Morning
Tell me your Dreams
When I was a kid, I eagerly waited for my birthday: A special day when my room would be stuffed with gifts; toys, chocolates, clothes, jackets, shoes and what not.
06th March 2006, it was a beautiful Sunday morning; I was enjoying the countryside of France through the window of the fastest train on earth: the TGV from Brussels to Paris. Since I was a child, I had read about this city in my school and watched on TV. But I must admit that none had imbibed in me this unquenchable desire to visit the city more than my mother. I used to listen with my eyes wide open, stories about this great city and its beautiful people as she described the tiniest details in the most articulate and passionate manner. And today here I was speeding through the countryside at 300Kmph getting closer by the minute to the city of my dreams, the city I always wanted to live at least for a night…
I had a list of the must-see destinations that I had prepared last night with the help of my American colleague and friend: le Musee de Louvre, the Champs de Elysees, Notre Damn, le tour de Eiffel… the list was endless but certainly not complete without the most imperative item, for which of course I needed no help- the charming and gorgeous French boys! As I disembarked at the La Gare SNCF of Charles de Gaulle, a cold gust of wind brushed past my body. It was March, yet one could feel the chill of winter and rain. I was shivering, not sure if it was the cold or the anxiety. Like a child in a shop full of toys or candies, I wanted to scream and cry and dance in excitement but that wasn’t an option. I had to wait until I was in a place more private like my hotel room. Commuting in an unknown city via a metro with a 20+ kilos suitcase, a laptop and a camera could be quite an unnerving experience. But at that moment I was on cloud nine, and the only feeling I had was not of happiness or curiosity but of victory…..
Once I reached the final station, I kept walking with a map in my hand. After a kilometer, a feeling of exhaustion and disappointment started creeping in me. I felt like an Indian audience sitting at the theater watching a much awaited Bollywood movie. As every minute passes, he expects something radical to happen, but it never does. Slowly he starts getting restless and blames the film maker. I was getting impatient.
La vie est belle – Life is beautiful
And then I would ask for the special and most anticipated gift from my parents. Why? Because it used to be the best, something I had hankered for the past 6 months, something undoubtedly expensive. It had started with a remote controlled racing car. The moment my father returned from work I grabbed it from his arms and ran to my room screaming in joy.
A man happened to be walking ahead of me for quite sometime. “m’excusez” I exclaimed. He turned and replied “Pardon”. For a moment I had lost all words and with it the very reason to call him. A perfectly chiseled white face with a greenish tinge of stubble, well trimmed eye brows and wavy long hair (resembling Tom Cruise in MI 2) that he kept caressing with his flawlessly manicured fingers. But the most distinctive thing about him was his pair of razor sharp eyes: an infinite blend of a million colors, an intangible kaleidoscope of a single feeling. The movie had just begun…..
“I am lost in your eyes, I need to be ‘here’” (pointing at the map). “Pouvez vous m’aider? Sil vous plait (Can you help me? please)”. He looked at the paper for a moment and then looked at me with raised eye brows. I felt embarrassed as if he caught me while I was checking him out. Yes, I was quite deftly analyzing the contour of his face and chest and yes, I was trying hard to determine the brand of his perfume: is it Armani or Chanel, ah! It must be… He chuckled and exclaimed “You are already here, Sir. It’s right in front of you!” Although he had just directed me to my destination, I continued staring at him as if I was still lost. My destiny had apparently changed with him…
.
Still recreating his face in my mind as I turned left, the time almost came to a standstill and I stood there in utter disbelief. It was a 36 storied 5 star hotel or le Relais et chateaux. The building was magnificent, the architecture impeccable and the entrance imposing and grand. As the handsome ‘Greek God’-faced entry guard ushered me to the reception, I was loosing myself at every step amidst the elite men and women, the gorgeous fountain, the flamboyant interiors and replicas of the masterpieces adoring the ornate walls. At the reception desk I was greeted by a lady bestowed with beauty par excellence. She had a million dollar smile, the innocence of a new born and the fragility of faith. For a moment I imagined that if I wasn’t gay, how romantic it would have been to kiss her eyes, to smell her fragrance and sit with her at the banks of the Seine eating French fries and coke.
As luck would have it, I soon ran out of my 2 minutes of straight thinking and fantasies. There arrived to my next counter a handsome, charming young British Airways pilot. About 6 feet tall, well defined physique under immaculate white shirt and blue uniform, broad shoulders and chest adorned with polished brass badges, an extremely attractive countenance with an agile pair of peacock blue eyes and brunette hair emerging down his blue cap like icicles: I stood there with my jaw almost dropped to my feet and my eyes ostensibly drooling for the forbidden fruit. I was so flabbergasted at this new modern marvel; I didn’t even realize that la femme fatale was trying hard to make herself heard. Finally when she succeeded, she handed over to me a card and said “your room is on the 28th floor!!”
First the man on the street, then the unexpected 5 star hotel, the 2 minutes of straight fantasies, the gorgeous pilot and now the 28th floor? Never been that high in my life. Still not quite sure if I had heard her correctly, I followed the bellboy to the elevator.
A child in time
When I was about 13yrs old, I got my first bike. It was the white one, the single piece on display at the newly opened store in my locality. I hugged my father and barged out of my house with it. The next morning, I wanted a video game for my next anniversary…
Once I was in my room, I felt elated. Now I can scream and celebrate. It was a beautiful room, a classic cot flanked by elegant pair of lamps, a replica of Van Gogh’s masterpiece “The starry night”, a comfortable divan, LCD screen, music and most importantly a gorgeous centre table adored with a basket full of chocolates and a bottle of le vin rouge (red wine). Feeling quite exhausted, reclined on the sofa I tried operating ‘the console’: a device that could control everything in the room except for my emotional quotient that was about to be rattled…
After having tried the AC, lights, Television and even the revolving cot, I decided to try the last and then the unthinkable happened! Like an audience on the 1st row, as the curtains rose and a round of applause reverberated through the auditorium, an inexplicable feeling flooded my mind, a concoction of shock and silence, of disbelief and delusion, of joy and jubilation. Right in front of me stood a towering, indisputable iron structure. I have seen this numerous times in books, on television and also in my imagination. But all of those fell million times smaller and trivial to what I was beholding. The tower along with the skyscraping luxury hotels, the Seine river meandering from the distance, the countless arched bridges flying over it, the palatial buildings and the infinitesimally small people and cars… the curtains weren’t that huge but what lay behind it was simply larger than my life, grander than my fantasies and higher than where I was standing…
The Seine from my room
The next minute I was talking to my mom. Even before she could speak I shouted “Ma do you know where I am?” She asked “where?”…. “I am in my dream city, I am in Paris, your Paris, our Paris and Ma it is as good as you described when I was a kid”… For a moment I felt choked as if a million words and countless feelings were desperately trying to come out all at the same time… but all that did was a trickle from my eyes. I said “This is the happiest day of my life and I wish you were here with me.” The last thing I heard was her distinctive laughter. She was happy….
As I lay down in the warm Jacuzzi decorated with ornate fixtures resembling sea animals, I could not stop fantasizing the handsome pilot. I wished I was invisible and had followed him to his room and watch him undress. As he shed his clothes one by one, I grew harder. He put on the bathrobe and headed towards the bath. Dropping the robe behind him, as he gently immersed himself in the warm bath with a moan, I could visualize the water gradually devouring his young flesh like the sea does to a ship on its maiden voyage. As he caressed his hair back, his muscular biceps and toned chest continually swaying above and below the water until I decided to join him….
It took me about 15 minutes to walk out of the hotel and reach my first destination: Le tour de Eiffel. For all those who have never been to Paris, it is almost impossible to express the Grandeur of the Tower. Yes, like many other wonders of the world it is unimaginably huge. But one can only feel it when he/she stands right below it.
Be it the cathedrals, the palaces, the alleys and arched bridges; they all had something in common: a touch of art, either in the majestic sculptures and canvases or in something as tiny as a restaurant at the street corner, either flowing with the music of the bands at the metro stations or developing on the clipboards of countless aspiring painters standing by the river banks.
Noon
Life imitates art, Art imitates life
As luck would have it, I earned the fruit of my patience. Having waited for a year, at midnight they came and woke me up. I pretended to be asleep but I wasn’t. I was eagerly waiting for my present. Soon after they had left I was lying in bed with a smile on my face. I had already planned for my next gift…
Finally I was at the last destination: something I was looking forward to all this while. As I proceeded towards the main entrance, a certain sense of eeriness and awe engulfed me. It wasn’t a bright sunny day, the sun was playing hide and seek. The desolate walk way, the cold dark alleys heading to a dark world of anonymity and silence, the complicated and mystifying architecture where every bit of history seemed trapped like a caged bird, where every note of silence could be heard. But the most contradicting and incoherent part was the Central Courtyard also known as the Carosel de Louvre that featured a modern, sophisticated Glass pyramid designed by an American architect and surrounded by the Grandeur and glory of 13th Century French architecture. The pyramid didn’t seem to be accepted by its surroundings, a similar feeling that I had about myself several years ago….
A shrine for the most famous, expensive and sought after artworks of human era; the hot French police and security left no chance but to remind me that I was inside one of the most secured places in the world. After having covered a couple of wings, I rushed towards the Salle de Etats, a chamber that housed the most controversial and expensive art work in the world. Assessed at a whopping $680 million today, a Sfumato masterpiece with her infamous smile, I stared at it for a long time asking myself again and again “what is so special about her?” She wasn’t beautiful and there were fewer feelings and almost no emotions. The gay artist had disappointed me….
Every canvas mounted on the high walls, the frescoes on the ceiling, the immaculate white marble sculptures; they all had a story to tell: stories of sacrifice and struggle, of battles and blood, of heroes and villains and lastly life and death. For the first time in life I could perceive the shear genius of the masters and the intricate details depicted in the masterpieces. The flawless human size nude sculptures of men and warriors, the toned half naked men in the resplendent canvases: they not only had an artistic appeal but also the sexual one…..
After about 2 hours, I was back on the bus heading towards the Avenue des Champs de Elysees, a heavenly abode to the most exquisite and undoubtedly expensive designer brands of the world: elite watch and jewelry brands like Cartier and Omega to the breath taking custom studios of Mercedes and Maclaren. But the place I liked most was The Sephora, a store of perfumes and cosmetics of every make and price. But the distinctive aspect was the sales people: men who had the perfectly made up eye liners and mascaras on their face. Not that I have an affinity for the effeminate boys but in this case I was ready to concede. My favorite brand had always been Armani and coincidentally it had my favorite vendeur (Sales guy) too. About 5 feet 9 inches tall, his eyes reflecting a boisterous brilliance and a predictable smile, it was his vulnerability that seduced me. Everytime I picked one of the tester bottles, he held my wrist with a male softness and sprayed on it.
The Sephora
Nature has given us 5 five senses and somehow my sense of smell had stopped functioning. The only one which did seemed transfixed on him….
Life less ordinary
By the time I had reached 18, my demands and expectations had changed. For my upcoming birthday I wanted something more classy and chic, something that reflected my personality. And I got it. It was a beautiful, limited edition classic wrist watch.
On my way back to the bus stop I came across a watch store. Watches had been always my object of affection; more than men, for the simple reason that they despite being gorgeous were faithful and would never let go off my hand for another….unless I wanted them to. For quite sometime I kept loitering around the store peeping through the windows at the exquisite pieces. Some in gold and some in platinum, some studded with gems and diamonds. As I was browsing through, one of them caught my attention. It was a simple watch, black dial and pitch black titanium strap. The hour and minute hands were gold plated covered under a thin layer of sapphire crystal glass. It was love at first sight and I desperately wanted it for myself.
All this while, I was trying to hard to gather enough courage and audacity to walk in, intimidated not by the watches that I could not afford but by the customers who could. Finally as I walked in, I realized that I had started perspiring profusely. Every soul in the store stared at me as if I wasn’t someone they expected, as if I didn’t belong here. I walked up to the friendliest looking sales girl and asked her to show me the watch in display and she obliged. I wanted to enquire about the price but was emphatically waiting for the commotion to recede and the unavoidable attention to die down. After a couple of minutes, as my vicinity crawled to normalcy I asked her “C’est combien?”(How much is it?), feeling more confident than ever to walk out with it. She replied “trente mille Euros”.
I knew what she meant but wasn’t sure if I had heard it correctly…. 30,000 Euros. I wanted to blurt out to her “That’s twice the cost of my car!” But I didn’t as it would have been a joke just for my ears and not for the rest of the souls. After about half an hour I was walking out of the store with an intangible pride on my face and an opulent watch case in my bag. It had cost me a fortune but I had kept my promise. Inside the case, on a fine layer of blue velvet and muslin, there lay a magnificent piece of time wear, wrapped in platinum and the gorgeous dial had a flamboyant multi colored Belgium glass… It was the perfect gift for the ‘best Mom’ on this planet…..
Night
Love me tonight
By the time I had reached 24, my life had changed a lot. I was living far away from my family and friends. The only thing that didn’t change was the alacrity with which I awaited my birthday. On that eventful midnight I waited for it to happen again. But it didn’t. Neither my parents nor my friends wished me. I lay in bed like a vagabond, as if banished and barred by my beloveds.
It was half past seven; I had recharged my cam corder unable to decide whether to get out of my room. I was tired and trying to convince myself that I had seen it all. I was so wrong. After about 10 minutes I was walking by the Seine. The gorgeous heritage buildings seemed bathed in pastels of light and shade. The extravagant palaces, the exuberant monuments, the arch bridges adorned with street lamps resembling lanterns swaying in the breeze and their reflections on the water, they all together seemed to have been conspiring while I was relaxing in my room. Now that I was out, a completely different city, a new magical civilization was born waiting to mesmerize this Indian man, waiting to take his breath away and never return it back….
A night view from my room
As I strolled on the avenue admiring the numerous wonderful couples engaged in intimate moments of romance, I could sense the so long forbidden feeling gently simmering in me. I was jealous of the lucky couples, I gazed blatantly as the lady in the white shimmering gown rose her left foot with high heels while her lover imparted to her lips the most ‘universally inspired legacy of French culture’, I smiled at the young blonde gay couple exuding every single form of man’s love on each other in the shadow of the bridge.
I was back at my favorite location: The Eiffel tower. But this time it had changed. Every corner and pillar of this structure was kindled with thousands of watts of light. With every minute crowds thronged the place in thousands, hundreds of police vehicles speeding around with ear splitting siren, gorgeous men pouring from all directions in tuxedos and casuals, huge African American men pursuing tourists to buy miniature Eiffel towers … the city was waking up and my soul was seeing a new dream.
Standing on the Pallais de Shalliot, like other tourists I stared in awe. The tower stood in front of us like a giant Olympic torch, embodying grace, grandeur and supremacy, a torch waiting to be lighted. Suddenly someone tapped on my shoulder gently with a captivating voice “Excusez”. For some unexplained reason I felt a surge of fear running down my blood. As I turned back, there were two cute young boys standing close behind me with an electrifying smile. They requested me for something which I could not comprehend. Both seemed to be in early 20s, slim, toned and identical eyes. One had the hair style of Keanu Reaves in ‘Speed’ and the other that in the ‘Matrix’. Did they confuse me with someone else? Was I obstructing their view of the Eiffel? Were they asking for a threesome!!? Well I had never fantasized sex without feelings, something that’s imperative in any kind of orgy. As I looked down I stared at my hands that held the answer… A canon power shot!
Making complete use of my liberty, I took my own sweet time to focus on the pair. After a couple of shots, they requested me for one more. And I obliged. But this time they decided to use their own freedom of expression. With a smile, they held each others neck and looked deep into their eyes. I could see a small section of the tower between them. But as time progressed, it slowly evaporated. There was no space between them to accommodate ‘the wonder’, no emptiness to be replaced by my lust. They kissed each other, their rosy lips pressing as hard as they could and their hands caressing the white flawless necks and bony shoulders. First time today, I felt no pangs of envy beholding a public display of affection; instead there was a sudden avalanche of pride while capturing it. As the camera made the click, I honestly doubted; that this tiny piece of technology could capture the huge tower but might not justify the infinity of love proliferating between them.
As I returned the camera to them, there was an inexplicable gratefulness in their eyes. May be, after a year when they are away from each other on a cold winter evening or going through an unpleasant phase of relationship, they would accidentally come across this picture that would remind them of this very priceless moment in Paris, a moment only few lucky men get, a moment that might never come back again….
The tower on fire
And we Live Happily ever after
The next evening after I had given up hope, I was surprised at the unexpected call from my parents. They both wished me and apologized for their forgetfulness. After they had hung up, I was rejoicing. It was my first birthday when I didn’t get a gift but felt privileged, first time my room was no longer filled with presents but my heart was oozing out happiness, first time I had thanked my parents for wishing me.
It was 23:00 hours; I was inside the elevator of the tower. With every second, I could see through the glass windows, the city going away from me. In about 40 minutes, I had reached the second level and was waiting for the elevator to take me to the top! It was -3 degrees Celsius, I was shivering and so was every soul standing in the queue. In front of me there stood a cute pair. From their conversation I realized that the girl was from the US and had come to meet his hot boyish French friend or boy friend. For some reason, he continually kept turning back towards me and our eyes met. Sometimes there was a dry smile on his face which I failed to return in the freezing cold. At one instance I walked out of the queue and stood by the edge. He followed me. For a couple of minutes, we stood beside each other in silence admiring the meretriciously ornamented city below. Those 2 minutes were my most romantic moments in Paris, and that was all what ‘the city of love’ had in store for me.
As I stepped out into the roof of the observation deck, an unbearable chill ran down my spine. It was -7 degrees Celsius and 5 minutes to midnight. As I walked along the wired fence, my hand holding the camera shaking uncontrollably, I felt something like never before. The entire city was celebrating Diwali (Hindu festival of lights). Every building, palace, the river, the numerous arched bridges and the golden towers of the cathedrals…they all had transformed into a panorama of candles that flickered in the wind. In their desperate attempt to immortalize the sweet taste of their young love, 300 meters above the city, every man and woman were busy capturing this very intimate moment. But I, the only solitary soul was celebrating my newly discovered love affair, till death do us part. It was midnight on top of the most gorgeous world and Happiness was finally unleashed…
From the top of the tower
On my way back to the hotel, I came across numerous cute boys and girls standing on the street awaiting customers. Some gave me a smile expecting the same from me while some shouted out the price. I liked one of them. He was in his mid 20s with the looks that can kill. But then, I knew that he could give me everything what I wanted in bed and not what I really needed in life.
The last thing I remember was me lying in my bed. It was 1am. I was too excited to go back to sleep and afraid that this memorable evening would cease to exist once I closed my eyes. In a state of trance I could see the powerful search light rotating from the top of the tower like a light house, the young gigolo still standing at the corner smiling at me but I was too tired to walk up to him or even say goodnight to ourselves….
The next morning after I checked out, the same Greek God-faced entry guard whistled me a taxi. It was a blue Mercedes S class. As I drove off, I video taped myself. This was the first time I got up in a Mercedes and I wanted to capture this special moment. Today, whenever I am hurt or lonely or desperately seek for happiness, I replay this part of the video that reminds me of the eternal truth:
Happiness is not a commodity you can buy, not even with the biggest bank balance or in the best lifestyle. It neither comes along with an expensive anniversary gift. It is the first birthday present we get when we step into this ephemeral world. Sometimes in the form of a priceless look of astonishment and pride on your mother’s face when you present her with a’ watch from Paris’ and sometimes in the excitement of riding a car which you can never afford or spending an evening in a city that you have always dreamt of.
Yes, life is a garden full of such timeless flowers: flowers that bloom in the spring of our lives and promise to stay in our memories in every season to come. They never perish, they never die. So the smart thing to do is to never go searching for it in a shop, not because they don’t have it but because you can never buy it…
[...] Till death do us part [...]
tooooo good and really matured one…. awesome!!! i deserve a trt
since i am the first one to read it and write a comment.lol
Hulo,
You surely do… Not sure if you are the first one to read but definitely first in comments… so wat treat do u want? french fries or french boys
hahhaha..thanks for your comments… glad i have a reader like you…and thanks for refering it to your friend.
well thanks a lot for the trt! i will go for french fries [:P] though… just let me know when it is.. u can contact me at givemeanameplz@gmail.com….. and regarding my blog since most of the people i meet dont know that i am gay! i dont want to disclose it here! if u give me ur ID i can mail u …… by other topics i wanted to mean something not related to u being gay!! there are many things to write ..i guess! may be a poem… may be a story about something else ( i dont know though what kind of) .. hope u understand
Hey,
Very Nice post.. Triggerred all the instincts in me to push Paris to the top in the list of my “Must Visit” places..
I see that you have made it a point to post once a month.. I will wait for August..
I normally do not read long blogs/posts but this is definitely a surprise to myself that I am longing to read more..
May be because I quite closely know you in person, or because I quite closely resemble you in the impalpable emotional condition amidst the unaccommodating social situations ..
-R
Hulo,
You can email me at loversprayer@rediffmail.com . I will contact you too… thanks for the id.
Well thats a good input about writing on non gay topics… appreciate that. But if you see carefully these topics are not about gays or even sexuality except the first one…These are just written by a gay guy and hence called La vie en rose. You know what i mean.. 
hehhehe..But i will surely keep your comments in mind and try to come out with something less gay 
Be it paris or one night stand or night club… there wud not have been much of a difference if i was straight lol…
Sweetchap22,
Thanks a lot for your comments… I am overwhelmed
I am glad that i have stirred up your desire for visiting paris.. It surely is a dream place. But the trick is to perceive things different from the rest of the world… and i m sure u r capable of doing that. 
Yes i will soon be coming with my new posts and definitely they will be much shorter 
You are my first reader and ofcourse first commentator 
I will be in Europe next month end and we can chat more… Ofcourse this time i will be visiting france germany and may be switzerland…not sure 
love it, n u too!
pavan,
thanks
u did not replied my mail :X
hulo,
i never received any mail from u… sorry dude. I sent you a mail just now.. Reply to me
nicely portrayed your visit to Paris.
Visitng paris is one of my wishes not for either frech fries or french boyz but for french fashion.
From the blog, it also seems that you loved your mom more than anything. Liked it.
Keep going.
Buddy,
hahahhaa…well when i refered to french boyz, i was including the fashion part too
Hot men in hot dresses. 
Yes it is true, I still love my mom the most in this world, a friend, a homemaker, a teacher, a guide, a ministering angel. She is the one, I know, who loves me the most, trusts me the most and she is the one, i know, would be disappointed the most when the truth is out.
WOW THIS ttime you have have really swept all the dreams about paris in me.. I am into french language for like a year noiw. So being a queer and a french student this blog of yours was a treat for my eyes……. good…… the french touch was awesome…….!!
zahdoh,
hey thanks a lot man. I am glad that you liked it. Yes… Paris is a dream no doubt about that.