Ende Juligai…

“Udaiyoeduh Pirrakkuhvillai
Unarrvoeduh Pirandhuhvittoem…”

உடையோடு பிறக்கவில்லை உணர்வோடு பிறந்தவிட்டோம்

It’s 12:07 am and it’s already another Monday. The world is all prepared to face another busy week while I sit in this corner that I’ve learnt to so comfortably occupy. Something’s missing, my mind tells me as I listen to Pehli Nazar playing softly from the cool ‘creative’ speakers beside me… Softly kneading this already flattened and over-used heart.
Thanks to ashkaya.moksh this song is now a part of me… I remember hitting it off with Eastea Nikimoel thanks to this song. We both loved it and eventually learnt to love each other. Aishoos two keeps, we were – always kind of wary of the other… Wondering which of us meant more.

The story of me and Aishu goes back surprisingly to only three short years, when fate and the sheer joblessness of me, led to the discovery of ‘the other side’ – that part of the publishing industry that I wouldn’t wish in the career of anyone I like.
The boringness and unchangeable status quo of Christ College was getting to me during my second year at college and so the first internship option that came my way seemed to be the perfect godsend. Naresh Rao walked in and tells us about this new relationship magazine that’s starting off in Bangalore, something that Monsieur Edison was very excited about. Now, Monsieur Ed has always had a way of getting CC to react, and this was one of those treacherous times. Two days later, a pleasant and relatively hot looking guy walks into class. Vinod Srinivasan is the name, we are told, and I am already salivating thanks to my incontrollable ‘thing’ for Tamils and the educated kind at that! I don’t remember anything he said, but decided to apply for the internship anyway. Less than a week later we were at his office, somewhere in the middle of nowhere (read HSR layout) and I was surprised to find an old senior from school in the same office. We meet Aishwarya Kannan, sub-editor for the first time and her colleague Sai Vidhya Kannan – they weren’t related and that was the biggest surprise to begin with. So what was this superbly covert secret publication that we were going to be a part of called… Any guesses? It was called Confetti – so pretty no? And believe me the moment I heard the name, my gay sensibilities were touched. I was all ready to be initiated and ready to roll in the mud. But it wasn’t that easy, not at all! Several meetings later, I must add, in locations that one wouldn’t even expect, comme ca Barista Koramangala 5th Block and the like, we finally managed to get some work done. Imagine a dark glassed dominatrix looking Aishoo with her band of amateur in-college writers at her disposal. Oh! Believe me she knew what she was doing. She killed our stories and kept making most of us feel like shit! I don’t know how and when, but somewhere down the line, I was asked to write a piece on ‘Relationships that never take off’ and I wrote ‘It ended before it even began’ – a piece that’s featured on this blog . That’s when things changed. She (Aishoo) was impressed, of course not before she insisted I make it almost twice its size! Several attempts later, a very vulnerable Romal Singh presented his final piece and it was praised. Amen! The next piece I was assigned to write was a piece on gay sex and another one on fetishes. The fetishes story was published in the next months issue and I was quite tickled. But this is not about me, this is about Aishoo. So here’s back to her…

I broke all ice with her when one day, I had to show her the gay scene in the city and offered a glimpse into it through g4m. The poor brahminical girl was obviously quite shaken and I guess she even found it quite revolting. But that led us to start talking and I soon realised we shared so much in common. She was so like me, like my female counter-part. She was funny, serious, crack, mad, wise, humble, proud, listening, caring, self-conscious and sweet, all at the same time.
Jump cut to a month later, when she was finding it very difficult to continue at Confetti and she called me one day while I was shopping in FabIndia and says she needs to talk. Soon she’s there, looking as resplendent as ever and then breaks the news. She was leaving due to differences with the management. I thought that would be the end of everything, we still weren’t the best of friends. But fate decided to prove me wrong. We kept in touch and grew fonder of each other. A month or so later she moved on to Pratika – a PR agency that was just taking its baby steps in the city and God alone knows how she remembered some vague conversation where I had said I’d wanted to work part-time somewhere. In no time, I was working as her assistant and having a blast. We had our lows, our bouts of depression, but we helped each other through them. She now knows I’m depressed even before I do and vice versa, not to mention our other similarities that includes a very strong gaydar. She was indeed one of the best people to work with and just like that we became the best friends ever. Pratika helped us discover each other more fully as people and I’m happy it happened. Her life has moved on since and so has mine, but today when I sat down to write this blog post, that was initially dedicated to her, but soon evolved into an account and a narrative as close to my heart as well, my heart! I realised that Aishoo is the ONLY girl who’s ever KNOWN me. She knows me better than I do myself. She’s everything rolled into one – my personal sister, matron, surrogate mother, counsellor, best friend, possible lover (if I ever turn straight), fashion consultant, girlfriend, boyfriend, confidante and well-wisher. She’s also been my boss and is the only one who can boss me till date!

So here’s to you my louver, my flouer. Three years of the best relationship I could have asked for. You’ve been there for me at every stage, every second, every moment and through every joyous discovery. We’ve woofed, meowed and meoufed guys together, slept in the same bed, spent all night talking about, practically nothing and just been the best of friends with each other.

I am who I am today, very much because of you. I may have shown you the joys of everything Tamil, but you’ve shown me the joys of life – the fact that friends can be so so much more. I wish I could be there for you in every possible way and I know we’ll make the perfect couple, but as the song from Nammavar reminds me – “We weren’t born just with our bodies, we were born through feelings” and that rebirth of feelings is all thanks to you. I couldn’t ask anyone for more.

As I feel I’ve finally done justice to this blogpost, I pay attention to my ‘creative’ speakers blast Mundhinam Paarthaen from Vaaranam Aayiram into my ears and all I can think of is the apt lyric that says…

Iththanai Naalaaghuh,
Unnai Naan Paaraamal,
Yaenguh Dhaan Poenaenoeh,
Naatkallum Veen-Aaanadhaey…

You’re my desi girl Aishoo :)
Dekh Lakh Lakh Aisey-Vaisey girl…
Ain’t nobody like my Desi girl!
Who’s the hottest girl in the world?
My Desi girl! My Desi Girl! :)

I now feel well-spent!

Zapped into living!

Was I zapped? Yes I was and I’m terribly happy that I actually was.
‘Cause here were a bunch of us artists who’ve always wanted to do something with movement, something arbitrary, something that would lead, quite simply put, to breaking structured forms and yet creating new ones that do not hinder the performer from the expression. Somewhere down the line, we lost ways. One became a theatre activist and a representative of a media collective, a documenter by choice; the other, a theatre performer, with a pen that is indeed mightier than the sword and a talent that sure defeats any sword on earth: copywriting par excellence; and the third, the author of this blog: a wayward journalist who is still trying to find his feet, grappling with theatre, ghosts of dance, an uncontrollable gab and several other issues that will literally need forever to even list or correct, half way through.
Here we were in this temple of local culture, with half hearted paintings of ‘the gurus’ of a much-loved and often over-lauded form of classical singing, right at the doorway and a very ignorable and at times silly architectural design, that often is the only thing that sets it apart. They reserve seats for management, RIGHT IN FRONT! Which god forsaken venue does that anymore? The organisers then double the ticket prices and we pay through our noses, literally. What happened to Free Art? Where did the entire hullabaloo go? Is the city no more a home to free art?
Oh! That was a decade ago? Damn it!
So we avoid all the artsy fartsy thingamajigs who are lolling around and pretending pretensions, much like my other favourite breed, the directorial dramatics club – something that the three of us were quite pissed off about at that very moment.
People mingled, people talked, people preened and people walked, but nobody had any clue what awaited us and if they did, they did wisely to shut up and act all naïve. The sweethearts! The deafening bell rang and we rush in, chose appropriate seats, till we’re asked to sit in front – the cheaper tickets were sold out huh? Slimebags! We soon settled down, not before we noticed the one lone performer on stage helping usher the crowds in. Who would have even guessed that she was already performing? Not us for sure. We like the total dimwits we were, giggled and praised her for her superb sense of calm. Ushering the audience in – all actors ought to do that. Isn’t that the easiest way to accomplish that much spoken of, audience connection? The much enunciated phrase that is always a part of a director’s dramatic repertoire!
The performance begins. She teases us, giving us a good solid ten minutes of random (we assumed) slightly demented faces and as said documenter claimed, schizophrenic moments! And then she began what wouldn’t end ever, at least for the next hour and a half. She began to move and we all moved with her. The remaining performers soon were on stage too and with the first sequence they had earned a loyal audience. A brilliant play of light, describing almost everything one wanted it to describe for themselves, got the whole performance to a brilliant start. My queer eyes of course noticed the beautiful bodies on stage. All the men seemed well-hung (they were in tights! Hallelujah!) and one of them seemed quite irregularly hairy. The sequences only got better, with amazingly choreographed pieces and music that only left you, in the words of a simple man, spellbound.
The performance was called ‘Could I just draw your attention to the brevity of life’ and was performed by the Compagnie Philippe Saire. It was fantabulous! What stood out the most was the subtle mix of narrative, reality, fantasy, erotica and fluidity in a mellifluous combination that hasn’t been perfected or even attempted on a Bangalore stage before.
I was enthralled by the sheer contrasts that were being represented in each sequence, be it in the highly image-evoking-based descriptive form of narrative-through-movement or the more perceivable paradoxes of emotion enacted and emotion exuded. A smile was never just a smile and was often as sinister as an evil smile could get.
The audience was their toy as they played with us, shocking us, forcing us to laugh at situations we didn’t want to, testing our patience, making us question our intellect and most importantly challenging the notion in everyone’s mind that they could possibly pre-determine the context and the possible flow of representations. Nothing was guessable and nothing archaic or cliché was ever encountered. Popular icons were reduced to subverting symbols and subtle movements to mind-shattering mirror images of life.
This was life as anyone could see it. Arbitrarily portrayed but always making perfect sense in everyone’s own mind, in one’s unique way of thinking. Nobody could have dismissed it as being too elitist or vague for normal consumption. The images were apt and described exactly what they had to. What was more impressive was the amateurish air that the performance took on. An air that was much intellectualised over and stank of heavy practice sessions. The efforts that went into not-making-it-look-practiced ought to be commended.
I personally loved the disco ball sequence that connected the audience more deeply to the performer. There was an option thrown open for communication and interaction, I assumed, but didn’t have the guts to react to it.
Which brings me back to the prologue to this description; the uselessness of the lives of us three fools. We really had no idea about what we we’re doing with our lives, all thanks to the brilliance of the performance and the ability it had to take our breath(s) away. However as the magic settled in and the whole performance was a thing of the recent past, it dawned on my fragile soul, that the whole message was actually just that!
Life is brief, shot-lived (ha-ha!) and the lesson was to learn that we need to do things instead of cribbing about them. We need to move on and not get bogged down by things that life throws at us. There’s nothing definite, there’s no right or wrong – there’s just life and the urge to live it, which ought to be the biggest priority for everyone. There’ll always be the tempters, the dominators, the ditchers, the users, the haters, the ignorers, the evil doers and we will be these very things in someone else’s life. So all of us need to focus on the finer aspects of life, ignore the bad and indulge in the good, for life is indeed a short journey and you get to live it just once. You cannot control it, it controls you, so live with it and live well. Lesson well learnt!

Deep Sin

Deeper I fall…

I thought I could wean off you, make myself learn that love is not everything and once again I proved myself wrong. Yes we drove together to our common destinations, sat side by side and always had ‘normal’ written all over our foreheads in big yellow flashing letters – but I always picked up intention. If someone looked at you and raised an eyebrow or let out that relish of a smile – I knew what it meant. You might have been off-guard, but I saw those amorous eyes as they looked into your eyes. Those supposedly innocent friendly pats, those mimics of human love and all those jokes passed of as camaraderie. I sighed inside and ate a part of an aching heart every time it happened. Like a self-consuming cannibal, I chose to let my love rot away and give you all the attention you needed – unasked for and never reciprocated.

I was fine.

And then today, like the wrath of the heavens pouring out against me, at a moment where vulnerability defined me in the essence – it all changed…
I fell at your feet, seeking forgiveness and refuge – dramatised it to every inch of perfection I could moulder – but as I looked up into your deep brown eyes, my whole body came to life. It was electric, it was fabulous and it was mind-blowing, all-giving and perverted. I wanted to have you there, right there, against your own wishes. To let myself indulge in you, to be ravaged, torn and used, all fully conscious of the fact that it is only fantasy and might never see a tomorrow – and yet I yearned, like I’ve never yearned before. I feel sick, like my insides have been turned out and he screamed again… How I wished you would have caressed my hair, held my chin up, looked into my eyes and just kept looking, till eternity…

I am love-struck once more and this time I hate myself for being.

Status Quo

Of clouds and climbers…

A night of good music, a night I hoped would never end – of sweet memories that riddled themselves like green climbers around a never ending pillar of dreams…
I hovered high above this body of mine, watching a 22 year old male cuddle up on the divan, content with the world around him, only yearning for the company of a someone who could share that intimate space with him and yet limit their presence to inhibit an intrusion. Mellifluousness is what he was looking for; much like those million songs he called his own. Those amazing compositions by maestros who mastered the craft of containing his every emotion in 6 minutes of pure passion, packaged and sold as simple dreams for people to regress to. This was life as he knew it, this was life as he wanted it to be, this was what kept him happy. This is what he now knew he was.