RassMalaai Rites

I recently started making a weekly plan of action. It consists of tasks to be done every day of the week, a list of which I send to my sister, who makes it a point to check with me daily, about my targets. I figured that as much as I'd like to believe I can monitor myself, I end up cutting myself a lot of slack. So, exercise of some authority seems like a good idea. Gosh, I'm such a sub/bottom. One of these days when I was done with around 8 things out of 10 for the day, I was like yay, time for a break. And as one does, I disabled the flight mode on my phone, opened Grindr and scrolled through my messages. And there were a quite a few. There was one guy who had messaged me weeks ago: shirtless photos, photos in a tank top, and one in a military print body-hugging shirt. I was like okayyy, yeah, happening. There was an unread message from him: "Hey man" I replied: "How's it going?" "Done with this app now" "It's ful...

It started when I saw my kundali in my parents' room, lying on the table underneath the TV.  Calling out to my mother, I asked what was it doing outside, more like why was it out. My father replied instead, "वो बस ऐसे ही देख रहे थे". What do you mean, ऐसे ही, I asked. Since when did the two of you get an astrologer's qualifications? I was also annoyed that my mother was avoiding answering the question. "माँ, ये क्या है? मेरी कुंडली के साथ क्या खेल खेल रहे हो तुम लोग?". She came in rushing. I could see a hint of nervousness in her eyes. "तेरे को बताया तो था! हम पूजा करने जा रहे हैं न, इसीलिए!". I knew about a  पूजा, but what connection did my kundali  have with it? I knew that they had been planning to go some 100 kms away from Lucknow for this पूजा, but why are my stars being studied for that performance? "मुझे क्यों नहीं बताया की मेरी कुंडली दिखाई जा रही है इस पूजा के लिए? और क्यों दिखाई जा रही है, ज़रा ये भी बता दो?", I said, with ...

A significant portion of my day is spent watching tv shows and movies. Either on one of the streaming platforms or on a pirated streaming website. More than anything, I just love watching something. It's the act of watching a show or a film or even a YouTube video that gives me immense pleasure. I marvel at the creation of such things, or at least that's the motivation behind binge watching so many of these shows. However one trait that I just cant make peace with (however much my friends try) is a character (who's usually the protagonist) who does nothing in terms of self development but relies on the mercy of others to make things right. And usually it's a cis-white-straight-male. Ugh. An annoying combination anyway. Why do show creators force feed a sympathy arc for such douchebags? Why should I feel anything for a character who's unnecessarily mean to his mother, trashes the house in an unplanned party, insults his ex girlfriend and potential partner at the same...

"I can feel your stool", he said. "I think I just touched it". I rushed to the washroom. Rolling out a handful of tissue from the stand, I wiped off the fuckload of vaseline he had applied to finger me. On the first wipe, there was just some translucent fluid that came off. I wiped again, some more of that. I continued. Further down this exercise, I saw a faint hint of red on the tissue. I ignored. I wiped again, and the hint became a smear and later, the quarters of paper came out white as dove. I went back into the room. I was embarrassed that he had to "touch" and "feel" my stool, so I did what I hate doing. I sucked his dick. He should have something in return for having come so close to my excretion. Even if that meant I had to take in his smelly, ugly dick down my throat. Dicks are ugly. At least the ones I have seen in my life, including mine. The way the foreskin collects at the top, wrinkly, lifeless, covering up a not-so-beautiful-lo...

Last night, I deliberately walked back home from the metro station. It was beyond midnight and the road was dotted only by barricades and streetlights. The decision to do so was almost impulsive, although I can't be entirely sure. There was also a desire. A desire to be looked at, called upon, and touched.  The walk back home is almost a kilometre and it usually takes ten to fifteen minutes. I had reached the market near my home and had taken a turn to get into my lane when I heard a loud whistle. I looked back; no one. I tried to strain my eyes and look, still no one. I walked ahead. When I was well near my gate, I could sense headlights flashing behind me. I looked back but couldn't see a face, the headlights glaring into my eyes. I went inside my gate but could see a car moving ahead from the corner of my eyes. I stood there, with my back towards the car, pretending to check my phone. A man emerged from the car asking for directions to get out of the colony, as the...

It has been almost 10 years since I told my parents about Ram. Since I told my parents about the possibility of me being gay (I wasn't so sure of the term myself). Since I went up to my mother and bawled in her lap, not knowing where to start and what to tell. It has also been 10 years since my parents have asked me anything about it. 10 years since my parents have come up to me and asked if I'm okay, if I need any help with coping, or just asked me a simple question - how are you? So, I ask it to myself - how are you? The first thing that comes to mind is disappointment. Why is that even after 10 years have passed, the memory of that time continues to occupy my being, continues to rule my mood, my reactions, my conduct? Why is it that that face still doesn't escape my imagination? For some reason (maybe it's naive) I had imagined that the more distant I get from home, the better it would be for me to forget what all had happened. And honestly, I did forget it for ...

“ Humare ghar pe logon ko baat karni chahiye, baat karna bahut important hai. Andar koi bhi cheez daba ke nahi rakhni chahiye !” “ She notices everything, doesn’t she ?” “ I have a thing for noticing these stupid things, you know .” “ Ye bahut accha luck leke chal raha hai, iska sab achha hi hoga! ” These are few of the statements that are thrown in during everyday conversation at home. They strike me like glass. Patang ke maanjhe ki tarah . And I’m not sure how to react to these. Because these are said by the people I love, hold very close to my heart and can’t seem them hurting at any point of time. But at the same time I wonder. Where were these acute observational skills when Ram was shoving his dick inside me. Where was that noticing eye when I tried committing suicide, twice. Where was my luck when I could not escape Ram’s clutches? “Why didn’t you ever tell us?” Seriously? That’s your defence? That’s your answer to a person who has been subject to ac...