A Prelude to an End

“Hungry not only for bread – but hungry for love. Naked not only for clothing - but naked for human dignity and respect. Homeless not only for want of a room of bricks but homeless because of rejection.”

                                                                                                           -  Mother Teresa

 

A lie against truth, a thorn in a rose plant, a child born to a dead mother; they all have something in common, something they share in every sphere of life – they are at most times misunderstood, disrespected or disgraced. But the irony lies in the fact that they are victims not of their sins but our own perceptions and prejudices.

 The credibility of a truth lies in the fallibility of a lie. Unless one has experienced falsehood it is impossible to judge the truth. And we also fail to realize at times that the secret of our happiness often lies at the kindness of a lie that protects us from the cruelty of a naked truth.

Same is the story of the thorn which is ridiculed by every man who has been pricked while plucking the rose. But what we fail to fathom is that thorns ward off children and intruders only to protect the rose.

Another painful example of misconstrue is the child whose mother had died while giving birth. To loose the very source of life and boundless love at birth is perhaps the worst that could befall to man. Being an orphan is a forfeit but accused of being the cause is a rape of humanity.  

 I always considered myself lucky that I was not one of them. But little did I know, and still only few of them do, that my lucky days were numbered. It was at the age of 16 when a group of friends was talking about sex and sexuality; and someone joked about men loving other men. Every time they referred to such people they winked like transvestites, twisted their palms like girls and even clapped like ‘the eunuchs in the local trains of Calcutta’. At that time words like ‘faggot’ or ‘gay’ were not in vogue. Their imitation and comments hit my chest with a severe blow. I was facing the naked and most unsavory truth of my life, a ghastly revelation that changed it all. I realized that I loved men and it wasn’t normal or acceptable in a society where I lived. For days I ventured into every conceivable way to determine what was happening to me, where did I go wrong and what was needed of me to change. At that time, there was no easy internet access and the only sources of my investigation were a few books on psychology and biology. A few days later I stopped thinking about it. Not that I had accepted my orientation but was too petrified and ashamed to question myself.

 Years went by; I completed my technical education and took up a job. I had a couple of casual encounters with a boy in my college hostel but it was all about momentary fun, lust and jerk off. I even had a short relationship with one of my juniors. We used to spend time together in weekends, visit nearby places and sleep together hugging each other as tightly as we could. However, it ended pretty soon when he claimed that he was seeing a girl. Today he is married to her. Everyone received his marriage invitation except for me…

 While at job I had made a few online friends and had a couple of rendezvous. Soon I developed a notion that being gay was all about making friends, partying, browsing gay porn featuring hot muscled men copulating with tender twinks, chat sessions beginning with the infamous questions like “ur ASL?” followed by “Top or Bottom?” and lastly asking for a drink while expecting your date to read between the lines, lines that demanded sex.

 During these days I met a boy online called Vivan. He was a student, 6 years younger to me and was living with his parents somewhere in the northern India, 1900 kms away from me. It started with seldom chat sessions which soon turned more frequent. Although he was young, there was a certain amount of maturity in him which I never found in men of my age. We became friends and exchanged ideas on career, movies and lastly sexual orientation. He considered me as his inspiration and wanted to follow my career path. We never exchanged pictures because we never had to. We never felt it was necessary. Being there for each other, leaving messages in my inbox querying about my day in office and querying back on his performance in examinations…I soon started to relish a different taste of homosexuality, a taste very few men could appreciate as few as those who can admire the value of a rose with its thorns.

 It had become a daily activity for me to return from office and view my inbox containing unread messages from him. It made me happy. One evening like any other day I came back and opened it. Much to my dismay it read “No new messages”. Those three words seemed to stare at me questioning the longevity of my newly discovered beautiful life. The very feeling that he has forgotten or met someone else made me sick and tired. I felt I had grown 10 years older and was once again alone and unwanted. At times I rebuked myself for being so possessive and insecured and then tried to justify his forgetfulness with various reasons. But as each day passed by, the reasons to hope started to shed …like the golden maple leaves in autumn. It was winter again….

 A month had gone by. It was 18^th Aug 2005, I was in my office. Though I had given up hope my conscience still waited for spring- still one leaf had managed to survive the winters of discontent. As I opened my mailbox, it was there once again; in bold. “You have a new message“. After I finished reading his letter, I ran to the wash room, locked myself in and puked, cried and crouched my palms hard enough to leave finger nail-marks on my skin.  

This is what he wrote. Click here…….