RUMOURS

Charlie from “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” has said about news and if I paraphrase him, to use in the context of rumours, that “I don’t know how rumours in high school travel so fast and how often they are true.” But in my case the rumours were not just false but far away from the truth. The thing with rumours is that they are always about the other person’s private life and mostly concerning his/her love or sex life. I haven’t come across any rumour that is something about say, food, something like a certain Mr/Miss X loves butter chicken! And it’s baffling because food is the most important thing under the sun!

When you are a teenager everyday you learn something about yourself or about other people and most of those learned lessons stay with you for good. Rumours about me only made me aware about something I had no clue. I wasn’t a very popular kid in school. I wasn’t a class topper or a famous athlete and neither did I win any of the co-curricular activities, but I was someone whom the other kids from the other sections and classes would know by name. You can say that I wasn’t well known but I was fairly recognized. But all of that changed one day and only because of rumours.

By the 9th standard I was very comfortable in my skin. I knew I was gay and I was okay with that. And unlike many of my straight friends I wasn’t looking for friendship with girls so that it can lead to somewhere more meaningful. I had girl-friends in school and outside school and that was it. There was no hidden motive.

I used to attend coaching classes and my batch had students from my school and as well as from other schools. I had made some good friends over there and one of them was P. P was from different school but lived in my locality. Small town, you know. P was exceptionally good. She had a great sense of humour and a knack for getting into trouble. We bonded over our shared liking of weird humour and gossip. In a short period of time we had become good friends. It helped that we had made a certain routine. Everyday after coaching classes we would take a  walk together to her home and then I would leave for mine after dropping her off. Sometimes we were joined by other kids but mostly it was just us. And yeah, apart from P, in my coaching classes there were two or three girls who were not only my schoolmates but also lived in my locality and one of them was my neighbour. And the rumours took shape with the help of  these three girls.

My friendship with P and the fact that I was friendly with other girls had put me on the spot; I was starting to get noticed more in my school, not just by students but also by teachers. Suddenly a lot of people had started teasing me that I had lots of girl friends, and I got frequent requests from the guys who wanted to know more about this particular girl. It was just a matter of time before all of these would turn into some nasty rumour that I was some sort of a freakster who ran behind girls.

Couple of days later, a friend of mine informed me about these rumours.

1. I am a freak.
2. Every day I follow and basically stalk this girl
    all the way to her house.
3. I am dating three girls at the same time.

I had a really good laugh thinking that someone got it all so wrong, monumentally wrong. I didn’t correct him because I didn’t think all this would snowball eventually. And true to my character I enjoyed the little attention I got. But the rumours hit the peak in the next few days. One evening during the last lecture, Mrs N, our SS teacher who knew me personally informed me that all the teachers in the staff room were talking about me, and that I had to be very careful. Just imagine the kind of life in a small town in early 2000s. Claustrophobic is an understatement.

Our classroom had three columns of benches. To the right sat girls, boys sat on the left side and in the middle sat the girls only on the first two benches while boys occupied the remaining ones. I was sitting in the middle section and my seat was the extreme end of the bench towards the right meaning towards the girls’ side. As soon as the assembly prayers ended the girl sitting next to me said something, some casual remark, and our class teacher saw that. She stood up from her chair, came to my place and with an intense look asked us, what is happening between you two? I knew that instant that the situation had turned ugly. The first thing that came to my mind was that my parents should never come to know of this. But the day just passed.

The next Saturday after school hours when I was walking home, I was joined by those three girls, the Gujarati versions of mean girls, who had a bigger hand in spreading those rumours. They walked right behind me, keeping some distance but making sure that I wouldn’t miss a single word they were speaking. Referring to me in the third person, they gossiped about me for 30 minutes. And I heard every word. I knew they were the ones who started it and turned something innocent into ugly.

Next day, on Sunday, for some neighbourly work my father sent me to one the girl’s home. I wonder what came onto her but she apologised to me for the previous day. And my reaction to that, my genuine reaction was that I couldn’t care less about it or about those ramous. I really didn’t care and it hadn’t affected me in any way whatsoever. And that was the truth. It dawned on me that even after the whole drama which included teachers also, at the end of the day, I really didn’t care whatever people thought or talked about me; that I didn’t pay attention to rumours and nothing was going to change my behaviour or my way of living. I was surprised that how naturally this "art of living" came to me. I couldn’t help what people would think or believe about me, so why would I let it have any positive or negative effect on me? Even after all these years, I have remained the same. I do wish people rather than believing in rumours try their best to know the truth but there anyway isn't going to be any effort from my side to correct them. I am just not interested.

P and I remained good friends till the end of the high school. Our friendship didn’t survive when we moved to different colleges. But that’s how life is.

It happened one night.

It had a weird shape like some Pacific island and had one or two teeth marks. A glorious crimson colour. It was just above my left nipple. I could say that you had worked on it. You gave it to me like I was your possession and you were marking your territory like some wild animal and  you were certainly a wild animal that night.

Exams were over. It was the last day of the first semester of my engineering college before short vacation. All of my friends and classmates and entire college in general just couldn't wait to write the paper and leave for home. Most had already packed and had brought their luggages to college so they could get to the bus station or railway station right after finishing the paper to leave for their home town. But not me. I had lied to my parents about having one more assignment submission and therefore I had to stay for one extra day.

We met on the social networking site Orkut and were talking for the last two weeks. We planned to meet after the exam. You said many nice things about me which nobody has ever said to me. The mere fact that you, a twenty-three year old man, were interested in this eighteen year old boy was enough for me to fall head over heels for you. I didn't even know that I had this thirst inside me which was making me longing for you. You were everything I ever wanted.

My parents thought that the smile on my face was because I was happy to come home. Would have they guessed that their little boy wasn't little boy anymore? I kept thinking about that night, that beautiful night. I could still feel your lips on my lips, your wet tongue in my earlobes. I couldn't forget how you feasted on my body and how much I loved it. When I took you in my mouth I felt like I was born for this moment. I didn't want to ever let you go. And in the end you gave me a souvenir on my chest. You said this would remind me of you back home. You stupid boy, It was a gift of love. Cherished one.

The holidays passed very slowly, without internet I couldn't even message you.  Long days small nights spent in waiting for you. The first thing I did when I reached back to my hostel was to look for you. You weren't there. You had deleted your online existence. I went to see you at your home, turned out over the holidays you had shifted. It was disappointment after disappointment. I was getting impatient. Still I had a hope that I would find you at the college, I just needed to find out where the classes of post graduation students were held.

Two days later when I was coming out the department, I looked up and you were there, climbing down the stairs. My heart skipped a beat. You stared at me. I was waiting for that smile. I thought you would run and hug me and everything would be good again. But you, damn you, after pausing for a moment, just turned to right and left. I knew I didn't need to know anything more. It was over. You already had broken my heart.

I will always be thankful to you for giving me that night. I was loved that night. So thank you for that. Funnily, today, I don't remember your face or your name but I do remember the gift you gave me that night, very fondly.

Beginning

It was way beyond midnight or very early morning. It has been hours since they were inside the home. Making love, Smoking, sharing their cigarettes. Sharing their truths.

He: I'm old, broken, I will die a death of a moth.
All I can be a cloud which is barely a cloud in the perfect blue afternoon sky.

He: And I'm young, beautiful and probably I will live forever.
I'm like first rain, light tangy smell, I'm like a perfectly cast character.

He: You are god's best creation.
And you want me?
Me?
I'm dirty inside.
You will have to clean memories, past, things which I did knowingly.
You have to kill them.
Don't show mercy.
You know they have to die for us to survive.
I may cry.
Wet the pillows.
Again.
Make them go.
Can you do that?

He: I may not succeed or survive. But I will try.
I will kill all of them, but you who has to bury them.
Again.
My heart is open if you need a hideout.
For Ever.
I will do all that but in return you have to hear.

He: what?

He: I love you.
.
.
.
He: You know I do.

Mama, I'm (not) Coming Home.

I am sitting here at the Bangalore Airport, waiting to board my flight to home to celebrate the festival season with the family. It is very early morning. The darkness has gone and it is getting brighter out there. First few minutes of twilight. It has been many years since the last time I saw a rising sun, and I am hoping to see one today. I don’t like twilight because they make me feel sad but when I say I don’t like them, I mean the evening ones and not the morning ones. I have never been that early to witness them, so have very little experience to form any particular feelings towards them.

As I am heading towards my parent’s home and waiting here has given me an ample amount of time to reflect what my feelings about home are. I am going through a lot. That’s why I decided to write it down. For last many years I have been struggling with the idea of home. Because what is home? What does it mean when people say ‘I am home’? And most importantly what is my home?  Where do I belong? 

As some of you probably know that I grew up in a small town in the state of Gujarat. I lived there with my family. We were pretty close family of five that includes me, my parents and my two elder siblings. I moved out of my home when I joined college in another town, nearby. I was still near to my home where I would pay my visits on weekends. Not all but many. After college I moved to Bangalore and weekend trips were converted into once-in-six-months trips.

Like most people, while growing up, my home was the best place in the whole world. I remember everything, however small, that I did there. In that house only I recognized myself as gay.  I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror; I looked into my eyes and told myself that “Parth, you are gay. Congratulations.” (I never struggled with my sexuality; in fact I was happy for being different). I remember how I used to change cloths keeping the window open so the neighbor guy can see me. Oh! Puberty. (He saw me every day changing cloths. without fail). You get the idea. Basically it was the best place.

But in college, I got to learn that ‘Home’ is a feeling and I was losing that feeling regarding my parent’s home. Yes, growing up as gay was one of the major factors. Rather than going back home, many weekends I simply stayed at college, I lied to my parents that I have to stay here to complete the project, while in fact I would cruise online for other gays. But the feeling that you will not be accepted in that home for who you are and in future you will have to move out actually made me move out mentally a lot sooner. Yes, it was an assumption but it already had its effects. I had started to prefer my crampy, semen stained hostel bed more than my bedroom’s soft bed. My home was not home for me anymore.

And since I have met A, my life has changed a lot. And one of the biggest changes that I consider is the idea of home is changed from a physical place to a person.  A is my home. I know making a person your home is very dangerous thing to do but that is the truth and he is my home. I hope that one day we will have a place which we both will call our home. But right now I am happy with him being my home.

I still think my parent’s home is a pretty good place where I am always welcomed and people living in that home are eagerly waiting for me to come. My parents are still hoping that I will be back there one day for good. Of course, it goes without saying that I have not abandoned the people, I love them very much and I will never leave them but I have abandoned the place.

So I will board this plane and will go to home and I will be genuinely happy to see them. I can imagine how my dad will tell my mom to cook my favorite dishes and mom will be like ‘you don’t need to tell me what to cook for my kid, I have already made that. Always one step ahead of you.’ And my sisters will stay for nights, so my niece and nephews whom I immensely love can play with me. And once they will be asleep, we will start gossiping about other family members. For the next whole week my family’s life will circled around me. I can see that  mom will keep start talking to me whenever I will take out my phone, or will send my niece to call me if I am not around her for more than 10 minutes. She will come out and stand at the gate if I am going out of the house. I can see her crying on the last day of my stay. Her eyes will be begging me not to leave and stay there.

I am sorry mom, but I cannot come back. I am not at my home. My home is different. I don’t belong here.

{P.S.: - I am back to Bangalore. I had a great holiday. I had forgotten to publish this post.}

WhatsApp DP

I had a lot free time today afternoon. After a heavy Sunday lunch I just wanted to nap for three hours. But alas sleep didn’t come. Just to pass the time I thought why not ping somebody with whom I haven't talked in ages. It will be good to know what’s going on with them.

I was going through my contacts on WhatsApp and saw a friend of mine with whom I had talked last time probably four years ago. Though we were school mates and grew up in same neighborhood, we were never friends. But we did care and had respect for each other. After school we went to different colleges and lost whatever little touch we had with each other. In the final year of my college when I was visiting my town we found each other on Grindr. It was surprisingly shocking for both of us. We met at our neighborhood's park and talked a lot about each other. He told me that he was engaged to a girl and planning to marry her. He was from a Marwari family and they had a very good already established family business of sweets. His family never gave much importance to his and his siblings’ studies. They were happy that he is at least passing the grade cause in the end he has to run the family business. When he accepted himself as gay it was already late for him to pursue a career and become financially independent. He tried hard but the foundation of the education was so weak that he couldn’t even finish the college and had to drop out. In the end he had no other way of becoming financially independent from his family. One time he tried to come out to his older brother, hoping that he'd understand but it turned out very horrible. His brother left him alone only when he lied that he wasn't gay anymore and had changed his sexuality.

I knew already that he was not a fighter but not everybody is fighter. Not everybody wants to fight. Not everybody can fight.

After a while I moved to Bangalore and we lost touch again. One year ago I had heard from a school friend that he got married. 

I was staring at his WhatsApp DP. It was a selfie of two couples. He was standing with his wife and beside them was the other couple. Everyone in the selfie looked happy and into the moment and I could say that they were having fun, except him. I could read his eyes. He was tired. Tired of pretending. His eyes were, may be, saying like he could give anything to be anywhere in the world than here.

I did not ping him.

The Day.

It was small village with the population less than 1000 people. He and his family lived in a home located in the middle of the their farm. There lived a family of five who were neighbors, also lived in a similar set up. They shared a good relationship with each other. He was fourteen and youngest of the three siblings.

It was Sunday and his mom had made khichdi for supper. Being the youngest he was asked to go the neighbor's and bring a cup full of ghee. Ghee goes well with Khichdi. Such exchanges were common between the families. He asked the neighbors' sixteen year old son who seemed to be alone in the house for some ghee. They stood together in the large store room. Alone. He reached for the top of the self. He thought he could do with some help. Before he could even realize their bodies collided as they made a simultaneous move for the jar. And then it happened, like the collision was just a simple nod that they were looking for. Nobody knows how it all began.

Few seconds later, his fear surfaced. He thought it was all wrong. What would bhaiya say? Father would most likely beat him if he'd come to know. He thought of pushing him away. He raised his hands, but the hands instead of pushing, embraced him and brought him closer and closer. All of it didn't take much time. Both were young. He took the cup full of ghee now and ran back.

His mom asked him when he gave her the cup, "what happened, why are smiling? What mischief are you up to now?"
When he first tasted the khichdi, it burnt him on the lower lip which bore a cut on it now. He added more ghee but it didn't stop burning. His hunger had grown only stronger after the evening. He finished the whole plate but his hunger remained the same.

My Struggling With Twilight: Part 3

Seasons play a vital role on our moods and based on it, people have their preference of seasons. AKA their favorite season/seasons. Even though it’s sunny and hot to the point that it can kill you, and tortures you till you could break yourself, I love summer, especially summer evenings. I grew up in Gujarat. And generally Gujarat is windy state, where coolest wind blows in winter from north that freezes you up and hottest wind blows in summer from south-west which almost roasts you. But evening winds are always comforting in summer. They mostly remain moderate. Also summer days are very long in Gujarat. Nights become dark at around 8 pm.  Pretty Long Days. Huh.

Summer usually starts from March to June here.  So generally I spent good amount of summer days in my college, staying in hostel with friends. Those were the carefree days with the worries only of some particular subject or a girl or a boy, and in my case a particular faculty. So come to the point I spent most of the twilight time, when going out of your home doesn’t kill you, with friends taking leisure walk outside of my hostel.  After dinner at 7.30 I and my friends especially Y, L, H and HH were used to take this walks. Sometimes we had company of V, D or some other friend.

My college was located on an aptly named college road with some other five different colleges so residential areas around the road were bustling with students.  On a walk one can meet their classmates or some just some small talk friends. My college was the largest one and was the last college on the road. Perpendicular to the road a canal used to flow just 50 meter further from my college, along with a dirt road parallel to the canal. (See image below). Also on the road, further crossing the canal A Hanuman temple was there which used to get crowded on every Saturday.

       

Now all those twilight and all those walks have many stories but not on a particular day. Each walk has something unique to tell or sometimes nothing to say. There isn’t a particular day that has something extraordinary tale. Sometimes we met a college friend whom we don’t meet in college cause he doesn’t come to college. Or Sometimes we saw a couple from our college crossing the gate of the college and disappear behind the trees where none can see them (God knows for what :-D ). Sometimes we saw college football team coming from their practice, all sweaty and wet in their shorts. It was a relief for my sore eyes. But most days we were just alone, talking in ourselves, laughing, ewwing*. And that was it.

On very rare occasions we used to go on the dirt road along with the canal. Mid road there was a fall in the canal, like a small waterfall. At that point the road had some stone walls like dividers so no one can fall into the canal. We used to sit on those dividers till it becomes dark or till police comes and asks us to leave because in their eye, every person sitting there was a potential suicider. While I was within the moment with my friends creating memories with them, I was also not there. It was the time of day which I hated the most along with my habit of thinking only about myself 24/7. I wasn’t out to them so I was unable to tell them very core feelings of mine. I always remained in a way out of the group. I knew that but I just couldn’t help it. I was busy balancing my “in closet” and “out of the closet” life. I always felt guilty about it, for being aloof. But then again days passed and twilights came and again we went for a walk and again I was the same.

Well, that’s it. This post is like a movie without a plot (most movies around the world). But I would like to thank my friends for giving me their time and memories to look at and smile at. I don’t remember our talks or the jokes that I made as I was the hilarious one but I do remember that I was happy because my friends were with me in those twilights. And I am grateful for that. For that I love them. At least some of them.
 

*Ewwing: An Expression where your reaction to the most of the things are just “ewww, that’s gross”