I woke up this afternoon, completely sure I had been bit. Bit by what you ask? Twilight fever of course! What else could occupy the mind of one such as me — occult-curious, slightly deviant and oh-so-into hunky men? Who am I kidding? This was just the millionth time I had fantasized about my ‘someone special’ being a Vampire.My obsession with Vampires dates back to when I was 12 [‘dates back’ — makes me already sound like a Vamp(ire)!]. My horror movie lover brother, hired a ‘banned cassette’ from our local VHS store when my parents were out on work. We were home alone for 3 days and nights, and we ensured we had enough of scary movies to keep us awake till the early hours of morn each day.
One of those naughty taboo indulgences, at least one of them that stayed with me till date is ‘An interview with a Vampire’. Based on Ann Rice’s brilliantly written novel with the same name, the masterpiece was a visual orgasm, complete with an almost deific looking cast (all Vampires though, how ironic!), an evil and yet beautiful homoerotic storyline, and a thin narrative that somehow managed to connect deviant vampirism, mainstream sexuality and taboo raw passion in a way I’d never seen before. Well, I was 12 and I won’t exaggerate on how it actually influenced me. I was petrified and quite scared to be completely honest. I kept dreaming that I’d been bitten and even swore I saw a Vampire several times. That apart, what my young mind did remember was the physical beauty in each of the individuals portrayed.
Vampires have always been portrayed as beautiful things. Myths and legends around the world claim the ‘supposed species’ have a weak spot for the ravishingly beautiful and won’t think twice to make one such, one of their own. Vampires are often deviously handsome or pretty, are extremely well mannered and possess such sexual prowess that only the chastest could resist their charm.
So, do I believe in Vampires, you ask? Well, I do, as much as I believe in Cro-Magnon man and the River Saraswati, things I’ve never really seen, but believe to exist. Why do I believe in them, you ask? Well. these blood sucking pretty things have always occupied the imagination of cultures as far spread as Puerto Rico and China and that can’t be a simple coincidence. The animal like hunger that these ‘creatures’ have for feeding on fresh blood is often the most tantalizing, terrifying and titillating element of their deviant existence. I don’t know of even one ‘sexually mature’ friend, of either gender, who hasn’t fantasized of biting or being bitten quite vampirously at least once. Almost all of us do it. I even have a theory that the ‘hickey’ that’s so popular (love bite for the more romantic) is nothing but a more subtle version of these ravenous lustful desires.
So what is it that drives women (and several men) up the wall squealing in anticipation to be the next victim (even in role play) of some gorgeous Vampire? (Read Robert Pattison) and why do we all get so riled up about how gorgeous and seductively evil the whole concept of blood sucking can be? I think it’s just the need for raw passion. Raw unbridled seductively evil passion that we all crave from our individual partners. Something that we assume will give us immense pleasure and yes, also the fact that most Vampires are HOT and extremely do-able. Watching re-runs of the trailers however I have just realised that while Vampires do turn me on in a ‘special way’, post New Moon and Taylor Lautner, Werewolves now occupy a ‘special’ place in my list of fantasies too! All I’m going to say for now is (and I mean it), Taylor Swift, move aside girl, you’ve got stiff competition! Lol :P 
It’s been over a month now, and two weeks since I’ve sat down to write something about life in this new city. I’ve had lots to say and a lot more to share, but circumstances and an overcoming sense of lethargy always seemed to get the better of me. Lethargy in a city that thrives on an irrepressible buzzing energy and uncontrollable raging hormones — you ask — raising that ever-indulging eyebrow? Yes, LETHARGY and loads of it! The weather’s changed, but nothing else seems to have moved an inch, including me, much like that ‘normal’ traffic jam I was in, the other day. I was stuck in a Taxi on a flyover halfway between Byculla and Palton Road, all thanks to a meeting held by Mr Marathi Manoos Saviour (read Raj Thackeray and his MNS) at the Haj Committee building. The jam lasted for an hour and a half and I said nothing. I didn’t even complain! Funnily, I actually took time out to enjoy the free birds view of South Mumbai that I was ‘treated’ to. It wasn’t pleasant, at least not here. Picture me doing this in Namma Ooru. Me, who moved residence to the centre of town only because I couldn’t take the occasional 15-minute traffic hold up at Silk Board flyover, was now twiddling my thumbs, humming tunes and karaokeying to my MP3 player as vehicles stalled all around me for miles in either direction. Was I becoming an escapist? If escapism suddenly meant to want to run away, I wondered later. Frankly, I believe it’s the city to blame. What else could it possibly be? Like some unexplainable paradox, this city’s chaotic life often leaves someone like me blissfully and unalterably lethargic. With everyone going mad trying to reach work on time, catch that train on time, get to that mall on time, date bf/gf on time, eat on time, drink on time and the like, I preferred giving myself loads of extra hours with practically nothing to do. So, how did I keep myself occupied you ask? Well, it was simple actually. Here’s what my itinerary looked like a few days ago, purely for example’s sake. Wake up at 11 am. Get ready by 1 pm. Take cab to Goregaon (approx 20 kms away) at 2 pm. Watch Tamil/Telugu movie at strange slippery-floored mall (read Oberoi) for ‘jusht chumma’ sake at around 4 pm. Take a cab back to Parel after movie. Sit at home and stare at feet for another hour or so. Take cab to Colaba to meet ‘love interest’ or friend or both. Hang out at Theobroma’s, eat at Bagdadi’s or sit at Marine Drive and stare at crashing waves…right!…dead sea. Wonder what I’m doing here still, get depressed, then eventually bored, take cab back home. Sleep. Mumbai does have its charm. Maybe just that I am not the kind to be charmed by it. There is magic in the air, yes, but there’s also lots of dust, the ever present smell of fish and a stale dank sordid feeling that will never leave you. The rain today washed away most of my anger towards the city. Anger that some considered sinful to even mention. As I folded up my pants and ran to office carefully avoiding puddles with unmentionable and unclassifiable remnant goo, I missed clear waters with an aching for home that choked me. I miss Bangalore’s rains, the madness and juvenilia in the puddles and the fresh, clean gorgeous city after the rain. How I envy you, while you read this. You, who can run out after the next shower and be a kid all over again. You who breathe in that city I adore. Save it for me, please, I beg. I am on my way home.