Overwhelmed

Why do we give in so much
To life and all things such
We wish too much, I kiss too much
People, animals, and things as such

Why are we in pain so much
The pills can't cure all this much
We work too much, I love too much
Work, hobby, and duties as such

Why don't we gain so much
We are fools, I guessed as much
We pray too much, I cry too much
My heart, my soul, and all that mush

Why can't we cease, all of us
We aren't immortal, we know that much
I hope too much, can't act that much
I surrender everything, all this fuss

Older gay men and societal pressure

My intrinsic neuronal networking and neurochemical homeostatic mechanism predispose me to have a liking for older men, who are often 30 years elder to me. Interestingly, not once have I faced a generation gap with such men. Most men have youthful vibrant minds and an active physical life, much unlike straight corpulent middle-aged corporate men.

However, there is a wide divide between older Indian gay men and those from the 'civilized' world. Excepting a very few, Indian older gay men are usually in various degrees of closetedness and are under great pressure to act straight in their professional realms. Some are caught in straight marriages in varying degrees of stability and comfort. Despite unsuccessful marriages, some men are being forced to stay put because they love their kids and have responsibilities toward their families.

A very common and hypercritical way to look at this situation is to be disparaging of their choice to get married when they did. I have friends who have fallen in love with their wives and before getting married to them. However, the little bit of bisexuality in them has waned off and they don't have a sexual or emotional relationship with their spouse now. Some others had married because of some kind of social pressure or similar situation when they were young.

I believe that this issue needs to be looked at from the points of view of both the spouses. The men have been guilty when they chose to not be truthful to their families and wives. The women have suffered trauma and humiliation during the duration of such a relationship. Both have their points to justify their claim and deserve justice.

At this juncture, when the men have matured enough to brave the coming-out front - many have come out in different levels already - a dialogue needs to ensue. An open one that involves the people who would be directly affected - the man, his wife, their kids (if they are old enough), the family, and at times close friends/partners. In this dialogue, everyone needs to come clean and agree to agree and disagree, and take positive steps for the future. This should be done considering the best possible outcome for all those involved so that the hatchet can be truly buried and a more joyful comfortable life would result.

There will be those who feel that people/life have been unfair to them. But that can be changed - for the better. Why not, for example, agree on a truce where the 'marriage' remains as a facade for the society - to front its insulting wrath - and a meaningful understanding friendship is achieved between the family members; especially the couple and their kids. If this is achieved, everyone can find happiness in their own way taking care of the rest in the best way they can. And they should, because they care about each other more often than not.

Decision making on a wintry afternoon

On a wintry afternoon
You chose to waste away
Blame it on the rum and coke
Blame it on your better half
Blame it on your entire self

The same wintry afternoon
I chose to work away
Flaming on my jive and jokes
Flaming on my better half
Flaming on my chosen self

This has been going on and on
We chose to shoo away
Wasting on our life and folks
Wasting on less-than-halves
Wasting on, wasting ourselves

I'm sorry, sullen and can't go on
I'm choosing to fly away
Folding up my coat and book
Framing me and my better half
Flying to him, saving myself

Of Donkey, Demons, and Diabolical Death

At the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival, I checked out a few documentary films. One of them has its imagery stuck in my head. It's about the Mumbai terror attacks in 2008 - Subodh Kerkar did an art exhibition on the attacks using photos, sculptures, and fixtures. The documentary film documented the making of the exhibits. If someone gets a chance to check it out, please do! It's worth it!

This is an image of an invite to the original exhibition. And even further down is a startling image from the photoshoot!

Phallacies are ours, and are phalluses

So long, we say to us
It's seven and half past
My song's just started
We're almost over
I shy to take the last step

So strong, we've been together
Thinking we're meant forever
The pain's all but thrusting
It's way in, sweet lover
I wince at the last gasp

Stay, stay, stay
Play, play, play
Lay, lay, lay
By me one last time

The wrong, it's not either's
Our minds, and their defects
Will tread the mine-fields
Of each other, all the while we're together

We were gone, blacked out for an hour, but now
The words, the darts are over
This song's all but over
And we're not, just like we were
But stonger by a feather

Stay, stay, stay
Play, play, play
Lay, lay, lay
By me one more time

And never goodbye me
Never ever goodbye me
Please don't say that you won't

I can say I won't
Ever goodbye you
Hello my love, forever

Find your blemish in another

One of the biggest feelings of relief in everyday life is to find somebody else in the who is as crazy/neurotic/obsessive about something you are too. And I'm not talking about it in the negative way at all. The other day, I and SM (the colleague from office who has suddenly leapfrogged from nowhere to become one of my dearest friends) discovered one more of these between the two of us - a requirement to plan for social outings and stick to the plan.

Both I and her (and for that matter Vinokur too) require dinner plans, hang out plans to be defined and structured at the earliest possible opportunity. It's a pain that people don't understand how important this is to save time and to avoid unnecessary mental qualms. Usually, arriving at a date is done and the nitty gritty of the time, and in some cases the location, is not decided. The decision is put off until the last minute, thus wasting a lot of time and mental energy.

Some other times, decisions are made within the subconscious and are expected to be transmitted through some advanced telepathic communication devices. This could perhaps work out in the Matrix, or in an Asimov novel - but not in present day real life, honey! Why is communication so diffcult and apparently intimidating in this the second decade of the new millennium?

Such questions, when posed, are either met with another phase of unresponsiveness, an outcry of denial of wrongdoing mashed with imposition of inhumane rules, or rage. The result, unfortunately, whichever the outcome, drives the initiator/perpetorator mad and sometimes feeling guilty for a commendable deed! I am a very common recipient of this hurt. How I wish sometimes if I had a neuronal whip from the same Asimov novel to beat these apparently ruthless souls to submission.

Hope's always the cure for the eternal optimist, but it is mischievous! The one unblasphemized result is the joy of finding that you are not alone in this cruel cruel world. So get out there and mingle and find similar blemishes in others!

Engayging Lives - the documentary

About a few months back, a charming young woman felt attracted to me. She was disappointed when she came to know about my preferences from T. However, this resulted in her friend from Sophiya College, also charming, getting in touch with me regarding a documentary film project.

One thing led to another and zoop forward, they loved me and this blog. Hence they have titled it 'Engayging Lives' and I'm a character. I'm writing the background score for the movie, which is in the editing stages. This movie also features many blogdosts and gay icons (e.g., Nitin Karani from the Humsafar Trust). So a lot to look forward to, eh?

Well, the movie will be screened on the 26-28th of this month at the Sophiya College! I guess I can say that all of you are invited!

The Floating Doll

The smile. Innocence puppetified?

The eyes. Shallowness immortalized?
The dimples. Too dramatized?
Thin arms. Too thin and rarefied?

The scene, all the dirt is justified
The act. Can it be classified?
The drain. All guts clarified?
The pain. Not one's satisfied!

And now, its allegorified
Is she me, demagnified?
Am I her, dissatisfied?
This life. Am I too qualified?

I'm afloat, perhaps unjustified
For reasons well publicized
Due to pills well advertised
I hope it's all justified.

The curious case of self-flagellation

As I'm resocializing and resocia-gayzing rampantly these days, I am posed one question quite frequently - a little too frequently for my comfort.

'I haven't heard from/seen you in ages! How/where have you been Kris?'

My answer always has been in either of two forms. The rather bland and gentle one goes like this — 'I've been up and down a lot, more down than up. But I'm up now!' The more edgy answer intended to hurtle a jaw or two over a cliff goes like this — 'I have been suffering from clinical depression with suicidal tendencies. Thankfully, my friends (boyfriend in particular) and dear therapist (friend) managed to help me out of it. I'm on medications now — anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, and anti-anxiety drugs. I'm much better now. Thanks! Have you ever considered suicide?'

When I say 'up and down', I mean it. I'm suffering from type 2 bipolar disorder bordering on unipolar depression. If it is indeed unipolar, the times when I surface from the depths of depression (to near normalcy) represent the manic phases of bipolarity. Either way, my phrenus is fluctuant. A status message on my office private messenger summed it up nicely — 'Kris is up and down like a BMC-repaired road'.

This weekend was an uncharacteristically typical up and down one for me. Here’s a recap.

Friday night: It was a mad night at a music awards ceremony where I hung out with friends (read superstars and rock icons), got drunk, hit on a my-type-of-hunk singing legend and gave him my number, then got dared to take off my shirt for a Bollywood/rock diva in exchange for her taking her shirt off (this incident got covered in Bombay Times today), and finally retching and throwing up on my way back in the cab and in my apartment, before crashing.

Saturday morning: Woke up with a hangover and bilious gastritis — it was as if my liver was saying 'Get a life, jerk!' Then, for the first time in a year, I welcomed one of my dear office colleagues to my apartment. She was there to give me company during the shooting of a documentary film about openly gay people — the film title 'Engayging Lives' is derived from Here’s Truly. It was supposed to be shot a month ago and I was one of the main characters in the film; well, until my depression destroyed any possibility of me being a part of it. After starting therapy and somewhat stabilizing on it, I had gotten in touch with the charming girls from Sophiya college and they gave me another chance to be a visual part of the film — I'm doing the background score for the film anyway.

Saturday evening: After that, I had a fantastic gig with Shoonyas when we performed as an opening act for Agnee at VJTI college in Matunga. We did a quite remarkable set that was a crazy mix of rock and Bollywood. Three of my dear colleagues from my workplace were there to make the evening special. I can’t believe the support I get from my office - thanks so much! That, however, was the end of the high.

Then, I was set up for a traumatic and humiliating dinner invitation that I would not like to dwell on — apart from a salad that I tossed together, and a few moments clicking two lovers making out, I felt really horrible. My pills were there in the background but the self-flagellation was severe. This must have triggered my insecurities which led to me having an intense argument with Vinokur, which pushed me to the limits of masochistic depression. I could feel myself conjuring up plots and subplots in my mind, each and every step meant to hurt me a little deeper.

Luckily, thanks to just Vinokur, I was rescued once again and we somehow managed to get me to sleep without more mutual trauma! Sleep seems to be one potent douser of my flames.

Sunday morning: I woke up feeling much better and had a nice, long Skype conversation with Vinokur. Intense multi-tasking ensued and I started feeling like my old self — capable and confident. Moreover, I agreed for a date with a rather mysterious person, which I've been procrastinating for months if not years. A walk down the Juhu beach with him and his dog, and a relaxing conversation over tea later laid the background for an interesting prospect.

Sunday evening: After the date, I went to my first GB meet in months — mainly to meet up with the dear aunt of a friend. During the entire meet, I was keying things on my PDA, not speaking unless being specifically asked to. Later, I invited my favorite aunt to be my date for Valentine's Day! On my way back, a series of incidents including self-deprecatory humor, inability to remember the name of the book that I had read (Ellie Wiesel's 'Night'), and a couple of inflammatory FB threads bared everything in me in under half an hour. I knew I was going down to self-created whiplashes from my delusional world, but couldn't stop myself.

Ironically, an FB chat with one of my erstwhile co-residents from the hospital, during which my friend proved how narrow-minded, conservative and rude Indian society could still be vis-á-vis homosexuality and a coming out situation. However, I defended valiantly without losing my calm despite my pride being at stake. This chat made me realize that I'm good after all, and that my return to practicing surgery in the myopic and treacherous environment of the hospital would be difficult if not impossible.

It's amazing how masochistic depression can almost whip you down to nothingness. For those who are suffering from the same, or those who know of people who do, please help yourself and others to overcome this!

Lust in a Train

He sits across a couple of rows
A fleeting glance, it gets locked
I gaze out the window
Turn my head, I'm locked too

Perfection. The look. There is no other word
Polar opposite otherwise, I presume

Salt and pepper, looks clever
Sharp nose, trimmed black 'stache
Long fingers, three rings
Tucked out shirt, no binger
Fair and handsome
A product of the genes and not a factory

But, there is a Crimson tilak,
Probably listens to Uddhav, the shark
Has a wife, an ugly beast perhaps
And has a business that pays him in heaps

But again, conservative, religious,
And worried that I'm looking back at him

I chew the salted nuts, hoping they could be his
He shifts uncomfortably, and starts his routine prayer

Should i leave him alone?
He's too good to look at!
Is he going to come home?
He's too proud to do that!

I stare on and on, and
every thirty seconds, he catches me
Just the fleeting glance of lust
Of what he lost out on
Because society forced it on him

Society overcame him then
It does now too
The seat vacated next forces him
To readjust himself significantly
So that our eyes won't meet anymore

I start typing this
I get busy at this
Five minutes on, I look up
He's still staring at me

He wants me, but he can't
I want him, but I won't

He dozes away at Bandra
His head bounces up and down
I wish, oh how I wish, I were the reason
And not the train and the gaps in the tracks
And then a crowd blocks my vision
Hell, I won't mind pulling a Kasab, to get my view back

And then I see him staring at me
Eyes locked, not wavering
Had he decided that Sena is sin?
And sodomy is in?

I feel the stirring, a bit of hope
The train will be near empty, it's Dadar

It's my stop but I'm lost in him
And I don't feel sorry
Not for me, but only for him

I feel happy that I made a Sainik
Regain his conscience
Perhaps it's not much
But it's a start, or a semblance

Long-distance cross pollination

What's the most important quality that I have? Not a difficult question for me - the ability to make people laugh/smile/feel good about themselves. Vinokur has helped me hone my skills in this department. Humor comes naturally to him too. His brand of humor, which revolves around the skill to surprise people with audacity and innuendos, has seemingly seeped into me as well!

Not just humor - almost the entire psyche, including the positives and negatives, (positives way way more, of course) and negatives, appears to have somehow been injected into me. We think alike, we love alike, we fear alike, and we analyze alike. We complete each others sentences, know each others triggers, are aware of each others sensitivities, and can see and feel the other's mind. Our common friends say that we 'sound' alike in the way we present our thoughts - I guess lexicon transfer is also involved.

I wonder if such 'psychic' transference commonly occurs in intimate emotional relationships. If yes, is it good enough to be seeking - and if not, is this craziness?

For those unaware, such similarities have grown despite a tumultuous long-distance relationship! I wonder what would have happened had I and Vinokur been living together? Would the similarities have been even more evident? Would our omeletees taste the same? Or would we have had lesser cross-pollination of ideation and behavior?