The Storm

“There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.”

- o Willa Cather

 

A Red sky (Fear) 

“Death is not the biggest fear we have; our biggest fear is taking the risk to be alive — the risk to be alive and express what we really are” – Don Miguel Ruiz

 

 I had considered every detail to make myself picture perfect: immaculate white body-tight shirt with an English collar, new black Italian leather jacket that I happened to purchase from a very handsome Pakistani young man at the Brussels’ centre ville. There were several shops in that vicinity with a better range and competitive price. But why I bought it from the lad seemed quite obvious to him as much as to me. Coming back to my preparations, I had taken no chances but to appear flawless: a rose water bath, shaved body, gelled hair for a messy look and sprayed my new €40 Allure perfume from Chanel. And like the final toppings and rose icicles above the cake, I put on my new black Swiss watch with titanium strap and sapphire crystal that I bought a week ago. I was dressed to kill or at least that’s what I hoped for…

 It was mid December, last night it had snowed pretty hard and hadn’t seen the sun for quite a few days. To make the situation worse or better, it was drizzling and the water droplets on the leaves had already frozen. I was supposed to meet my friend at Antwerp Central station at 20:00 hours sharp. So wasting no time on the picturesque bleak evening, I rushed to the station but had to wait for 45 minutes due to delays of trains owning to a strike. There were a group of cute Indian boys also waiting at the station. Their frequent stare made me nervous and I kept questioning myself on the reason. Were they aware of it?  Did they figure out where I was heading? Or simply elated to see a familiar skin in a foreign state? I kept assuring myself that I looked normal and there was no tinge of ‘pink’ on my clothes except for my new kinky blood red under wear….

 After almost an hour in the bitter cold, the train arrived. Once I boarded the warm, air-conditioned compartment, I felt relieved and alive. The journey was uneventful except for the intermittent gaze of my fellow countrymen who seemed determined to intimidate me. Soon after disembarking, I was overwhelmed with an inexplicable feeling, a thought fazed by my dormant desire, scathed by fear and perturbed by the men in colored skin. At the terminal I came across a group of children who seemed to be a part of a school camp. Their adorable, innocent countenance and playful behavior eased me out a bit and soon found myself smiling at them. They reminded me of my childhood days, a phase in life when we are loved for who we are and not judged by whom we choose to love…

 As the great poet Tagore once said:

 

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high…

…..Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out from the depth of truth…..

……..Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the

dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action–

 

 Dark clouds (Desperation) 

” There is always somebody older, richer, more desperate than you” – Kristie Alley 

 

While my mind was pondering in this Euphoria, it soon became conscious about a watchful pair of eyes staring at me from the distance. It was one of the teenage boys (in his early 20s) assigned to babysit the children. From the moment I saw him till the time I crossed his path, our eyes kept reverberating between each other and the children. His riveting green eyes, a sharp chiseled nose, silky brunette hair wavering on his rugged face and his toned lean muscles, they all seemed familiar to me, someone I had made love to in my wet dreams. He was pretty impressed with me, quite desperate to relish the taste of a man’s captive love, desperate enough to neglect the concerned look on his friends’ faces. I had to rush to the exit terminal where I met my Dutch friend. We had acquainted ourselves on my last visit, a kind hearted, sweet and matured man, a friend whom I trusted and whose company I enjoyed. We walked through the streets decorated with lights everywhere. It was Christmas Eve. As pre-planned we entered an Indian restaurant and I was bestowed the privilege of ordering the dishes. Nan, paneer in spinach sauce, chicken curry and rice, they all seemed to rejuvenate my taste buds that had died after 1 month of tasteless sandwiches. My friend was impressed with the delicacies and kept praising the spinach and my new looks. By 22:00 hours we headed out once again into the merciless weather, unable to keep my eyes open for long and hands out of my pockets. As we walked by the streets, we both were amused at the continual stare from the passers-by. I thought that people were intrigued to see us as a couple of stark contrast, while my friend thought that they simply envied him. Although his suggestion seemed incredulous and flattering, I felt good about it.

 

Breeze (Nostalgia) 

“Nostalgia for what we have lost is more bearable than nostalgia for what we have never had” – Mignon McLaughlin

 

Like two kids in a fair as we enjoyed the light decorations resembling falling stars, my heart soon began sinking into a reverie of pathos and loss. I could not figure out the reason but it was evident to my friend when he complained about my silence. My ears seem to pick up a familiar tune floating in the air, which seemed more audible as we approached the corner of the street. It was a young Chinese man who was playing a violin by the street and the theme was from Titanic. We both stood there in the cold, drinking in the melody. It was not until then I realized I was holding my friends hand, something quite conspicuous and indicative in Europe. For a moment my eyes went surreal, unsure if it was the drizzle or something else, uncertain if it was the melancholy or my memories. 

 

 

Lightning (Seduction) 

“SEDUCTION is often difficult to distinguish from rape. In SEDUCTION, the rapist often bothers to buy a bottle of wine” – Andrea Dworkin 

 

By the time the melody had faded out, we were in a Gay café; it was a pretty cozy and unassuming place with light jazz and a handsome bartender. While my friend browsed through the menu, I was checking out the bartender’s physique. He was in his early 30s, slim, matured yet boyish. As he stood by our table waiting for us to order, he kept tossing his pen on the notepad and his eyes quivered in frenzy and embarrassment being molested by the voyeuristic eyes of a colored man. My friend’s voice soon came to his rescue. He ordered our favorite Cuban drink called the Caipirinha, a delicious mouth watering cocktail of Lime, Rum, sugar and crushed ice. He scribbled something on his pad and exclaimed “Voila!” with much alacrity than expected. Not that I have never heard someone saying that before. But this time it sounded highly effeminate and undoubtedly gay. At the washroom we lightened and groomed ourselves. As my friend was walking up the narrow stairs I had to stop to give way to a young cute guy. As soon as he passed my friend he slipped and fell right on to me, grabbed my shoulders for support. For a split second our eyes met, and so did our palms and chest. He forced out an embarrassing smile that smelt more of alcohol than apology. While I was on my way up, I tried looking back at him and so did he. The last thing I heard was him unzipping…..

“What a moron!” my friend exclaimed. “Was he drunk? Or did it on purpose?” I didn’t reply to any of his questions. Whatever the reason might be, I was happy and screaming in joy; for the first time in life someone had fallen for me….

 

Thunder (Jealousy) 

“Jealousy is always born with love, but does not always die with it” – FrancoisDuc de La Rochefoucauld

 

A few blocks ahead we came across a pair of girls distributing pamphlets. Then came a group of boys and girls who offered us the same but I wasn’t interested.  By then my friend had one in his hand and the other in his rear pocket. After a while there were a young guy and girl on either side of the pavement handing out the same pamphlets, but, this time it was different. He was gorgeous and charming while the girl beautiful and graceful. She had a captivating smile and was walking on my side of the path. We had a few seconds to go and time was flying away. I swapped sides with my friend and proceeded towards them. As I collected the piece of paper from the guy, I forced out a smile and so did he. There was coldness in his eyes, his nose and cheek had turned red. I wanted to cuddle him, and take him to my apartment for an Irish coffee and warm food. I wanted to kiss him and impart the warmth of manhood to comfort his frozen lips. I wanted to lend him my jacket and distribute the pamphlets on his behalf. I wanted to make him happy for the evening. The last time I saw him, he was kissing the same girl. I smiled at them, and felt happy for him. Although somewhere deep side I could feel my heart turning colder then the wind. I tore off the pamphlet and threw it away….

 

 Drizzle (Temptation)

“Lead me not into temptation; I can find the way myself” – Rita Mae Brown

 

Finally we were there, a place I wanted to experience at least once. I stared at the blue and red bill board that read “RED & BLUE”, a well known Gay night club frequented by a very attractive crowd from all over Belgium. All this time I was excited and now the excitement soon was giving way to fear and inhibition. All through my life, amongst friends and colleagues, at official parties or the elite night clubs of Calcutta, I was forced to be what I wasn’t. I danced with someone while I wanted to with someone else; I flirted with someone, while I wanted to with someone else. But tonight here I was, standing in front of a place where everyone was like me and had the same choice, where everyone knew the very basic truth of each other. There was nothing to hide from or hide about, there was nothing to be afraid of or be ashamed, and there was no one to ridicule me for who I am and what I was about to indulge in. All that lay ahead was a night to be honest with myself, a night to live the fullest, a life just a night long but long enough to let me live forever…..

 

At the entrance we were greeted by two African American bouncers and ushered in by a young cute man of mixed origin. At the registration counter there stood two young men. While one helped me fill up a form, the other presented me with a membership card. The card had the picture of the well toned man’s chest with six abs. All the while the second man kept staring at me in awe and was dumb founded. Not even for a moment did his blue eyes falter. Then we were directed towards the cloakroom where we handed over our jackets to two extremely handsome and cute boys of Turkish origin. One of the boys had his top few buttons open thereby revealing his smooth, well toned chest and hard protruding nipples adoring the soft ripe breasts. For a moment I could not help but fantasize him in the cloakroom wearing my leather jacket and pants and I was slowly taking them off like a child opening his birthday present.

 

 

Rain (Love) 

“Like two doomed ships that pass in storm we had crossed each other’s way: but we made no sign, we said no word, we had no word to say.” – Oscar Wilde

 

The most unpredictable thing in life is life itself.  No one can predict what would befall in the next moment. It could be happiness or sorrow, triumph or travesty, birth or death but there is only one thing it could leave behind: Memories.  He was standing at the other end of the corridor that led to the dance floor. He was in the mid 20s, slim, tall and tan. All this evening, I had come across many men: beautiful, handsome and sexy. But the moment I saw him, their memories seemed to evaporate like ether as if they never existed, as if they never happened. He was neither a super model nor did he have anything distinctive. But to me he was the perfect form of man bequeathed with simplicity, beauty and enigma. He wore a sleeveless black T- shirt and black pants and a smile whose memories I vow to take to my grave. Besides him there were weird men everywhere: half naked, in costumes or masks. I call them weird not because they are G, but because they didn’t belong to the world I had lived all these years. We were ushered towards the bar overlooking the dance floor. I must say that the club itself was nothing extraordinary but the people inside it and their activities were nothing but above the ordinary…

 

There was a bar where topless, muscular men with low rise jeans, revealing their pelvic were juggling expensive bottles of drinks in sync with the music. Almost all had tattoos, body piercings and the perfect body which any man/woman would dream to possess or relish in bed. It was 23:30 hours and the dance floor was empty but as time passed men started pouring in and so did the bottles of tequila into the glasses. There were all kinds of men around: young and middle aged, boyish and matured, smooth and hairy, twinks and hunks, macho and effeminates and men of all possible hair styles, hair colors and dresses. But, two things were common. They all loved men and they all were white except me. The latter revelation dawned as every man gave me a special look and sometimes a second or third one. Apart from my sexual freedom, I admit that it was this ubiquitous attention that I cherished most. The beats were becoming more provocative and the men wilder. I had come here to have fun, hoping to find a young white European boy to dance with, be in each others arms and may be end up in the dark room (rooms available above the dance floor for private moments) or his apartment. Everything was going as expected but I was not happy. As if my mind was craving for someone and I was all alone in this crowd, as if I was unwanted here despite men drooling at me. Lost in my own contradictory desires and delusions, I was woken up by a hand on my shoulders. I turned back and for a moment my heart leapt. It was him again…..

 

He was holding a bunch of luminescent polythene bands radiating green, yellow and pink. At first they never caught my attention because their fluorescent glow seemed less beaconing than his brilliant eyes, eyes that spoke, eyes that had life and had the power to take mine. As he offered one of the bands, he appeared like an angel holding a wand to spell magic on me. If I could make a momentary wish that could even cost my life; I would have done it. I would have wished that he was kneeling down offering me a red rose instead of standing with a wand. I accepted it and looked at my friend who by then had fathomed what was going on in my mind. By the time I looked back, he was gone and so was the spell.

 

 

Wind (Men) 

“A man snatches the first kiss, pleads for the second, demands the third, takes the fourth, accepts the fifth – and endures all the rest”  – Helen Rowland

 

Soon the floor seemed infested with fire-flies as the men in the darkness tied the glowing band around their neck resembling a Roman emperor or on their head like angels. As we entered the dance floor, all eyes turned towards me. At first I was a bit conscious and shy, may be because of the attention or I was surrounded by beautiful boys only. Gradually my inhibition began to shed and soon found myself grooving.

 

 It was 1 am; my friend and I were exhausted and decided to have a drink. He bought a coke and I ordered for tequila. While my conscience could feel the burden of stare from almost every man at the bar table, my eyes were fixated at the bartender’s chest that had a pair of winged cupids tattooed on it. The tattoo, a symbol of love and purity seemed discordant in a place like this where there was less love than lust and the only thing pure were Les Vins rouge (red wines). Having spent a couple of hours in the club, I was in a position to classify men around me. There were the young boys: kinky, pink, slim and nubile who intermittently shrugged their head to wave off their long hair that kept falling off on their face. Then there were the aged men on the prowl for the young ones: tall, average looks and unaccompanied. As they kept wading through the crowd in search of a young and rather accepting partner, all they got was a forceful smile or a frown. But they never lost hope. One of them kept staring at me unabated and smiling every time our eyes met until he gave in and asked me “Vous venez d’ou?” (Where are you from?). I replied “India” and ironically he heard and repeated after me “England?”

 

There were two other kinds of men: one was the well built, gym toned men, bare chested, and ostensibly revealing their abs with pride and virility. Yes, I am referring to our favorite aphrodisiac term: the Hunks! Lastly we had men who could not be classified under any of the above categories because they looked perfect…. exotic face and muscular, tanned, flawlessly maintained body. We christened them as the “untouchables”. They stayed in their own group, fortified and unwelcoming to all the less perfect souls. Any body who dared to touch them, dance or flirt was shooed off as if they were lepers on the streets. Everyone: the young and old, hunks and twinks, the perfect and the not-so-perfect ones: they all seemed engaged in an act of temptation, deception and intoxication; an orgy where everyone pretended to be the dominant partner trying to hide their only passive instinct: their loneliness…..

 

A few weeks earlier I had attended an opera in Brussels; a classic representation of music and drama. It comprised various elements like acting, scenery, costumes and dance theatrically captured by music and singing. I found a stark similarity with what was happening all around me. Glaring flashes of lights in unison with the blaring techno music often tinged with an element of Indian classical and trance, smoke emanating from the cigars, intertwined men engaged in various acts like kissing, hugging, licking alcohol being poured on their bodies, half naked boys dancing in cages above us…they all had a role to play except for me. This revelation gave birth to a question in my mind. An opera can be a Comedy, tragedy or a satire. But in this case I wasn’t sure…

 

 

Tide (Lust) 

“Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust”- John Webster

Quite unexpectedly the boys stopped dancing and turned their faces on the other side. I did the same. There were spot lights towards the stage and the beats had changed. The show was about to begin. As the curtain rose, there was a sudden commotion in the crowd. Two pairs of extremely hot, gorgeous men in micro mini leather boxers and laced nets on their chest stood in front of us. Everything they wore was in pink. One of the boys was him. As the pairs engaged in a well orchestrated act of dance steps imitating poses of copulation, I could feel my pupils dilate and pulses throb. The temperature was rising. Although everyone gaped in ecstasy at the other couple with more tempting bodies and abs, my eyes and interest were fixated on him. This was the first time I saw his naked skin, his pale chest and his lean yet perfectly toned body. While he and his partner performed those extreme enactments with acrobatic fervor and flexibility; one part of me fantasized us doing the same in my apartment and the other part stirred the natural sin of man: Envy…

 

Suddenly from nowhere, water started showering on them. The glistening sweaty bodies soon turned wet and their tight fit under garments did the magic. Their bulges, white pink breasts, tongues lashing and drinking water flowing from their partner’s chest and armpits, mouths licking on one another’s toes and hands grabbing each other’s rear cheeks or sliding inside their boxers… It was the perfect spectacle for the sixth sense of perversion. Once the curtains fell, everyone returned back to where they came from and to whom they came or chose to depart with… for the night.

 

We were back on the dance floor after a glass of whisky and I had taken off my shirt like a few others. I was always proud of my chest amongst my fellow Indians as I had a fair, smooth, well defined chest. But today it was different. Every body around me had the perfect body: smooth, toned white chests with a tinge of pink, perfect curves and bright red nipples. I kept observing one of the boys in his teens, who had the perfect one. He had a stout strong body with juicy tits and velvet armpits. The distinctive thing about him was the miniscule pubic hair uniformly grown on his chest. From the distance it appeared smooth, but from close it looked manly and virile. I could not take my eyes away from him; imagining him lying on a bed of green grass with his hands out-stretched, his vulnerability and passiveness fueling my sexual depravity. I pull down his under wear and pour wine and vanilla cream on his chest and abdomen. His tiny hair strands and stiff tits perforate the layer of cream. As I lick them off with long never ending strokes of my tongue, he writhes and moans. With every inch as I drag down, I could hear him squeal and giggle as he contorts his slimy wet body in orgasm.

 

  Tornado (Malevolence)

  “Seeing my malevolent face in the mirror, my benevolent soul shrinks back.” -Mason Cooley 

Not sure if he had read my mind, quite unassumingly he gave a smile and so did I with embarrassment. I was guilty as charged and turned my head to hide my face still blushing with conscience. Unfortunately it wasn’t over. Right in front there was one of the “Untouchables”; bare chest who looked more like any model on a fashion magazine cover page or a porn star except that his low-rise jeans was just too low to reveal a portion of his butt. Our eyes met for a few times as we threw momentary looks over the shoulders of our dancing partners. There was no smile on his face or humility. Everything about him was raw, shrewd and menacing despite his extraordinarily attractive looks. He reminded me of the white oleander, a beautiful subtropical flower that can withstand drought and extreme cold but highly poisonous and toxic. He could make you as happy in bed as unhappy in life, pleasurable in sex as painful in love: a cruel unfair nemesis to faith and love. I turned my head back to the previous boy; he was still there but was clothed this time. As I put on my shirt feeling a bit inferior and stupid, he turned towards me. His T-shirt read:

 “I AM A YOUNG PIECE OF MEAT, FRESH AND TENDER”

 

 

Calm (Confession & Regret) 

“Serenity is not freedom from the storm, but peace amid the storm” – Unknown

 

I realized my friend was getting tired and wanted to leave. But he was hesitant to tell me. I decided to oblige but I had to finish an unfinished business. Less conscious of my actions, I walked to the bartender and waited. He came up to me and asked “Que est-ce que vous voulez? (What can I get you?) I replied “votre stylo, sil vous plait” (Your pen please?). He stared at me trying hard to conceal his muse but the rest of the guys who overheard, didn’t try hard enough. I took the pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper. What I did after that, if I think about it today, I can’t help but admire my audacity. I was always an introvert and shy who never asked a question (even if I had one) to a teacher in class and never answered to any (even if I knew it). But today there was a sudden surge of confidence and desperation in me. I walked up to him (the dancer) as every single guy had their gaze riveted on me trying to anticipate what I was about to do. He was sitting bare chest, tired and sweating. Despite being surrounded by admirers and friends, he seemed detached and lost. He kept looking at me intermittently and his eye lids faltered. I was fidgeting as my mind was getting flooded with mixed feelings of frenzy, fear and imminence. I handed over to him the paper and rushed back into the crowd trying to fathom his thoughts when I handed over the letter. “Oh damn, another unattractive guy falling for me? Another phone number and he expects I am going to call him! Is he asking for a date?”  I expected him to tear it off into shreds and was afraid to see him doing that. But I dared to peep through the crowd. He was reading it with a smile…..

 

I believe that a beautiful truth when buried forever smells foul of regret and repentance. And for a truth as sublime as love or admiration there is no right moment or place to express it. It could be under the warmth of the rising sun or the chill of sunset, in the garden or a cemetery, with a rose in hand or blood pricked while plucking the same…the truth remains the same. And so I wrote to him:

 

“You are a fantastic dancer and the most beautiful man I ever met. But you aren’t the luckiest man on this planet; instead it is the man whom you will fall in love with”

                                                                                                                

I always wondered why we have a barrier in a confession chamber between the Father of the church and the sinner. But that night I got the answer when I could not look into his eyes, not for once after the incident. There are times when we are afraid of the darkness and want to get out of it. But there are also moments when we want to remain in the dark, because we choose to be happy with the kindness of lie than being hurt by a vindictive truth…

 

 

Clear sky (Hope) 

“Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark” -  George lles

 

It was 5:00 am and was time to leave. I decided to see him one last time. He was sitting at the same place where I had left him. And he saw me too. He never smiled nor looked elsewhere. Neither did I. It was that look from a man I had craved for; a glance filled with three indispensable ingredients of manhood: Passion to die for someone, Power to admonish and Privilege of being loved. As we departed, I never cared to look at the men or the pair of winged cupids tattooed on the chest. After having searched for love through out life and never having relished its taste except the bitter ones, I had ventured into this night with the sole purpose of seeking lust, libido and liquor: a cathartic night to release all pent-up emotions. But here I was, standing where I started from, lonely and still hoping for love…We both hit the streets after collecting our jackets. But this time things had changed. I did not find the Turkish boys attractive anymore nor was the wind cold enough…

 

I stood by the sea in silence. The storm was over, the tide had receded and it promised never to come back. With it everything was lost: the cute Indian boys, the teen at the station, the effeminate bartender, the guy who fell for me, the lad with the pamphlets and even the men at the club. The only thing that survived was a tombstone built on his memories without a name on it.  As the waves lashed and turned away, I could feel the sands below my feet slipping away, dragging me deeper towards it. What surprised me, was though I loved the sea, my feet were cringing hard to hold onto the sandy ground- may be because I was afraid of drowning or may be I never had learnt to let go off the sands of time…

 

Somewhere deep inside, deeper than the sea ahead I was still humming the tune from titanic…