South Indian Gay me

Gay sexuality and regionalism have never been looked at together like LRomal M Singh tries to. If you are South Indian and love being gay, maybe you’ll agree with him too?

L Romal M Singh

“Panché Katti Kurraallalonee, Panchu Naaku Thelisochindi!” (I’ve come to know that the true ‘punch’ [virility] is in boys who wear the panché [dhoti]), go the lyrics of a very popular Telugu song that’s been my favourite for quite some time now.

Why do I like this song? Why do I want to bite my lower lip in a seductive manner, every time I hum this tune or sing these words? Am I a wannabe mass-song dancer whose dream is yet to be fulfilled or am I a ‘liberated’ woman (as portrayed in these movies), trapped in the body of an unwilling man? Or worse still, do I get so turned on by the idea of being so raw and sensually brazen when it comes to talking about a young man’s virility and his sexual prowess I want to violate every code of conduct?

Lots of thinking, intense speculation, deductions, paraphrasing and debates later, I realize I am none of these colourful people mentioned above – I am just a true, son of the soil South Indian, who loves being brash and really uncouth when it comes to matters of my colourful sexuality.

Do I love singing these songs or what! They are a part of my dosa-bred imagination and believe me when I say, that the most romantic thing I might call a lover is “Tent Kattuh Interval Murukkuh” (Possible Literary Transliteration: Your fried delicious savoury item that is my only accompaniment at a movie watched in a tent!) or even better, I might just ask him to build up his muscles like Suriya (Tamil movie poster boy) and grow a nice Singuh-Meesai (Lion Moustache) to satiate all my fantasies and fulfill his in return.

What is it about raw South Indian sensuality that makes it so damn good? This is possibly a question that will never be answered, but I’m sure you understand what I mean when one sees the scraggly unshaven look of Sendhil Ramamurthy as Suresh in Heroes and imagine far more devious things than what passes through my brain every time I see him. Or when one looks at Allu Arjun in all his porikki finesse, strip down to his bare minimum (Deshamuduru) or dress up to sinful indulgence perfection as he did in Arya 2. If only I could sink my teeth into those biceps, and I know you’re wishing for that too and so much more!

The South Indian man in all his dark perfection is the new sexual symbol. Be it the bulging goodness of John Abraham ( who is Malayali), pun intended or the child-like innocence of the green-eyed Navadeep, South Indian men are the new hot things on the market and they’re selling like hot cakes for good reason.

We’ve been blessed with good looks and geographical features that make South Indians far more interesting looking than several of their plain faced Aryan counterparts. I’d happily have my fill with a Ganesh Venkataraman, a Karan Rao, or a Diganth Manchalé any day, rather than pursue a supposedly more interesting Punjabi or Jat munda with the same skin tone. The choice is much wider down south anyway and the more particular you get, the more you have to choose from.

South Indian boys and men also seem to have the amazing capability to swing from elitist finesse to lose-all-inhibitions-rawness at the drop of the hat. That surely is a talent worth appreciating and it comes so naturally to most of us. Some of them switch so fast, that most people are caught blissfully unaware of this role change and are often left confused and delirious.

Is it still a surprise why my preferences are so biased? It’s almost like I know that I’m getting so much more even though I bargained for so much lesser! Why wouldn’t I be the happy(er) customer, pray tell? Let’s also not forget how hard it actually could be to refuse being attracted to the child-like innocence of a Vijay or the incontrollable manliness of a Vikram! Are you still in doubt?

I hope you aren’t, because it’s time for my daily ritual of worshipping my South Indian demi-gods. I need to concentrate and relish each utterance and movement, for only then will the gods be pleased with my devotedness. If you are as strong a believer as me, then hop onto the bandwagon and the next time you see a fabulous looking South Indian walk by, ensure you let him know you totally adore him. You’ll be earning karma and loads of kama in the bargain. Be assured. Experience speaks. I need to go now, the next pretty thing aka hunk I adore is on TV, my ritual of drooling, lusting and wanting begins, feel free to join me any time. Lines are always open.

L Romal M Singh is insanely obsessed with Telugu, Deccani Urdu, ‘Mass’ songs from popular films and has an abnormally large number of friends in the Hyderabad, who draw him to the banks of the putrefying Hussain Sagar at least once in every two months.

You and I: The poetry with

A celebration of love for another, the heart-warming desire for another body and the discovery of the ‘I’ through the ‘you’. Sometimes love, in its ever-intriguing physical and bodily form, is the most palpable and understandable of feelings.

Andy Silveira

I looked into your eye. I am. Just the way I am. Your eyes looking at me. You are. You are the most beautiful being I’ve seen. I see your eye sty, your blackheads, your acne, your dimple, your stubble, your ear, your eyebrows, your marks, your hair, your skin, your contours, your body. Your glance. You looking back at me, reminding me that I am.

As I look at you, I realize my own opacity. Who am I? Who am I but in relation to you? I am me for you. As I am with you, I am not the same person I was, before I was with you. I am a mystery to myself as much as you are a mystery to me. The more I want to know you and lift your veil of mystery, the more I am aware of our distance.

Who is this life behind this body? The person behind this skin. I look at you with wonder. I experience the beauty of your body. Where are you? Where in your body are you? My arms are wrapped around your body as we sit on the couch. I feel the warmth and the touch of your body against mine. Our touch reminds me that I am on you and you are under me. Yet, where are you? Who are you?

This moment of being with you inebriates me. I feel charged by the grandeur of your body. You overwhelm me and I am blinded by you. I long to be within you and lost in you, so that we are not you and I, but we, where both, you and I, are not two entities, but one. Yet I know that it cannot be, because you are and I am. We are separated by the exterior of our skins, whose impermeability refuses to climax into the fusion of ourselves. We will be distinct, no matter how much we desire to lose ourselves with each other. We are in this moment, where time converges on the now. If only we could be this way, eternity would be a moment. Together we would be lost in the comfort and bliss of each other.

And yet, as we are together, I sense that I am all alone. As I look into your eye, I see you are not here. The feel of your touch seems distant. Probably, you do not feel the same way as I do. Probably, you are in a moment and time so far away from now. And yet, for me, this moment is beautiful. I am thankful that my life was a prelude to this moment, where we are, just this way. You and I.

A late bloomer, Andy, lives, lusts, loves and longs for the early birds!!! His latest conquests have all been the subject of his pretending-to-be-intellectual erotica.

The Pride that Defines Us

Bangalore’s Queer Pride last year seemed perfectly timed as the country immediately started celebrating the decriminalization of Article 377. Danish describes the duality of his ‘freedom’ as he celebrated being Queer at that momentous event.

Danish Sheikh

Exhausted, exhilarated, as I recount my weekend in Bangalore for the Pride March, I recall an incident of a television camera zooming close by as we steadily made our way towards town hall. As it honed in, and I noticed the NDTV 24X7 logo, I clasped on a mask in alarm, compelled by the thought of my parents' horrified faces seeing their pride and glory marching down the road with hundreds of fellow LGBT's (not to forget the ‘straight but not narrow’ folks).

A troubled look came across a friend's face as he questioned, "Well, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of the pride?"

I think about what he said, as I remember the numerous other people in masks that day, in various degrees of being ‘out-ed’. I have, for the past year, considered myself completely out, save for that final frontier – family. That, I conveniently relegate to the sidelines, consoling myself with the "it's not practical just yet" argument.

So what was the purpose of the pride then?

mull it over tea, and I think about it during an evening stroll. Sure, it's clear enough; it's about celebrating your identity, acknowledging comfort with your sexuality, and letting the world know: we’re here, we’re queer, and we’re not going away. But for a minute, I also think, beyond what it is about, beyond what does ‘I’ mean.

I flash right back to the moment, when our car drove up to the starting point, next to National College in the Basavangudi area of South Bangalore. I think about the rush of excitement as we hopped out, to a riotous blaze of colour. Chuckling at slogans, having my own prominent ‘Closets are for Clothes’ photographed more than once. So many faces, so many people, some familiar, most not, yet all positively radiating with that common shared frenzied energy.

And then as the rainbow flags were unfurled and the drums began to beat and everyone crowded around to hold the flags up, hold them high for everyone to see, I forgot the agenda, I forgot about who I knew and who I didn’t and what this meant.

We were here. We were together in this. We were a community. We were proud.

So then, to you, friend, can you understand why this much is really enough? At least, for now! I surely wish I could ignore my wonderfully convenient ‘practicality’ argument and tell my folks anyway. I surely wish that I’d have the courage to be able to live with them having shared that part of my identity, and be prepared for the consequences. But till that moment comes, I have this. I have the strength of a community, the shared experience of hundreds who were present that day, and of millions across the world, our common tribulations and our shared euphoria, all coming together on that one cherished day.

That, I think, is what pride is all about.

Danish Sheikh is a law student at NALSAR. He enjoys cinema, theatre and applause, when not thinking up ingenious schemes of saving the world.

My Experiment with an Austere Homosexuality

In a colourful and rather detailed repartee to the never ending question of what’s more important, the person or one’s sexuality, Joe debates pre-conceived notions of the community in this brilliant narrative of coming out and accepting one’s self.

Joe Benjamin

After several asphyxiating years in the closet, last year I mustered the courage to come out to the walled, secure universe that is my college. It helped that it’s passé to be right-wing and intolerant in it’s hallowed portals. It was comforting to have feminist Marxists on the faculty. That it is a speck in the hinterland with immunity from separatist demonstrations, swine flu and other forces that conspire towards academic disruption was an encouragement too! There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance that folks back home would catch a whiff of what was going on.

My spectacular visions of a dramatic coming out were unkindly reduced to a disappointment by all who mattered. The roommate to whom I first made the startling confession did not wear the expression of one struck by an epiphany. After momentarily looking up from his laptop to offer a blink, he went back to type out his passionately held views on property rights for the Hindu widow in 1937. My ‘girl’ friends were far better sports. There were appropriate declarations of support, squeezing of hands, group hugs and the constant refrain of “a gay man is a girl’s best friend!” Maybe my high expectations are to blame, but the phenomenon still fell short of the feminine hysteria that would’ve topped off the situation deliciously, which makes everyday so much more colourful.So it was out. It trickled and crawled like honey, and within a few weeks, most people knew. In customary social intercourse with that blurry group of people we call ‘acquaintances’, every nod contained an understanding, every smile masked awareness, and there were insidious references to my sexual orientation with an ordinariness that gave it the air of historical fact. I played along. I laughed about it, said that act X was a gay thing, that where I came from, behaviour Y was routine. And that was just the beginning.

My coming out couldn’t have been at a more appropriate time. The college was witnessing a gay boom, and there were people from various batches proclaiming their sexual orientation to the world, like closely spaced out little pops. By some great fortuity, the Bangalore Queer Pride (the closest one to my hometown, excluding Bhubaneshwar of course, where sadly, most of us got to know of the parade only after it was long done and buried in the pages of queer history), coincided with this new rumble, and it was decided that we’d show up with an impressive contingent of the queer brigade, with an equally sizeable number of straight allies. The event was momentous; the march itself was high on chutzpah, and the celebration of togetherness was a visual demonstration of the colours of the rainbow itself. I welled with pride, and the after party was sexy enough for me to embrace my membership in the fraternity with a wholeheartedness I didn’t consider possible.

But when I returned, I was a different man. While the coming out of the pre-Queer Pride times involved private whisperings and smiling acknowledgements, I now took upon myself the mission of barking the fact in high decibels to oblivious souls still in the dark about my homosexuality. I took special care in wearing a smug audacity before the peripheral group of people who liked to publicise their intolerance. You know the sort. They’re typically built like a behemoth, unabashed about their inferior intelligence, and believe that they enjoy impunity by virtue of muscle power. In my mind, of course, I was doing much more — hissing at them and sliming them with sarcasm — but in the interest of self-preservation, I stuck to the wisdom of our forefathers and practised passive resistance. But, not even they could restrain me from being actively political about my sexual orientation. Never the quiet sort, and always a stickler for raucous laughter, loudly expressed irreverent observations et al., I was in my element! Meanwhile, the Sociology-I course taught by our beloved Kalpana Kannabiran was going full throttle, holding all of us enraptured and opening new windows of perspectives on every single realm of life. But my favourite theme, and one on which I can give entire discourses with practised elegance, related to the oppressiveness and hypocrisy of patriarchy and the hollowness of the argument that monogamy is the natural state of being. I drew on this extensively, and in my best pseudo-intellectual garb, gave aloof speeches that not only legitimised, but sexed up my promiscuity to myriad gatherings of all who were willing to listen. I fed my vanity well by rubbing it into all the few girls who thought me a prize catch that I was gay. I may have even added a dash of extra gait and let my hands fly in the air wispily while talking, all with full intention. I was militantly gay.

Months went by. Several men with forgettable names and a couple of months of unspeakable depravity in Delhi later, I was back in college. I was merrily prancing about class and making polite enquiries regarding health and new wardrobe acquisitions when a girl interjected, “Joe is obsessed with being gay!” For a moment I was taken aback, though I’m sure I rebounded with a retort just appropriately uncharitable, without indulging my acerbity.

It set me thinking. Come to think of it. In my staple after-dinner walks on ‘the lane’, the words ‘queer’, ‘gay’, ‘homosexual’ and “he’s so cute!” were heard with far greater frequency than any other words. To the casual observer, I may have appeared to be brandishing a banner with the word ‘gay’ in bold, throw in a tattoo of an underwear model on the forehead. Concerned, I asked my harem of friends. They confirmed the diagnosis. Was my sexual orientation taking over my life?

I can’t describe how deeply this realization disturbed me. I was cheering from the stands when Amartya Sen wrote about the incomprehensiveness and diversity of individual identity. And here I was fomenting a singular homosexual shade to paint myself with. Worse, among my biggest worries when I came out was that people may perceive me in terms of my homosexuality alone, ignoring the great many idiosyncrasies that I possess. And here I was tumbling down the very pitfall I sought to avoid! I was Joe the avid debater, believer in ghosts, the guy who wants Kiera Knightley in his showcase, who likes to read Neruda aloud to himself on rainy days, who hates washing, and is constantly whining about his poverty, and a lot more, who also happens to be gay. Not “Joe the homosexual”. I imagined some elderly relative shedding a tear on my epitaph bearing precisely those words. I shuddered.

The answer was ‘Project Parsimony with Homosexuality’. I would go on a fast for an entire day, without using the words ‘gay’, ‘queer’ or ‘homosexual’. Yes, I could totally do moderation and restraint. I would consciously avoid making references to my sexual orientation. I would concern myself with subjects of infinitely graver consequence. “Who wants to talk about health-care reforms in the USA?” “I certainly think China should head the negotiations for the de-nuclearisation of the Korean peninsula.” “[whisper] Somebody’s been eating a lot this holiday season!”

I tried, I honestly did. And although I managed some modicum of literal success by not using the forbidden words, I couldn’t resist broaching the subject through some verbal manoeuvre. Intriguingly, even when I stayed off everything remotely queer, I was inevitably dragged into talking about it by others. So it wasn’t entirely me, after all!

I wish I had some illuminating philosophy to expound on as the conclusion of my little experiment. But after much reflection and scratching of head, all I could figure was that I haven’t yet ceased to wonder at my new-found power! Every single day comes with an affirmation of how I am different, and on every such moment I am enchanted by how it is possible to be different without being shunned. I am still finding my way through the radically different, unwritten code of the gay world, where much more is permissive, and much more is an adventure! I am tunnelling my life with the joy of an explorer. And it isn’t that my complaining habits have abated by any measure; I still think Kiera Knightley would look ornamental with the rest of the furniture. But my coming out is still endowed with a mystical quality; whether it will dissipate or not is not something upon which I can comment. Perhaps one day it will all become part of the mundane, and my homosexuality may dissolve into the background. But for the moment, I am celebrating it. And others are celebrating it with me. And who can blame me, when for 19 years it’s been suppressed, unarticulated?

And then again, am I merely a part of a larger ferment, the awakened queerness of the post-Naaz Foundation era? Only time will tell. Till then, I am happy to be led by instinct.

Joe is a law student, professedly left-wing with a curious fixation for brands. He is irreverent and single.

Laugh a little louder, Sing a little Prouder

We’re not criminals any more (at least for now). What’s next is the big question that daunts a growing community. Danish reminisces the few joyous moments as India’s homosexuals became officially legal, and ponders about the future of the community.

Danish Sheikh

Don’t you know

They’re talkin’ about a revolution

It sounds like a whisper

Don’t know about that, Tracy.

The 2nd of July, 2009; there wasn’t much whispering on.

How do you react to a day that you’ve dreamt of, that in fact almost by default, became your cause, for all of your adult life? (Even if that adult life has only been merely over two years.)

We declare that Section 377 IPC, insofar it criminalises consensual sexual acts of adults in private, is violative of Articles 21, 14 and 15 of the Constitution.

Looking back at that day, it’s hard to point the best moment. Possibly, the moment I called a lawyer friend and found out. Maybe it was when I got the rapid burst of excited, happy, supportive messages from friends outside college. It could be the bit where the entire class welcomed the news with resounding cheering. Or when the IPR professor congratulated all “affected parties”. There’s a chance that it was when I finally read the judgment, marvelling, laughing in delight at some of the passages, quiet vindication at some of the others. Stories and images of crying, laughing activists-lawyers-supporters-beneficiaries — oh that was another moment!

I sit now, a few days passed, the euphoric rush of the news replaced by the dull throbbing of the gum where my wisdom tooth once lay. The debates on TV are all versions of each other: you know you’re going to see that archdiocese fellow just as well as the lawyer-activist, and they’ll repeat and reiterate their points. Mostly, you’ll laugh, or display indignation at Mr. Archdiocese’s attempt at nuanced comments, much as you’ll cheer on Mr. Lawyer, simultaneously groaning when you feel he could’ve made that last point more firmly. (Summarizing Mr. Archdiocese Sir “Homosexuality cool. Homosexual acts not cool”. Mr. Archdiocese Sir? Abstinence very not cool. I didn’t fight my way to equal sexual orientation status to coyly smile at my partner as he waves a gilded fan over me. And it’s not exactly like you practice what you preach now, is it?)

You might wonder what the big deal is about anyway. You might even scoff and change channels, calling this all a needless waste of television space.

And then, if you’re me, you’ll pause for a moment while typing. Look around the library, humming with activity and then, feel the rushing resolve, as the realization that had dawned a few days back now firmly trickles in — this was just the beginning.

As Buffy and gang would sing

“The battle’s done and we kind of won, so we sound our victory cheer.

Tell me, where do we go from here?”

From here … Maybe there will be an appeal. Maybe not.

There will certainly be more protests, more debates. Protests more violent — as more step out of the closet, as homosexuality ceases to be an invisibilized non-issue. Debate more furious — as the issues, the stakes are raised — as we go on to question the very notion of the Indian family itself.

And all of that boils down to this moment. So I say, thank you, to the first generation of the movement in India for giving it to us.

Onto the next phase now.

Bring it on!

(Written two days after the Naaz Foundation Judgment was delivered by the Delhi High Court.)

Danish Sheikh is basically a boring person, who is fascinating during discussions over cups of coffee and pitchers of alcohol.

Being Me - Part 1

If ever there was a tale of coming out and being gay that Hyderabad ought to know about, we’re sure it’s this one. Pradeep is like any other well-educated young boy from our city who always knew he was different. How he accepted this difference, found love, went abroad and returned home is a saga in the telling. Here’s a story that needs so many tellings that we’ve decided to present them to you as a series…

Ram Pradeep Abireddy

Part 1: Discovering the real me and finding love in the bargain

Ever since I realized my homoerotic self, all I wanted to do was settle down in the west and by west I mean, the United States of America. This prodigious dream was fulfilled on the late evening of Dec 15th, 2006.

I was walking out of the US consulate after having heard that a student visa had been bestowed upon me, and I was flabbergasted like never before. I ran chirping all the way outside to my father, who was so sure I would get it (his confidence surprised me!). The remaining fifteen days before my scheduled departure passed through so fast — with shopping and bidding farewell to all the people who meant so much in my life — that when the day came, I wasn’t even aware of its momentousness.

It was evening on the 31st of that same year, when everyone everywhere (including me) celebrated the beginning of another year, while I celebrated the beginning of something more special — my gay life.

It truly was the beginning of something big for me. After several parties, I arrived home by 11 pm to meet my Mom and Dad and a few friends who were waiting to go to the airport to see me off. I wasn’t sad, not one bit and I didn’t really know why. Maybe it was the relief of putting away all those years of closeted life, being called names and the rest of those problems most gay men face in India. I was actually happy that it was all ending, once and for all!

After twenty three hours of a blissful journey, I was finally at my destination with a student from the university waiting for my arrival. After having greeted each other, we took off towards the university. It was snowing outside, and this was the first time I had seen snow. It was angelic and made all my jitters that I had about the future disappear.

We reached our destination. The university looked stunning covered in snow, and though tired, I didn’t feel like stepping into the dorms. In no time, I was playing in the snow like a kid. It wasn’t until much later that I retired for the day.

In a couple of weeks I found myself getting adapted to the culture and started enjoying every bit of it. I finally had a job on campus that I loved doing and was getting engrossed with school. Yeah, that’s right, they call a graduate college a school!

With whatever money I had left at the end of the month, I went into malls with friends and exhausted my money buying the brands that I always wanted — Abercrombie, Hollister, American Eagle, D & G, Banana Republic, you name it, I bought it! I was as gay American as gay American can be!

I loved going into the university too, where I could ogle at the voluptuous variety of adolescent men that were available on any given day.

One fine day when I was cruising through the student centre after a tiring class, I ran into a girl distributing flyers to the students. She gave me one. It was multicoloured with words in gold talking about an event being held by the university’s LGBT organization. My heart gasped as soon as I saw the leaflet — this was all I ever wanted and I knew it existed in this university but couldn’t pull up the courage to go and attend one of their meetings.

So I started searching for other ways to be part of the queer crowd, the safest option being, logging onto a social dating website and looking for people I could chat and hang around with. I started chatting with few people who looked appealing but was hesitant to meet them as I still felt like a stranger in a foreign land.

In my quest of finding openly queer people I happened to run into a guy’s profile that I found to be very appealing. He was my Adonis. I wanted to message him but then again, my frail self-confidence caught up with me. I thought he was past my league, but to my surprise, I happened to run into the same person in the library the very next day. I was shocked to say the least, but couldn’t muster up enough courage to tell him who I was and look him in the eye.

The very next day I saw a message from him when I logged into the site and there he was. He said he had seen me around and that his name was Chris. Chris became the object of my dreams and fantasies from that day on…

The Author is a colourful social butterfly who would like to dedicate this story to "TGG"(the Gay Gang) and first chapter to Crayons

Living up to Being Promiscuous

Who said everyone enjoys being constant? Maybe being promiscuous only defines what being gay is all about — carefree and intrinsically hedonistic! Maybe it’s also time, we celebrate this indulgence and realise what a diverse community we actually are.

Rohit Singh Deo

We are accused of being “promiscuous.” Is it wrong to be so, I ask myself. The intention is not to glorify myself with the word, but to examine it from a different angle.

Yes, I am promiscuous. Am I ashamed of it –is the question I ask myself and my conscience. I love to be in denial of the world around me. This is me; I am a bottom. I enjoy exploring the realms of darkness filled with my sexual escapades. I flash myself on online profiles, café shops, pubs, bars, restaurants, markets, malls, work places, discotheques, famous parks and other gay jaunts until my eyes scour for that moment of pleasure and I have my urge satiated by the body beside me.

Never content with my sex buddies, I have regular visitors to my house. My house that I have created for myself some time back is a safe haven to enact my fantasies.

THEY, as always, “have no place” and innumerable responses to feed hungry souls like me:

I have no place.

I am married/I am single, with no place, but a tool to satisfy you.

I can come right away.

I am sorry you are too far away. Could you please pick me up?

Hope you are well-stocked.

I, on the other hand, have to be well prepared:

I have a place or make a place, irrespective of the situations in which I may be.

My kind of place – oh my, spic and span is not the word.

I smell sweet and am well-groomed for the act. The next door aunt would envy me.

Well-stocked indeed – keeping the neighbourhood chemist happy as I boldly shop for the assorted condoms on display.

All this comes at a cost for being gay and wanting few minutes of pleasure. Is it worth the pain and agony? Perhaps, only those in our shoes can feel the pain. Clinical psychiatrists would love to have us fill their clinics for having such a disruptive nature, but how would it end even if we were to be counselled. Men are too good to be ignored and they are all over. Will life ever be gentle with me is what I ask? Even if I did find a man, whether or not he is married, the desire of being wanted would still persist. Men love taking advantage of our situations: gay, bisexuals, versatile — you name it.

Some are strong and fight it from within. Yet, some others fall prey to the expectations of others and abuse themselves by shelving their egos and letting their alter egos take over them. Is it wrong or right? Each of us would have to find our own answer. We live in a world where we freely live by the consequences of our own actions. We are our own masters. We cannot confide in friends, families, medico-physicians, and, even if we did, the argument for monogamy would still persist.

Society is made of relationships. Some of us live lives where we are open and come out to our family and friends. Yet others lead closeted lives, webbed and wedged with thin lines of relationships which have significance only on a bed. Some people get into a relationship and even make a commitment in order to avoid promiscuity. I regard this sort of arrangement totally selfish in terms of its sexual ownership and control over the other. Relationships work well for those who make compromises and then work them out.

How do we reconcile the spread of diseases with promiscuity? Is promiscuity highly risky? Is this a myth or a reality? Some of us are diligently cautious when we have sex. For others there are those one or two slips which lead to serious repercussions. Promiscuity doesn’t cause diseases, but unprotected and unhygienic sex does, even if one is within a single sexual relationship. Is it worth taking a risk? I would rather surrender myself into the flow of the moment and its little pleasures, which may last only for a few minutes or hours, perhaps even days or a year. So long as I am offered the thrills of a gay life, I’d rather enjoy myself than languish from unfulfilled desire. What might seem a promiscuous fling for one may appear an encounter of possibilities for another.

You and I create society. Do I have to justify myself for being who I am? Do I blame society for being promiscuous? Do I fight society and take it by the horns, scream on the boulevards, come live on televisions, or concoct a spicy story for some glossy magazine? Should I lose hope and let go of the world? No, I am sure each of us struggles for his/her space. Each of us works for himself/herself and leads a life of dignity. Will it help if society supports our promiscuity? Will it help if we hide the fact that we are promiscuous?

Promiscuity - a word that is taboo and associated with the gay world; not to be spoken about in straight circles, only to be branded upon homosexuals. Promiscuity challenges the institution of heterosexual marriage by opposing the value of fidelity, which tends to have a privatised ownership of the other through monogamy. Perhaps, that’s why it is looked down upon. Living by it is for those who are young at heart and spirited. It enables us to encounter each other in a spirit of openness and surprise. Here are some wonderful words of wisdom tweaked to gay liking: “We have one life to live. So enjoy it”.

Rohit is always ready to explore the unthreaded path. He makes his own bridges for any one to reach out to him. He loves his recluse life and is not ready to share it with anybody.

So Love Does Exist

(Even if it’s only in the movies!)

What would qualify as a gay classic, asks Romal as he reviews this ‘supposed’ classic from the land that re-invented love. Drôle de Félix is a charming tale of love tried and tested that revels in its simplicity and immaculately plain narrative. A must watch for any gay flick lover.

L Romal M Singh

Just when I was about to give up, and say to hell with all these jerks, who consider themselves special, and different comme moiself, I found joy!

True love exists even within gay communities, and even though I know that it was always the case, the scenario in this freakin’ confused metropolis (Bangalore, just in case you’re wondering!) has befuddled me over and again. So finally when I came across a brilliantly portrayed relationship, in a movie, it sure came as a happy reminder that hope still existed. I could wait and maybe, I would still find the perfect one.

The Adventures of Felix [Drôle de Félix], was a chance treasure-find that I quite unassumingly came across at that hub of piracy also known as the Two-DVD-Stores at Commercial Plaza on Commercial Street (The much-loved shopping hub of Bangalore). These guys stock the best of DVD’s and well they are affordable. The prints are brilliant, coz’ these are copies of well… originals (Ironic!). I am not one for being staunchly against piracy, nor am I completely for it.

I would lash out at someone buying a pirated copy of a film that’s available quite easily as discount originals at any DVD store for anything below Rs. 60. But I hold back my argument when someone decides to buy a pirated DVD for say Rs. 70, when the original is priced at nothing below Rs. 599. As always argued, piracy is subjective and to uphold or detest is something that should remain personal. Governments intervening and holding laws defining what piracy is seems utterly stupid.

The film however was amazing, and I feel no guilt for buying it off the store in that damned hub of such morally obscene ethics (Har! Har!). It followed a few days in the lives of an Arab hottie (Sami Bouajila) who is in a relationship with a teacher. He (La Arabe) works as a foreman (Ship) and has just quit his job. He plans on going to Marseilles to find his dad, whom he has never met. Brought up by his single-parent mum, the boy has all the qualities that make a gay boy that much more adorable. His partner (the teacher - Pierre Loup-Rajot) is a Caucasian boy, who doesn’t do much other than lip-lock the Arab hottie, several times during the movie (Grrrrrr!). So said Arab hottie plans out his trip and books a ticket to Marseilles for his boy-friend so that they’d both arrive at Marseille on the same day, and then he sets out on a five day trip from Normandy to Marseille walking and hitching a ride wherever he can.

The movie follows his amazing journey through gorgeous stretches of the French countryside, where he meets the most gorgeous of people, and gets involved in what I can only refer to as the mystery and the grace of our human existence that has often been referred to as ‘mankind’.

I will not be a spoiler and tell you what happens, but the kisses and embraces that dot the film are just too beautiful to miss. The meeting of the two lovers at Marseille actually brought tears to my eyes, coz’ the most beautiful moments of love are often the most simplest. This film personifies ‘love’ as most of the international gay community perceives the beautiful emotion: free, un-judgmental, unquestioning, and not in the least bit possessive. It’s not anywhere close to how I perceive the divine emotion, but their view is equally beautiful all the same.

At the end of the day it’s just about true love and everyone knows that ultimately love rules all! The movie was released in 2000, from co-directors Oliver Ducastel and Jacques Martineau, who are in love, and share their lives together (who is surprised!). Please watch the film or ask around, I’m sure someone will have a copy of this classic.

L Romal M Singh is a Bangalore-based writer who can’t seem to get Hyderabad out of his system. While he loves home, he gaze is fixed on Tollywood’s handsome hunks.

There’s something about neighbours!

Raghav was abused as a child by his neighbour and has now grown into a proud gay man. Was there a connection between his abuse, his sexual appetite and his sexuality? He’ll probably never know, but he does know that it was a horrible thing that happened and hopes this piece of unabashed writing saves the next child abuse victim.

Raghav

Child abuse is something that shouldn’t happen but happens far too often. I have gone through this at a very young age not knowing what was happening to me and here I am as a survivor, begging for a saner approach to sexual expression.

I was four years old when my neighbour initiated me into finding pleasure in my body. I was very emotionally attached to him. I guess I was about seven years old when he passed away. He not only abused me but another boy as well who was a year younger to me. Many years after his death we continued to enjoy each other’s company: hugging, kissing and spending lot of time without any clothes. All this happened without even knowing the meaning of sex!

Looking back at that experience now, I feel happy that I spent splendid evenings with the younger boy. We had a monogamous relationship between ourselves. I also did not really bother to look at other guys. But things had started changing. I never felt attracted to girls. I started finding guys more attractive and I did not know how to control my emotions and desires of sleeping nude with guys.

When I was nine years old, I seduced an older cousin of mine. I ensured that he got physical with me. I continued to have sex with him until I was twenty. After that, I had a lot of confidence to seduce other guys as well. It so happened that I managed to seduce another cousin of mine soon after, but we did not really enjoy it that much.

The seducing did not stop there. I was enjoying myself, doing what I probably should not have been doing. I once spent a few days of my summer vacation at a cousin's place and I happened to meet a guy in the neighbourhood. I managed to get physical with him too! He said he had done something like this before with another older neighbour! Are neighbours popular child abusers, I seem to wonder now?

Years had passed. My expertise had widened. And, I had become a more confident boy. It was a wedding celebration. I happened to meet a guest, who was not from Hyderabad. We started talking and guess what happened next? He was nude with me in bed. I felt as if I had achieved something priceless! I discovered I was no longer a boy, but a MAN! Eventually, I gained enough expertise to seduce someone slightly older. My next victim was a guy who was a male servant at my neighbour's house. We managed to have sex many times as he always had a place.

I don’t want to sound like an erotic gay story writer. But let’s talk numbers. I had managed to seduce about eighteen guys before I turned fifteen. I always felt it was a huge accomplishment, but I failed to realise how bad I should have felt when I abused a seven year old neighbour when I was fifteen. Was I turning into another predator? I spent many a sleepless night and decided that what I was doing was wrong. Now, I feel more attracted to someone older than me. Presently, I am sleeping with a fifty year old father of two kids, one of whom is the same age as me. Also, I am planning to settle down with a forty six year old Swiss guy, Chris, who is nineteen years older than me. I met Chris when I was in Delhi through a common friend. Six years have passed and we have met a couple of times. We also went on a holiday together and now we want to get married in Switzerland. We plan to discuss more of this in our upcoming holiday in Colombo. Some how the thought of making a commitment and living in a monogamous relationship is something I find difficult to comprehend.

I often ask myself, how would life have been for me, had I not been abused? Probably, I may have been married to a woman in a heterosexual relationship. I am not sure whether the child abuse had any impact on my sexual preference. These are questions I could only speculate upon. The only thing I would like to highlight here is sex is fun when it is between two adults who know what they are doing.

Child abuse can ruin a child’s future and can have a lot of impact on his behaviour. I urge all gay men to stay away from children and protect children from predators. I am now twenty seven years old. I am more matured, and understand what is right and wrong. However, I wish I was protected as a kid. The sad part was I always called my abuser “Amar Bhayya.” How can a twenty five year old Bhayya seduce a younger brother? I realise that such things happen in every corner of this country. Most child abuse comes from the neighbour next door, the uncle married to that aunty or the friendly young man around the corner.

Can we create a society which is safer for children? Let us say NO to Child Abuse and create a society that is more sensitive to children and their needs.

Raghav is an IT professional working in Hyderabad. He loves travelling and he is the brand ambassador for The Body Shop

Let’s fall in love, but with a little care

The whole business of falling in love, choosing a partner and the mounting pressure from peers can take its toll on anyone. Vishal gives you a quick check-list of what falling in love and finding a partner should essentially be about.

Vishal Jaiswal

Most people want someone special in their life. Someone to caress them, talk sweet things to them, surprise them, control them, shower care upon them. They are animated by the hope of finding their knights in shining armour. We come across a lot of people every day who change themselves to their lover’s whims.

We are rudderless when we have an inconsistent change within our self. Without a sense of direction we feel dissatisfied with our life and the ideals of love we believed in. This is a quagmire for any relationship. When we see things going wrong with their relationship, we immediately want to discard their partner. Such a feeling can lead to the conclusion that the relationship may not sail for long. However, just as each day at work may not be pleasant, things in a relationship may not be pleasant. And as we work a way out and put in earnest efforts to improve things, it is equally important to talk and work a way out to improve things in a relationship. So why not do it? When you weren’t in a relationship, you were longing for it. So now when you have it, you need to acknowledge its importance. You just can’t resign from it.

Relationships blind us to the fallibility of the other. And what if the other person were indeed everything you ever wanted. Just imagine, how monotonous it would be to live with something so perfect? But, that doesn't mean that things have to be imperfect in relationships. After seeing life for seven years among LGBT’s, I firmly consider the following two elements to be important.

First, we need to have the will to evolve together into better people. Second, we also need to set realistic goals and thus be content with our life. We need to live and enjoy the essence of a relationship. We need to continue to surprise; go out of your way to show that you care; love your partner just the way you did before you committed or proposed to each other. A relationship cannot be clinched with a proposal; it is actually the beginning of a process.

What most of us do is assume our love for each other and so refrain from expressing it. Nevertheless, showing your feelings will always keep the mojo going.

It’s a human tendency to look for certain characteristics in their ideal partner. Physical attributes, brands, wealth, habits and social status are some of them. Did you for once imagine the picture ‘perfect’? Like they say, "life is not a fairytale". Love can be found in the most imperfect person. It is only your sense of being content with it that will help you relish your relationship. Loving the imperfect might be the most difficult thing to do but what’s worse is to learn that a perfect person might not love at all. You might never find the perfect person to love but you can surely find perfect love in what you think is imperfect.

I recollect a very beautiful couple I had met a few months ago. Vikram and Santosh had met each other eleven years ago. They have been in a relationship ever since. Sexual compatibility is considered to be important in a relationship. When I met them, I learnt that they were not sexually compatible and had extremely opposite tastes in everything. Nevertheless, they were open enough to respect those differences and if there was something new to try, they would do it –food for thought – yes, for everyone whose longest relationship has lasted three days.

The mantra was – ‘contentment’. Every time your ‘will’ breaks, you also lose the sense of being ‘content’ and you start looking around again. The cycle never ends.

I do not intend to discourage you from finding your perfect one. It’s just to convey a message for those of you who are not able to see the perfect in the most imperfect.

Love yourself and love will find its way to you.

Vishal goes totally berserk when he sees chocolates! He also gets a great kick out of stealing Jockey ads from shops.

Missing You - That is when I want to be with you

Bobo

When I am all by myself I am in a daze
I think of the time I spent with you,
Then a picture of you smiling flashes through
That is when I want to be with you

I go about my daily chores in a state of delusion
Your gentle touch creates an illusion
It sends warmth through my soul
That is when I want to be with you

I meet my old friends
They are just like I knew them then
The worthless babble we indulged in, puts me in a fix
I remember you from when I was six
That is when I want to be with you

I do not know if you too have the same feeling as I do
But one thing I know, I wish I knew you more.
You say I should be patient, which I will try to do
That is when I want to be with you

Everyday I pray for you wishing you good fortune
You’re my sweetheart, needless to say
I will treasure you deep within my heart
You will forever be a part of me

Bobo thinks he is a sensitive and lonely bird.

_______________________________

Pining after a Break-up

I wake up everyday...the Sun risen already
Alas! He forgets to bring hope for me
Or is it I too late for hope..?
Nonetheless the Sun shuns my horizons...
Rendering my mind to hapless darkness
And my heart lies frozen with burden
It's cold when it’s dark!
I think they are eternal allies....

The window presents clear skies
Not a good sign for me
I miss the clouds
For I think they carry joy in their waters
For when the heavens smile
I find it cloudy
And it’s not surprising that
They must be laughing when it's rainy...

Melancholy - arch rival of hope
Need do nothing to find it
But hope - it’s a different story
Need do everything to find it
And still it seems to
Ebb away with time
Like a flowing tide
You can hold it in vain
For it shall have to be gone....

But that's not the end of it
Some other and another
Tirelessly out of count
Is the number of the tides
Of different waters
But essentially waters
That bring hope to thee
Spilling only froth off the brimming sea...

For hope is short-lived
Incandescent but evanescent.

Smaran is a hypochondriac who deals with problems, physiological and psychological. Any reflection of the same in the poem is mere coincidence.

Masturbation

(What You Have Not Touched VI)

Samia Vasa

the vagina's on my fingers
the smell of urine
the smell of gleeful desire playing wet and dry
in this ever-changing,
never-changing
terrain

the fingers come you into being
and me

(What You Have Not Touched VII)
Samia Vasa

And how did your vagina come to be on my fingers
the smell so similar to mine
[the wetness a little shy]

terrains and territories
merge in this one touch

the touch no longer mine
everywhere smells

Samia loves planning, reading and eating. She hates noise with a vengeance.

__________

Masturbation

Bobo

Sometimes life gets lonely
Sometimes it gets boring
Sometimes we are excited
Sometimes we are frustrated
Whatever be the reason
Masturbation is for every season.

Everyone jerks one time or the other
Some admit it, others shy away
Some enjoy it, others just fake it
I too jerk once in a while
And do it in my own style
Whatever be the reason
Masturbation is for every season.

Bobo likes hanging out with friends, particularly when he can flaunt his Chinese queen. He wants lots of romance.