The Tinseltown

By NiyaanUttam
Edited by Er. Ruchit

Tickets are Expensive

The glitter of Mumbai is enough to confuse any sane teenager from smaller towns. My first visit to Mumbai was the wedding of my cousin. I was 14 and for the next four years my only fetish was to be in The tinseltown. I would bootlick any person who would give me a hope to be a model in Mumbai.
'pata hai wahan pe bahut kuch karna padta hai....' an uncle of mine from Pune convinced me to do everything. (you need to do a lot of things there .....)
'uncle main sab kuch karne ko taiyaar hoon, bus ek baar mujhe model ban na hai...'( Uncle I'll do everything, Just make me model)
'tu agli chuttiyon main pune aa jaana, main tujhe contacts dilwa doonga'
(come to Pune in next holidays, I'll see if I can do something )
I was 17 when after my eleventh i forced my parents to let me holiday in pune. Reached Pune with full preparation to be a model. I was dreaming of walking on the ramp .... Lights, camera, action.....my face on billboards, banners, magazines..... I was living for the dream.
Uncle lived with his wife, two sons and an ailing mother. They all gave me dirtiest looks on seeing my two large bags.
'papa yeh kahan rahega...'(dad where will he stay ?)
'aapke room main.....beta niyaan aapka bada bhai hai.....one month ke liye apke saath hi rahega' (In your room, he's your brother, will be with us for a month)
Reluctantly they shifted me in their room. Aunty and kids were to leave to their maternal uncles home in a day or two, so i didnt worry much sleeping on th floor. Ramp ke liye kuch bhi karega.(Will do anything for ramp)
'aaj raat main tujhe pune ghumane le jaunga....sab ko jaane do'(Will show you pune , just let everyone go)
Uncle was a distant relative of my dad and we hardly had any interaction with the family. Due to my persistent arguements i was allowed to go and meet them for a month.
My parents, as our, are pretty conservative. Modelling is a taboo word. You can well imagine my plight on disclosing my dream. Mom gave in and convinced dad... Rest is history.
After all left the ailing mother, uncle and me were left all alone. Ailing mother was actually dumped in her room and uncle suddenly transformed into a drunkle. 6 pm the family left and by 8 he was dead drunk.
'chal mujhe koi modelling kar ke dikha'
(Show a few of ur modeling steps)

Naive, as i could be, i put on the music 'fashion' and started walking in the room.
'shirt utaar ke koi sexy pose bana beta....aisa nahin chalega'
(take your shirt off ang give a sexy pose)
Reluctantly i removed my shirt and in my vest and trousers, i walked the room. He was sipping his peg with flaming eyes. Unsure about my next step, i would look at him and after his libidinous affirmation, start walking again.
'niyaa (nick named) aisa thodi hota hai....ek kaam kar. Hum change karte hain. Tu peg pee, main chal ke dikhata hun.'
(Its not done dude, lets swap places. I'll Walk, you drink)
I nodded and sat in the corner as a scared goat. I could never imagine what his plan was. Naive, as ever, i held the peg and watched him strip to his vest and underwear.
His over-extended paunch with hairy chest and shoulders tore the vest through its seams. His jet-black dyed hair and paan stained teeth bore him a look of a monster.
He started walking from the door towards me. I could see the dangling penis pouch in his undies. The loosely held VIP brown color undies were not enough to cover his bear-like ass.
While walking, he would pout his lips and give me a flying kiss. The whole scene was atrocious and he wanted me to repeat it. Unable to plan, my numb mind gobbled the peg. In the back of my mind i was planning to puke and spoil the night.

The music in the room, whisky, chicken pakoras, papad and smoke were too much for a vegetarian like me to handle
'Mera bacha....ek aur laga, aur himmat ayegi....phir dikha mujhe....apna jalwa'
(Kid take another sip, you will be more confident... you will be able to show your body)
He took back his glass, poured me a Patiala and forced it down my mouth.
'uncle....mujhe yeh achi nahi lagi....bahut kadvi hai'
(uncle I dont like it)
'model ban na hai na....bus phir seekh le....'
(You want to become a model na, then you have to learn)
My head was dizzy and he was hard. He was smoking on my face. Couldnt take the stench any longer, i put a finger in my mouth and vomitted. He was sitting next to me and my puke drenched his vest.
'bhenchod.....'
(MotherFucker)
'uncle im very sorry.....kabhi nhi pee pehle'
('m sorry never touched alcohol before)
'saala gaandu ... Agar peeni nhi aati to kyun modelling karne aatey ho.....madarchod ....'
(why do you come to do modeling if you cant digest a bloody drink)
his expletives knew no limitations.
I puked again, soiling the entire mood. He got up and left the room. That was the last time i saw him that night.
I slept in that condition, dreaming of a monster cutting me into pieces. Whole night passed in convulsions.
In the morning, he called me 'niyaan.....tujhe main station chod raha hoon....apne gaon jaao.....tumhare liye yehi theek rahega.'
(m taking you to station, will buy u a ticket back to your home)

The train was at 6 pm and i had to be at the station by 530. He came back at 4pm and put my two heavy unpacked bags in his car.
'uncle please mujhe ek mauka do.....main wohi karunga jo aap bologay....please' the idiot in me begged the rascal.
(just give me another chance, will do what you say)
I was crying till the station. One turn before he opened his stinky mouth....'jo kahunga karega, yaa tujhe wapis bhej doon...'(you will have to obey my command)
I killed my reality to follow the dream.....
We went home. Ailing mother was sitting in the verandah. 'kahan gaye they tum log....'
(where were you?)
'bus maa, yeh bhatk gya tha, waapis laaney gya tha isko....'
(he was lost)

The beast turned to me 'aaj raat mera dost aaney wala hai.....naatak mat karna....uske mumbai main links hain....agar tu ussey pasand aaya to woh tujhe mumbai le jayega.....bus ussey khush kar dena'
(tonight my friend is coming....he is from mumbai...just make him happy ....he has lots of contact... are you understanding ? )

Ailing mother was put on sedatives and locked in her room. I was made to wear low jeans, stylish undies and a sleeveless vest. Before the drunken party, i had cleaned the house of last nights mess, sourced food from a nearby dhaba, frozen water for ice, set music and dimmed the lights.
'niyaa....mera raj kumar.....yeh apni aunty ka laal scarf galley pehan le....this is very lucky....' forcibly i wore the red scarf.
(wear this red scarf of you aunt)

'ab lagta hai john abraham' uncle patted my butt.(you are looking great)

The friend was late by an hour and i was in the kitchen when he arrived in his Honda City. Dressed in white pants, dark checked maroon shirt and silver hair. His accessories could put Bappi Lahiri to shame. Friend was fair, heavy, bald and stained teeth too.
'abbey o laundey....sahab ghar pe hain....' he shouted from the kitchen window.
(Lad is, your master home ?)
'ji uncle ghar pe hi hain....aapka intezaar kar rhe hain...' i was extra sweet.
(yes sir , he is home )
Drinks and snacks.....pervert jokes and non stop winking at each other was making me sick in guts again.
I was half a peg down and already tipsy. Uncle and his friend danced on every tune. First while sitting and after 3 pegs they were dirty dancing. Uncle had removed his clothes as usual and friend was in white trousers and vest.
'beta uncle ki pant khol do, unko problem ho rahi hai...'(son take uncles pant off, he is feeling unconfortable)

Chikni chameli started booming in the room and uncle transformed into a whore. He was shakira -2. Friend was also dancing, but due to his heavy weight he wasnt too mobile.
'niyaa tu bhi aa...bada maza aa rha hai....' came a command.
(Lad join us)

'apne scarf se isko pata le...teri life bana dega yeh banda' whispered uncle.(just make him happy, he can make you life prosperous)
I started gyrating my hips... Friend leaped at me and held me by my love handles. He started gyrating too.
Uncle was making me behave like a slut. He himself was the sluttiest man on the planet. Friend opened his clothes and i helped him out of his pants. Within a couple of mins, all of us were in our undies. Friend was so fat that he might have never seen his penis all life.
By 12 we were all dead drunk.
'yahin soj aaj...' uncle offered friend.
(sleep here tonight)

He agreed and i laid the bedding on the floor. Two matresses and three pillows and a big family sized blanket. In the night Pune was quite cool.

At about three, we snuggled into the bed and i pretended to sleep. All in undies, i felt weird and amusing at the same time.
I felt friend massaging my back before the sunrise. Got up with a shriek.
Friend signalled me to be silent. Once everything was settled, he resumed.
Continued...On one side was my uncle while on the other was his friend. Uncle was snoring in his loudest ever voice, while friend was busy trying to erect his member by rubbing his body on mine. I could hear the chirping of the birds and the early morning sun in the suburubs of Pune.
With my splitting headache, i was praying to god. 'bhagwan please....'
(God please)
Kya maangta....mujhe jaaney do, ya mujhe le chalo....heart wanted to run, mind looked at the long term goal.

Friend forced my face towards his stinking mouth. Kissed me lightly and suddenly turned into a beast. He started sucking my lips to the extent of paining them. Didnt even give me the chance to express my pain. He started biting my lips. I was sick to the core. With one hand he engulfed my penis and with the other started mauling my nipples.



All scenes of my catholic school and conservative home were swirling before my eyes. 'never speak lies....always be honest....be good....do good....' i was getting deaf on hearing the echoes of my teachers and parents....'jaldi ghar aana.....der na karna....'
(come home early... dont stay out late)

Eyes full of tears and mouth full of moans......suddenly the pain stopped. Silence. Pin drop silence. I regained my senses to find blood seeping out of my painful guts. Uncle and his friend were looking confused....they were shouting my name and pouring water on me.
Agony was the ticket to the Tinseltown.

The Runway

I survived sodomy. Uncle's friend sodomized me in Pune but that was a deterrent of my dream to become a model only for a few days till i recovered the pain. In the process i gained a weapon. Tears.

They work wonders when work is be gotten done. I was bleeding on the floor after losing my virginity and cringing in pain. Friend and uncle were immediately paranoid. People would ask the reason, which they had none to tell.

Somehow i was taken to a confidential doctor. Was medicated and treated like a king for the next 48 hours. All i needed was tears and work would be done.



'ab main kya karunga...'(What will I do now?) I asked uncle one day when his family came back.

'dont worry, im finding a contact in mumbai through my friend'

I started crying. The next thing i knew was that i was hurried to a photo guy to get my portfolio done. Within 3-4 days things started moving. Uncle and his friend drove me all the way to Mumbai and handed me over to a third grade modeling agency in western suburbs.

I was found a PG and they actually dumped me there with a months money to survive. Nishant, my roommate, was a struggling model too. He had joined grooming classes and a gym and for the last year he would smoke and then complain about the cough and bad people.


Nishant was a despicable creature initially, but the more i came closer to him, the more i started liking him. He was more than 6, lean, great body frame and innocent baby face. He hailed from

Haryana and was a very helpful and an honest guy. A perfect lover.

I had no idea about Mumbai... And nishant was my only hope. He took me to places which i had just heard of in magazines. I joined gym with him. He had a terrible habit of sleeping in undies. Being from UP's conservative family, I loathed this idea.

'aap aise kyun sotey ho?' (why do you sleep naked?)

'kaun saaf karega mera night suit...?'(who'll wash my clothes?)

'agar aap promise karogay ki aap roz pehnogay....ill wash it for you' (if you promise...)

These words were more than enough to melt that Haryanvi. He started wearing track lower and i used to hand wash it every three days. I would clean his room, set his clothes, take care of him and actually behave like his wife (except bedding him)

Days passed and he recommended my name everywhere. My first ramp walk was for a very unknown designer. I was given 5200 after commissions. Apart from that i was given an invitation to join a post-fashion-show party.

My first party ever. I was supposed to hold a glass of wine and behave drunk. The party was amazingly boring and Nishant and i were sitting like dead ducks on the side. We left the party in between and walked to our apartment. On the way we both held hands and talked about our families and career.

'mere ko kuch nhi pata is line ka' i said (i'm new to this)



'compromises hain, jo main nahin kar sakta....is liye main ek unsuccessful model hoon. Aisi zindagi ka kya fayda jo compromise kar ke jee jaye' he said. (Its just a compromise. Whats the use of such a life ?)



We stopped. I looked into his eyes. He was crying. I wiped his tears.



'tu kabhi mujhe dhokha to nahin dega ...' (promise you wont betray me)



'nahin' i replied. (I promise)



I felt as if he was going to kiss me....



'main saturday ko haryana wapis jaa rha hoon....tu bhi mere saath chal....tu lucknow chala jaana....hum izzat ki zindagi jiyengay'
(I'm leaving for home this saturday, come with me .... away from this dishonest hell)


'nishant....' i cou'lnt speak anything.

He kept his finger on my lips....'i know tu bhi yehi chahta hai'
(I know you would agree)

We walked home .... He happy, me sad.

I got my ass screwed not to go home. Niyaan had come to Mumbai to rule the 'runway' not to 'run away'.

He packed his stuff and so did i. Next morning we had to board the train to delhi. There was no other option but to leave a letter by his bedside. 'i cannot go with you....mera raasta sirf ek tarafa hai, yeh waapis nhi jaata'
(I have brought a won way ticket ...!)

I shifted with Sajid, a guy in the same modelling agency but very popular and focussed..... I had caught him eyeing me many a times.


I used my weapon (tears) to stay in his apartment. He was staying with his boyfriend. I used every trick to manipulate the situation and finally succeeded in replacing the guy within 7 days of shifting with him. Tears worked wonders this time too.

Now i was Sajid's official bitch. And bitches get maximum work on the runway.

The dance

Sajid turned out to be a great guy. He had contacts which i could never dream of making. I was thanking my stars all the time. In the first week of our relation, he gifted me with a branded clothes hamper and two assignments with decent payments.



He is about 6.1, stunning cheek bones and broad jawline. Loves to mess his hair....and mine too. Deep set hazel eyes and dimples to die for. Dont keep guessing, he moved to Paris already. His chiseled body and athletic lean look would give a run for money to most of his peers.



I was always wondering about his contacts and mesmerised by the names he spoke which i just read on page 3. Being as slavish as i could be, i never poked my nose in his affairs. As long he let me stay and get me work. Sleeping with him initially was a hassle, but i overcame that as all he was interested in was body play.


I even caught him red-handed with a much better guy than me....but did not utter a word. 'he may sleep around with anyone, but will come back to me in the night' was my belief. And trust me guys, he never spent a whole night out.

'would you like to come to a party tonight....***** is hosting it. Selected guest lists, just corporate honchos and la-creme-de-la-creme of Mumbai....its a bachelor party'


'am i invited?'

'no, but they wanted four models, im getting short of one.'

It was a golden opportunity to meet the best. Sajid's and my height and built is almost the same, so i slid into his clothes....shoes too.


On the way, we collected two guys....they sat in the back and all the time kept smooching. Even Sajid was dismayed.

'Nikhil....we would be late.....is it ok with you?'

'Niyaan.....' I corrected Sajid..

'Nikhil for tonight...and I'm Terence for tonight'

'I don't understand'

'shut up and just do what I say....'

I shut up for rest of the way listening to slurrrrrping sounds of those two sex-starved maniacs.

The party was on Napeansea Road....apartment was about 4000 sq feet, facing the sea. We parked our Honda and took elevator to the 17th floor. Silver plated antique door, heavier than a ship. We identified ourselves on the camera and the motorised door opened automatically.

A palatial apartment, statues dispersed in the dimly lit hallway, MF Hussain dotted the spot-lit walls and classical music played in the background while we were escorted by a butler to the party hall on the 18 floor. We climbed the pristine white circular staircase entering the terrace. A pool and a garden, overlooking the Arabian sea. The warm, balmy wind was enough to arouse us.


Far end of the terrace was Mr. *****. he looked better in real life than his interviews on TV. The guy had a charm and walk of a tiger. I could smell his pheromones a kilometer away.

'heyy Terence....'

'hi *****. meet my friends Nikhil, chiraag and mohin.'


'aww so nice of you' he whispered something in the ear of the butler who whisked us to the powder room. We got fresh and entered the party again.

All we had to do was socialise and laugh and be merry. Sajid urf (Aka) Terence wanted us all to dance when the floor was lit. We had to be the catalysts of the party.

The music boomed on the speakers after an hour and by that time all the guests were slightly tipsy. Terence took to the floor. We three just watched as he gyrated alone. Within minutes a pole appeared on the floor. I couldnt believe my eyes on seeing my Sajid dance so damn well.


People gathered around him and started clapping. Terence started to strip. I was blushing and feeling terrific too. The whole Mumbai is crazy for my Sajid. And he is only mine.


Fifteen minutes and he was in his thongs. Little did i know, he wore thongs underneath. Boots and thongs on the backdrop of lashing waves and moonlit night, Terence shone like a marble statue. By this time people were going bonkers and gyrating with Terence. Everyone wanted to touch him and possess him. So was I.

We were dancing and drinking too. Crazy as ever. I was desperately trying to find my Terence in the 100 odd people. He seemed to have vanished in thin air. Was that a trick too? Anyway i kept dancing...but not for long. Curiosity kills the cat.

I went to powder room and just to check the apartment i wandered in the penthouse. Saw the door slightly ajar of the master bedroom. Terence was blindfolded and tied to the bed posts. Mr. **** and his 3 minions were naked and taking turns on making love to my Sajid.

I ran all night....far from the madding crowd.

Painted faces

Seeing my boyfriend with other men set me thinking of integrity of our relation. Why was he doing it? Confused as ever in a fit of rage i started walking mile after mile. The sodium lit Mumbai streets dotted with sex workers and shady pimps were of no concern to me.

Every time I would cross a bus stand I could see painted faces begging me to take them before the night ended. At 3 am the night still had 3 hours. I reached Girgaum chaupati, not so close to napeansea road (the place I saw my Sajid)



While sitting on the filthy beach, I felt filthier inside. A painted face came to me, 'maangta kya?' (want one ?)

'kitney?' (for how much)

'100 ka ek shot' (hundred bucks apiece) 


'nah' 


'chal tu acha dikhta, 70 de de' (you look cute, I'll agree for 70)

'nahin bola na....' (cant you understand ? I said No)

'50 last.....dekh thoda time bachela...chal na' (how about a 50 ? I dont have much time left)


I couldnt control my anger and started shouting at her. She went away cursing me, 'saale....kuch na bachey tera....teri biwi kissi aur ki ho jaye.....' (you will rot in hell... your wife will cheat on you.. motherfucking asshole)

When a person looses control, all he collects is abuses. I collected ample that night. Snapped at guys and girls.

'maalish?' another young guy 14-15 years old. (massage?)

I started crying. He sat near me, started pressing my head. I put my head on his shoulder and cried my heart out. Like my mother, he kept swirling my hair and patting my shoulder.

I took off my tie and gave it to him.

'nahin ... Kya karunga iska...' (what will I do with it ? )

'designer tie hai.....bahut menhgi hai rakh le....'
(its a designer tie, costly one)


'khana khila de' he said. His name was Mohan as he told me later.
(get me food)


I just looked at him and saw his innocent face and starved eyes. When hunger attacks, morality gets killed.


I held his arm and we walked till Churchgate station. I had 50 bucks....I bought him a vada pav and boarded the first train back home.


Sajid had not come home till then. I took a bath, freshened up and lied on our bed, staring at the fan.


Got up after hearing the bed creak.

'Sajid?'

'Niyaa.....who dropped you? I was searching crazily for you....'



'Me too....' and i started crying.

Sajid hugged me, sensing i had seen him with other guys.

'Yes you guessed it right....i am a call boy'

'Why did you play with my feelings Sajid? Why?' I was howling by now.

He just sat there looking at me shouting and hurling abuses at him.

'kya karta....koi option bhi to nahi thi....' (what could I do ? ... I had limited options)

'why didnt you tell me....?....i trusted you....you broke my trust.......you broke it....' i was sobbing by now.

'I'm leaving for Paris day after, a shoot.....I've given your name to all my agencies.....they may call you for my replacement....not coming back'


'I'm not doing it.... I'm going back home..... I'm sick....'

'as you wish.....Niyaa.....I never used you for sex.....ever....I just love you'

He left.....leaving behind huge contacts and a portfolio to me....

I understood Sajid, Mohan and all the painted faces now..... I salute them now.

Silence of the lights

My first love 'Sajid' left me for Paris. In the heart of hearts i still had the thorn of betrayal. I was grateful to him for reaching me my goal .... But he left me alone on the runway. Lights Cameras and Niyaan - alone.
Did i actually ask for it?
Did i want glory or did i want Sajid?
Get up 6 am
Workout, body treatments till 9 am
Go for assignments till 9pm
Rampwalks till 1 am
Return home by 2am
Introspect till 4am
Nighmares till 6 am
I was living my dream....but was i living?
Seeing my work and body, i started getting offers from all the big business houses. Very soon my face started getting splashed across Mumbai and then in magazines. A renowned TV channel approached me for a serial.
My crew pushed me for audition. Every part of my body yearned for a 'hello'. I would look at my cell 1000 times a day. Sajid might call. Sajid ... Sajid .... Sajid
The 'Thump' of my heart was replaced by the 'Sajid' of my heart. Every breath i took, every cell in my body knew only his name.
Came the D-day 'Auditions'. Was given a task to enact 'aapki gf aapko chod kar chali gayi hai....' they wanted to check my soul.
I was brain jammed. Stood like a stone on the stage. Didnt utter a word. There was silence ... the strong lights had silenced me.
'I cant' I left the audition and came out .... I had crushed my life with my own hands. As per auditors...'models cant act, they are brainless flesh'
Almost four months had passed, since the last good-bye. All I wanted was just a 'hello'....I would go back to Lucknow once I knew Sajid was fine. I would leave everything. minnatein maang maang har pal beet raha tha.
Every night I would nightmare of Sajid getting into trouble. He would call me for help....but i stood there with jammed feet and he would drown in the swamp.
Four months five days and three hours..... A missed call from +33
+33 again. 'hello...' crackled a voice.
'Sajid....'
'Niyaa'
'kaisa hai.....saale.....itne din .... baad phone kiya' my voice started to weaken. (hows you... after so long ...)My knees became water. My energy just drained out.
'tera photo magazine main dekha.....mera niyaa bada ho gya hai....' he was getting emotional too. (saw your pic in a magazine, my Niyaa has become famous now)
'tera niyaa waisa hi hai.....' my voice was choked now. (I'm same for you)
'acha sun.....paris aaja' (look, come to Paris)
All betrayal was washed in tears.

Paris - the City of Light

As my plane descended from the clouds, i could see the dotted houses and running green boulevards of France. Right in time my plane hovered on the air channel of Charles De Gaulle International Airport. The second busiest airport in Europe after Heathrow of London.
I was excited as a child to meet Sajid and that too in the most culturally developed city of the world. A historic city, Paris, is the fashion capital of the world. Every model has a dream to walk on the ramp in there. The feeling of plane hitting the ground was fantabulous. It was my first ever flight. Sajid had sent the required documentation for Schengen visa. He had also sent me an e-ticket.
Paris had been a dream ever since, but meeting Sajid in Paris was a fantasy in the dream. Oh my God!!! Could I have asked for more? To be with him for a day, I could wait centuries, but the trip from runway to exit was eons.

I saw him waving at me at the exit. The doors opened and i could smell the French air, considerably fresh as compared to Mumbai. He was wearing a red high neck sweater, white trousers and a camel leather jacket. Awesome was a lesser word. After staying in Paris for five months, his skin was crystal clear and hair impeccably shiny and clean. He had grown his hair to shoulder length and the breeze gave him a dreamy look.
'Niyaa'
'Sajid'
I put forward my hand, but he hugged and took my face in his hands and kept looking at me as if i was a baby. There were hordes of people moving everywhere.... In the midst of everyone he smooched me. Not a short peck but a proper deep throat smooch lasting for minutes.
I was on cloud nine. Every grudge, every betrayal, every ill feeling just vanished. All i knew was, that he was mine and i was his. We sat in the taxi and left for his apartment. All along the way, we just kept kissing and looking into each others eyes, oblivious of the world around us.
We ate something from the cafe below the apartment and went inside. For the next four hours, we were one. That was my first ever formal, proper love making session in life. Eiffel tower in the background, in the most romantic city, with the person i loved the most in the universe....
Next seven days were a dreamland. We had rented bikes and like small kids, we explored the city. Twice a day, we crossed Avenue des Champs-Élysées. We would sit in the bistros and enjoy life.
The city is so receptive to homosexual relationships that we did not feel awkward while expressing affection. I saw his ramp walks and his work. Amazing. A dream.
But my dream was about to be over. Next day was my flight back home. We cried, laughed and treasured the times we had together.

Acceptance

The assignment was over and Sajid came back. I was at the airport waiting for him, planned a thousand things to say. But to reciprocate I wanted to smooch him at the airport like he did in Paris.
My tiger strode out, his flowing mane and his chiseled jawline, making heads turn as his hair bounced giving him an air of a super being. He smiled his million dollar smile as our eyes met. My heart skipped a beat. GOD!!! I could sacrifice my life to see him smile.
I was waving frantically as he strolled his luggage towards me. People were actually staring at my childish behavior. Did I care??? huh. I actually did, thats why we didn't smooch. All my plans fell flat.
We taxied our way to the apartment and after settling his luggage, we smooched till eternity, i think. We were simply laughing and remembering Paris. He took off his clothes and ripped me too.
I was busy beating coffee and he was busy necking me. I was loving every moment of our priceless union. We licked the thick creamy mixture from my fingers. Then we licked our lips. Coffee never tasted so good.
or the next two days we were caged in the apartment feeling each other, doing every crazy stuff, pillow fighting, biting, kissing...... looking at each other, simply sitting and staring. Worth every second of wait.
Manic Monday morning I had assignments and he had to meet someone at the derby. I was slowly withdrawing from rampwalk and entering theatre, my passion. I had been tinkling with the idea of joining drama school and formally learn acting.
Ironically when body sells, brain rusts and no one pays for corroded stuff. Theatre was all brain. It had to take time.
I waited and waited and waited. It was past four in the morning when he landed with a 40+ man by his side. Sajid was in senses but the other guy was whacked out. I had seen that guy before but couldnt put it together as he was so disheveled that even he himself could not recognize him.
'Nikhil meet Mr. ****, CMD **** advertising' said Sajid.
Not again. The painted faces came dancing around me. I was so not interested in being 'Nikhil' again. On top of it, I was so non-passionate to see 'Terence'. Sajid saw me sulking and controlled the situation.
'Please get us some wine that I got from Paris' he commanded with a poker face.
By the time I got wine, Mr. **** was almost nude and Terence was playing with his body. CMD was lying on the floor literally begging Sajid to make love to him.
I put the wine on the table and went in the room. I could hear CMD moaning and screaming. The voices stopped. I went out and saw the room empty.
We met the next night at 10pm. I had been crying my eyes out. Almost everywhere, I was a disaster.
'Sajid......why?' I asked
'What Why....I bagged a contract with **** for two years' he smiled
'At this price? I will have to die everyday. Kill me once and for all' I howled.
'Niyaa...... this is an investment.....' he was cold as ever.
'We are together, we are one, we are earning, why sell ourselves to such people.....' I was sobbing.
'Niyaa be practical.....you own my soul, my body is my investment........'
For the next one hour I ranted and cried and howled, he simply listened and kept looking at the floor.
'Why did you leave your parents? Why did you dump Nishant? Why did you move with me?' he spoke only these three lines.
I was stunned.
'Do you still love me?' he asked like an innocent child.
'I do'



---THE END---

Navrang

Paddling his bicycle down from Maya Academy of Cinematic, Manav found himself caught in slow moving traffic at Rasulgarh. Cycling to keep in check his growing belly was proving a tiresome job during the evening traffic.  He pulled his bike aside on highway bridge to enjoy the wind and magnificent view of Mahanadi distributaries'.  As he locked his bike, his eyes felt upon a handsome college boy enjoying the sunset.

A fight started in his mind, should he approach the guy or not.  He imagined himself going over to him and saying 'hay dude, you are so breath taking handsome, you stole my heart. I love you!' but then himself dismissed the idea of this 'nautanki', visualizing the reaction of the kid to preposterous proposal by a guy in his late twenties with a pink shirt. 
Thinking about the pretext to start a conversation, he thought about going over to him and giving his 'sadu baba gyan' about life and happiness. A sinister smile sprouted across his cheeks as a triumphant idea about writing a screenplay about him flashed across his mind. The idea was good, but the kid may not be interested in letting someone write about him, so his mind wandered to assimilate a few decent words, regal enough to convince the kid to come to his abode and get a portrait painted.  
 The 'scientist' in his conscience kept experimenting with the hormones and the ambiance with a hot kid did finally lead to a tingle down there. 

Manav finally walked his bike to the guy and asked,

'what's the time?'
 'don't have a watch', said the kid with a shrug.

Kid watched Manav peddle away and thought, 'he was so cuddly, almost like a rabbit'

He put his hands in the sweat shirt and started walking in other direction thinking, 'if only he were gay'.

If It aint happy, It aint End (Added Part: VI)

A man is known by company he keeps. The most talented archer, a disciple of Parshurama, benevolent  son of Surya dev and Kunti devi, Karna is notorious for fighting with Duroyadhan. Was Duroyadhan right or wrong is another question, but was life of Karna, a devoted husband, a kind father, a loving brother, a dutiful son, a noble ruler and a very farsighted Intellect, a failure ?

The death of Karna is in itself a big conspiracy. According to the available literature, The knowledge of using Divysastra abandoned him when he really needs due to curse of lord Parshurama, the curse itself can be called irrational given the fact that though Karna was guilty as charged, he was a victim of the incident in itself. The impermeable skin and the self-illuminating earring were generously donated by Karna to a apprehensive father of Arjun, when Indra disguised as a brahmin asked for them.  The doubt of Arjun superiority was planted in mind of karna by Shalya, who praised Arjun on Shri Krishnas' request. This doubt coupled with a pair of curse from a brahmin whoes cow was accidently killed by Karna and Bhoomidevi (mother earth), who misunderstood Karnas' generosity as a sarcasm to mock less-fortunate peoples, contributed largely when, wheel of Karnas'  chariot got struck in the mud.   Even in presence of above conditions, triumph of Karna over Arjun was averted by superior steering ability of chariot by Shri Krishna when he lowered the chariot so that nagastra just missed Arjuns temple (the chariot was saved only on account of presence of Vasudev, after the end of day when the 8th Incarnation of lord Vishnu alighted the chariot, it burst in flames). Expecting a lion not to eat you just because you are vegetarian is how the end of Karna can be summarized. Karna who spared Arjuns life just a day before just to abid by the laws of war latter decapitated by Arjun who shattered several laws in the process.

The only lesson the whole episode of Karna teaches us that it does not matter what reputation you earn, what matters is the character that never tarnished. A very wisely put statement by Chanakya very clearly differentiates between the two, Reputation is what people think of you, while Character is what you are, a bad reputation never kills, but a tarnished character leads to doom.

After 2 years 1 month and 22 days, or in other words 784 days after a wait of over 67,737,600 seconds  in the duration between Fartu's marriage and Tigers engagement, and thousand different statement  by Duke meaning 'please sort all the issue, I cannot bear to be part with either you or them, if not for them do it for me' and like all 'do it for me' statement this one too landed me jeopardy.

I was not completely isolated from the group, every now and then someone would call and I would be updated. The new year day of modified Julian calendar and day half a dozen month subsequent to it, were my usual days to  get in touch with my friends. This exercise, served me multiple purposes, primary being it was a show of ill-existent ego that was evident by the fact that I did called everyone irrespective of their attitude towards me, secondarily it helped me forget the fact that I really was cut-off from the rest of the group. Tertiarily it kept my self-respect when, if commented, by someone the significance of date, could be used to give a 180 degree turn, to my intentions. The other advantages were there, but were largely related to a set of group rather than the whole demographic of my contact list.  The task at hand was now to make every Individual realize that, 'I'm in touch with you is a secret' is Juvenile and need of growing up is call of the hour.

The wheel of time gave me fortnight to make things clear, clear like the vodka I drank with a few. The stage of getting things right with scotty was set a good month back when suddenly we had a communication for no reason. The small emojis turned to messages on whatsapp, and then became voice call. I accused Scotty of not being straight, and accepted my gay orientation. My dark BDSM fantasies were his and then suddenly he pulled out. The online or long distance relation between me and Scotty went through a series of ups and downs before he, on my invitation came to my area for a bike trip. The whole point of this trip was to make things clear and tell him that, like my heart, I would like to keep my activity transparent too.

I went to receive him on station, I was a bit late, and he was waiting for me. When I reached railway station, the existing  traffic aggravated by potholes and rain made me park my bike towards the southern exit to the west side of station. I took my phone to inform him about the new meeting place and found no network in my cell. Though I dont profess using outdated technology, but cost of new equivalent Android phone is high and my Symbian cell is not that bad when it comes to a stable network. I tried searching for network manually and my when my phone was searching for network, my eyes scanned the horizon for  Scotty. I never bothered to check if my phone found the network, I saw Scotty standing at the main entrance to station. He wore a dark blue shirt over a faded denim jeans. He was busy listening to someone on his phone, I remembered how he was the guy with the least featured phone and now he was using advance android phone. I wondered if he could really operate it. His walk while you talk brought me in his line of sight. He smiled, waved and came near me. He was still listening on phone, and the way he ended it, it was evident that he was talking to crow. 'crow' was yet another girl in our group, apart from 'susi'. True to the original concept by Bill Watterson, there is mutual affinity between Tiger and Susi, similar could be said between Scotty and Crow. It was my fear that Scotty was more than just friendly with Crow, It would not come as a surprise to me if in future my sexual orientation, right to the fact that I suspected a pansexual feeling was always known to her. The comic situation latter in conversation with Scotty arise when he said how Susi was found to be a vamp, I laughed, he thought I was happy that he abused Susi, but the laugh was from the heart given the fact that same statement was quoted by Tiger a few days before for Crow. As he sat behind, I was thinking how to describe the  goatee he was sporting, it was a combination of chin strip and goatee, though It made him look macho, a experienced eye like me could strip the mask easily. The trip was without much talk, a turn down for me. I had expected him to show courtesy enough to enquire about me, but as usual my expectation were better kept to myself. The only conversation we had was how he brought his 'S3' with his own money, how everyday he would eat curd worth a Sterling Pound, how he wore a 2£ underwear, how he went to gym, how he now tried living life like an adventure little could he understand that thatz how everyone lived their life. Duke, Fartu and I always had lot of fun, this fun was what he lacked, hmmmm, may be.

It would be runt thing to describe our trip, but towards end, riding in rain and wind had frozen my hands and it was difficult to ride. I was so cold that when we reached his farm house my jersey was dripping wet and it took me just seconds to strip to my undies. There was no towel, I searched for dry cloth and found none. Finally I dried myself using the bed sheet, The bed sheet had a bad odor, it smelled of the dust and moisture very often found in closed room. I slept on the bed, face down, rubbing my palms to mattress to dry them. Overlong exposure to water had made my fingers soggy. I lied there absorbing the heat from mattress.

"Dont sleep that like that, I will end up Buggering you"

I looked up, found Scotty, he had lost his shirt, but was roaming around in  drenched jeans, the waist band of his underwear sticking out, his shoes making the flooring dirty. I refrained from commenting and he did not pressed the matter further. This was the scene throughout  the journey, either he abused me, or praised me, tried pressing my nipples or moving his fingers over my crotch, and I refrained from commenting or complementing his activity. Though I did tell him a couple of times about him being gay, but thats nothing unusual coming from me.

"I'm wet, desperately wet", I took efforts to look up again, he had lost his boots and jeans and now was vigorously wiping his head with ragged bed sheet.

"you have gone fat" I commented. It was a casual comment, nothing sinister about it, but he was so upset that I felt bad for blurting out. I could see Duke before my eyes and his words echoed in my ears 'your sharp tongue has pierced everyone like an arrow, and it has reduced your relations with other from comical to pathetic ! ' And then I had to bear another hour of his 'Am I Really Fat' gig. If I had have been straight, and on top of it have had had a girlfriend, I would have been more comfortable at handling 'Am I fat' scenario  and all I did was make it worse by getting up and actually grabbing the fat. When he finally settled, I saw that he had the worst ever colour of underpants 'purple' let alone the colour, it sported a grey waistband, the brand mane on waist band matched the colour of underpants and even a lot of eye straining on my part could not tell me what brand it belonged to. A lot of people judge a man by his shoes, I judge them by underwear they wear. The first impression was of road side hawker Jokey underwear, but latter a close look told me it to be a 'Lonsdale'. I wanted to ask him, as I had pre-decided if he had explained our relation to anyone, I just wanted to make the position clear from Tigers point of view as, he was the only one who could get affected by Scotty. I opened my mouth to ask, but a slight moan left it as he moved his nails over my body. It took me a bit time to realize he was trying to seduce me. I made feeble efforts to plead him not to, but he continued and with every touch was able to make me shiver. A he moved his fingers from back to belly, from belly to chest, a few rounds around my nipples as he moved to my neck. He kept doing this and I kept fighting against my body. My mind raced me back to the era of my depression, I felt my heart getting squeezed, a cloud of sadness covered the new ray of hope that had built in my mind. I moved and cuddled him. my face was on his chest, mouth near his nipples, his heart beating in my ear.  I do not know how long we were in that position.  I was in state of trance, my train of thought wondering from how abuses I had received at his hands, from the mouth of Tiger, some abuses I had imagined, few insight at what others usually talked behind my back to  mixed tension of being jobless, about the unknown future, and then just darkness. Darkness filled with negativity, complimented by Scotty's beating heart. Tears started forming in my eyes.

'Whats the time ?', He enquired.

This brought me back to my senses. There was still more than two hours before we needed to move. He started where he had left, moving his fingers over my torso, the new position enabled him access to my ass. He concentrated over the area near waist band of my underwear, more moans escaped my mouth, as I buckled in the sensation. The little devil in my crotch tingled, he realized that he had me excited, his tempo increased and much to my disappointment, I found my hands moving over his naked torso. My clumsy hand reached his cock, I lowered his ill-coloured underwear to revel his semi hard dick. I started masturbating him. First with whole palm, latter with just two fingers. slowly, then fast, then again reducing the tempo, just to make him wanting I would plant a kiss on his ear lobe of nipple, but my hand kept working.

Human mind is a curious thing, just moments ago I was sad, before that I was determined, I was happy and now I was horny. My focus was now entirely on moving his dick, my Index finger and thumb moving on his dick in fluid motion. His foreskin stretched when my finger went down his shaft. As finger went up, it encompassed the dick head. I kept moving up and down , up and down ..... up and down.  My subconscious mind drifted from the erect dick to, abstract from abstract to painting I had seen last time I had visited Salarjung museum. It finally settled to a conversation I had with one of my friends, It was his birthday and we were all stoned, his stories about conquest of girls were music to ears, we were all in the state of bliss when he was describing the first sex experience. half the details he said are lost to the vodka, but I remember him taking his dick out and presenting it for our Inspection. He was making a point that no one knows that its not just girl that bleeds, even guys have to experience pain. The foreskin gets pulled and even ruptures when you have sex for the first time, I looked at his dick, head all visible like one we see in porn. My subconscious mind, challenged my conscious part, how could Scotty have had sex, if his fore skin was intact and dick head not visible ?

'Are you enjoying it?'

He was looking at me. I never really recovered and as usual a found myself blurting out the truth.

'No'

'Please stop it, I don't want anybody's favor'  

That sting, I have no idea way but It did.

I got on my knees, positioned myself between his legs , pulled his underwear off and went down on him. He caught me as I reached near him.

'Don't kiss?'

That felt like a slap. Tight slap on my cheek.

He pushed my shoulders down. He wanted me to give him blow job. I stood my ground, he increased pressure on my shoulder,  I went down and kissed his chest. his nipples. His legs closed on me pushing my body on his. He pulled my upper part and gave me a tight hug.

I was devoid of emotions, a void existed in me, It was there since a long time but its existence what I felt then. Long ago when I was too young to understand things I had watched a movie titled chori chori, chupke chupke a salman starred movie where he hires a slut portrayed by Preeti Zienta to hold his child. In that movie when Salman first tells his intentions she says,

'sab kuch chalega, bus hoto ki chummi nahi milegi.'

It was hard for me to digest  a no kiss. What was I ? lower then a slut? so filthy that he wanted  no part of me around his mouth ? All my queries were dumped as put his fingers under waist band of my undies, pulled it wide and let it crash. I replied by inserting my tongue in his belly button, while his dick was getting a massage by my chin. I never knew if he liked or disliked it, he just turned and now his back and ass were exposed.

'massage my back.',

 It was more of an order than request and I obliged. My hands were soft for his muscular back. All the  trapezius muscle and  latissimus dorsi  were too developed to be pressed by me. I went down and started playing with his ass cheeks.  I could see goose bumps on his ass cheeks as I brushed my finger over them, the gentler I was, hornier he got.  The last stroke between his ass cheek was the final nail in coffin. He got up, pushed me on my back, sat on my chest and without waiting for my node plunged his dick in my mouth. I tried resisting but my attempt was winked and kissed upon as his dick touched my throat. he tried numerous strokes. sometimes a rapid gush in gush out, sometimes a slow but rhythmic fucking of my face, sometime he would hold his dick head just at my lips and to his pleasure I would lick the tip with my tongue, sometime he would hold with his dick deep inside my throat virtually chocking me. Then as if something got in him, he slapped me, a strong one on  my left cheek. I clasped my had at his sides. He removed his dick from my mouth completely and went rough on me firing slaps. He squeezed just above the lower Jaw end with his thumbs and fingers, I realized his physical strength, my mouth just opened in due to pressure and pain. He let go to give me another slap and the put his balls in my mouth.

'suck my balls , bitch!'

and I did. His hands tugging and pressing my nipples.

He Pulled his balls out of my mouth. The weird taste lingered in my mouth. He was now in mood to play. He positioned his dick just a few inch above my lips, like he wanted me to reach for it. He motivated me by more squeeze of my chest area and I like a wanting slut obliged.  I was now trapped in a emotio-physical battle inside my head, pleasure or resistance, finally an Image of me having sex in open with my dream guy appeared and I masturbated to it, I came in just few strokes and then slumped. With me slumped, too tired to move either my ass or jaw or hand, he got tired of me, he tried masturbating me but already oozed cum that had struck inside my foreskin fell. He masturbated himself and went to get clean. The sinister Idea of making him go home without underwear crossed my mind. I wore his underwear and went to clean myself. Much to my disappointment he had another pair, pink colour with a wierd waist band.

We moved, Rest was pretty anti-climax, anti-climax even for an anti-climax. He blocked my number both on call and whatsapp. I'm still in dilema if I should go and meet Tiger or not. Let's see, whatever happens, happens for good, and Its clear whatever the relation between me and Scotty its neither as pure as love nor even near a friendship. Friendship is a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity !

As I saw Scotty get into the train, I wondered why there are no conclusive ends to chapters of my story ? am I a bad writer ? or its how my life is ? before an old story could end, a new starts, the end of old story remains a free end? sometimes it continues from free end and sometimes an altogether new set of circumstances arise. In life i've had lot of experiences, good, bad and even ugly. But a fact thats as true as a rupee is, endings are always happy. If it  aint happy, it aint end.

Aham, the Me: Profiling The Gay Bitch!

by Harish Iyer

Disclaimer: before you start bitching about this article. Let me tell you that this is a post about some gays, and definitely not all gays. I am in no way generalizing. And if you get offended by this article, may be, you are the gay bitch I’m talking about. This is an account of the different kind of bitches that I have found and about their fake prides and real prejudices.

I wonder sometimes what the Akhil Bharatiya gay Samaj is all about? Before I opened the doors of the closets to smell fresh air, I remember I encountered many types of this vicious animal called the gay bitch – I hope animal rights activists don’t take offence to the word ‘bitch’. I am a bitch lover myself. With all due respect to animals, the creatures I’m talking about are pests without breasts. They have an innate ability to speak about anything and everything from Botox to buttocks. They are a walkie-talkie encyclopaedia of everything queer. But Aami Shotti Bolchi! My list is in no way comprehensive. And may be, I also would fall in one of these categories.

Bottom Pinch!

“I don’t do THAT with anybody and everybody OKAY! Fuckta (‘only’- in marathi) boyfriends”

Hold On! Never disrespect their posterior. Their back is not some kirana ka dukaan (mom and pop stores) that dick-headed wholesalers can stock their groceries over. These are the monogamous glam dolls of tinsel town. They are exclusive. They don’t suffer fools. They are the pristine majestic queens.

I encountered one recently and got too close for comfort. I was just going to build a temple in my mind for this devi who I thought was ganga ke jaise pavitra. (holy as river Ganges) only to realize that this river has been overflowing. Even the once-upon-a-queer watchman has visited this holey shrine (pardon the typo). In fact, I really wished to add his holeyness as one of the many tourist attractions in Bombay. I’m sure, anyone and everyone who is even remotely-occasionally- periodically-seasonally gay and has visited Bombay has at least once, has not only most definitely visited the Gateway of India, but also has sunk in this river. And he was right, they all were boyfriends. Relationships with tourists are butt short-lived. Ass the flight takes off, another lands- life goes on.

Bedroom = Drawing Room!

“ and you know… he was so short”

These are the kind of people who are bubbly and hip. They have a clean heart. They tell it all and make their Dil halka (lighten the heart). And when they have told-it-all they can take the next download from the next gay guy around. They may not be able to solve your problems. But will be there to laugh it out and discuss. It is called ‘lightening the mood’ (not yours, but theirs)

My experience with such people has been great. With people like these porn-audio-books will have no market. I have also been educated about my near and dear ones by them. They know who does what and how well. They disclose their bedroom secrets with panache and élan. They have an eye for detail even when I don’t have the ears for detail. They warn you so that you even by mistake don’t indulge in an UFO moment in your sacred space in the Queer World. (UFO = Unintentionally Fornicating Objects). You need to ensure that you don’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed with them. (If you know what I mean) for even the beauty spot in your butt will be magnified for public viewing pleasure. Well, this is what I call “pimples in the butt of humanity.”

The Virile Viral Giants

“… this guy is such a show off”

This is the kindest prototype of the desi gay species. They are kind in the real world. Real kind people. They appear to be those few doting friends you can always count on. They are the ones who appear to complete your world with all the niceness and goodness. They are sweeter than saccharine, cuter than a pug puppy, fresh and positive as a sun flower. They are all that you would want in a perfect person.

Wonder why then they are totally different online. I mean, they are so mean online that even the good old mother-in-laws of Hindi television will be given a run for their money. They are the uncrowned vamps of the facebook world. They tweet a never-ending attack until you scream in agony. They are like loose motion. Their attack is pungent. They are the people who would be blue colored in real life and will have screen shots of blue films in gay dating sites. Their profile in gay dating sites would read “NO CLEAR FACEPIC. NO REPLY”, it is an irony that their pics would be of their genitals. (I tell myself “so what? Honey! May be they feel that’s their face pic”) They would start a whole campaign to vilify someone. They are sometimes homos in real world but still in the closet. Kudos to their skill to be a part of the queer world yet launch an attack from within. Now I know where the phrase “meri billi aur mujhi se meow?” (My cat and she meows me?) comes from.

Zip it!

“schhhhhhh…. It’s a secret”

Closets are the sexiest place for some people. They maintain the secrets there. The secrets are well guarded. And there is no possibility of a leak anywhere.

Yeah… I know of a group of such people who are secretive with everybody. I was told about a secret by ten different people about one person. But yes, it is still a secret. Also, there are secrets like having sex with a closeted guy. I know a guy who was closeted. So closeted that in his early twenties, his count of sexpedes has almost reached 200, so I presume that he is closeted with everybody, and everybody is closeted with everybody, so no one knows! What a well guarded secret! even Sherlock homes can’t find out. Ain’t it?

The Religious Types

“… can I enter into nirvana”

God is in them – they have divinity flowing in every cell of their body. You are engulfed in the aroma of agarbattis (incense sticks) and mombattis (candles) as soon as they open their mouth. And you feel like you are floating in the cosmos with some fluorescent light acting as a halo around your head when you are with them. That blessed you are with divine bliss!

The problem is that the halo is hollow. The extension of religion is on regions even religion would have not thought about. Like I had this ‘encounter’ with this guy some ten years back, we dated over yahoo messenger. He spoke about the bad sex he had, and good sex he had and the usual sex he had. He spilled a lot of beans about the cherries that he popped in. He informed me that he was orally explicit. (I heard him say ‘yumm’) Our web cams knew more about us. And we wished we met in real. And then the day arrived. It was his house and his velvet bed. He was all over me… Suddenly reality struck me like a thud. This man said that he will not engage in oral sex as he is vegetarian… Puzzled, I asked “heinnn… so what’s that got to do with oral sex” and he replied “I am a. And my religion doesn’t permit eating non-veg”. My orgasm responded quickly to this organism that had his head on just below my navel. And I lost my libido immediately. I replied “dude. This isn’t pork sausage”and my name is not “dinner”.

That’s what is called the trip of the lip of the divine consciousness. Khair chodo (well! leave it) , Guess, it isn’t sin to drive someone up the mountain and then pushing him to ensure he comes tumbling down. Huh!

F ‘n’ F

“fuck and forget… married men.. no way”

What on earth would do a married man?

Sin it is, to lie and lay.

to do a man during the wee- sunny hours ,

And sleep with a woman at the end of the day.

When we narrate incidences about married men keeping their wives in the dark, suddenly the andar-ki-feminist (the feminist within) of gay men finds an uprising. One of my friends told me “I had sex with him anyway – three times. But it just happened, I had not planned it. I am not the F n F (fuck and forget) types. I would not do married men consciously”. (Did that sound like “I am pregnant, but not my fault, it’s by accident”?) I was like “yaa baby. You did it thrice subconsciously-unconsciously”. Guess such minds should be preserved in a metaphysics museum. The fact is that most would care a duck about marital status if the guy was smoking hot.

English Babu

“… LOTR is my DDLJ”

English is at the tip of tongue of these people. They love English. They watch only English movies. And they have only English sex. I mean moaning in English. (Haven’t you heard the awww.. baby… go slow… baby” orgasm ?) Johny Depp is their Shahrukh Khan, and LOTR is their DDLJ. They have a great sense of English humour. They know the difference between English and Irish just as eloquently they can point the difference between American and Australian English. (It is not their fault that when they were born, first the encyclopedia popped out of the womb)

They wouldn’t have “fun” with desi guys (at least that’s what they say in sexclusive public forums) I know of people of the English Babu category whose fantasies would include the likes of construction workers and “rugged” Indian men (Rickshaw and Cabbbie Drivers can jump the queue) They would only have coffee at costa and barista. (Please ensure that you pronounce coffee in a way that the tip of your throat feels tickled- ‘KHAUFFF… EEEEE’). They hate GrammarGandus (grammar assholes) like me and read fat novels. Their general talks revolve around cars and bikes while other lowly creatures would be cribbing about the time table of local trains or metros going haywire. They are clearly the divide between HS (high society) and LS (low society). Everything that’s not English is LS. You have to shake your head and acknowledge – (understand this “emancipated into the doctrine of being flabbergasted about the core identity of queerdom and the hetronormitive nature of the homosapien that is lost in the core indulgence of fornication.” Didn’t understand? {rolls eyes and says to self : Fuck! Eww! How dumb! } And if you don’t know who Dumbledore uncle or Rowling aunty is then you are definitely simply not their “type’. Every party that plays Hindi music is a nautanki. Bollywood is a no brainer. “I wanted to go to a party, and uff.. I came to this mujra” – have you heard that before?

Self- Confessed Saints

“ I like him. But I don’t like his devious ways.”

The above statement doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like him Okay!. It only means that he doesn’t like him when he does something stupid, but likes him otherwise.

Such people think they are god’s gift to mankind. Every day there will be people thanking them on their facebook walls. They would have fan pages and secret admirers. Some would flaunt their photos with them, while others will simply make them their man-mandir-ka-devta. (God of the temple of the heart) They are the ones who flaunt their entourage of fans and are seen in TV all the time. (So much that if you don’t see them on TV you wonder “I hope he is alive”)

These people are like cats. They have 9 lives and rush behind the media like how your friendly neighbourhood Tom runs meowing behind fisherwomen. They are people who would orgasm instantly when you spell the M of media. Their eyes pop out and they turn into a different species when the camera is switched on. They recycle the same things in different words in different channels. (Well its not their fault if media calls them? – they say. Like they are the only gay man alive in India) They are shameless self patronizing kinds . These people will never take a stand because they are scared that their sacred position will be threatened by opponents. They are the do-gooders who will not risk their position by being the queer king speaking against anything or anybody. I wonder how they always have a sad story to share. I’m seriously bored of seeing them rant about their life perpetually virtually everytime.

These are people who bitch about the whole world in the pretext of writing an article on Gay Bitches. Media Sluts like Harish Iyer fall in this category. (Guess he has a Hate Page on facebook – let me go and LIKE that)

How convenient? Isn’t it?