Confessions of a gay man

I knew being shy from a long time. Being awkward and shy was my thing! In retrospect, this is something which is imposed as well. I remember my father being always angry. Effeminate boys are bad sons or so I started to believe. I was bullied in school for being very quiet and shy. When I went out of the state I met people of different natures. I learnt that being different doesn't necessarily meant being wrong or being bad. I began to nurture my unique persona. I began to experiment with my sexuality. Online dating came as a bliss. I was surprised at the amount of free and guilt free sex available online. My first gaysex experience was gratifying in one sense- I felt desirable. I realised I am not unacceptable. There are people who still liked me and especially for who I am. It took me a lot of time to come to terms with the ground realities. How will my family and friends take it? Will society be ok with a man who wouldn't get married? The first thing that hit me was obviously depression- auto-destructive and suicidal. Years passed and I persevered. With time I began to realise that I want sex but also a relationship- love, romance, stability and all the perks of being "normal". I fell in love with a dreamy man. Alas two men being together, two huge egos and the added pressure of being in love inside the closet broke down!　 Meanwhile my social life improved. I have been lucky to have found so many genuine people who have accepted me for who I am. Of couse few did start to see me as an untouchable. To each his own! To see every gay man as a sex monger was wrong. I set out to fight this stigma. I wanted to prove that this tribe also can be monogamous and loyal. This was a tough call and I didn't make much progress. When I love a man, it doesn't feel wrong. I feel nurtured and cared and protected. This is the most true and honest feeling! It rather feels wrong to justify love. I decided sympathy is never enough. Why seek more? I gathered up the broken pieces of my heart and my parents' and moved ahead. Life is too short to spend it nagging. I still wonder how it is to be in a commited and stable relationship. How marriage and the whole acceptance from your elders and society feel like. It took me years but I managed to be on my own. I learnt to appreciate things as they are. 　

How I came out to my mother and other stories

My mother is a unique creature. She loves dresses, compliments and gossips. She is also the most emotional woman that I know of. I have been rehearsing coming out to my parents from a long time. On one hand I knew they would still continue to love me and on the other hand I knew my father's temper. The softer and more obvious target was my mother. "You can do this", my best friends encouraged me. I felt as alone and scared as a young deer out in the woods for the first time on its own. Coming out is a fatal process. That moment when you are about to say it you feel like a lowly dung beetle and the person hearing you out is God. You want your prayer heard and you accepted and raised to the level of a human being. The ideas in my head ranged from impossible to the lunatic. What if they force me to elope with a girl? What if my father goes violent? Do I shout to my neighbours for help? In case they do turn up to help me what do I tell them? My whole vacation was well planned. My family has a tradition of pampering me like a prince whenever I go home. Only chicken reared from home is cooked, fish is caught from our ponds. I couldn't enjoy a bit of all this in anticipation. And yet as that moment was nearing, I was almost frozen. Time stood still. I had been telling her the moment I landed that I've something to tell her. Every time I thought I will tell was a bad time. My sister was at home, there was some other tension in the family, there were guests ... but finally I sieged my moment- one day before I was leaving. I had to pick up enough courage. We were just done with dinner when my mother decided to go to the pond one last time to check the fish caught in the net. She came back showing me the prawns. "Are you going to sleep now?" I asked. I expected her to say yes and yawn and go to bed but somehow she was also enjoying these moments with me, just the two of us, mother and son. "I'll sleep in some time", she said as she made one more paan for herself. "Even I'll have one", I said, I was getting more and more restless. I sat down on a murrah and asked her to sit besides me. She initiated the conversation. "What is it that you were meaning to tell me?" I knew this was it, "I've been trying to put it in the right words", I told her. I looked straight into her eyes and said "I don't like to be with girls". She kept on repeating, "what does that mean?", "I don't understand". And then finally I said- "I want to be with a man". Then followed a series of questions and answers, threats, pleadings. She compared me to a characterless pervert, she expressed horror over the idea of other people discovering it. "Don't you dare to play this joke on me", she said. "I will never let you destroy your life in this manner". She cried her heart out. My head was a burning ball of fire when I went to bed at around 1 o'clock. I must burn in hell to cause such trauma to a mother I thought. I was shaking of fear and guilt. I deleted all the text messages and photos of my friends in my mobile phone. I didn't want to unnecessarily drag anyone in this mess. When I opened my eyes at 4 in the morning, I heard her wail again. The entire house woke up, I heard my father console her. Every one had come to know by now. Somehow, the fear in me had subsided. I wanted to fight. A calmness came over me, the worst part was over. My father didn't say much that day but his eyes were telling me everything. I was worried he will never speak to me ever again. However, the next day just when I was getting ready for the airport, he asked for me in the living room. I called my mother too. My father told me this- "what you are thinking is wrong". I told him that I was very happy we were able to have a mature and calm conversation on this. I also told them that I will not do anything that will shame them in front of others. I promised them that I will still be the obedient son and the ideal elder brother except that I will not be able to get married. Every human being on this earth deserves to be honest to himself and by hiding one crucial truth of your life from your parents, you aren't being honest to yourself. It's like living a fake life. The guilt just mounts up with time. I and my sister went to the terrace. "You did nothing wrong. It's your life, whatever you do we are with you" she told me. "I was so tired of hiding my true self from you all" I told her. I said goodbye to them all. I touched my parents' feet. I thought I had tears of shame and guilt. Actually they were of relief and happiness ... for a new start.

The Gay Pride March 2013, Mumbai

"Gay people are disgusting" Yes, you read it correct. They are! I hear they worship The Devil and do it among themselves. They hate babies but love wine and men. Also they serve as perfect gossip mongers for elderly housewives. And enough with the typecasting! I always thought the Pride March was a bunch of gay hooligans shouting slogans on the streets. Turns out it's serious business. All the planning (read permissions required for a "peaceful rally/protest"), the workshops- it’s a lot of work. My first march was also the day when I got caught and fined by the police for boarding the wrong compartment in the local train. (We got into the one meant for handicapped people but that’s another story…ahem). Good job you police of western lines, I appreciate your alertness (especially the alcohol smelling, elderly cop who gave us a long tecture, took 510 rupees from me and "registered" our name on a blank paper)! Anyways, all inhibitions were shed when I saw the huge crowd of people "marching" with pride. I immediately joined and shouted slogans. Slowly I realised that there were among the crowd a lot of "straight" people too- supporters, parents, friends, volunteers. It was very encouraging indeed. The usual suspects were there too- all the queeny men/women dressed up (or down, I’m not sure), the flashy, glittery make-up, costumes. (Esh, how disgusting!) But again, what is a pride march without the variety! I saw the animated faces staring at us. The press and the "normal" people were having a field day. I hugged like a 100 of them. Gay men hug a lot (how "touchy", unhygienic and disgusting... ew). The march ended up in so and so junction and then some small time (gay) celebrity announced "that’s it guys, go back home ASAP. No time for all the pleasantries. The police will be after us now!" I was rushing away from the spot trying to save my life when I got hit in the face with a bunch of red roses (what’s with gay people and the flower shop? disgusting). Gay men are such butter fingers I tell you. "Sorry but my boyfriend gave these to me" he said unapologetically. And I said in my head "yeah gay boy, just don’t rub it on my face"! And gay men take a lot of pictures too which I later uploaded at a popular social website. The response ranges from "I full support you" to "what were you thinking?" We live in a world where the world GAY is censored even in the TV channel subtitles. Tell me, which parents of any respectable family would want their innocent kids to learn about that? They don't exist. It's disgusting! No one knows what it’s like to be part of a minority. Whether you are from the NE, you are handicapped or gay (I was both that day). All we care for is a little sharing, a little consideration and a lot of tolerance. Humanity is never worth it if some fine day we had to stage a march on the streets just for others to acknowledge our existence.

Losing my virginity and other stories

The internet is misleading more so in the first year of college. When I first started chating with Ibrahim, I knew that he was too good to be true. He plays basketball, studies psychology and is a merit student from Ethiopia. I saw his pictures but that did less for me than what his voice did. That voice, with the hint of a romantic flirting, convinced me, totally mesmerized me and took me in a spell. The first meet happened all of a sudden. The second time we were chating, we exchanged numbers and I heard his voice for the first time. "Where do you stay?" He asked. I told him the address of my hostel but was not ready for the reply. "We stay very close by". I was thrilled, I could feel my heart in my mouth. It went bizarre when he uttered the next statement- "Let's meet in half an hour?". I wanted to say no but I said yes anyway. I wanted to calm myself down but I hurried from the internet cafe, rushed to my room and got ready. I wanted to look as fantastic as I was feeling. This was my first date with a man. It was a secret dream come true. I wanted to celebrate each moment of it but my body was getting drawn even quicker to his voice and to his address. I was sweating and breathing heavily when I reached his lane, walking. I called him several times to confirm the house number. And then finally I saw him coming out of his house. He was nothing like he sounded, not even close to what I fantasized he would look like. He was much older for a college student and rather short for a basketball player. Nonetheless, nothing killed the growing excitement in me. I noticed that he stayed in a really fancy house all by himself. "My roommate went back to my country" he told me in a typical accent which I took time to understand. I saw the drawn curtains, the hall was kind of dark. He opened the fridge to offer me some water and I saw bundles of beer cans in it. We sat down on the sofa. We started to discuss meeting men. "Are you top or bottom?" he asked. I was confused. I thought I knew it but I could never be sure. He sensed it. "Do you fuck or want to get fucked?" I was taken aback by the forwardness of the question. I struggled to get the right words for an answer. "I have never done it with anyone" I said apologetically. "You have never seen a cock?" He asked me playfully. "No", I said. I was getting turned on at the same time everything was happening so fast that I was a little scared too. "Do you know what a cut cock is?" I thought I knew it but again I was not sure. "Do you wanna see it?" He made such a haste proposal with such a straight face that it struck my core. I felt sweat on my back. While I was struggling to look up to him and say a yes/no, he had already reached out for my hands and put it on his groin. He was wearing comfortable shorts and I felt the huge throbbing thing on my fingers- a fever began to run through me. Before I knew it he had already put me down on the floor on my knees while he got more comfortable on the sofa. It felt weird, to take someone's penis in your mouth for the first time. I remember being very excited but I most definitely did not enjoy it. Most importantly, I wasn't sure how to do it and I am sure I was doing it all wrong. He sure seemed to enjoy it no doubt. He greedily pushed himself far deep inside my throat "Let's go inside" he said pointing towards the bedroom. Everything was happening so fast; I really didn't have any say in it. He told me to take my clothes off. I stood naked in front of a stranger whom I was meeting for the first time. My ears burned in anticipation of whatever was going to take place on this bed. I noticed that the curtains were completely drawn in his bedroom too. He glanced at my naked body, head to toe. I wanted to kiss him on the mouth but he kept pushing my mouth towards his penis. He came on top of me, completely naked. It felt really weird to feel a man all over my body, naked. Honestly I liked the warmth of a man's skin rubbing against mine. I was intensely enjoying this brief moment when he said something in my ears, in almost a whisper. "What?", I held up my head for him to repeat. "Give it to me", he said a little louder this time. I really didn't understand. I thought I knew it but I couldn't be sure. "What do you mean?" I asked. He gave no replies. Instead I saw him open the drawer next to the bed, he took out a packet of condoms and quickly inserted one on his penis. "What are you doing?" I asked him. He gave a faint smile and turned my body to lie on my stomach. I could tell that he wanted me. He made a few desperate attempts to insert his manhood inside me, my hands went into a self-protective mode and kept fending him away. Finally he lost his patience, caught my hands in a frenzy and forcefully inserted himself inside me. A cry almost escaped my lips but he caught my mouth with his. He thrust himself on me with all his strength and in less than a minute he was done with the act. I felt an unbearable pain when he retracted his penis from inside me. He lay lifeless on the bed. My whole body was shaking when I went inside the bathroom. I took a tissue paper and wiped my bottom, I could feel it still throbbing with pain. I saw blood on the paper. I remember coming back to my hostel in a trance. I was hurt both physically and emotionally and I certainly didn't enjoy it. Frankly, I felt a little violated. I immediately took a shower. The cold drops of water brought me back to my senses. Before I knew it, I was crying.

What doesn't kill you

The moment I landed, I kept on saying that Mumbai is very hot. It was December and coming from Bangalore, I was under the false impression that Mumbai is really hot. One of my colleagues tells me “wait till the actual heat hits you”. I am not particularly a big fan of hot temperatures so this was bad news to me. And then I realized this new city might just have more bad news for me! Choosy as I am, I don’t tend to like and bond with people easily. More so this was office. Who goes to work to make friends? Bread and butter matters more! This might not have been the first time in my life but I was all on my own- a guest house, a new project, new people and a totally unknown city. One thing in Mumbai was liberating- the language. Since I have no problem speaking in Hindi (courtesy my ex), I won’t have any language issues now. I needed vegetables, cable connection or a plumber; I would be in a position to speak to them myself. Bangalore was all about my roommate doing that for the both of us. I did realize that the “Hindi” out here is totally different from what I know it as. People add a little humour, a little roadside lingo and a few cussing and it’s a brand new language! First things first, I was told by a good friend (who was also simultaneously transferred to Mumbai along with me) that a friend of his advised him not to use the word “Bhaiya” around. This forbidden word would mean anyone from north India, better still UP and the erstwhile Bihar. They are supposed to be bastards-who-come-and-steal-your-jobs. I was in the office library in my first week of joining in the Mumbai campus when a man says out loud- “stay here, work here but don’t try to become the boss of all”. Eventually, I realized this is no laughing matter. Another friend witnessed two “bhaiya” people being cornered and beaten up and ultimately thrown out of a city bus! I suppose marking a territory is a bit of a business for many. Moral of the story- be safe, shut up! No quarrelling, no fooling around with the marathi-manoos sentiments. My first local train ride was not a good experience! Romanticized as “the thing” which Mumbaikars (don’t call me one already) identify with, it is in no world meant for the faint hearted. No doubt it is a huge relief to your pockets for it’s no Volvo ride, it’s cheaper and takes you to your destination faster. Sundays are but the worst days to attempt to ride a local train and I chose just it. Half the trains (that’s what I am informed) shut down for maintenance on this day, tracks are repaired. This results in a lesser frequency of trains and as a corollary a bad rush. There are rules (albeit unwritten) while riding a local train. It’s OK if people stamp at you, it’s OK if you ask some stranger to “baaju” (I want to translate it as “side”) and squeeze in for a room for you in the seat which is already and 100% occupied. It is NOT OK to cuss at people for stepping on your toes. They will also cuss you back- till you vomit that is. And when you are about to reach your destination you must all get up and head towards the exit. Mind you a train at halt also invites new passengers to get up- so make your move before they push you up. Push them down! The train hardly stops for 30 seconds. Yes, I am not exaggerating. Speed impresses me but it also kills I suppose. Last lesson on local trains I learnt that day (and was sort of crucial)- always carry your backpack on your chest and not on your back. Reason being those pick-pockets? We’ll see! Well, as I was getting down or do I say pushed down the train, my backpack got stuck amongst the crowd of people coming down and boarding! The train starts to run and I am still stuck with my body down the train and my backpack somewhere in between- stuck midair. Lucky that my mother prays for me regularly (I don’t remember the last time I offered prayers even for myself), one final forceful exertion of all my will power and might and I got my backpack with my body, both down the fast moving train. So pick pockets yes and also- your dear life! I am used to a very formal set up in the workplace. It’s OK to discuss a little private life and be a little friendly. But that is it! Definitely NOT OK with a “mawali” (street-culture) atmosphere. I started missing having conversations in English. Here people rub the Mumbaiya Hindi in your face. Meetings, discussions- everything started happening in “Hindi”. People I hung out made toilet jokes and lunch time was all cussing of the mother sister categories. I am no virgin to cussing but it is an interjection moment for me and not a colloquial habit. Another thing which hit me in the head like no other was the “forward” people in Mumbai. I don’t know what it is that this city brings out in people. Affairs, affairs and affairs and people “sharing” it with you. Intra marital, extra marital and all kinds of affairs. I knew that all the people in this new workplace will be more experienced than me. I thought that meant I always had technical help available. I never knew that being more experienced also meant married and married men and women do act desperate at times! Most of them mock at the notion of a monogamous, life-long relationship and embrace affairs (which I guess will be mainly temporary and sexual). Married men drooling over younger girls seems to be the new fashion in India’s most expensive city! Beat me to death but I can’t deny my tryst with these people as a nightmare. Of course, breaking the nice is never easy. A new place can never win your heart unless you get rid of your own inhibitions and prejudices. Fast forward to just six months and I am in love with Mumbai. I made “friends” in the workplace and they care for me a lot. Even went out on a date! I was instrumental in coaxing my online book club people to meet up more regularly. I am part of the employee forum in office and we organize fun events at times. Life is better!

auto publié: Tryst with Anna

auto publié: Tryst with Anna
Good write up! Although I have my reservations against the team Anna bill, I won't call it a 'joke' either. You're being overtly cynical. No doubt TV channels had a ball around these news yet I see it more than just a media sham.

I was bullied in school

School was not my best time! I was a shy, timid boy in a school of only boys. Trouble?

I was in the second standard when I had started to complain at home about school. My parents took their own time but it finally emerged that some other things other than studies or the teachers were boggling me down. Yes! The class bullies. They would say mean things and do mean things to me.

Back then my bench mates were the ‘good kids’. They always scored well; they had good ranks. They did their home-works well. They were from rich families. They were the exact antagonism of ‘bullies’. However, I was constantly ridiculed by all the three of them. They would hide my stuffs. They chopped off my erasers. They would break my pencil leads. They drew mean sketches in my books and note-books. One time they decided to pick their noses and stick up the pages of my book with the mucus! I was scared to go to school. I would make up excuses not to go to school- toothache, headache, stomach ache and the works. The ghastly images of those days will be indelibly imprinted in my head.

Always at the receiving end, I was never able to give them back. So much that at one point my parents sent my cousins (who were at the same school) to ‘help’ me out. They did come to the class. They were seniors and themselves bullies. Rather than helping me, they provoked the bullies and left me stranded among them! Talk about reconciliation!

Every day we would have one bench to clean the entire class. This would mean to broom the floor and dusting the teacher’s desk and chair. This was standard 5th. I went to the storeroom to get the broomstick. As I was inside the dark, unventilated room, they closed the door behind my back. I shouted and cried for help but nobody listened. I must have been inside for several minutes. When the door finally opened I was welcomed in the open with loud jeers!

As we grew up (or did we?), the intensity and context of the bullying increased. I was in 6th standard. I was urinating when a bunch of seniors came and turned me around thus, flashing me to everybody present. I was utterly embarrassed and tried to cover up the act by fastening the zip as hurriedly as possible; but the harm was already done. I felt ‘exposed’. I shivered at the harrowing idea of this ‘story’ being circulated around. Boy! Am I glad that back then school kids didn’t use video phones?

I remember always feeling like an alien in the class. As a result of all these mocking and bullying, my self confidence sunk low. I went from being a quiet child to an introvert. Teachers hardly knew my name. I was never into anything other than the books and exams. Come to think of it now, I was majorly spared from two things- name calling and physical abuse. I can’t even start to think how that would have gone.

It is important for a kid to make friends in school. The psyche of a kid is influenced a lot by anything which takes place in his early life. Childhood can indeed be marred with many a not so great experiences. Intervention by the parents and teachers would be the ideal thing to help any kid who is being bullied. Luckily I turned out just fine with my friends or my grades. It went on to improve once school got over. I miss school for few of my teachers and friends albeit I would still choose to hate my school days!