ummm...HI?

Fact or Fiction?

2007-01-16T14:31:00.000+07:00

Upon returning from India, I was bombarded with a tantamount of questions from friends and family. "Did you meet anyone?"..." Who is she?"..." I know thats why you went to Bombay first. Whats her name"..."How old is she"...When I tried to convince them that my life was and is as stagnant as it has always been, they would brush aside my response and pester me with more questions....thats when it all started.

I told a teeny weeny tiny lil' small puny white lie...one that would snowball into something that would no longer be in my control...I told 'em there was a girl.

What was I to do? I did that for precisely two reasons. The first was to get them off my back. The second was to eradicate any preconcieved notions of my sexuality. It has been 3 long years since I have maintained a steady relationship with any female and I was afriad that my label as a hetereosexual bachelor was beginning to be questioned. I was unaware, however, that this so-called girlfriend of mine would start to actually take shape.

Her name? Deepti? Why Deepti, you ask? Beats me as well. It was the first name that came to mind. She works for her father's firm in Bombay and just recently earned a Bachelor's degree from the United States in History and Psychology. She is three years younger than I am and is striving to become an interior decorator. She embodies and extremely petitie figure and wears her hair curls for the most part (except when there is a special event). She has a very peculiar laugh and often sounds like she is hacking up a lung when she finds something extraordinarily humorous. She is rather fair and stands 5'4 tall (so that we can look adoringly compatible, even with heels).

Its not that I have sat down and conciously cooked up all these details about this imaginary friend of mine. It have been compelled to come up with these details...turning a fiction into fact as I went along being interrogated. Not an easy task I tell ya, especially when you need to keep track of everything you said....My bhabhi had randomly asked me the other day whether D was fair skinned or on the 'tan' side...(very indian-esque approach to the question if you ask me, but moving right along)...I said she was 'wheatish' in color and went back to watching television..The scary part is that I was not even phased by the question...she could've even asked which gaon her great-grandmother was orignally from and I would've probably come up with something at the drop of a hat. Hours later, my cousin walked in the house and I said "Wuddup Coke." We've all called her Coke since she was a child due to 'dark' skin-tone (no offense to any dark-complexioned readers out there, most of the jokes told in my household are not exactly what one would call politically correct, but hey, thats the way we roll)....Anyhow, getting back to this long and drawn out story...my cousin responded by jokingly, "I swear, the way you make fun of me, you are going end up marrying the darkest girl I know and then we'll see who has the last laugh"...I laughed it off and said "Oh yeah, Deepti is actually on the darker side." Low and behold, my Bhabhi was standing right there and said "But you said she has a 'wheatish' skin-tone"...

I was stumped.

"I guess wheat can come in different shades can't it?" I said wanting while attempting to dig my own grave. "Argg, we need a pic of this girl!" bhabhi said as I walked towards the kitchen to catch my breath.

Yes guys, I'm aware, its totally outta hand. How I do salvage myself? Say we broke up? Say that we both don't believe in long-distance? What if I wanna be dating Deepti? Have I truly lost it? Sad but true, fellas, I'm starting to believe she's real.

Expecting the Unexpected

2006-12-04T13:53:00.000+07:00

So I'm back from my long-awaited trip to India. T'was fun, definitely was. The festivities, the wedding celebration, the reunion, the grub, the familar landmarks that have been etched in my memory from b'wood films, the clubs, the hangovers, the drinking post-hangovers, the sheer beauty of the Taj Mahal...It was everything I expected and more...except for one missing element. On our little world which we refer to as Blogosphere, we all know that 'element' as Once Again.

Once Again and I have been friends for two long years...virtually. At the risk of sounding sappy, he was definitely more than a virtual friend. We've fought (numerous times), shared long phone conversations, made immense fun of eachother, talked about past, present and future relationships...u get the picture. We were close. Like I mentioned in my earlier post, I initially intended on going only to Delhi and back for my friend's wedding; however, I decided that after two longs years of chit-chat, it was finally time to meet the bugger. So I made a detour to the city where it all happens..Mumbai.

I still remember Once Again saying "I am happy being virtual friends. I don't feel the need to meet you." He never meant that in a negative way. At first I was taken back when he said that but now after my trip, there may have been some element of wisdom behind his words. Once Again and I have almost beaten to death the cause for our fallout in Mumbai so I'm not going to get into that. However, right here, sab ke samne, I would like convey my sincere apoligies for my behavior and I sincerely hope we can salvage our friendship.

When Gay and Straight Collide

2006-10-13T15:37:00.000+07:00

So next month, one of my best straight friends is getting married and I'm going to be going to Delhi for a wedding. I am taking a slight detour, however, to visit a very close gay friend who now resides in Mumbai. The trip has been booked, accomadation has been arranged. Everything seemed fine and dandy until I got a call from my straight friend who is currently setting up a business in Bangalore.

An: You're coming to India!

Me: Um...no...um..I mean yes.

An: I'm soooo bored in Bangalore.

Me: Um...you'll only be there for a few more months. I'm sure you'll do just fine.

An: But you're coming to India right?

Me: Um...yeah?

An: Good. I need a break.

Me: Bangalore may be a little outta my way though considering I can't take so many personal leave days

An: Who said anything about coming to Bangalore?

Me: *gulp*

An: You ARE going to Bombay aren't you?

Me: (in conversation speed X 2) I will be with a friend and I will stay at his house and I will be there for a short while and I won't have much time to do much and I don't know if you will have fun and umm.yah.

An: Oh. I know! Thats fine, I'll book a hotel and why don't you just stay with me?

Me: Um. Well, I had made this plan with my friend ages ago. He's expecting me to stay with him.

An: Um ok. Then I'll just come to Bombay and we'll hang out together all day.

Me: (frantic) My boss...um yeah..my boss....he might not let me go (umm..wtf? you just told him you were going for sure!)

An: But I thought you had booked your flight to Bombay already

Me: Um..yeah. But its refundable.

An: I see.

Me: You stay in Bangalore. I'll come there.

An: I thought you said you can't make it to Bangalore.

Me: Um...maybe I can. (sweating...)

An: Ok so I'll do this. I'll book a flight to Bombay regardless and we'll play it by ear.

Me: Yes. I'll only be able to tell you at the last minute because...(interupted)

An: My best friend here is a travel agent so I can catch a flight to Bombay at any time at any hour of the day.

Me: (wrapping the telephone cord around my neck) Why don't you take the travel agent and shove him up your ass!

An: What?

Me: I mean I mean, why don't you take the travel agent's details down and make the arrangements.

An: Yeah. I'll get down to it soon. And plus, one of my friend's in Bombay knows all the hottest chicks. I'll get you hooked up.

Me: (under my breath) If I wanted a chick, then there would be no problem with you coming to Bombay would there?

An: Huh?

Me: I mean, yeah....chicks sounds just ..just....radical! (radical?)

An: So let me know the details as soon as you can.

Me: I shall... don't you worry.

An: So, you must be looking foward to a vacation.

Me: Now I'm not.

An: Come again?

Me: Um..Now I'm not thinking about the vacation cause of my workload. Anyhow gotta go!

An: Kay. Call me soon!

Me: In your dreams!

An: Huh?

Me: Tata!

Argg. The trials and tribulations of gaydom.

The Revelation

2006-09-26T16:19:00.000+07:00

As an adolescent, I discovered that I was sexually attracted to, essentially, the wrong gender. I pondered about my future on a regular basis and thought through all the different obstacles I would have to face in life as a homosexual - be it the prom, the first time my gf slipped a condom in my jacket pocket, the ridiculous amount of dough I would spend at Zara, or even the day when I would have to walk about the fire seven times to prove my commitment to a pair of breasts (no, I'm not married). But never once did I consider the fact that the issues that would affect me the most in the future were not even remotely associated with the problems I had envisioned earlier.

The trials and tribulations of lust, love, commitment and heartbreak - with another practicing homosexual! Those issues were and are reserved for straight ppl! At least that’s what I thought.

Here I am, age 24, unbothered that I may have to enroll myself into the institution of marriage in the near future, unperturbed that I may have to live a lie, unaffected by rules and regulations of society. What am I concerned about? Whether or not my 'crush' calls me to say 'bye' before he leaves on a business trip. Or whether he notices my haircut. Or whether the gift I gave him for his birthday was expensive enough or should I have gotten him a Gucci tie to go along with it. Like seriously? I might as might as well play the guest star in the up and coming gay version of 90210.

Aren't men supposed to be purely sexual objects used solely for the purpose of self gratification and then disposed until the next purchase is made? And what's up with all this talk about feelings and shit. It sucks. For one, it doesn't allow you to sleep. It doesn't allow you to concentrate on your work. It dictates how many hours you spend at the gym each week (way to many). It causes you to start trimming every misplaced strand of hair on your body. It even draws your attention away from your favorite pornographic film.

So for all of you out there, whose feelings have not been reciprocated, leave your pubes untrimmed. You'll be a happier man.

Crushed

2006-07-26T16:47:00.000+07:00

At the Gym with my 'crush'.

Crush: That guy is hot.
Me: Ew. Gross.
Crush: You have bad taste.
Me: Yup, and u're proof of that.
Crush: *rolls eyes*
Me: Now thats what I call cute.
Crush: Where? Where?
Me: Over by the dumbells.

Dumbell Dude stares right in our direction.

Crush: Look, he's looking right at me.
Me: Go ahead. The ball is in your court.

Meanwhile, I am steaming with jealousy but continue to front a laidback expression. Dumbell dude and Crush continue to engage in a conversation that seemed to last for eternity. Laughs and handshakes were exhanchanged and just before his departure, Crush takes out his cellphone, keys something in, and heads towards me.

Me: So ur place or his?
Crush: Fuck off!
Me: What? Pretty straightfoward question isn't it?
Crush: Give me your cellphone
Me: Why? I have ur number you know!
Crush: Just give it.
Me: Ok Ok. Jesus.
Crush: Here you go..
Me: What?
Crush: His number. He asked me to give it to you.

:)

More Men, Madness and Melodrama

2006-06-28T14:54:00.000+07:00

What is it about straight acting men that makes them so freakin' attractive? Why do I prefer the smell of a man who has just struggled to aim a ball for 90 mins into a godforsaken net rather than a man who has gone for a manicure, pedicure, facial and bathes himself in an uneccesary amount of Desire by Dunhill?

Ladies and Gentlemen, thats my primary reason for being so attracted to my current crush/potential soulmate (ok that may be pushing it but I can always dream). One hand he rants and raves about finance, politics, soccer and stock market indexes. On the other, about the bulging biceps of the minister's son and the thighs of Brazil's striker, Kaka. Thats what makes him so freakin irresistable. He's gay in such a straight way!

Status? He calls me 50 times a day. Gentlemen, can I ask you a serious question? Why does someone call you 50 times a day, but wants to meet only once a week? I DON'T GET IT. Meeting once a week is such a tease. Its like giving a child a lollipop and then snatching it from him just as he's about to suck it.

Another odd thing peeps, he has two cell phones. One for all the people he trusts, and another for all the homosexuals he's ever encountered. Now initially, this worried me immensely. He sounded like a pervert, but after having him ramble on and on about his ex and how its going to take a lifetime to get over him, I want him to go and screw every guy in his contact list so that his ex can stop jeopordizing my chances.

As for his appearence, even Monica Lewinksy might not stop to take a second glance. But its his eyes. No matter how cliche that sounds, his eyes are his weapon and he uses it to seduce my very soul. His arrogance and non-chalant attitude makes me wanna pin him down to a snooker table and shove a stick up his perfectly rounded arse. His teeth are so perfectly alligned that he could be the contender for the next colgate commercial. His dress sense so horrid that other homos would prefer it if he reconsidered his sexuality. Yet, his presence sweeps me off my very feet and this time I'm afraid, the fall will leave me paralyzed.

A Spoonful of Sugar Makes My Penis Go Down

2006-05-18T14:35:00.000+07:00

Hey fellas. Haven't posted something in a while so I thought I'd come back to torture you all with my gibberish. Well, for those of you who don't know. I am dating someone - lets just call him PR. PR is cute, intelligent, giving, young and horny. So yeah, overall, I'm a happy camper. Instead of giving you the lowdown on his cock size, I'm going to discuss relationships. *YAWN* Now this may come across as completely arbitrary, but I'm curious to know whether I'm the only odd one out or has this world become too sweet for my taste buds? Furthermore, when it comes to a relationship, how high should one's 'sugar' tolerance be? Now I have broken down relationships into three categories- they are as follows;

(A) Person A & Person B declare their love for each other constantly and compliment eachother throughout the course of their relationship (public & private).

(B) Person A & Person B declare their love and compliment each other in private but remain reserved and make fun of each other when the opportunity arises in public.

C) Person A & Person B make fun of each other in both public and private, but have an underlying understanding that they adore each other dearly and reassures the other party occasionally, IN PRIVATE.

Personally, I am a fan of option (C). Teasing is my middle name. The other day PR told me that I have the cutest nose. I responded by saying that I liked his nose too because it reminded me of my ex. Yes, it may have been a tad bit cruel, but do you have to compliment my nose? Can't you just let it breathe its own? Does it have to be glorified? Its a nose for heaven's sake.

I might have to lay it out on the table before I get diabetes. I am trying to regard this as a 'honeymoon' phase in our relationship - a phase that will be bygones soon enuf, I hope, I pray, I beg. You would think that once the other party stops giving compliments, he/she would start SHUTTING THE FUCK UP. But nooo. The other day when he said, "Baby, every shirt looks good on you," I was this close to taking the scissors from the coutertop and cutting up my shirt into tiny shreded pieces and stuffing down the toilet. But I smiled instead.

Now don't get me wrong. Everybody needs reassurance. But if the reassurance is reassured every hour on the hour, you start to feel like maybe your partner lights a diya infront of your lifesize photo before bedtime, daily.

PR is definitely not obsessive. Yes, I must admit, I am exaggerating a tad bit - actually a lot. But how much more fun is it when you can rip each other apart unrelentingly and then reconcile with just one heart-stopping look? (+ a bj, that never hurts)

Once Again, The First Encounter

2006-04-27T17:36:00.000+07:00

Disclaimer: This tale is purely fictional and bares no resemblance to any character dead or alive.

It was 7 am when I landed in Chhatarpati Shivaji International Airport. Upon exiting baggage claim, I saw man holding a signboard with my name in big bold black letters. I pushed the dysfunctional trolley with extreme rigor taking a couple detours before I reached the man. On my way to the hotel, my fatigue and weariness was instantly overcome by the buzzing activity of the streets and I observed my motherland like a misguided tourist.

Shortly after, my Maruti steered into the driveway of the hotel and I was greeted by a host of porters who first dismounted my suitcases, and then lead me to the receptionist. My room was spacious and the high ceilings were intricately decorated with Rajasthani lanterns. As I undressed and showered off the remnants of my journey, a faint but familiar sound echoed through the room. My Cell! I frantically searched for it and found it buried beneath all the rubble that I just unpacked.
"Hello?"
"Welcome welcome ChampaSingh."
"Oye thank you Once Again. The Pleayar is mine."
"Ok. Shutup and listen. I've already told my dad that I have a really bad stomach ache, and I'm not going to work. I'll be coming to hotel coffee shop in an hour."
"Alright, I'll be waiting."

1 hour later.

As I sat there ready to gorge on my heavily buttered paneer parantha, Once Again entered the coffee shop, fashionably late of course. He looked taller than I expected. I tried to make myself look as inconspicuous as possible as he scanned the restaurant. His black ribbed t-shirt and regular fit denims was overshadowed by his hair, strategically parted down the middle and his rimless glasses which made him look like a cross between SRK in Mohobattien and Emraan Hashmi in Murder.He spotted me. I waved.

“The traffic was horrendous. Sorry I’m late.”
“You look more like SRK in person.”
“If you say that one more time, I’m leaving.”

We sat there patronizing each other for what seemed to be hours before finally saying, “I’m glad we finally met,” and “I’m glad you finally came to Mumbai.” “I am too.ooh ohh, that’s an awesome vase.” “OMG, I was about to say that as well!” “How gay are we?”

As we cleared the bill and gathered our belongings, he dived. Dived? Yes, dived. And by diving I mean, leaping-off-both-feet-head-first-under-the-table diving. I mean fine, I don’t look like Arjun Rampal running down Marine Drive in Calvin Klein boxer briefs, but jesus, I ain’t that horrifying to be standing next to either!
“Not you stupid” he explained “Look, look, it’s him”

I carefully followed the direction of his index finger and noticed fairly handsome looking bloke walking in our direction. As if the situation could not get a little more awkward, I knelt down beside him imitating his actions.
“He’s either a criminal or a recent shag that you are trying to avoid.”
“Its the 30-second guy stupid!”

Now could anyone of us forget 30-second guy. Without hesitation, I jumped to my feet and stared 30-second guy straight in the eyes. “Next time you decide to shag a friend of mine, try and pace yourself," I said while lifting up the table cloth to unveil my friend who was now curled up in a fetal position. "Um...hi?" muttered Once again. At this point, I thought the Mahabarat was about to break out in the hotel coffee shop so did what I could to ease the tension. "Hey. I'm up for another 30 seconds if you are. I'm in room 213 and my cell number is..." To my dismay, that only seemed to worsen the angered expression on his face. "You don't know who I am do you?" He said. I cried. Before he could get in touch with Abhu Salem and his entourage, I grabbed Once Again by his elbow and dashed for the lobby.

Me: “Wups!"
Once Again: “Shut the **** up. What the hell was that for?”
Me: “So does this mean I’m not getting any tonight?”
Once Again: “Since when was I giving it to you anyhow?”
Me: “You make me feel 'soo unsexy'."
Once Again: “U u…u…u….u…arse***!”
Me: "I can go on for longer than 30 seconds you know?”
Once Again: "fuck off"
*Hugs Once again*

Queer Gear

2006-04-18T15:04:00.000+07:00

A known fact of life. Queer people like to shop. Theres no denying that when you give a queer man a limitless credit card and SoHo, he'll think he has attained nirvana. Some browse carefully, keeping in mind that extra low V's, beaded accessories and studed belts can sometimes be somewhat suggestive when worn. Others, however, seem to be completely oblivious and continue to buy attire that makes them look like men in desperate need of a sex change operation.

I met a "friend" of mine in Hong Kong recently. I was standing in a crowd in what seemed to be like hundreds of thousands of people..and there was me, trying to locate the only queer person I knew in the over-populated Chinese metropolis. Low and behold, a man, standing six foot tall in a red velveteen beret (yes, you heard me right), a beret waddling towards me with a huge grin. I held my breath and promised myself that I wouldn't barf until I had access to a restroom. "Hi stud" he said trying desperately to seduce me. "I want you to walk 10 steps back, take off your beret, throw it in the bin, and greet me like a normal human being would." In disbelief, he followed my instructions and then sulked for the rest of the day. Its ok though, he deserved it. I mean, if you looked semi-french and could walk with your legs spread apart, then I would happily place the beret back onto your head. But sorry, he had not earned the right or credibilty.

Which leads me to my next clothing peeve. Short ethnic kurtas. Now don't get me wrong, I love the look. Its sexy as fuck (especially on Viviek Anand Oberoi...I dun know why, but I just wanna do him with his short kurta on...now that you know one of my fetish's, I shall move on)..but theres a 'low limit.' Mid-chest level is as far as the neck should go; further than that, and you may as well whip out your crotch, pull it out through your shirt, and put that on public display as well.

You might also wanna put a bracelet around your crotch if you feel under-accessorized. Another peeve fellas. Is there really a need to wear three rings, 2 bracelets, 2 necklaces and a knitted wollen scarf to accentuate your hands, wrists, and jawline? Might as well go into D'Dmas or Tiffany's and get yourself a green emerald set to go with your bangles. LIKE SERIOUSLY.

I mean, why in the world would you wanna put a sign on your forehead that says "I'm Elton John's long lost twin?"

Ex-ploitation

2006-04-04T16:51:00.000+07:00

Inbox (1) New Mail.
It could've been my long lost friend who is currently doing her residency in Boston. Or my brother with regards to new client which he wants to introduce to me. Or my university informing me about alumni donations for the improvement of the engineering department (which I was never a part of). Or just simply spam. But this time it wasn't. It was none of those.

It was him.

The him who made who turned my life inside-out and up-side down.
The him who took my grade point average and made it grade point not-so average.
The him who gave compliments so rarely that when he did, I felt like the polar ice caps would melt.
The him whose kiss could make a frog turn into a prince with an erection.
The him who dressing was so impeccable that Donetella Versace would turn around and give him a second look.
The him whose passion for medicine flowed through his veins.
The him whose secure embrace left me feeling like a fetus in its mother's womb.
The him whose voice would continue to echo long after his departure.
The him whose weakness was that he was too strong.
The him whose overtly macsuline facade sometimes made him seem stone cold.
The him whose family values built a home in my heart.
The him whom I loved unconditionally.
The him who loved me conditionally.
The him who showed me the door when I wasn't prepared to leave.
The him who has dug up memories today that I took years to bury......

With one single e-mail:
Hi,
Just wanted to see how things are going.
Take Care,
- Him

Mixing Business with Pleasure

2006-03-31T11:02:00.000+07:00

Hold your horses fellas. My reference to pleasure is not adulterated; I don't blame you for thinking along those lines, cuz my previous posts aren't exactly what one would call "family entertainers" if you know what I mean. So here's the dilemma. Aside from my routine job, I'm starting a business. Now here's the catch - it’s with my childhood friends. Both of these guys are responsible, extremely thorough with their work, trustworthy and flexible. So what is there to complain about? Well, there are two paths that this business venture can take; (1) It will solidify our bond or (2) we will cut each other’s throats. The first scenario is only possible if the venture runs smoothly. Happy hour celebrations, chugging beers in Irish bars steadily increasing the size of our already inflated bellies, longer trips to the beach resorts, throwing more parties without any apparent reason. The likelihood of the second scenario is not far-fetched either considering the fact that all business ventures come attached with a certain level of risk. Minor Arguments could turn into brawls. We could be fighting over how much time each person has allotted to the business (regardless of the fact that we have invested equal amounts). Disagreements on the functionality of the business (I have already altered the layout/interior of the shop). My concerns can be considered by some as somewhat immature or obvious to a certain extent since these issues are bound to crop up in any business venture. But these two partners of mine are two people whom I've shared most of life with. The first guy is a little cocky, semi-hot (if he got rid of his pimples), a hard worker and a little condescending when he wants to be. Deep down, however (deep deep deep deep down), he's a nice guy with a good soul. The second guy is impeccable, intelligent, stern, a really really really bad dresser (I mean I wanna burn his whole wardrobe and buy him new clothes). Regardless of his wardrobe malfunctions, he's as clean as Lysol and as shrewd as L.N. Mittal. The third guy (thats me), is hardworking (when he enjoys his task at hand), mathematically proficient (currently working in finance, I have to be!), not Brad Pitt (but not a sore to the eyes either), and as saaf as washing powder nirma. Notice I mention clean-hearted several times simply to reinforce the fact that trust is the utmost import factor when partnering up with someone. This analytical process has made me realize that because the prospects of the enterprise sound appealing, the forecasts sound realistic and my friend's aren't chors, I think the future of it looks promising. Not forgetting, however, that money changes people.

Get a Room!

2006-03-24T11:27:00.000+07:00

What’s your take on PDA (aka Public Display of Affection)? Wikopedia defines PDA as a "physical demonstration of affection for another person". I define it as "two people who have no morals, boundaries or are culturally numb and need to be hit over the head with a crane." Sometimes I just stare at people who are making out in public and wonder what is going through their thick heads? I mean, seriously! Did you come to be like this because your dad used to ram your mom on the dining table as you watched them over dessert? What’s the deal fellas?

My two best friends began dating at one point and they just couldn't get their tongues off one another. I was at a restaurant once and I ended sitting in between them to save our table from any further embarrassment. "Hey Babe, lets exchange bodily fluids while other people watch us causing them to regurgitate their food. What say ya?" Idiots. Others could find my train of thought a little orthodox, prehistoric or pro-Asian, but I just think its common courtesy.

I was on the sky train the other day and this really hot bloke was making out with a freckled-faced chic in hippie clothes. He was wearing a nice tight fitted pair of jeans with a light pink t-shirt and a khaki linen blazer. Firstly, what are they doing together? And secondly, how disturbing is incompatible PDA? Incompatible PDA is a term I coined (5 seconds ago); it’s something that is becoming more rampant in today's society. It subscribes to the theory that couples who fall within the same range on the scale of 'physical appearance' should be given more freedom where PDA is concerned. For instance, I would give them permission to engage in non-slobbery kisses if they wish to do so. Tongue usage is totally out of line, however. Incompatible couples, however, need to save us from developing nausea and get a room instead!

Sex and Sushi

2006-03-17T09:38:00.000+07:00

"Beta, how old are you?"She sits me down in a table full of aunties who are glaring at me with smiles that highlight the defects in their teeth. "24, auntie" I answered politely. "University?" she questions inching up closer to my left thigh. "Ummm..." Just then, the aunties let out a roar of laughter, some clapping and waving their flabby biceps in all directions. "Don't mind these aunties beta. You see, my daughter is studying in London and she will be coming here in a few days to visit the bride. You must show her around the city." "Sure auntie, no problem at all" I replied. What I really wanted to know was, does she have a brother and if so, does he need a tour as well?

I dismiss myself from the table and head towards the sushi bar. I had been craving a California roll all evening but the queue seemed endless earlier so I had settled for some Dim Sum. As I place the ginger and wasabi strategically on my oversized plate, I notice a lanky, untidy bloke scurry into the ballroom. In a desperate attempt to make himself look inconspicuous, he hunches over and rushes past a table full of his relatives and heads directly for the sushi bar. Towering 6'1 (at the least), his strategy proves unfruitful as another table full of aunties yelp at the very sight of his presence. He glances over at them, flashes the world’s most artificial smile and briskly walks towards the plates and chopsticks. He stares over at me and lets out a sigh of relief as I chuckle helplessly.

"Jai" he says gripping my hand firmly.

"A," I respond while trying to tighten my grip to match his. "Thank heavens this is the last function. I'd kill the couple myself if they had an eighth party." I nod in an agreement staring shamelessly into his brazen pupils. "Wanna go sit by the elevator? We're never gonna get a seat in here" he whispers, scanning the entire premises. Yet again, I nod in agreement and lead the way.

"So I presume you are from the bride's side. Where from?" I ask in a desperate attempt to break the awkward silence. "London" he responds. "I'm only here for the next few days. Gotta get back for a job interview." "Lucky Bastard" I tease nudging him with my elbow. "Yeah, London has its perks. But it also has its jerks. Trust me." "We have a poet in our midst" I tease again. He grins.

"So I hear you are the grandson of "blah-blah." For the third time, I nod in agreement trying desperately to brush off the subject.

"So which hotel are you staying in?"

"Right here. Room 1401" he replies enthusiacally. "My parents left yesterday so I have the whole suite to myself tonight."

At this point, he places his right hand on my knee and unknowingly, I jolt backwards.

"Chill man" he asserts.

"Yeah. Totally. I'm fine man. Although, there’s quite a crowd around us don't you think?" I question attempting to clarify the underlying meaning behind that gesture. "Did you not hear me earlier? My parents did leave yesterday.

"*7 mins later* "ohhhhh baby"....wine glass shatters by the mini bar

*20 mins later* "I'm about to...I'm about to..."

*30 mins later* "Don't forget the bubble bath u filthy bitch"

*45 mins later* "I'm about to...I'm about to.."

While soaking our sweat, cum and fatigue in the tub, we are interrupted by the blaring noises from my cell phone. "Let me get that," I say not even attempting maneuver my way out of his secure embrace. The persistent caller, however, continues to raise the decibel level in the suite forcing me part with my uncompromisable position.

"Hello?""Where are you? We've been waiting in the lobby for 30 mins. You know dad didn't drive today. You have the keys."

"Shit. Ok I'll be there in 5 mins" I respond in complete agitation.I dress quickly and carefully making sure that the crinkles on my shirt are not too evident.

"The least I can do for you is escort you to your car," he says in a low, forbidden tone standing stark naked by the doorway.

As we approach my parents in the lobby, I prep myself for the dozen questions that will be thwarted in my direction.

"Sorry mom. We were at the bar. The party was too crowded. Couldn't find a bloody table."

"That’s ok. Just pick up your phone next time. Dad's tired you know?" she responds irritatingly but changes her tone almost immediately after witnessing the refined Englishman standing to my left. "Jai," he introduces himself."Sorry, I'm generally horrible when it comes to introducing people. Mom. He's from London. The bride’s cousin. He flew down here for a few days for the wedding." I explain trying to rush the departure process.

"Well in that case, no hotel shotel next time. You must stay with us next time you are in town."

"Definitely auntie, it would be my pleasure."

Gym Jam

2006-03-08T11:24:00.000+07:00

As I flipped through the channels on my entertainment box, I sat there pondering about my client meeting the following day with a potential investor. If this deal were to come through, my bronze plaque on my door would suddenly be upgraded to gold. This was until Matthew Mcconaughey appeared on HBO, stripping in an office with a roomful of people. Suddenly, my third leg began to solidify and the image of the potential investor had turned into the cover of the latest edition of People Magazine. His washboard abs was flawless, u could ride waves on them and his jaw line so chiseled, even Da Vinci would envy such a beautifully sculpted piece of art. *Blogger starting to realize that he is beginning to dive into the shallow end yet again*

How far should someone go in order to attain that kind of body type? *Blogger begins to question himself* How essential is it? *Blogger suddenly realizes he has taken the diary of a little girl and transformed it into Carrie Bradshaw's column - but, moving right along*

Sometimes when I'm working out at the gym and I see a Greek god who is working out to reach the very peak of divinity, I fold my hands together and shut my eyes, hoping that the divine would cast the same spell on me. I do tend to forget that divine intervention is also known as a treadmill and a couple of dumbbells.

I think that for an extremely sexually charged man like me, a work out plan should be structured in the form of bribery. For every 20 squats, my trainer should be given the rightful permission to dry hump me from the back 20 times. No more though, because then I would be breaking the rules. I mean seriously! In a desperate attempt to do a hundred sit-ups at the gym, every tenth sit-up is interrupted by a rather obvious bulge that is visible from halfway across the room or thighs can hold up the empire state building. Then, of course, I notice the horizontally challenged man struggling to keep up with the Pilates instructor, but that is just an excuse for a different sort of diversion from the task at hand. Food! Vivid flashes of scrumptious molten lava cake appear in my mind in spurts causing me to dash to the locker room in a desperate attempt to get home and indulge not forgetting to sneak-a-peak at the Matthew Mcconaughey look-a-like undressing on my way out.

Blogging Away to Glory

2006-03-02T10:16:00.000+07:00

Blogging is something I thought I could never get into. Just the thought of it made me feel like I was a teenage chic writing about her first red stain in her pink bambi underwear. Spilling out my guts has never been my forte, especially when it comes to my so-called personal life. It was not until Bbay boi introduced me to the rather satirical side of blogging that I realized, sappiness need not be the only form of emotional outpour.

I constantly day-dream - most often, about my imaginary ABCD bf. I'll even tell you what he looks like - keep in mind, he's imaginary. He's an investment banker who works for JP Morgan, wears only Salvadore Ferragamo ties and European style cuffed suits that overtly accentuates his rear-end. He has the body that could leave Eva Longoria reassessing her sex appeal and John Abraham scurrying back to his fitness trainer. His passion for children is evident; so much so that Angelina gives up her newly adopted child in fear of being an incompetent mother. He does not adhere to my every desire so that I constantly vie for his attention (yes, I do enjoy the merits of a beaten wife syndrome). Oh, my imaginary story has me working in Diesel by way, so that I can get discounted prices on distressed, rugged, crotch hugging jeans. Did I mention we both live in NYC in a Moroccan-themed loft that was featured on the cover of Living Magazine? Well, we do. Our Saturdays consist of long strolls in Central Park and our three-month annual vacations range from the foothills of the Himalayas to the riverbanks of Venice to the.... *Blogger is suddenly reminded that he is sitting half way around the world from Central Park, writing a blog at 3:33 pm when he is suppose to be assessing the listing requirements for the Australian Stock Exchange - he continues to blog anyhow.*

For all of you out there who think I symbolize the epitome of shallowness, well, lets just say I do tread towards the deep end from time to time, but the underlying current always seems to pull me back!

Brokeback Mating

2006-02-22T15:33:00.000+07:00

Brokeback Mating

The be-all and end-all of films. The film that made me imagine all the pedestrians as sheep, the hot ones as Heath, the overpowering skyscrapers of the city as serene snow-capped mountain tops in Utah. Its been 3 weeks and 3 days since I've seen the film and those two ultra-friendly cowboys still dictate my every thought.

As manuver my way through all the sheep on my way home from work, I unknowingly search for my personal herderer. Maybe I should really make my way to Hicksville Utah - seems like the odds of meeting my true companion, or true shag for that matter, exceed this hellhole.

How do you differentiate a true companion from a true shag? I guess a true companion is one who you can shag and still shower with afterwards whereas the latter ends dead-on at point of erruption. I have honestly stood metters away from a 'true shag' in the bathtub after we completed our deed. I can never seem to figure out how they still want to be all touchy-feely after having just completed a "i don't even know your last name" mindless mating session. And worst of all, having to wait, stark naked, for ur shag-mister to remove all the penal waste from his perfectly permed pubes (or theres always the other option which is to use the droplets that bounce off his body to cleanse oneself of the already-dried-up bodily fluid).