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Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Food For Thought



Firstly, apologies for not having been able to come online for quite some time! I had a whole lot of private concerns that had me tied up. And secondly, what I am going to pen down here has lately been my food for thought in my freshly depressing past. It is amazing still, because the focus matter is such which I should have pondered over a lot many years ago, like when I attained puberty or penetrated the first male ass. This is one of those unrequited scientifically not-so-explored subjects. It is funny though! In the history of science, a lot many great brains have delivered their respective theories about and conducted research on so many intricate problems, which, coming to think of it, don’t quite make for a teatime topic of tête-à-tête amongst a family basking on a terrace. But one single question, which has perplexed so many wits, is still to be explained. The irony is that it actually is a very relevant topic of tête-à-tête amongst a family. And I bet even you can’t answer the question as to why I like men.

My relationship with my father hasn’t really been something either of us would be ever proud of. He doesn’t quite fit in the category of a role model for me. True, he hasn’t taken me to watch a soccer match or ever played cricket with me. He never bought me a G.I. Joe either! Did that make me gay? With all due respect to Sigmund Freud, I doubt it, because I still had friends from the neighborhood who would occasionally encourage me for a soccer match on the streets. I suck at it, by the way! And when I wasn’t with them macho boys of mere eight years of age, I was busy playing with my shining, one and a half feet long, jazz-blue colored and remote-controlled toy car! I know its girls who like shiny objects. But look back in your future. How many of you actually preferred black to red at eight? One relevant detail that needs a mention here is that in my youth, I stayed in a joint family. It was a house full of nine kids, and out of them, only I had a penis! But more than playing hopscotch with them girls, I remember fitting appositely as a caring brother, who’d punch anyone in the face if he (sometimes she!) snatched the ice cream stick belonging to my sister. I can do that today too. They taught me to respect family spirit. But I don’t remember anyone of them giving me lessons on how to give a blowjob.

In my early school days, books were my only friends I had. And I don’t remember reading a chapter on homosexuality in any of them. I do remember hearing something about the pastor molesting a kindergarten kid (I’d so chop his balls off if I meet him again!). But that kid wasn’t me. Anyway, if at all that episode could influence me, I’d rather have been against gay sex than being indulgent. Lastly, science has anyways upheld that there isn’t anything like the gay gene. So if homosexuality is not inborn, it surely has been imbibed from somewhere. It is neither my school, nor my home and it surely isn’t the streets. I guess it could be my Neverland then; my imaginary world where it is spring even in December and which is a place of astounding beauty and bounty. That does sound gay, I know, but so does Eden with its sparkling rivers and colorful meadows. Adam wasn’t gay, of course. He had only one other to lust for- a woman called Eve. In my Eden, there is no Adam. Then why do I still lust for him?

No wonder I can’t enjoy an afternoon tea with my family!

Monday, January 19, 2009

Hanging On...!

My results were declared sometime back. Its been four days now, and I am still trying to figure out what went wrong. I am a little shaken. My friends have been calling me up and pretending that they are still oblivious of the reality that I couldn’t clear the exams. But I can sense the tremor in their voices. They are pushing their best to cheer me up. And I do smile sometimes. They can’t blame me for trying!



A Chartered Accountancy examination is thought to be the most difficult examination in India. And yet, when I stepped out of that examination hall on November 16th, 2008, I was so sure that I am going to make it. Even the morning of January 16th, 2009, I was positive. I never had butterflies in my stomach, not for once. And then I saw the web page. My first reaction was, “Something’s wrong somewhere!” But there wasn’t. I had not made the grade.



I am now faced with a problem of a different kind. I cannot stay at home for obvious reasons. And if I move to Delhi again, I need a job which would, one, pay me enough to survive on my own, and two, leave me time enough to study for my re-exams this May. This trade off is impossible to manage in the current corporate culture. The only feasible solution I can think off for now is to work from home, so that I do not have to depend on my parents for every penny, and try and study in this uncompromising atmosphere.


It’s the end of January already. The weather is shifting. The temperature is rising. The climate is turning warmer. But the last four nights, have been the coldest ever. But I am quite not ready to give up yet.




Well I’m Happy, I’m Feeling Fine
I Got Sunshine In A Bag
I Know I’m Useless, But Not For Long
‘Coz Future, Is Coming On…
‘Coz Future, Is Coming On…
‘Coz Future, Is Coming On…

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Falling Slowly

People, who know me, know that when it comes to music, I am a fanatic metal head! Somehow, I could never look beyond the genre peculiar to Sodom, Death, Obituary and Opeth (of course, Pink Floyd is a class apart)! Any other music never quite gelled well with hashish. Its like when you blend drinks; doesn’t suit everyone, u know! Have a beer, and then guzzle down a couple of Bacardi shots, and you would immediately feel sick. Well, let’s say most of you would immediately feel sick! Likewise, listening to Jack Johnson or Joan Baez while smoking up with friends or my band mates did not seem to be a laudable idea. So we set aside the music files of the latter breed in a folder called ‘Fuck This Shit & Roll a Joint”. Over the years, that folder became redundant for obvious reasons, and I kept puffing out rings of smoke from charred marijuana leaves in tune with the rhythm of ‘Napalm In The Morning’.


About a month ago, in an online chat with a newly acquired and greatly valued pal, he sent across to me a link to his most favorite song and almost threatened me to strangle himself with yak wool (I am quite high as I write this post, and hence, I have a license to exaggerate!) if I did not click on the link, somehow kill time till the streaming is complete and actually listen to the song. His anxiety was too much for me to handle. I chose to surrender. And then I realized what had gone astray.


The music files easily stored on the hard disk of my PC are sorted into two parts—the whites, which I often listened to, and the blacks, which I never listened to. It was precisely like a grand piano with lots of keys. What went off beam was that I had started to look at the keys of a piano as mere blacks and whites. The whites I played often; and the blacks were veiled behind the carbon smoke. The blacks were there, right in front of me, but the urge to pamper the whites was overpowering. But that day, after being captivated by the song, I understood the basic fundamental. You need to actually hit the key to comprehend the difference between two of them.

I still play the whites more frequently, for they are the muse to my vision, but I now know that without the blacks, no melody can be perfected.






PS : I dedicate this post to DP, my very dear friend, who completed my keyboard. The song was called ‘Falling Slowly’, performed by personal and professional partners Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová (OST- Once, 2007).

Lyrics:

I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

Monday, January 12, 2009

Rent A Boy - Finalé

Its not that I got talked into it or was enticed. And no, I wasn’t hypnotized either! I wouldn’t lie. It was dangerous and yet thrilling. I was anxious to see what it feels like to be a gigolo just for one day. Besides, no one denies free sex! And voila! Here I was getting paid for it. It sounded just like one of those mad sex fantasies. But it wasn’t the dough that I cared about. That afternoon, sitting at QBA, waiting for my first customer, I introspected. Even today when I think of Abhimanyu and Raghav, I immediately get reminded of Helena’s quote from ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’:


“Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition,
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart.”


And if there was anything in my capacity to keep the berries together, I wouldn’t have flashed twice. I was exhilarated about Abhimanyu’s big step to finally go and meet Raghav in person after a long interlude of taxing soreness between them. Raghav had never been close to me. But in the two weeks prior to the day Abhimanyu left for Pune, I had been playing the agony aunt for Raghav, more on yahoo chat than over the phone. This was gravely the need of the moment. Sitting there, I was visualizing how Raghav would leap onto Abhimanyu at his first sight, kiss him passionately, and look into his eyes just to tell him how much he had been waiting for that moment, and for so long. And hell! I was already imagining them finally starting to live together. My decision to be a escort for brief (read ‘in briefs’) only seemed fair in that instance.

This might be disappointing to the readers, but my experiences with the three ladies during that week are rather immaterial. To sum it up briefly, I fucked an old hag, served a teen aged wealthy schoolgirl to satiate her fetish for sucking cocks, and made a friend. And I learnt one thing about the life of an escort. Its not always about sex! Its more than that. My third client was a newly wed, elite and really attractive lady. She was fashionably clad in the most retro style possible for a married girl when I was ‘picked up’. I don’t want to inflate my ability to figure someone out, but while on our way back to her place, her eyes screamed of woe, the reasons for which, I was yet to discover. We entered the guestroom and she offered me a drink. For a while, there was utter silence in the room, apart from the rare sound of wine going down our throats or the smoke rings I was making so professionally. I decided to break the ice.

So, is this your first time?”
No, I have had drinks with strangers earlier too.”
I smiled seductively. “So, can we try and know each other a bit?”
I did not pay you for an interview, you know.”

I could feel the ire and I was not prepared for it. “Okay! So can we get to what I have been paid for rather than me making futile efforts to sock a dialogue as appetizers along with the drinks?”
I knew it wasn’t the ideal way to articulate with your clients. May be I wasn’t troubled about being sacked. May be I felt I was being taken for granted. I wouldn't ever know. Strange enough, her eyes were impassive. She did not seem to have minded my tone. And then I noticed it! She was just ready to burst out into tears.

That night, I did not have sex. I only accompanied her in bed, while she tried to believe that she was also wanted, that there was someone who needed to kiss her on the forehead before he goes to sleep. She was lonely. Her husband was on a six month long voyage, working for people alien to her. She did not want a Don Juan in bed. She just wanted a shoulder to cry on. She just wanted a friend. And I gave her that. I had to, I was paid for that. Wasn’t I?



What happened of Abhimanyu and Raghav becomes redundant at this moment. What remains unanswered is my question to you all which I asked in the first place. So now, I ask you again, and this time, in the capacity of an escort. What did I do which was so terribly wrong?

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Rent A Boy - Part III

The pieces had started falling into place now. After sitting and chatting with Abhimanyu for almost an hour, I was able to explain his conduct in the last three months. I knew Raghav and he had been falling apart since the last couple of months, but I had been conveniently denying it. Somehow, over the last two years, they had achieved the spot of an ideal twosome in my eyes, and I blatantly kept snubbing my blunder of judgment. Its ironic how a revelation could unscramble so many questions in your mind, and on the same hand, complicate issues more vital! In that moment, Abhimanyu spoke his heart out to me.



AJ has been an escort for over seven months now. He had quite a reputation amidst his colleagues. Max was particularly delighted to have found such a goose. His job was to deploy AJ to elite gatherings, hotels, or even private abodes in accord with the request of the client in consideration of an amount handsomer than AJ himself which was to be equally divided between him and AJ, plus, AJ could keep the entire tip, if any. In those seven months, AJ’s value had appreciated from a meager Rs.5,000 a fuck to Rs.30,000 a night! He sometimes worked four days a week too. The fact that Raghav was still in the closet and hadn’t yet dumped his folks to live in with Abhimanyu as Abhimanyu’s parents did not approve of a homosexual liaison made things even easier for him. Raghav couldn’t ever have suspected a thing! Everything was crystal now, apart from one big question. Why was Abhimanyu doing this?


“Is it money?” I asked.
“Yes…. and no.”
I waited for him to elaborate.
Josh, I have dreams, you know I do. I want to be a journalist. I want to go to America, receive the best education there and join the best organization. I want to make it big Josh, bigger than what my dad keeps harassing me about.”
The fervor in his voice was palpable.

He paused, looked down as if thinking somewhat, and then lifted his head to look into my eyes and said, “My dreams are expensive Josh. My dad cannot afford my dreams. And I am not letting him crush’em once again. He crushed my dream to live with Raghav, to be right there whenever my baby needed me, to say ‘Bless you’ every time he sneezed, to watch him while he goes to sleep, to embrace him every time he woke up in his sleep because of his nightmare fits and tell him that I’m there, with him and I love him. He crushed them Josh! And I ain’t letting him do it again.”
By this time, he had tears in his eyes and I had a lump in my throat.



I did not try and contact Abhimanyu for quite some time after that. I could not actually. The surprise had quite not settled down with me yet. And then came a Sunday (I forgot the exact date!). In the afternoon, it was one of those moments when you are so busy with your customary chores that there actually isn’t anything critical on your mind and you are humming to yourself the tune of Coldplay’s latest hit while organizing your wardrobe. My cell phone rang. It almost felt like I wasn’t quite ready to react when I saw the name flashing on the digital screen. It was Abhimanyu.


Undecidedly, I addressed him. “Hey dude! Long time, eh? Where the fuck have you been?”
And I immediately realized that in an attempt to sound laid-back and indifferent to the obvious change in our rapport, I had gone too far and actually made it more than evident. Otherwise, usually a simple ‘Hi’ does the trick for me!

He replied nevertheless. “Hi Josh. I know. I am sorry for not having been able to keep touch off late. The last few days have been kind of hard on me.”
“Oh, what’s up?”
“Long story! Anyway, dude, how fast can you reach Hotel Ambassador?”
“Err… shouldn’t take me more than an hour. Why, all well?”
“Yes Josh, everything is fine. I need to go to Pune, to be with Raghav for a week.”
I was immediately keyed up. “Hey that’s great! How’s he doing? Give him a kick in the ass on my behalf, stupid ass forgot my birthday!”
“He’ll get something harder than just a kick in his ass man, I promise you, but right now, you need to meet me here. One hour!”
Abhimanyu sounded serious.
“Sure, but what’s the deal?”
He spoke all at once then, “About that! Well, I have three client meetings in the next week, and you are filling in for me. Max wants to meet you.”

I dropped my jaw. Simultaneously, Abhimanyu disconnected the call.

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Rent A Boy - Part II

I was on my way to lunch the next afternoon at this address which Abhimanyu had incomprehensively scribbled on a paper napkin, in the wee hours of the morning just before I was tired of the revelry. My mind was thinking diverse things. Abhimanyu wasn’t the kind of boy who would feel curbed under communal stress and have discreet rendezvous with vaginas just for the heck of it! He really loved Raghav, I knew he did! Then who were those girls? The consideration of Abhimanyu falling out of homosexuality was absurd in more than one way. Though there was this one thing I noticed. My intrusiveness made Abhimanyu dazzlingly jumpy. Last evening, he wasn’t quite himself. His gullet lacked that sway which he usually flaunted. In his relationship with Raghav, Abhimanyu was ‘the man’. But that particular evening, I bet Raghav could have effortlessly overpowered him.

I finally reached my destination, but I had quite not arrived yet. From what I heard while even standing outside the mansion where I was supposed to dine, it sounded more than just a lunch. The music was utterly deafening, sporadically crushed down by shrill laughter. I entered, and immediately set my eyes upon two amazingly gorgeous young boys standing at the bar having a tête-à-tête. No sooner did they become conscious of my attendance than they glanced back with a mixed emotion of lust and curiosity. And when I saw the pack on the dance floor, I at once knew I was the black sheep. There Abhimanyu was, footloose with around twenty other guys

whom I would have described as Greek had I not met a real one in life. A handful of them appeared to be high on coke, with their hair swaying from one side to another, while they shook their heads to the beats of Tiesto. Then there were few others, shirtless, with the sweat making its way all through the cuts and curves of the well built chest and abdomen. A couple of north eastern duos, meticulously draped, were sitting with their legs crossed on a couch in some corner of the room, sipping their vodkas and giggling like schoolgirls. I was just checking out this particular topless hunk shaking a leg with a middle aged man, when someone clasped his hands around my waist and kissed my nape.


Abhimanyu, gosh! I’m not your loser boyfriend”. I chuckled.
Abhimanyu stood there with a blank expression searching for an apt reply.
I did not let him respond. “Speaking of which, where is he?”
Hush! He shouldn’t know of this. U promised me last night”. AJ’s expressions suddenly became grave.
Okay, okay! Anyway, this is some party. You should have told me you had guests.”
He took a pause, placed his hand on my right shoulder, and then finally said, “Josh. These are my colleagues, and this is Max's house. He is my boss.”


And with that statement, he had spilled the beans. It was nearly impossible to have so many pretty boys in one organization, unless it had to do with either fashion or art. Abhimanyu wasn’t associated with either. I looked him in the eye, and spotted his mien, telling me that what I had figured out wasn’t wrong after all. Abhimanyu was an escort, and I was at a pimphouse!


PS: I take this opportunity to thank a dear friend of mine, for his invaluable inputs, without which, this post wouldn't have seen the light of the day.... I mean, the light of today to say the least :P

Friday, January 02, 2009

Rent A Boy - Part I


Just the other day, I was having a dialogue with a homosexual comrade of mine, who, bizarrely enough, saw a new dimension of me since the last few months of our acquaintanceship just that day. It would be unadventurously erroneous and immoral if I call myself an ex-escort, but yeah! There was this week long episode during which, thrice I got compensated for my special services. How I got into it is another story, which you’ll read about. But the fact is that my friend felt a little scandalized and awkward about it. He seemed appalled and quickly jumped to conclusions about my character and integrity. My question is, what did I do which was so terribly wrong?

Fall, 2004. It was one of those college days, when I used to be perpetually high on the attention I acknowledged every morning after entering the college premises. Back then, I was not sleeping with men a whole lot really. It was mostly the slutty and sexy females from inside the college itself. And the day before that particular day, I had had a feral night of fervor with one of the most sought after girls from college. Now, females talk! So of course, everyone knew about it by the morning. I had arrived late that day, I remember. Was it because I did not sleep properly or was it because it was one of the best sleepovers I have had, I fail to recollect. That day, I felt like an icon walking naked in the aisle for everyone was staring / leching at me. That evening, I partied at Turquoise Cottage to commemorate my conquest.

I must have ashed out about twelve odd cigarettes and had consumed relatively less amount of alcohol, owing to the overpriced drinks there, when I saw Abhimanyu walk in, with two girls who were peculiarly too old for him to hang out with. I beckoned him. At first, he gave me a look as if I had caught him with a bag full of gold ingots which did not belong to him, but soon enough he smiled back and advanced towards me. We shared an embrace and he introduced me to the girls. And then it happened! One of them asked Abhimanyu, “AJ, does he play too?” And then, she looked at me with optimistic eyes. I felt misplaced and started hunting for a way to hide my gob smack. Abhimanyu, realizing the verve of the moment, immediately laughed it off and evaded an answer. But he knew that I had started to suspect a foul play!

Later that evening, I managed to corner Abhimanyu, and began a volley of questions which made both of us a whole lot edgy.

“Who’s AJ?”
“That would be me.”
“So let me get this straight! You are fucking around with girls who are apparently into threesomes and other kinky stuff and they almost assumed that I wouldn’t mind joining you guys?”
“No Josh. You don’t understand.”
“Well, make me understand then.”
“It’s a little complicated.”
“Does Raghav know?”
“No.”
“That’s called cheating on your beloved, my friend.”
“Josh, this is different. Trust me you don’t wanna know!”
“Oh no your highness, indulge me.”





I had not realized what I had just done. I had no idea about how the conversation that followed was going to pioneer me into a whole new world.