Recounting almost everything - II

'कुछ नहीं होगा, एक बार कर के तो देखो....मैं ज़्यादा ज़ोर से नहीं करूँगा' was the way Ram first convinced me to insert his dick into my ass, or what I today understand as sex. The first time it happened, it wasn't pleasant at all. It pained and continued to pain for a good while. I had trouble sitting down to shit, it used to burn each time I had to use the loo. And this was the first time when he had said 'किसी को बताना नही..मेमसाहब को तो बिलकुल भी नहीं'. However, after a few times, I began to enjoy it. But largely, I would avoid having sex with him. My thrill and orgasm would be satisfied with our naked bodies rubbing against each other or with an occasional blow-job. He would largely stick to this pattern too but there would always be a hint of resentment in his eyes or his voice when I would say no. 

However, there were times when the resentment was too hard for him to contain. I remember that time when we were on my bed, toying with each other. He was super hard after a certain point and the pleas began. I adamantly denied. And the pleas continued. Thinking that giving him a hand-job would subdue his desire, I clasped his dick and began stroking it gently. But that day, he was not the one to be said no to. He promised that he would just rub it against my ass and I, taking his word to be true, turned over laying it bare for him. He began rubbing his dick gently against it, but I guess that didn't satisfy or give him that much pleasure as he must have expected. Before I knew it, his dick started to proceed inside, fast enough to proceed to pounding within seconds. I shouted 'Ram!', but he had pinned me down fiercely with his arms. He didn't look as strong as he actually was. Frail and hardly muscular, he seemed as if he could be knocked down by anyone. But yes, he was strong. Strong enough to at least force me down and resist any backlash. That day was the first time I tasted my tears while he continued to reach orgasm behind my back.

Thus began the pangs of regret. Of fear and worthlessness. Of the series of thoughts where I would question myself. Am I the only one in this world who sleeps with another man? I never went on to that trajectory of thought where I'd consider myself diseased or sick. My major time would be invested in thinking what if Ma and Babba come to know? What if my friends stop hanging out with me once they come to know? I would return from school thinking now Ma must have come to know about all of it, and she'd be ready to throw me out of the house. Whenever Ram would have an argument with Mom and he would answer back or raise his voice, I would cry in my room thinking that it's because I have given him so much liberty over my body that he has assumed an air of impunity, and that he could somehow threaten my parents with it. I don't know. It all seemed very valid then.

In the midst of all this, I would still have the urge to be with him. To feel his body and to sleep with him. I would regret the very next moment after it was over, but after some time, crave the same. Things were very muddled, and I slowly began losing interest in everything I used to enjoy, from sketching to eating to reading and of course, academics. I would do things just for the sake of it, and sometimes pretend to enjoy doing them because I was supposed to. There were times I would just stare into the mirror or blank space wondering how to end this. And I finally resolved to end this in the manner in which most of the weak people chose to.

It was early morning and I was supposed to attend one of the many tuition classes I had subscribed to in my 10th standard. I had woken up much before anyone else in the house. I went inside the bathroom and locked myself. Opening the shelf in the wash basin, I grabbed a bottle of Harpic and kept it in front of me. I had a glass and I filled the same upto a quarter of its level with water. That done, I poured the toilet cleanser into it till the mixture was dark blue. I looked myself in the mirror (thinking this would be the last time I would be seeing myself), closed my eyes and gulped it down. My teeth went extremely sour and my throat itched. I put the Harpic bottle back in its place, went out of the room, placed the glass on the stool. I felt weak, and gradually I seated myself on the bed. Before I knew it, I had blacked out.  After a few minutes (or hours, I don't remember how much time I had passed), I felt some movement. Had I died? Am I being transported somewhere? Slowly, my eyes opened and I saw my Dad trying to wake me up from sleep. Damn, I thought. I was very much alive. Might have had some temperature, but that's it. The confusion, the muddling was here to stay. Perhaps to be resolved one day.

After the saga to end things was over, I had thought maybe I am too bad at dying too. Like mediocre in every sense. That I couldn't make a full-hearted attempt to take my own life. Maybe it served to show that dying wasn't all that easy. Taking one's life might be an act of cowardice but it does take a great amount of strength to be successful in it. 

Back in school, the 'boys' of my friends' group had started talking about boobs, legs, waistline, cleavage, ass and every other part of the female anatomy that could be sexualized. I would either feign interest in those talks or involve myself elsewhere. Anyway, my image as a 'seedha-saadha ladka' would help and most of my silences during those conversations would be attributed to my shy image. I didn't complain. I, for one, used to ogle at this one male friend of mine. Good at sports and every other 'manly' thing, he had a good body for a school-goer and sometimes I would try and peek into his shirt trying to catch a glimpse of his chest or his sculpted stomach. Sometimes, I would be successful.

Things at home and with Ram remained quite similar. However, the frequency of our 'interactions' decreased, although not to a great extent. Confusion was still around and 12th grade was here. I had fared decently although not gaining admission into any college. There were a few entrances left, and before I could take those, I was supposed to collect some documents from school. Documents collected, I was waiting for a friend who would drop me back home. A group of some other friends had gathered nearby and all of them were talking about future prospects; which college, what scholarship, what stream. I was standing there, mouth gagged by my own incompetence, thinking how I've wasted all these years doing nothing in terms of self-development. Ram-sex-Ram-sex-fear- parents-getting caught was all I could think then.

When I reached home, I rushed to my room. Ma was sitting on my bed busy doing something I don't recall now. I climbed the bed, placed my head on her lap and began sobbing. Before she could realize, I had started crying loudly. I continued. She shook me, asked me what happened. 'क्या हुआ ***श ? बोल ना!' But I just kept on crying. It was as if all my tears were the answers to her questions. But she persisted. 'कुछ किया तूने? कोई लड़ाई हो गयी?' I expressed denial by shaking my head 'फिर क्या हो गया बेटा ? किसी को मारा तूने? कोई लड़की का चक्कर है?' I shook my head to all of this. Helpless, she also started crying. All this while, my tears were at full flow, thinking this would help me compensate for all those years. And it was then that Ma apprehended what was in my mind. 'कोई लड़के का चक्कर है?'

For a moment, I was dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say and how to respond to that question. Finally, summoning courage, I said, 'Ma, I'm gay.'