On The Go.

I saw five of them at Goregaon station

Three more got in at Andheri

By Bandra they had multiplied to 15 too many

Hurdled and aimed

An army of violaters, policing around.

So focused on breaking records.

Between Borivili  to Churchgate
How many men and how many stains ?

Counting Queers.

They are everywhere
Concealed and conspiring
Sometimes more opaque than the others
Animate and inanimate sometimes
But they are very much there.

These multi story buildings
I see them yonder
How many you say
Must there be my kind?
Some must be east facing, some west
Some under some and some on top.

These men around me
Headed to their homes
Some married and some to be
And some playing alive, dead.
How many of them must be
thinking what I'm thinking right now ?

Doing Mr.Khan

One of my affairs.

Longing, pain and suffering.

It was quite virtual,

But quite real indeed.

I was left unfulfilled and drained.

I was here, this side of the screen,

And Mr.Khan was dancing there.

The way he delivered,

That glint in the eye,

That curling of the lip,

That sly shy.

I’d immerse myself,

And reply before the heroine,

To his brewing magic and building emotions,

I’d reply with overflowing eyes.

Oh he was so good.

A perfect man to be.

Bounty in all values

And pretty like a cherry tree.

At one point I really thought

That we were meant to be

One for the other.

No inconsequence just pure glee.

In time I compromised,

And thought being a secret lover befitted,

For he was too important and known,

And I might cause him to crumble.

And so I let him be.

Instruction Manual for Local Travel.

May I have your attention please!

Passengers are requested

Not to travel on rooftops.

Tops and bottoms,

And the curious likes.

You are requested not to climb out,

Or even sit on the cerulean surfaces.

Just stand up and mingle in,

Near the doors and the passages,

Become a thick gelatinous smog,

Felt but never caught.

Be on the moving floor, juggling.

Aspire not for the high roof,

But the erect of these men.

Don’t reach out,

But lower down.

For there lies everything unachievable above,

And what’s worth life, love

Is below.

Sometime peeking sometime hidden.

The Demanding Messenger.

Morning made me reach down.

A familiar rigidity, demanding and irritating.

No mood of defiance,

And futile efforts to pacify it.

To suppress, to restrain and to repress,

Or to get done with it,

Nothing works.

For it is bored of me.

It demands guest hands and untried mouths.

In silent protests, it pulsates,

Irritating and embarrassing.

It is ever growing,

A slave rebellion for liberation.

It now rebukes in public places too.

Frail.

And when the night comes announced

I shall cover you up secure.

One shadow we shall cast in the moon,

Like a single canopy of a million leaves.

For they wont understand our love

And how deep we run.

Much like the sound of silence.

Much like nothingness.

A Kiss.

On tasting my breath this morning, such familiarity.

A dried up mouth and cracked lips,

A tongue restrained from its erotic acrobatics,

And teeth the silent witness.

How long shall this wait go on ?

For another winter has passed

Without a kiss.

Musings.

A

For my retreat doesn’t matter.

At one point of time or the other

I “have to” come out.

B

I’m a painter, a poet and a singer

A dreamer, untidy and lazy

And oh, I also happen to be gay.

C

That girl in the neighborhood

Made me so jealous

My cricket bat,

Her dazzling doll.

D

And of course they would like me

Them girls and boys

For I was fair and slender,

But how was I too choose ?

And so I chose someone like me

E

For when we played doctor,

All diseases big and small,

Cured by nudging and tugging on our privates

Ah! Simplicity of that time and age.

 F

On 10^th December 1994

We slipped our hands into each others pocket

And felt life pulsating, warm.

On 10^th December 1996

He behaves like nothing happened.

That is my first love story.

G

Horrid year this is.

None of the boys felt me,

And certainly didn’t want me to.

For we have graduated to high school.

Things are going to be a little different now.

Narcissism and Devoid.

If we do not cross it today

Then I shall shut my gates forever

Like the ramadan's moon

Like tsunami

I shall happen but only once and today

I shall not on the festivals

For the colors are brighter than my skin

The crackers more shiny than me

I chose this redundant dark day

Devoid of the stars and the moon

Devoid of people and beauty

For I'm the only focus, 

And so devoid of you as well.

Exploring the Redundant.

It must have been a gay mosquito.

You know that one with the showy hinds,

Stripped and patterned ?

It bit me and bit me bad.

For after that I have been gay.

Do you think it was the doll.

For there was something about its eyes.

Once or twice I slyly played with it.

I fear that stare has me hypnotized.

For after that I have been gay.

It could have been my tiffin box

Bright and bubbly, like how you see all girls.

For I always seemed like that as well.

It must have poisoned my lunch everyday.

For after that I have been gay.

O, a probable half culprit.

That boy living next doors.

That bumble bee, in lovely tee

That one to enter my thoughts.

He must have ceased my development,

My evolution and my being.

I touched him well, once and twice

And after that I have been gay.