My mother and Me

My mother and Me

My mother was born in a small town in west-coast of India. Youngest of  nine children she lost her dad when was 13 days old. It was not easy for a baby born in to a conservative, sometimes superstitious society. Though she was branded unlucky, none of her 6 sisters and 2 brothers made her feel that way.

She grew up doted by her siblings imbibing their ideas. I guess most influence in her life has been from her mother who taught her everything, from traditional Hindu values to finest culinary secrets. She was groomed in to a perfect Indian wife as expected but with a small compromise. She never learnt to speak English. She was smart intelligent and everything desirable to a “catch” suitor. She was married off to a suitable boy who earned well  and had similar values.

She always had those insecurities of not being able to speak in English. She can read and write in English but never could comprehend. That perhaps was not that big problem till she was blessed with 3 children. She realized her limited knowledge of English could not help her teach her children beyond their nursery class lessons and worst even could not meet the expectations of her children either.

We grew up in a loving environment with strong Indian values with great support and encouragements to our academic and extra-curricular activities. We never did we see our mother complain about the stress and demands. It must have been hard for her. I grew up to be a doctor. In the process had very busy childhood with insatiable hunger for knowledge, reading and arts. All this time I had only heard kind words from my mother soothing my frustrations and encouraging my endeavors even though she hardly could creatively contribute. But I yearned for more input from her, perhaps I could discuss a book. Somewhere I always felt my mother is far more intelligent then she portrays herself to be.

She was  mocked by us when ever she attempted her hand at the language. My dad would jokingly join us too. It did lead to too many comical situations. All she did in such situations was to put a brave face and come up with her standard line “ I may not be that educated, but I am smart enough to produce intelligent children.”

Years passed and then I moved to UK, settled and blended more in to the western lifestyle.

My worst nightmare was to explain my parents about my personal life and my sexuality. I kept them in dark for years as I was sure they will never understand it let alone support me. My career was the obvious excuse for not settling down.

But being eldest son in a Indian family does come with it’s own price. Time came when my younger brother had to get married and the pressures of me getting married reached peak with all the regular Bollywood drama full of emotional blackmail at home.

During one of my visits I had to sit down and explain my real reasons. I played safe and used all the possible English words so that I know I didn’t have to clarify. Language can be such a power sometimes. I could see total confusion on my mother’s face but disapproval in her eyes. Needless to say that was one trip home I will never forget.

My interactions with my mother became infrequent then. I missed her but could not forget that disapproval in her eyes. I despised her more that time. If she could not approve my life then, I thought she has minimal role in my life.

Couple of years passed and I went to attend my brother’s wedding. My mother was there her usual self still looked up by her society for her accomplished housewife status, which I was not part anymore. But my mother was warm and caring as ever. She never did mention anything about my life in UK but also avoided any talk of it altogether whenever I tried.

I took her to our family jeweler to get a custom-made gold cuff-links for my then partner. I was choosing the designs while speaking on phone to UK asking for his advise. In between I could see my mother and some peculiar look in her face, I was taken back. Could not define her expression. It was definitely not of disapproval I could tell. It was surprise with a dash of happiness I think.

When I went to collect the cuff-links few days later, I was shocked to find out that my mother had already paid for them. I could not believe it. I asked her about it and what she said then still echoes in my ears.

“ I had to gift you something. I gather the person whom cuff-links are for is important to you. I suppose I could never meet expectations of your lifestyle and I could not reach out to you the way you wanted me to. But I always want you to be happy.” 

No more words spoken about the matter since.

That day I got my best friend back, my mother. She reached out to me beyond the barriers of culture and language. 

When it ended with my partner I made sure I got those cuff-links back because those meant more to me then that relationship.

What a waste............

We gay men take care of ourselves. Work on our bodies, wear pretty clothes and smell great. But here is the news. We do it for our kind. Sorry ladies. We do things mostly for men except sometimes.

Stella and myself were having a lazy afternoon. Stella always tries to make these afternoons not-so-lazy. "Comon Dave, Let's go for a drink" she was serious. She calls everyone Dave when she is serious. After all those dim sum we had that afternoon, more drinks didn't appeal to me much. It was the afternoon we were supposed to be watching a  girlie DVD and reading some obnoxious books. But my "faghag" Stella refused to listen.

After some murmur, I did give in and we dragged ourselves to Soho.

"Babes do you fancy seeing a film at the pictures?" Stella whispered in my ears as I was sipping my second Mojito.
"Why not? After all sunday afternoons are boring anyway. Is anything good at the pictures?"
"Valentin's Day", She screamed, "Nice Totties in it babes". Totties is our code for men.
I was not sure about the film. Last time I saw something similar I was outraged. It was "Love Actually" which I thought was an insult to the law of averages. Ten love stories and not a single gay one. Every Christmas when that film is shown on telly I would still moan and complain. Stella knew it.
"It's different now Dave". She continued, "This time you have your seat reserved". Now you are talking baby, got me interested.

After we found ourselves a centre seat at the back, I slurping my coke zero and Stella munching her nachos and we giggling to much of disapproval of our fellow cinegoers.

Particularly this tanned twenty something woman sitting two seats next to us was not impressed. I could hear her muttering disapproval. All I could see is some badly done hair and expensive glasses. I was far too interested watching Eric Dane and Bradley Cooper to care for her.

I am not sure how many of you have actually seen the film "Valentine's Day". There is a storyline in the film where there is a build up about a footballer coming out as a gay. God he is something and then there is a climatic revelation that another hot guy played by Bradley Cooper is his boyfriend. That was the moment of triumph for most gay men. But not for the lady with the bad hair and expensive glasses sitting next to us.
"Not fair!" she screamed, "What a waste"......

That was it. I got off my seat, went to her and with all the stern voice I could muster yelled "Don't you think you owe an apology?"

"Excuse me", her eyebrows puckered. She was not expecting me to retaliate I suppose.

There was no stopping of me. "Only because we are gay and don't sleep with women doesn't make us a waste and unfair." I was fuming and was ready to take her on to a fight which I was sure I would have won. If not for Stella who dragged me off the hall being diplomatically apologetic to that woman.

"Not fair? Waste? My foot. How dare she...." I was still grunting in the tube. Stella had to calm me down.
"Babes, she is ignorant. Let it go." It took another hour or so to calm me down. Once at home with a cup tea I was calmed down. But deep down I was raging. I hated that phrase when women called us a waste. I never took it as a compliment and always thought it was selfish of them to say so.

That night I was on internet. Days like those I like to browse on one of those gaysites. I guess it is one of the de-stressing exercises. Being single it is much easier going on to it. you never know who you will bump in to.

Ping! Popped up the window in the local chatroom inviting me to a chat. "Hello" it said. Profile called "BiDiscrete".

Normally I ignore such profiles. Bisexual to me equals to being "greedy". But that night I guess I was quiet vulnerable in my own way after my little encounter at the cinema. What worst can happen? I thought. It's only a chat afterall.

"Hello" I responded. "Hows things?"

"Fine mate" he replied. Good Lord! How very not gay.

"What's up?" he continued

"Sky" I wanted to scream. But I didn't. Instead politely replied" Chilling"

"Wanna have fun?" he was straight to the point. I had to look on to his profile now.  It said 32 years old discrete bi curious looking for fun. 5 photos uploaded which I then doubted were his. six pack tall athletic broad shoulders. Needless to say all photos were faceless.

"Why not?" I typed. I was in a flirtatious mood that night.
"We have to be discrete" he said.
"Sure. Discretion assured".
We exchanged numbers. I gave him my address. He said he will be at mine in half an hour.
I called Stella and gave her his number as safety precaution. I always give the phone number of the dates whenever I am meeting them. I was in no mood to hear regular safety advise and put my phone down. Deep inside I was hoping he will not come.

I was surprised when he actually turned up. As I opened the door, my jaws dropped. He was all that what was in his photos. Tall hunky and dreamy. Very straight acting and looked like spent  hours pumping iron everyday at the gym. A Gerard Butler persona.
He looked nervous. I offered him a drink and he settled for a glass of water. After a chatter he seemed to be more relaxed.

"This has to be discrete". He kept telling as we headed to my bedroom. We had an amazing time together and he lived up to all cliched expectations.

As he was putting his socks back on he had contentious smile on his face. "I sorta like you mate. We should do this again." There was certain joy in his voice. Goddamn! He sounded sexy. I wish I could marry him.
"Sure". I replied.
"By the way, I have a girlfriend and she doesn't know".
They all have to admit to this eventually.
"Shame" that's all I wanted to say. But I continued,"Don't worry. I won't tell. It shall be our secret".

He left hurriedly as his phone rang. I closed doors immersed in my thoughts. I waited all this long for a guy like this and he arrived at my door. We had great time only him to announce I cannot ever hope to have him.

Next morning I woke as usual and was getting my stuff ready for the work. Stella phoned to make sure I was fine. Also to confirm that she will be seeing me at the gym that evening. I really was not in a mood for a gym session after last night. But could not refuse Stella. She has been moaning about her christmas weight for almost 2 months now.

That evening in the gym we were on cross trainers chatting to each others playing our little game. We score men for a game. Every man we see in the gym get scored out of ten.
"That's perfect ten". Stella whispered. I had to lift my head to see Stella's perfect ten. My lips dried. It was him. The guy from last night. I remember his body very well. How can I forget those shoulders?
"Babes. It's him. Last night's guy". I barely could speak.
"Go away. You are lying!" there was disbelief in her voice.
"Won't I know? Why would I lie to you. It's him alright."
"You shady lady Dave. That's a jackpot". She approved. Her giggle was far too loud he had to turn to look at us. We both could see his face going pale. I nodded to wish him and continued peddling my cross trainer.

Next fifteen minutes I tried to avoid him in the gym. I had to hurry Stella out of the gym. She was rather displeased.
"What have you got to hide? It's him who needs to hide babes". She sounded not pleased  as we were heading towards reception desk.

"Holy Shit" we both let it out unanimously.  He was there at the reception desk adjusting his gym kit and with his girlfriend in his arms. She was speaking to the receptionist about pilates. We both could not believe our eyes. It was definitely her. How can we forget that bad hair and expensive glasses. That lady from the cinema. As she turned towards her she had frown in her face and that disapproval look again. I also did see the paleness in his face returning. He was looking very uncomfortable like a child who has been caught after a mischief.

I composed myself, clearing my throat  and said rather in a loud voice, "What a waste of a man on a woman!"

I could see them hurrying. Him with a guilty look and her with a confused look.
As for Stella and myself, we burst in to a giggle.
I was having a last laugh.