahta hoon ki bhool jaaon aur zindagi tere ilaava bhi hai… chaahta hoon ki bas tujhe dekhne ki hi naukri ho…. Shayad dua maangna bhi isiliye jaari hai ki ussi ki aas hai… kisi din to who khush ho nemat mein tujhe baksh de… ghulaam ya uska banda.. yeh to khabar nahin, lekin ishq ki giraft mein bandgi bhi daulat nahin tujhe maangti hai

Mumbai – A metropolitan tale of musing, melancholy and mayhem

Mumbai. What keeps this metropolis ticking 24 x7 making it a city that never sleeps? I have pondered over this question for many years with many different answers, none of them completely satisfactory or encompassing micro as well as macro views of this mammoth maze

In the process, what became clearer by the day was the knowledge of what made me tick and stick in here instead of any other destination in the world. The answer is dichotomous, complex and corny, easy and earnest. At the same time, it comes across as the most clichéd thing coming from me – I love Mumbai.

Breathing the same air as 1,20,00,000 odd individuals of various shapes, sizes and sentiments, Mumbai produces all kind of emotions in me like awe, angst, anxiety and acceptance, any thing but ignorance for its sheer energy and life.

I can always find my own inner calm thinking of the quaint mornings of Marine drive that awaken the Arabian sea with sunny faces of office goers heading to Nariman Point - our very own Manhattan. The Dadar flower market becomes functional from a few hours back when the vendors get their delivery from horticulturists, who haven’t heard of horticulture but grow flowers a plenty. They have a tough nose for business contrary to the soft nature of their produce. Fisher folk from Vasai reach distant suburbs and city heartland with their catch sometimes before the twilight and the students too unfortunately have to make it to their classrooms before seeing the great star in action. Somewhere in Thane at the same time, the creek gives way to the sun from between the mangroves and a flock of sea gulls merrily perform a task normally a cock would do i.e. to provide a morning wake up call.

As the clocks gain momentum, the city awakes with a buzz of people boarding local trains and chasing the bus that revs up before most passengers board it. Mumbai is music to my ears, be it mayhem of day long trading of spices and clothes at Masjid Bunder or mundane banking routine, the rhythm pulsates its very being. Maybe that’s why there are a few dozen classics and many forgettable hindi songs that pay their tribute to living in this megapolis. If I had to compose a song reflecting the sound of this city, it would be a kaleidoscopic mix of clanking of cutting chai glasses, piped ambience music of an uppity 5-star outlet, giggles of girls at work and prayers chanted in all faiths all synced to the steady rhythm of a local train in motion.

When the daylong song and blazing sun settle down with dust on the mean streets, crimson rays make the city blush by tickling its… love spots… I mean the narrow lanes known as khau galli and the sea sides are suddenly infested by couples who are out of their hidings of concrete to breathe in fresh air. Its time for brisk business for ice candy vendors who sell by interrupting in the love routine time and again causing them to buy sometimes unwillingly. Also those lucky ones who own a home next to the sea in these days of sky rocketing realty rates, stand by the window and see life pass by in form of health conscious elder ones at Joggers Park and many other patches of greens.

At dusk, the roads are brightly lit with neon as disposable income of the city is being splurged at eateries, malls and brothels alike with each trying to outdo other promising newer and better temptations as the soot of night covers this beauty. Dinners are set at homes for the returning fathers and young lads & girls working in BPOs leave for their graveyard shift like other nocturnal beings that live dark lives in this big bad city. Soon the pulse of Mumbai, the local trains stop for a couple of hours but streets are still abuzz with nightlife

The only ones standing tall at night are a few timeless and eternal sentries of this island, the Gateway at Colaba and Sidhdhi Vinayak at Prabhadevi , Jeevdani at Virar and Haji Ali at Tardeo all face skywards with their lungs filled with life and pride of admiration that millions of visitors each day bestow upon them. On my prowl, I often find some or the other destitute on the roads on my suburb reminding me time and again to count my blessings.

So, here goes (well don’t expect it to be better than my Oscar acceptance, which I aim to deliver some day). Thank you god for making Mumbai the space, where after midnight a pregnant woman can trust a cabbie to drop her home or nursing home safe and free at times. Thank you god for letting me know that while traveling together in a journey (mumbai or elsewhere) or life, smiles work the best and make it easy. Thank you god for letting me know that one man’s poison is another man’s food and thus the differences must not be begrudged. Thank god for showing me that each individual in this city is in pursuit of happiness and finally, a request for them to be on the move forever

Summer days of contradictions

It’s a sunny day today. Pleasant and familiar, taking me back to the idle afternoons of childhood and discovery of many joys in boyhood. My world as a child revolved around my home in a sleepy suburb of Mumbai. Somewhere close to the mean madness of the metropolis, my township provided me ample of adventures to last one summertime after another.

I witnessed my best friend’s upbringing in a cliché south Indian fashion where life ideally is as simple as an idli. The formula to follow is to bury your noses and more into books while in school and college and at the most learn carnatic music, bharata natyam or join a chess club if inclined towards extracurricular activities. Simultaneously my Punjabi upbringing had its share of problems of a disjointed nuclear family that hadn’t been able to find any roots in this city except a small flat in the suburbs. Most of my family which would have been responsible for my identification or association with my culture or traditions was in north India, scattered like beads of a gaudy ornamental necklace.

As far as the environment goes, this apartment was the only thing that connected me to my neighbours, none of whom had a wish to dream big, leave alone ambitions to conquer the city they were a part of.. An opinion was considered lethal for a kid my age and determination was viewed as an inconsequential part of a child’s make believe games. Somehow I knew from day one that I was a square peg and should not even think of trying to fit into these round holes. I wore similar clothes to their kids, I had same issues like the lack of money, space and privacy as most of them, but I never let the awareness of my distinction sink into depths of my mind. It didn’t need recall even though I gained expertise in local dialects and could hold a conversation in Marathi as fluently as English, much to the amusement of my neighbours.

As a true blue member of the bollywood city, I had started my reading one summer looking at a movie ad in paper and reading it in roman Hindi with the alphabets S-H-O-L-A-Y. This biggest hit of Indian film industry may not be in my list of personal favourites, but does hold its significance just like these incoherent facts. Well let’s put things in perspective. Though I enjoyed being a witness to my friend’s life which worked in clockwork precision and produced some wonderful results for him, I never regretted not having much order in my life.

Through my college, I sang, danced, and acted on stage and off it into jobs that I fancied, while he studied to get top grades, as if he would ace in life if he topped his class. His summers ended with results of his annual run to the winning post, mine just were intervals till I returned to be my old social butterfly self.

In a summer after college, I fell in love, maybe for the first time as earlier I had loved my girl friend but wasn’t in love with her. This time it was a boy from US who found me online. My afternoons were sunny with smileys, days were filled with reading print outs of romantic emails over and over again. Maybe it was the heat or blind puppy love, but if there was a smile that mattered to me, it was his. I basked in radiance of his love. We planned gazillion things about his visit to Mumbai, our life in coming years and more like two kids, sitting idly deciding lives of their dolls in the perfect pink plastic house

I moved out of my parent’s home but he didn’t turn up online for long. I called his dorm to know that he hastened his chemotherapy as a medical student authorized to do so for a non-malignant tumour in his head and had expired due to brain hemorrhage. That summer didn’t cheer me up. The memories of it still don’t fade. Harsh brightness of the days mocked my dark life and warmth scalded my heart. His memories were coupled with a knowledge that no one else in the world probably knew his true nature. His thoughts, emotions or desires were all unknown, uncared for and died with him. I lived for the seasons to change, rain soaked my spirit and winter froze the fire of anger within.

Today, it’s been many years since and many people have come and gone in my life. My friend still awaits his arranged south Indian marriage and works 24 x 7 like a good boy. He hasn’t faced deaths except a few old relatives. That’s because he didn’t venture out much in sun listening to his mother who warned him of burns. I remain friends with him and connect as frequently or infrequently as per my work. The reason for doing so eludes me. Maybe I want to be rooted in ordinary mundane life too even if I fancy my alternative lifestyle. Security of love and family still has value for me as it has for him. But for me, summer is knocking again. Mornings are arriving earlier and twilight seems to evade me. The question remains what to expect this time. Nostalgia remains and enthusiasm for new day too. Summer strikes and I wait for its bittersweet contradictions to unfold. As I head towards an unknown destination jogging early morning, I reach a conclusion that no matter which road u take, the sun will shine bright. It’s for us either to stand in way of its light and warmth completely and bloom from bud to a flower or to stagnate with security of never reaching our true potential in shades.

Triangle of hearts (continued and completed)

The three disappointed souls now headed to sit by the sea. S had been driving for the past two hours and the other two i.e. me & A were guiltily sitting alongside wondering what we could do to ease the blow of the unexpected anti-climax.

It seemed as if we were collaboratively mourning not being able to attend one Gay Bombay party where we would meet the much known faces and be disgusted by the overtly lusty ambiance. Its as if our skewed equations didn’t matter as much for the moment as the great loss of not being able to dance to the music we would crib about later while calling the DJ names and swearing not to attend more such parties any more. But our behavior had less to do with vanity and more the disappointment of not having any other venues to party as queer individuals.

S said something about all the promises he made to friends of seeing them at the party and I got reminded of all my favourite faces who would have helped me forget this uneasy feeling of being a loser and it struck me that all of us were looking for an escape route to forget our troubles and our selves in the loud music, drinks and company of acquaintances, newbies and friends. The slow sad songs being played on radio were definitely not helping in getting over that void we were feeling together and we parked at the beginning of Mumbai’s famous scenic sea facing road stretch, aptly called the Queen’s necklace. A said, forget the party, we three should enjoy what we have right now, the beautiful sea and raising his collar he completed, beautiful people.

I had drifted to times when I was more like A in life. It was a time when I was guilt free. Flirting was for fun and if one person showed any remote symptoms of rejection, I pole vaulted into another fancier love relation with skill of a trained athlete and grace of a passionate dancer. Like a rock made brittle by waves and sun, my spirit too was dampened by my scorpion trait of obsession and self destruction. I looked up at the clear sky cussing at the stars and was suddenly aware of the thick air once more.

This was time for he shaman within me to try and heal the wounds. I took charge of the decision making process of where in Mumbai would this love triangle with three asymmetrical angles fit in at this hour. The empty streets reflected our idle minds and dim street lights, the tinge of sadness of change in plans. I asked S & A in quick successions “what next?” trying to salvage the situation and attempting to look excited at the prospect of any of the now chosen compromises instead of the GB party

A told us that he had curfews and that he had lied to his family to come today for the party. Since he wasn’t allowed to remain out late. He wanted to return this time, so that he could actually party the next time. Aha, my thoughts went. It was a eureka moment, so that was the secret of maintaining a princess like aura around him – exclusivity. So S, who thinks he is a prince, finds his perfect match in princess A, the one who is forbidden by her family to fall in love but she still risks it for the sake of her Prince “Balding”

Do you want to eat something? Asked A and pulled my cheek. His display of affection towards me was perplexing as he was not remotely the kind of person I would date or hang out with. I nodded my head in affirmative to him and turned to S to ask if we would head towards our regular haunt, just to realize that no matter who would be with S in middle of the night looking for a snack, he would be taken to the hang out clearly etched as ours. A agreed to eat by the street side at what was no longer “our haunt’

As we moved further back towards home, now speeding on the empty streets of suburbs, I changed the music to soulful classic Hindi/ Urdu ghazals, high on sentiment quotient. Though being sentimental or emotional was the last thing on my mind, I began humming the lyrics and trying to savour the whiffs of breeze against my face and my body, which was already exposed to the ac S had turned on full blast to avoid the heat if the moment. S looked at me and who are you thinking of while you sing these lines, which of your ex do you remember this way?

That was like rubbing salt over my burns and making me feel highly aware of the wide chasm between us in spite of sitting at less than an arm’s distance

I reacted coldly but with furious look of eyes “which one of my ex do you think I made this song compilation for, so that they can hear it in their car?

There was a silence in the car for the next minute or so for me to realize that I had confessed maybe for the first time to S in person (had told him on phone, smsed it and more). That too in front of my worthy contender for hopefully the last time.

After about a dozen non-stop sneezes A came to my rescue and offered a massage to help me feel better.

In this vulnerable state I looked at S, who would have been against me giving in to A’s advances otherwise. He seemed fine with me accepting help for the sake of health. Sneezing and simultaneous thinking stopped for a while as A began without waiting for my approval.

His warm hands did not feel like the ones which would strangle me for loving and lusting over his guy. As he progressed from nape of my neck to my spine, His hands slipped under my see=through mess tee and Soon one of his hands was feeling my nipples. I hit his hand twice as vocalizing my discomfort would add to S’s twisted expression arising from a man in his car feeling the other one up in full public view. Also, the biggest factor was that he had been sidelined by those two people who treated him like sex magnet always – irresistible and must. I thanked A after two minutes not because I wasn’t enjoying the neck rub or wanted to eat but just to stop embarrassing S

“Thanks A. lets find whatever happened to our food’

He smiled and asked S to do the needful and suggested me a remedy that helped him in cold. I looked at him amusingly as he was good at getting under people’s skin, warm and giving> Damn S was a lucky man, but it was the kind of luck you don’t wish your best friend to have as this would take him away from you.

By the time S was back, A had spoken about his skills as a masseur, S’s inability to learn the same and also about a certain occasions when he and S were supposedly in bed with individuals or groups

What S and orgy! I felt a shriek of my inner voice nearly jump out of my lips but I didn’t give in. S always told me that he disliked any kinds of threesomes or four ways. Was that a lie? Did he find me too unattractive for a three way?

Then it slowly hit me, S loved this guy so much that he was ready to go through pain at the place where pleasure is of utmost importance. S arrived with food and A’s misplaced attention shone once again as he fed me first and the he fed S too. While S fed A with that glint in the eye. I absolutely wait the evening for, A winked at me and dropped a bombshell. He proposed” Lets share everything like we are sharing the food”

Then he looked at S and said do you have any problems if we do so

S had lost the glint and was trying to look elsewhere, when in real it was visible how the people closest to us can hurt us the most even with just a few words. He was vulnerable and simultaneously liked the way conversation had humour,sex and love pot pourried to perfection. I didn’t know about him but I wanted to see it for sure now what was next in A’s arsenal. Before I realized we were heading towards the god forsaken interiors of my suburb towards A’s abode. A’s tone now was weird as we had shed our disappointment of not attending the party and were pretty content with the drive and the good humour that we maintained through the evening. He was verbally enquiring about my life and about the areas of my being that S did not know existed. He spoke of pain, love and lust in a manner that I have always wanted S to speak. A asked me what I want in life, to suffer each night in de\different beds or to cry out of that one bed all my life, maybe in it. It wasn’t A speaking. It was pain of his choices in life, which had found its voice looking at its reflections in my melancholy.

He cleverly tried to change topics to change the ambience from thoughtful to naughty. “Don’t answer that one I can see you have loved with all your being. Tell me who you want…” He glanced and Sam and completed “… for tonight?”

I did not waste any time in figuring if the Smart Alec comment was meant or not “Oh that’s your idea of entertainment for the evening. No wonder you weren’t very disappointed by party plans getting shelved”

I was enjoying this tussle of wits now and while trying to gauge S’s reaction to my earlier statement I added “I am more of a voyeur. Why don’t you both do the needful behind while I learn how to drive?”

A went back now to his story of S being cold to him and hot for others. He teased S ‘what about proving me wrong right here right now?”

While they began lover’s banter, this time A extended his story from three way to a group act. What followed was a graphic, hypothetical and comical account of s being a super stud satiating six willing queens at once”

S had a knowing smile aimed for me almost saying “ You know that I would rather die than do such a thing” I found myself slipping into thoughts that if A ever meant to be in bed with me and S simultaneously, Would S agree? The answer came in lightning flash speed. Of course he would be loved to hilt that one time. But will I say yes? Can I share the one I love with someone else? Apart from the bigger worries, were the small concerns about getting an unequal portion/ deal in such a scenario. I imagine waiting for a kiss, while two others are busy in a more intimate act.

The other fear that cropped was that historically I have been unsuccessful in my only attempt due to my penchant of laughing at the live sight of naked bodies. Who ever began the chain mail forward about 1000 things not to say during sex must have began it thinking of me and hoping that I save others from my trial and error ways.

Actually maybe I was a failure in bed and that’s why S moved away in the first place. And now things were beyond control. “Praful lets share him for the night. It’s decided” A quipped ducking to miss A’s hand which was hunting to hit him while driving. He chuckled and enjoyed irritating S but I declared the verdict of my inner dialogue “I don’t believe in sharing”

A replied ‘So give him a great time once you drop me off”
Whoa baby! This was a fast one, the kind of ball Andre agassi would be hit by. I wanted A to stop as each of these statements were bringing out my desires, all of which I thought were resolved and not repressed. But no, the roots existed; just the plants weren’t visible above the surface. With Kind sprinkling of fluid sexuality, the earth of my emotions went loose. The seeds that contained lives, my dreams and desires about S were threatening to tear open the surface and shoot out with my impulse to not only agree but also act on each suggestion.
But hey isn’t that what he wants, to instigate me, get me to act foolish, to ruin the respect S has for me, to prove it to me that I am not worth any high self esteem. Sorry Mr. A, I am not the kinds who give in, not the monkey who walks into your booby trap. I gave him a raspberry in my head while the car stopped in front of his complex.

He didn’t want us to drop him at his doorstep.
Ah! He was ashamed to be seen with us, well something common that he has with S. having known S for so long, I had never seen him make any efforts to mention about other significant people of his life. Be it his ex girlfriend, or the first gay person who he shared the bed with or the best friend from college.

He liked to maintain compartments of his life. All of us were distinctly classified and conveniently placed as separate parts of his life as per the labels – love life/ sex life, professional, leisure, gay friends and maybe more labels. So A was one of those who liked to be placed in closet along with brooms and went from a drag queen to discreetly gay straight acting person in 10 seconds flat… ooh. Match alright for S.

They kissed before he left our sides. S hesitated, looked at me once but the rarity of A’s company maybe led him to breach the holy rule. But hey this wasn’t the first time he kissed some one in front of me. It wasn’t the first time my heart tore into million little pieces of shattered glass. As A bid goodbye, I looked at Sam and hum. They looked so happy together that I forgot about my shattered heart. S was smiling one of those glorious smiles that said ‘Yes. I am on top of the world.”

He had held A’s hand and was asking A to stay a bit longer. A enjoyed the attention but reluctantly refused. He asked me to make S understand. I smiled and nodded in negative saying “I would faour my friend.”

A stepped out in a mock act of cursing me and placed his lips on mine. My thoughts went “Did he just kiss me? But… How can he? How dare he? Oh my god!!”

I turned my face to see S who was not amused by my delayed reaction but at least I hadn’t kissed back like he had done on so many instances. Maybe he would realize 1/ 1000th of pain that I felt. Maybe I was glad that he did. Amidst these thoughts, before I could wave properly, A was gone, we moved ahead and S casually asked me my opinion about A, beaming in joy, basking in radiance of his affection and love for the humorous , seductive and caring individual who had just left the space physically by existed between us in spite of that.

I said “Don’t let him go. Love him cos he loves you. I realize by looking at him that he might have to marry due to parental pressure and that even you consider the same. There might be no concrete future for your relation but sweets, live for the moments of ecstasy. I have never seen you happier than your boyish adamant rogue demands of him to stay back. You had sparks honey. It’s precious. Please be with him, love him with your heart and soul.”

I felt I wouldn’t be able to breathe while saying this but I continued
“S, if you do not love him as it’s a risk or because he is possessive, you would deprive yourself of a beautiful relationship. Ask me how it feels to long for someone and not being able to get him/ her. I have spent the whole f^#@king evening today in that one frozen emotion of pining. Don’t do this to him or yourself. It pains S, to know that all the happiness you want exists only for you to chose but destiny has decided otherwise. But luck favours you here. Even if he does not admit, he loves you like crazy. Don’t ignore him like you ignored me.”

I burst into tears and felt the rising volcano within my chest burst out. I saw that S had moist eyes but could not hold myself back. The music that was playing but I hadn’t noticed for quite sometime was ghazal about a person waiting from many lifetimes for his beloved it wasn’t the right song for the moment. It would make me cry more, so I ejected it but he played it again, maybe now knowing who I had burnt the CD compilation for and also what it felt being subjected to indecisiveness and eternal conflict between love and lust, purity and pleasure, pain and passion. Maybe he allowed the heat of the moment to take over his A/c and thus he rolled the window down. In his single tear, I saw his realisation roll down his cheek. He apologized and I wiped my face. Maybe I was 25 yet and he was 28 at the end of the night but we had grown, so had our hearts, our relation and only thing that had reduced was the distance between these two angles of the triangle.

One world outside and within

I have lived in the self indulgent bliss of thinking that the world of thoughts and feelings within me is completely separated from the world outside, where I talk, socialize, love, win and lose. I look at the endless crowd at a Mumbai beach close to my home, sitting as couples families and friends and can’t help but think how many of them would have gone through a similar phase in life, where in the thoughts and feelings harboured inside were kept from being expressed.

I am on my way to treat my family to a lunch at city’s posh eatery, something that has not been done before. But today at the age of 26, I see my parents nearing 60 years of their lives, still struggling and living within a marriage that has lasted 32 years with just a few happy moments and memories. I have kept them away from my inner world for long, even moved out of my home 4 years back for the declaration of my need for space and individuality.

I arrive early at the decided venue before my parents and my sister and book the table with the air of arrogance that they are late and also that they wouldn’t know their way around this place. I make a reservation and settle on a bench when I see my father and he gives a smile that I return almost as if I am doing a favour.

While he calls my sister to find where have they reached I ponder whether anger, love and guilt when unexpressed and unfulfilled really vanish under wraps with a quaint smile or silence? Is this garb impenetrable as we think of it to be? Does the silent sibling rivalry crop up as adultery? Does backstabbing a friend result from an unexpressed compliment about new dress? Does the devil within your head work more slyly and stealthily than the angel who needs you to act on your good will? Isn’t the scary silhouette outside the manifestation the dark fears within our minds?

As we proceed to our table as soon as my mother and sister arrive to complete our nuclear family like many others sitting at an arms distance from us in the cramped space.The service is as prompt as any authentic Thali joint with 12 waiters serving 36 dishes or more in 3 minutes flat, leaving you amazed at the feat that they pull simply and charmingly. The whole routine coupled with delicious food and presence of loved ones brings smiles naturally to all members on my table. Warmth of the moment thaws ice for me and I smile too, but this time looking at their satisfaction at a simple gesture of treating them to a not so fancy meal.

I dwelve within mentally for a reality check on why did I move away from these smiles if they bring me so much of peace and are worth cherishing. Realisation dawns on me that I fear staying with them because of my own discomfort with their ways which I associate to being unrelatable. Have they never felt the passive aggression of my rebellion against the norms they advocate? Right from the grunge attire to choice of career and lifestyle contrasting to theirs is not a co-incidence. I am enlightened in a flash then.

I can see that all the causes I made subconsciously at the thought and feeling level resulted in the bitterness before as I acted on them sooner or later. The silence that I thought dealt with them, didn’t actually end them. Just like a cat does not go away if the pigeon shuts his/ her eyes, a problem does not get solved unless we act on it.

Every discomfort, unhappiness and suffering has a route in our indecision and inaction or dearth of will to see the truth. When we seek the answers for problems outside within us, we are sure to find a thread that lead to the action, maybe a thought, a hurt, an encouragement, a misunderstanding. Though intangible, these things do manifest into world outside. If we see a visible pattern that harms, it is just a question of letting it go and to create new cause.

I cleaned my conscience and got rid of my biases as I washed my hands. The disease was gone. After taking care of the bill, impulsively I took my sister and mother shopping for daily groceries at the biggest Hypermall of Mumbai. For once, I was there to buy happiness not for me but for my family without any grudge. My world was turning inside out. The catalyst was within and the change started there as well but I saw the glint in eyes outside. I wasn’t missing my ignorant bliss at this moment but silently celebrating the knowledge gained.

On my way back home, I am sure that these fundamental patterns deeply etched within my own life however upsetting remain true. I wonder how many such inconsequential and illogical beliefs have seats within mine and everyone else’s psyche. Reaching back to threshold my home, I determine to harmonize my worlds with every thought inside and action outside

Comfortably Numb

I am comfortably numb this monday morning, blue as if there was never any warmth of sun that touched it or any surge of blood that made it blush

I stare at screen of this man made wonder only to ask myself...

Is it less painful than a accident when the realisation dawns upon you that two people who you cared about the most for on this planet have their own agendas, none of them have you in them.

Are you called a survivor, if your heart has been broken into gazillion little pieces of glass and you are alive, shouldnt it be considered a miracle?

what if you wake up one fine morning and you are living a different life, no securities, no familiarity, no safety? Arent u braver than any soldier that day to continue to fight the battle for daily bread?

Do questions always lead to answers or choke to end in uncomfortably dark silences gasping for breath?

Does any dream ever get fulfilled? Do doubts die away? Does love really stay?

The list goes on, the quest never ends, theres pain of stmbling upon different things on path to love as its blind, bleeding on thorns that roses bring, i sing, cos i want to.. maybe its a cry but no tears i wonder why?

Is end of suffering, the beginning of liberation? Do hurts really make you stronger to protect the core? is it the divine dicohotomy that when you fall into a deep trench, the only way out is up

Stormy Solitude

An evening, crimson with mad rage, goes far away

The fierce winds bring in fears that it will be lost to never return

A thousand swirling black clouds, restless and angry, ask questions

When the echoes are unanswered they silently mutter a thousand curses

Night sky, dark and discontent, breaks into manouvres damning life’s overwhelming truths

Light shines though loathing and secrets of heartbeats, of temptations, sins and salvation

Along with thunderbolts of agony, comes breeze filled with dust, maybe ashes of dreams

Drenching my heart and burning my mind, a teardrop of acid rain soaks my palms

A triangle of hearts

My life had been vague recently. The boundaries between, truth and lies, real and surreal were wafer thin. Sadness was as much a part of my life as a smile that erupts from looking at an acquaintance or a friend as a knee jerk reaction.

My crush S hadn’t called me to accompany him to the Gay Bombay party as almost always. Though I clearly remember that it was him, who had taken my mind off my usual lows of loneliness, feeling unloved and worthless with an hour-long phone conversation last night. Even he knew and somewhere deep down I was aware that the empty feeling in spite of a decent job, a loving family (the kinds that I stay away from for sanity sake) and a series of achievements stemmed from him. My insecurities of losing him were so accentuated that I counted them amongst my list of compulsions. My other most obvious and frequent compulsion was and still is checking my pockets for house keys at least five times before shutting the door in spite of being locked out only once in last two years.

Sitting at home, waiting for his call would make me more miserable and crankier. So I got ready reluctantly and between a face wash and cologne, I spoke to him for the first time to enquire his plans for the evening only to realize that he would be accompanied by his crush A

S and I had a history wherein he was a confused bisexual who met me while I was recuperating from a major abusive relationship, which was dear to me more than life. The result was that initially I mated like rabbits with S, whose real name surprisingly is Bunny.

Though normally I am not comfortable sleeping around like the usual gay suspects but with him, not an ounce of guilt cropped as twinkle of his eyes, that glint which contains all his boyish naughtiness, curiousity, purity, innocence, righteousness and more kept me from ever doubting that it was plain lust. It saved me from damnation and even helped me to be strong enough to make changes in my environment but I lost touch with him fighting my daily battles of food, shelter, faith, clothes and accessories.

Next time he met me at a party 3 months later, my life had changed and so had our equation. From then on we moved to initial flirting, a period of abstinence, contemplating relationship to my realisation that I loved him and his fear of saying no as he was not ready. After dealing with his neglect, my anger about rejection and more, now we are close enough to share more than most people. Its weird how I am the only one who can get him to talk at times. Not that I am great expert at this but my formula is simple – give in order to get.

By the time I fixed my schedule with other friends and moved to socks, shoes and deo, S called and we spoke again. He was waiting this time near my home to fetch me. I cherish any acknowledgement of attention or care from him even if today it meant sharing him for the evening with A.

I managed to push my friends to go with others (quite literally) and entered his car. Now I was in his space. Sitting on the front seat of his car meant that I could play songs of my choice, look at him for the next 45 minutes till we reached the venue and more over I hoped to see that glint of his eye and his smile. If I was lucky, he would share one of his beliefs or heartfelt thoughts about me. Though these symptoms are of puppy love, it had been 2 years now, I was 25 while he was 28, balding, dark and had bloodshot red yes due to his lack of sleep. My excitement had never died through this period, as it turned into restlessness, may be greed to get more of him just because I knew I could not.

Amidst the anticipation for A and small talk about the party, he asked me for a favour and before he completed or mentioned, I assured him that I would sit on the backseat once A arrives. He looked a bit surprised but he was used to my uncanny knack of being honest and practical even if it meant my own loss.

I asked him about my new look, a bit sluttier than before hoping he would notice my track pants that tickled from inside due to their soft material and translucent black tee. He cribbed that he was not dressed appropriately while to me, he looked striking. He wore his charm, his appeal to be undaunted by others, being headstrong at places where it mattered.

Soon we arrived at a juncture where A was supposed to come overboard and I wished that he shouldn’t be more attractive than me. I felt guilty for being mean and not being happy for someone so close to me in mind, body and spirit like S.

There A was, dressed in all black, wearing a shirt much like mine, reminding me of our similar tastes and this unwitting competition tonight where one love would win over other. Maybe it would make me extremely happy if I won but in any case S would win nonetheless. This was the thought that calmed me, as I got up to offer A, his deserved and my desired place in S ‘s car. It seemed like I was offering him my position in S’s life. Maybe he read the grimace on my face or was genuinely nice. I heard him speak for the first time ‘ Sit. Don’t bother. I will go behind.”

I had almost forgotten to judge him or even to look at him properly due to his gesture of kindness. I curbed the demonic voice within and waited till he introduced himself. S’s face had a very strange glow. He was conscious of our presence together. He knew that air-conditioning of his car just worked superficially. The breaths within our bodies were warm with pleasure of seeing a loved one, hot with jealousy and luke warm with acknowledgement of competition for much cherished attention. But somehow I realized that the prized trophy S wasn’t so much a prize until we attached our anticipations, expectations and other emotions in their mammoth proportions.

The conversations progressed and I noticed that A was aware of S’s crush on him and also knew that getting into my good books would not be easy for him. He got personal in humour intelligently by breaching below the belt zone in manner that a man finds both titillating and welcome. Especially when he or she is sitting with a morose soul like me. My usual good humour, endless supply of oneliners and wit that attract others usually were nowhere to be found today. I thought to myself about my defense strategy in life. Except for debates, dance, singing old Hindi numbers, I have always been bad at my defense. Historically I have been bad at competing for love and attention, be it with my sister for my mother’s special gulab jamun, or with my best friend for my class teacher’s brownie points or any sweet kisses from S in the past at a party earlier. I looked up at him, he was smiling and had rested his head in an angle through which S could see him through the rear view mirror.

S was a newbie at driving and I could say A distracted him by the jerks I could feel on the front seat in spite of the seat belt. I sighed silently and wondered why did I agree to be a part of such an ordeal. I could see it clearly and could not deny that Together they were everything I ever wanted to be with S. naughty at times, Nice at others and Nasty at rest, they had a spark that would send a ripple of mixed feelings right within me. The clock was ticking but the traffic remained static as if resolved to delay my pleasure of partying and to stretch this period of discomfort. I remembered the incident when both A & me had spotted a guy forcefully kissing S and then S giving in by not resisting at a party. After we witnessed this from distance, both of us were upset but S had spent next day and more trying to pacify A. I wondered what would happen this time if history is repeated.

A spoke on phone continuously through the journey irking S due to his misplaced attention. When I tried to console him by saying that we would reach soon he reacted sharply” it’s my fault, only if I could drive better, we would reach faster. What’s the point of going to party for barely one and a half hour when to and fro travel will amount to three hours”?

He looked pissed and irritated. This was the part I did not know how to handle. He reminded me of my father who has frozen in this state forever. As a child, we had named one of our pets after dad. (Of course we didn’t tell him the secret behind the dog’s baptism) and went around calling him snappy. So we taught our dog to be lesser aggressive and to be gentle and obedient. Simultaneously I would pray for dad to get this message and training miraculously.

Anyways, A broke the tension with a quick repartee about S being hot at wrong places while he is cold in bed with A. Amused as were, we all chuckled and I saw that ice had been thawed. We would not be loggerheads in spite of S. I looked at A and knew that he chose to be wise rather than otherwise.

We were at the threshold of fun, frolic and fortnightly fare of flaunting our assets to avail of free sex dates, dancing partners and more fringe benefits but our Karma did not want us to enter the Karma lounge where the party was being hosted.

Between Mine and A’s requests for S to try and park carefully and to chill at the party without thinking how late we were, A valet arrived to inform us of the cop trouble. We could see our efforts and travel go down the drain that very second. Rather than my usual nagging about section 377 and India’s farce of a democracy, I looked at S, who was brown and not red with anger.

When he asked A and me whether we should wait and see if we can get entry into the party later, I wanted to say “ I don’t really care about the party if you don’t.” he said he wasn’t in mood to party now and I like mary’s little lamb agreed to it, but was waiting for A’s reply. It could tilt the scales, if he said that he wants to go for the party and left Sam’s side, then S would be all mine for the evening. But A didn’t do any of those things.

I stayed glued to my seat almost feeling pressed under the thumb of destiny to accompany them wherever they went now. No friends, No gay music, No drinks, I had to face my fears alone. Yes it was the time for delivery and performance. It was time for me to give my heart to my lover on a platter literally like Eklavya gave his thumb to his Guru

To be continued…

Party and posing in pink

Heartfelt

Heart sat sadly looking at Life going past him

He felt jinxed; who ever his shadow fell upon would go far away

He called out their names but the echoes came back alone, none would fetch back his beloved

Heart dreamed of days when he would see him smile

He felt emotions move within like mercury drops on a leaf, restless and bright

He would sigh at his karma and just pray harder each time as he tried resisting the touch

Heart thought loneliness was his destiny

He asked the universe why is love so cruel and fate a sadist

He got his answers in silent spaces between his sulks,

His quest was his destiny; it was for him to know

Unorchestrated divine symphony, his life was for him to grow

Weak as he felt, his strength would follow

The dawn would soon be sent; death threats of the dusk are hollow

Whats love got to do with it?

There wasn’t anything unusual about that night. Moonlight was lost as always amidst the neon blitzkrieg of shop banners and fluorescent tube lighting the compound of Shiv Darshan. People walking on the road were equally indifferent to this 12 storeyed structure as they were to the scores of suburban residential towers infesting various roads of Borivali. It seemed like there were only three people in this ordinary building who were trying to rise above the mundane morose outlook of Mumbai’s urban obsession of working 24 by 7. Aryan, Kabir and Praful stayed in Flat 305 of Shiv Darshan as they could not afford any other apartment that would give access to so much of skyline, light, privacy and economy in any other part of the town.

They were champion multi-taskers as every other Mumbaikar and thus utilized the space as a café, reading room, bedroom, office, play ground and prayer HALL by the hour.

Tonight, this small flat acted as a beauty salon & dance bar, where they were practicing their moves and groves before hitting the dance floor of the gay Bombay party. The room looked more colourful than most days with specially tailored glittering party clothes of Aryan and Praful piled up on bed along with a pot pouri of Aryan’s architecture books, Praful’s spiritual stuff and Kabir’s self help material bought from a local book sale.

The only vivid object receiving a raw deal this night was the Arjun Rampal poster which Kabir had put up behind the door so that he can conveniently admire it at his ease but still remain secretive about it by hiding it beneath the hung up clothes at other times.

Aryan was giving appreciative looks to himself in the mirror as he spoke on phone to a friend, which caused Praful to laugh amidst his dilemma of selecting the right bandana that would go with his biker stud look. Aryan was taller than most Indian men but was inching slowly towards being taller than them even horizontally. He stuck to black clothes and used shoulder length hair now in the hope to hide the so-called flaws.

Aryan looked at his watch wondering why his friends were gaining momentum and in this process looking like headless chickens just to realize they were just an hour away from their glory time of the grand entry to the party in their individual and irrepressible styles. He liked the look of surprise and awe in eyes of newbies but more so in the eyes of people who have known him now for a few years. As a part of the trio that was iconic in its snootery, he excelled in a timely entry at least an hour after the dance floor was officially thrown open.

The temptation to razzle and dazzle is too much to handle for any Leo looking for revelry and thus he crisply concluded his conversation to begin his struggle to fit into a pair of leather pants which fitted him like a dream last year but not anymore.

After the trio’s well-rehearsed routine of rushing into a rickshaw was through, Kabir began what he has always been good at – Adam teasing. He looked at the rickshaw driver through the back view mirror and smiled for a good five minutes till he took notice and then asked the driver to play music in spite of being well aware that the rickshaw did not have the stereo system, which fit in behind the seats very visibly in this chauffer driven suburban transport option. The twenties something rickshaw driver did not get bothered in answering Kabir’s questions and smiled without turning his head. He told us how people always choose the rickshaws with Music system and he makes lesser money nowadays to feed his children. This gave Kabir an opportunity to extend the conversation and dig further about his name; age and how he stays far from his wife just like many other natives of Bihar who work in Mumbai for years together without seeing their family.


Praful and Aryan exchanged the sheepish embarrassed smiles as Kabir’s interrogation went from generic to suggestive by the minute leaving Gopal - the rickshaw guy squirming as he drove. We reached our destination and Kabir was flirting with him by singing songs of how a guy misses his wife and looks at world having fun. While looking at the proceedings and chuckling, we didn’t realize that we have reached the destination for the gala group gyration act called a gay party.
It was time for us night prowlers to move on from harmless flirting to some serious business of cruising and social mingling.

As I looked at the venue lit up from outside, I heard a very apt song by Tina Turner “what’s love got to do with it”. While noticing the interesting choice of retro music by DJ instead of the Bollywood remixes, the question that stayed in my head was that whether people actually fall in love here or they come here scorned by their loves to find respite in music, dim lights and a few hours of attention by strangers. I looked closer at myself, living far away from love of my life, waiting endlessly for an expression of love in his emails, online message, phone call or any other way that would just show that there’s someone in this world who loves me for who I am. For me the parties have always been about dancing my head off with friends, love was never even at back of my mind.


Closer home, I looked at Aryan hugging a few of our common friends and remembered his words that he would not let love come in way of his dreams. A sudden realization seeped in that the party, its crowd and the fancy ghetto look he wore today, all of them were his realities, and none of it was part of his dreams. His dreams were detached from his presence today here; any fling that began today by him grabbing a thin waist boogieing to a popular number would never end up in a relationship

Kabir, who was lip locked with a muscled looking thing wasn’t definitely thinking of love while getting cozy with this creature who had a single digit IQ. He had been hinting about marriage pressures from his family but never contested their decision of his official affair cum relationship with a girl of their choice. He wouldn’t carry his love for male bodies to his native place, which he was to visit the next day. Again love wasn’t on his charts with the party.

My gaze turned to people in the party who I knew were together at some or the other points of time and today were looking for newer people to be with and sometimes both of them would aim and compete for a twink or sugar daddy just to get even.

Our number began playing finally and all three of us took over the prime spot in front of the stage where the light was optimum to flaunt our assets and hard work of new looks. While grooving, my head was still ticking as I looked for answers to the question whether being gay is only about sex, but remembered my days of realization when I would spend hours in college canteen wanting to see Vishal smile or just for him to say a hi and acknowledge my existence. That wasn’t remotely love but it brought back some sweet memories.

Amidst my nostalgia Aryan introduced me to Anurag who was a Delhi resident dressed in pseudo intellectual clothes and draped in an invisible layer of holier-than-thou attitude as he sized everyone on dance floor with a quick gaze and moved toward the ones who bumped and grind on the beats of an up market hip hop number instead of those who flaunted their moves on a item number. As we hit the bar to find some respite and quench our parched throats, Aryan told me that he had only known Anurag online largely and had recently lost his number stored within his cell phone when it got flicked in trains. What amazed us was that Anurag came to the party just because he had heard from Aryan once during his chat about the weekday when he hits this shady little pub. He decided to go with the information given anonymously by a screen name accompanied by thumbnail sized image.

But his risk paid off better than ever as Aryan flashed his leather outfit enough, not to go unnoticed by anyone in the party. This sweet serendipity calmed and balmed me reaffirming my belief in eternal faith and equal action or calculated risk. My concerns of love being out of stock in this supermarket of shameless sex seekers and snooty Samaritans in denial were soon forgotten under the influence of the happy buzz of drinks

Seemingly insignificant thing that perked me up was a call from Rohit. As I spoke to him, I realized that everyone loves attention and more so if someone whom he or she like provides it. I moved out of the door to speak on phone while seeing the umpteen manifestations of love within for the queer folk varying according to the given time, lust and tenderness. They looked vulnerable now, ready to respond to even little gestures of attention or affection. It was different from desperation. They were soft targets to lure into abusive relationships, internalized homophobia and more, reminding me of the comic contradiction that homosexuals are normally perceived to be the people who threaten the norms of loving outside in the society. They had gathered inside the party today to find the love and security within each other's smiles, hugs, kisses and maybe more.

It can be unconventional but the need for love and acceptance remains in my willingness to be in a long distance relationship, in Kabir's subservience to his parent's will and also in co-incidences of Aryan meeting an unknown stranger obsessed with him amongst the multitude of nameless faces in the crowd who explored and expanded the boundaries of the word love without knowing it.