famished for meaning

i have relatives visiting from out of town - ones i haven’t seen for at least a decade. they feel alien to all of us, with differences in accents, thought, language and behavior. they are my parents guests so we’re all being quite nice…but being “forced” to be nice, once you return from a tiring day at work, when you’d much rather flop down in front of your TV and pop in a good film, while enjoying mum’s cooking, sucks. putting on an act, even while at home, sucks even more!

it’s been interesting though…

we all sit together in the lounge, (not) watching TV. the other day, “the practice” came on - the story revolved around a rape case. while my brother, father and i watched with interest, i could see that the cousins were quite embarrassed by the content. while not exactly explicit, they did mention SEX (oooh!) and showed a couple of kissing scenes (double ooooh!).

we weren’t really bothered because by now, we’re desensitized…and to be honest, i would have assumed that they (the aliens) would have been as well, given that they are exposed to the same programs and channels back home. i guess they have ‘parental control’ on…

it made me wonder though: is it a very ‘desi’ thing to be embarrassed by lovemaking scenes or sex on TV, around family? is it a religious thing? or is it just instinctive, regardless of where you’re from or where you’ve been brought up, to feel a twinge of discomfort or perhaps just heightened awareness, that the characters on TV are making out, when mom & dad are around?

is it like the whole ’smoking in front of your elders / parents’ thing? in fact, is THAT a desi thing or is it just one of those weird things that almost every one just feels uncomfortable doing because it is still slightly taboo? my parents know i smoke and are quite okay with it (or rather, they have given up on me) but i wouldn’t have the balls to light one up, while sitting in FRONT of them.

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i have decided that while i appreciate indian cinema (yes, screw you, i DO…in fact, i often go watch the dumb song and dance films - it’s my secret ‘fun’ thing to do!), i would never ever let my children (if i ever have any) grow up watching it. i don’t think there is anything that gets on my nerves more than a child knowing names of hindi films, actors or singing those songs. i will kill my child if i hear the brat hum an indian tune. it just doesn’t seem ‘right’, in fact it appears downright gross - they seem like ‘little adults’ (or monsters) then.

plus, i’ve seen what happens to kids who watch too many indian films. i was friends with one of them - she’s a lunatic! she truly used to think that shah rukh khan (leading bollywood actor) would rescue her. i used to watch, incredulous, as she turned every conversation with a boy into a ‘filmi’ thing (she would analyze and discuss a boys flippant remark like “hey, nice nail color” to death until she was convinced that he had just said ‘i love you’ in bollywood language). i could honestly picture her dancing around trees in the rain, in a white sari, on her dates!

*shudder*

and the boys! worse, much worse! you can spot one who grew up watching lots of crappy, b-grade indian shit when they come up to you with a line like “mujhse dosti karoge”? or “will you make beautiful friendship with me?” (hell no, motherfucker!) and expect the route of stalking, staring, whistling, singing cheap songs as they pass you in the office hall or sending anonymous e-mails to lead to everlasting love!!

never. ever. let. your. brat. watch. a. hindi. film.

trust me.

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so i know i haven’t written for ten days. and i’ve come back with the crap above! i know you hate me but trust me, with the aliens, insane work load and the boyfriend, i have NO time left over for what often feels like a frivolous activity.

that is all.

p.s: random stupid thought of the day: i wish humans could purr. sometimes, words aren’t good enough to express the pleasure one feels when someone plays with your hair…they ruin or over-intellectualize (??!) the moment.

i am going to head home now and practice purring.

…it’s better than mingling with the aliens.

i went to a friend’s performance the other day (he sings incredibly well - some of you might remember him as the english teacher/singer that i was ’seeing’ last year). he introduced me to jeff buckley last year with his rendition of ‘we all fall in love sometimes’ (great song). and this time, he sang ‘lilac wine’ which is haunting.

When I think more than I want to think
Do things I never should do
I drink much more that I ought to drink
Because it brings me back you

haven’t we all been there?

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so once again, it’s thrusday night. i have a number of options, none very appealing. i have invites to the top parties in town and messages from the clubs keep flooding my mobile inbox, all claiming to be “the venue” with the best DJ, the best drinks and the usual marketing bs.

what does one do when they get tired of quiet nights in and repulsed by mad parties? there isn’t an in-between, at least not in my city.

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i find my job extremely frustrating.

i think it is because i have to deal with people. i suck at dealing with people, because most of them are stupid.

or perhaps i am too arrogant.

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this is a pretty pointless post, isn’t it? but then, aren’t they all? i am shamed by the story telling abilities of the crew on my sidebar. on top of that, i miss my old home (blog) - it allowed me to be far more whiny than i can here…i don’t know why.

you know how we all crave routine/order in chaos? the reverse holds true, doesn’t it? sometimes, one just wants something, anything to break the monotony of knowing exactly how tomorrow will begin and end. there are times when our cushy lifestyle is severly lacking in ‘life’…when eating, sleeping, fucking, working, writing, whining, all the bloody ‘ings’ aren’t enough.

i am convinced that there has to be more.

do you think it is normal to sometimes think of shooting your brains out, just to add some excitement to the dullness of life?

i know that has to be the most morbid thing i’ve ever said, but the thought often crosses my mind. i am too much of a narcissist/superficial (and ill equipped) bitch to ever seriously consider it since you know, i’d end up looking like one ugly corpse then. plus, i’m relatively content. and that’s all i ever wanted.

they were right though, sometimes it is a bitch to get what you wanted.

It’s not what you thought
when you first began it
You got what you want
now you can hardly stand it, though
well, now you know

It’s not going to stop
It’s not going to stop.

(aimee mann, wise up)

(for the prologue, click here)

So, yeah. Apparently what I wrote hit home. Several times. I’d make a baseball analogy here, but then the little pink mafia would take away my rhinestone-encrusted tiara, and as we all know, a queen without a tiara is just a bitchy straight man. And that would be very bad.

I’m not advocating a ban on relationships, period. Nor am I encouraging people to stay single and content with their platonic friendships, because lets be honest here…no one’s actually really content with the idea of being single forever. There may certainly be acceptance of the possibility, as I’ve found in my own case, but sticking with the case study of Sin, I know that I’d happily prefer to die having been in a meaningful relationship with someone rather than without. But really…does it have to be an all-or-nothing game?

This is not game theory in Advanced Economics 101 people. It’s really much simpler than everyone thinks, and perhaps I can say that smugly from on top of my high horse (how high? It took a step-ladder to get up there!) because I’m not currently going through the ennui, but who says that you have to choose between friends and lovers? And more importantly, why can’t friends be lovers (and vice versa)? I’ve never believed that you can love someone without first being friends with them, and that view is one of the few in my life that hasn’t undergone a radical metamorphosis in the last decade or so.

Conversely though, it’s not necessary that a friend become a significant other. I think the biggest problem that gay men face in their lives is that even though we never want to admit it, we’re all secretly scuttled by the “Newer! Bigger! Better! Shinier!” plague. Who and what we have is perfect while it’s present, but we never seem to stop prowling and being on the lookout for something more, something that we’re convinced is lacking in our current straits, even though it may not be. And part of that, I’m convinced at the risk of generalising indiscriminately and carelessly, is because our own self-esteems are riddled with more holes than a particularly large hunk of Swiss cheese. I can count the number of gay men I know who had healthy, self-affirming childhoods on one hand, and I think that there are certain emotional and intellectual scars that never fade, no matter how much they may scab over. Scar tissue is still ugly, even though it may cover gaping wounds. Most of us remain convinced that there’s something wrong with us, something terribly, drastically, horribly unheimlich, and that no matter how good our lives become, we’ll always be the outcasts, the children who were different, the people who didn’t make sense or seem quite right. And convinced of our own fallibility, we project a combination of ideals and our own insecurities onto those people whom we adore, maybe subconsciously, but mostly with a sense of guilt that comes from deep inside, those dark corners of our minds and souls that we don’t like to acknowledge. Friends, lovers, family…we hope that they’re not perfect, because we’re certainly not. We hold them up to impossible standards that we don’t want to admit are impossible, or at best highly improbable, and in some ways they turn out to be dark mirrors of who we are. All of our failings, our dirty little habits, imperfections, secrets and lies, we pre-emptively start to accuse the other people in our lives of them because it’s easier to denigrate shortcomings when people other than ourselves display them.

This is turning into one of those “I’ve not slept for three days and am roaringly drunk during my college days, so come on, we’ll have an intellectual conversation at two a.m.” passages, isn’t it?

But I think it’s true. I don’t think any of us like to think of it that way, but come on…isn’t there always that tiny part of you screaming “It’s never going to work out!” each time someone new (especially in the romantic context) enters your life? Sure, it’s easier with friends: the demands and obligations, not to mention expectations aren’t quite as intense or as omnipresent as they are with boy/girlfriends, but who hasn’t had a knock-down, drag-out, hair-pulling fight with the people they’re closest to at least once? And the forgiveness is always a bit easier, because the whole thing humanises friendships, turning them into comfortable zones where you know that the other person will never have the ability to walk away from you unless you do something truly unforgivable. Because hey! They’re not infallible and ergo, can’t expect you to be either!

There are, of course, the lucky few who do manage to live happily ever after. But we all hate them, don’t we? Or at least we envy their ability to wade through the maelstrom and come out standing, in one piece and largely undamaged.

But mostly, we (and by “we”, I mean “I”) hate them. In a loving, tender way, of course.

(courtesy of the sexiest, smartest, wittiest blogger on earth)

i am not sure what sort of a hole in my soul i’m trying to fill. it’s not even one that i consciously feel. just a sort of emptiness, which in all honesty, i have gotten used to. no matter what happens in my life, i often go through phases of just feeling slightly dead, slightly disgusted by everything, and to make things worse, i then do things i would otherwise bitch about or despise (like shopping too much or being a brand whore or partying or drinking). all that is supposed to make the dullness, boredom and emptiness go away but it doesn’t.

i know someone who shags too much to fill her hole (the one in her SOUL, you gutter minded cows!). i sat with her the other day and tried explaining to her that her promiscuity was the reason why she didn’t have any real friends (because men can’t look at her as anything but an easy lay and women feel threatened by her willingness to put out within two hours and her massive boobs!). i told her she wouldn’t find true love this way. i told her that it wont make her problems go away. i told her that she needs to deal with her emptiness, her issues. i told her a lot of crap and then i went out and shopped and filled the hole in MY soul.

i wonder how we can be so judgmental, yet feel so pious.

i sometimes make myself sick.

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i went down to one of my favorite clubs on last week - its been renovated and renamed - i like it because although the people behind it are the most pretentious, snobbish lot in this city, the club is extremely basic. i LOVE the way it looks (i’ll take a few pictures the next time i go - this time, i had had one too many vodka redbulls to be much good with a camera!).

anyway, i had the BEST time - i sat around and just watched the queens - dressed in super tight jeans, tucked into their mid calf length white boots with big white or gold studded belts, dancing to ‘billie jean’. i watched them get mad because my male friends were talking to me (and not to them), i watched them shake that booty to ‘don’t stop till you get enough’ and grind, much to the chagrin of some of the homophobic men out there. i laughed as an ex said that he would have shagged one of the queens (who was HOT!) if only he had boobs and i replied that that had never stopped him before!

the only thing was that it all seemed slightly depressing, slightly desperate. i felt bad that the straight lot (including me) just sat around and watched with fascination and bemusement as men grinded and got it on. i can not imagine what a pain in the ass it must be to be judged solely on your sexual preferences and to be alienated because of them.

i get sickened by arguments against homosexuality, i get pissed off when it is referred to as an aberration or an illness. i feel sorry for the gays going mad in clubs because it appears that they’ve been let out of a cage…all week they are stuck in heterosexual environments, possibly forced to ogle at women because they don’t want to let on who they really are, given the homophobia, and finally, on a drunken thursday night, they can be themselves. and even then, people stare (and admittedly, i was one of them on this occasion).

they do their nails, their eyebrows, cleanse, tone and moisturize…they wear mascara and liner and lip gloss…and we figure that this can’t be right, no matter how much we advocate freedom of choice.

the next day, we were over at a friend’s place, talking about our night out, and most of the guys made horrified sounds (OH NO!!! REALLY? THANK GOD I DIDN’T GO!).

why are straight men so scared of gays? i understand you don’t fancy taking it up the arse and no one is really asking you to, you know. but if that’s how someone likes it, what the fuck is YOUR problem (i know there is a lot more to homosexuality than just the sex, but that bit is usually what makes most straight men extremely uncomfortable)?

if i could, if i had the power, i would eradicate hypocrisy and our tendency to judge. it is beginning to piss me off more than anything on earth.

but i wont (in all likelihood) ever have a such a power…besides, if i were to have it, i would need to first start with the most difficult place: myself.

may be i’ll just continue to shop instead.

p.s: since we are, or at least i am, talking of shopping - i have to share that i am terribly excited about getting the horny maids outfit (fishnet stockings, garters, super sexy bra, etc) from agent provocateur. i haven’t felt so excited about a purchase since i got the godfather dvd set! the boyfriend will become a slave for life after this outfit is unleashed on him (mwaahahahaha)!!