Birthday Blues

There is a lot happening in my life.

But still I feel my life is one of the most boring, staid and placid movies that one can make out of a real life. Last week I turned little closer to thirty. Though, just like the women in SATC, I have promised myself that I would stop aging beyond 29 and will be 30 for some ten years, the reality of having to confront another lonely birthday hit me hard.

I spent the day like any other regular day doing chores such as going to office ( I didn’t put much effort in selecting the clothes, which on hindsight I should have ), coming back from office ( I wonder what fine day it will be when I go straight partying from office, or err…do I have to keep a spare pair of clothes for that? Which will be such a nuisance) and doing my laundry – the third item must sound as if I am some kind of clothes fiend, but actually I am. Remember the best dressed person thing??

Some of my colleague got to know that I turned a year older despite my best efforts at keeping it a secret ( I had done it for last two years on orkut). Damn facebook was the place which I had not figured out much, and it gave away precious information. In fact, one of my blog reader --shall I say my only reader?- also ‘located’ me on facebook which is totally ok with me. 

So, those office folks got a cake and asked me to cut it. I might not have written this before but Cakes and I go long way back. In fact, despite being born and brought in 'bhaiyaa land' my craving my ‘english’ style cake pastry had seen no end. Slowly, I got curious to know as how one can make these at home and after almost hundreds of failed expreiments of gooey, half cooked, burnt cakes which were subjected to my class mates, my maids, pets etc I cracked the formula of making a decent ( read: edible) cake. 

Being a true taurian ( read: stubborn ), I never give up something until I get what I want, and then give it up unceremoniously without any remorse to all those people who suffered because they ate what I gave then disguised as cake. One of my polite neighbors told me after eating my caked that eating these biscuits cum cake is really a good exercise for his gums ( He so wanted to give the brick analogy, I could see from his expression).

So, though I digressed, I wanted to make a point that I can bake perfectly turned out cakes --which I would have done every day had it not been for my fetish for my weight—and no body gets surprised there. Imagine eating a decent cake after you have eaten scores of burnt ones.

On one of those nights, when I have really nothing to do and I am too tired of watching DVDs, looking for dates, soliciting for dates, executing solo dates with myself;  I run to the kitchen and see if I have the ingridients to make a cake. And thus I bake a cake. Since, I can’t eat my cake alone I often bring it to office and tell people that my maid has made it  ( alliteration, ye) even my colleagues have got used to this idea that I am a cake junkie. ( Don’t ask my BMI number now).

Therefore, the first thing that they asked me after they got to know it was my birthday “Have you brought cake?”.

“I am not desperate enough to bake a cake for myself “, I muttered slowly.

“Never mind, we look forward to your next offering any way”, chorused my entire cubicle.

‘Ha ha ha” , I gave their my lame laugh which I do when I get embarrassed/ nervous/ or shy.

All the wishes and hugging ( actually no one hugged me, except for one. How boring?) , a chocolate cake was produced by lunch time for me and I lost my nerves. Remember cakes and I go long way back. The truth is much as I want to be the centre of attraction, if and when it happens I totally chicken out.

I was mortified to find that I have to cut the cake and get my pics clicked ( remember my phobia with images)

As the order of things are, I got my chocolate facial in due time—just seconds after I had taken the first bite. And they even rubbed it on my chest ( I know it was some perv who just wanted to feel me: disgusting). 

Khair, I have given much time to write a trivial event in my life whereas all I wanted to write how it triggered a melancholic wave.

 I will post that soon.

P.S. I am reading chick lit  these days --which I have always frowned upon, but somehow I chanced upon a used book and the writer kept me hooked – and that explains why I start trying to be funny everytime I want to write something serious. Marian Keys is infectious and way better than Indian wannabes like Reddy Madhvan etc.

Wrong Number, Madam!

Ok. Here comes the ceremonious year end post. On second thoughts, I am not good at lists of any kind. So why do things that I am not good at.

Besides, the year is three days away from close/end. (I don’t know the right word and I am too indifferent to check) and there are still possibilities that it could turn out eventful. Now, by eventful I would mean a year where I was not living like a nun in the second half. Speaking of nuns makes me remind the famous line in the movie ‘Milk’ which I caught last night. A little digression here, I recommend watching ‘Milk’ by every fag or non fag. For those of us, who still live in a false dreams of utopia in US / Western Countries this movie is a stark reminder. So what if the events depicted in movie took place some thirty years ago. Until we have people like Sarah Palin and her closeted republican cronies along with the sitting pope,  on grounds things are not very different for us;  and we certainly don’t need to be reminded constantly what’s ‘god’s way’. Anyway, the point is Sean Penn is excellent playing ‘Harvey Milk’ in this biopic and is strong contender for academy awards this year. He plays the role with unassuming ease and affability and I was disheartened to see, despite my thinking that we are all unique and blah, there were some very apparent resemblance to the body language and expressions of gay people in the movie that I saw in some of the people I met here in India.

Enough of the rant, I have almost forgotten what I wanted to post here.

Actually, I have not. Because it is something that gives me a ‘feel good’ feeling (speaking in my silly punjabi ‘Surinder Sahni’ish goofy smugness). So, without much ado, at the risk of sounding a braggart, let me share with you that I feel there have been three ‘girls’ who have given me some signal that they are interested in me. And all this at my workplace. Like most of gay guys, I am at ease interacting with female species ( it takes tons of efforts on my part not to give them some fashion advice) talking nineteen to dozen. I often play dumb in situations when discussion around relationships and such stuff takes place around me, even though I pretty much know what is the subtext and undercurrent of conversations, shifting glances, twitching of lips. Playing dumb is my favorite technique, it puts people offguard and at ease, without having to calculate their actions and I love it when I see it all unfolding in front of me.

Out of three ‘girls’ ( why does it have to be girls? ), there is one who is  particularly interesting. She is smart, intelligent, witty and funny. She and I both know that we both know we feel ‘drawn’ ( me asexually, of course J ) towards each other. For me, I always love intelligent company and any wittiness is always an added bonus. She is both.

Looks wise, I hardly care. However, to be fair on whoever reads this, she is not that ugly (read: petite), has style (can do with bit more make up) and looks clean ( That reminds me she doesn’t wear perfume, She Should. Not that she smells, just that it adds to the personality of a person). I would have dated her/ asked her out if only… 

However, I haven’t added that I do borderline flirting. I have always done that with my female friends and they always played along. Why I do it is a mystery to me since I have not been able to ‘flirt’ with a single ‘male’ friend of mine. 

Now, let me ask you this. What do you guys do when you get such ‘vibes’? Do you play or back out? 

Alpha version of myself

I watch TV soaps for inspiration. That perhaps sounds pathetic. Perhaps, when you get totally bore, or totally insane, you start looking for meaning in everything inane ( was there some alliteration?)

I find legal dramas very engaging. And once you have some bit of comedy thrown in, and turned it into  a 'Dramady', it becomes my favorite genre. It does not have the usual chest beating sermonizing, instead there are moments when you discover there are small moments, moments that you and I live every second, turned into something dramatic yet subtle which lie buried under mundaneness of life.

In one of these fits of self discovery, I finally saw something that reinforced my belief that "We are different versions of ourselves at different times". Does that sound arcane? Let  me elaborate.

I am a kind person. I like helping people, something that I do without any expectation. But there are moments when I don't feel like helping ( very few, trust me). How do I stop feeling miserable and 'bitch' when I don't help someone, and I know if I help I will not get over the fact that I can't be myself.

Now, this new theory puts everything in perspective. I can be cranky at times without having to feel I am a bad person. and in case, you are wondering where I saw that line, It was 'Boston Legal". And if you wondering about why the post is titled so, any software released for the first time which would have 'bugs' and 'errors' is called alpha version. The problem free ( that's what they claim) comes later and is called 'Beta' Version

In which we crib endlessly

Yesterday, Igot talking to a friend - technically not a friend but one of those people I am out to because of my existence on a gay social networking site- about our respective Sex love lives. Let’s call him Virtuous V. He has recently found someone for dating, which was quite evident from his radiant face and his efforts to lose weight, on the same website. I was more jealous than happy to hear that and I started to ask him about his affair and the ‘juicy’ details. In answer to which I got to know about his paramour’s 6’2” height and patiyala pedigree. He himself being a proud punju was beaming when he coyly discussed the stats, nevertheless I kept on nodding my head in strange detachment to this whole gay existential i-don’t-need-a-boyfriend epiphany that I had suddenly discovered.

I cribbed and whined about not getting responses, or rather ‘right’ response despite having a pretty ‘suggestive’ pic at the site. VV got amazed when I told him that I was getting lesser responses since that pic had been there for close to six months.

He gets amazed that I don’t have any ‘friends’ in the community as he has made five-six very good friends in spite of being super busy with two jobs. How did that happen, I ask him.  Ok, before that let’s go back how I got to know this guy.

VV messaged me on the same site around a year back telling me he was soon going to shift from Bombay to Delhi and was looking for possible boyfriend. Being the cynical guy I am, I gave him my standard reply that he was too goodlooking to be interested in me. He persisted and and I gave in by sending me my pics and phone number. Thankfully, he didn’t run away after seeing my pics . He would call me two to three times a day, interspersed with some inane SMS forwards which I found no time in deleting afterwards. He started talking about his area of work where I feigned some interest and asked him questioned after some bit of googling. Now, VV was highly educated, doing pretty OK in his career and most importantly sensitive enough to look over my average looks. ( He was sort of hottie, now I don’t find him that hot though)

So, what was the hitch.?

Most of the time, when I start interacting with anybody the question invariably turns to books. What books am I reading or have read etc etc? VV made a tactical mistake by telling me ‘Seven habits of highly successful people’ was the book he was reading then, and how life changing it had been for him. This particular book has its own importance in my life for being my first and last self help book I ever picked up ( didn’t have patience to finish that whole drivel). It was time for me to rethink. Here was a guy who waswilling to commit before we had even met once in person. Samantha Jones wouldn’t have approved of it and I concluded that he was too naïve, simple person.

 

Khair, to cut a long story short, much as I hate to judge people, I found him I was certainly not the person he was looking for. Later on, he came back to Delhi and I once pinged him once on the site to see how he was doing, and we kept in touch.

Yesterday, upon hearing my friendless, boyfriend less existence he asked me a few questions

Question 1 Do you follow up with the contacts you make ( read: hookups).

Answer1.Well, No!! I don’t follow up unless I am sure the person has brain and brawn. But I never call twice, and if the other person is not so enthusiastic, I don’t pester. 

Question 2: Do you make an effort to keep in touch with the people you like?

Answer 2: Sometimes yes. But, I have high self esteem. May be egoist. My best friend from school has not picked up my last three calls. People change, I know he has at least. I am not going to call him now. 

I am a taurean and very proud of being loyal in friendship or a relationship. I don’t do anything in half measure. I always think of others before me. My real friends who live everywhere except Delhi love me to the core. They make me feel what I think of myself without any inconsonance. 

Now, before I finish this rant I must add that though I am pretty cool guy, there are few things that perturb me. Chief among that is superciliousness. I like smart people and I know how to spot them. Secondly, I hate the favorite game played in Delhi Gay circle. Name dropping, precisely. I am not interested if you were invited to Rohit Bal’s Birthday party or how many times you had slept at Burman’s or Punj’s. I mean get a life guys.

Khair, enough of rant. I like abrupt endings.

Save Me

There are bad days, and then there are some not so bad days. 

But bad days persisit. 

Or rather I hold them close so they don't slip and fade away.

Memories are very deceitful, 

we forget what we have not forgotten.

And it all comes back, gushing, swamping with a force to

trample you, when all you want is it to seize you.

You want it to go bad. You try.

Try very hard to make things worse if it's not bad.

This self abuse, masochism has been entrenched hard.

keep rubbing the wound so it doesn't heal,

keep breaking off the ties so it doesn't hurt.

I keep my eyes closed so that no one can see my pain.

It's futile.

haha, isn't that stupid?

Stupid and Futile!

I do stupid things to cleanse myself of senstivity.

To ignore what other's ignore so peacefully.

To conform what people expect me to conform to.

Will I ever stand up for what I am?

But I don't know what I want to stand up for,

or who I am?

p.s The title of the post is taken from 'Save Me' by Jem from Grey's Anatomy's soundtrack. It's not a SOS