Nominated
Sunday, May 04, 2008
It was a pleasant surprise when I was informed that 1body2souls has been nominated for a blog award. This post is to thank you for nominating me for the "Sa Grace Award d' Excellence" in the BEST BLOG FIRST-PERSON category. I am very grateful that you think this blog is good enough for such an honor. So now, what are you waiting for, go THERE and vote for me!!!
posted by Manav Desh (formerly Imphaldiary) @ 8:49 PM,
My Navel
Friday, May 02, 2008
One of the readers, who has become very close over the two and half years of my existence as a blogger keep asking me to sent him pictures of myself. I sadly have to decline, but he was persistent. He asked me to sent him a picture of the part of my body which I consider the sexiest - this way my anonymity won't be compromise and he will have something physical to associate 'a good trusting friend' (I can't thank him enough for thinking about me that way). Well, at this point I ran out of excuses and I really can't decline such a sincere request. Then came the hard part, it was time to decide which part of my body I consider the sexiest. Believe me! This was the hardest decision I have to make in my life, probably because I am not a mirror-freak, meaning- I don't look at my naked self. The reason for this I would prefer to give, with the halo of an educated man, will be that "self indulgence is waste of time, be happy with what you look like". But deep down I know a tiny bit of me was afraid I won't like what I see. So, it was kind of 'the day of reckoning' for me. So leaving all my modesty along with my clothes, I first cleaned my neglected mirror, scanned my body part-by-part with cannibal intent (which is normally reserved for looking at other good looking guys), and asked, shyly at first and then with increasing boldness each time, ..... 'Mirror mirror on the wall, which part of my body is the sexiest'.
Wondering where I looked first? Well, I am a man and obviously my eyes first fell on my manhood. It was polished and shining alright, but it lacked the glory I was looking for. ERECT! It went to get my attention but, aun-aaa, it wasn't working. To steal a phrase from the American Idol judges- 'it-simply-wasn't-trying-enough-to-show-its-full-potential'. Next stop was my behind, the whole package. But how do i look at it? and more importantly how do i photograph it if I do like what I saw? I stood facing my back at the mirror, well, my butt chicks were fine but remember, I said the whole package, and the most important part was missing. I tried everything, but then realized I have to be a 'Body Distortion Artist' (I hope this name is correct) or a Gymnast at least to exclaimed eureka! and sing the glory hol-....... oups.... song.
My nipples, my forearm, my lips, my neck, my feet, my thigh, my hands.... all failed my minute examination. It was only when I looked at my torso that I found what I was looking for. I find it in my navel. Yeah.. Yeah i know my navel isn't oozing sexiness, but it is the most precious thing in the whole of my body. Rendered useless only after the umbilical-cord was cut, it is a reminder that I once belong to another human being who love me ever so dearly. I couldn't think of anything else better then a picture of my navel to sent it to the friend who also love me. I have decided that whatever I will sent him , I will also post in the blog. So here it is.
Sorry about the body hair, I haven't been waxing since I broke up with AK, yeah!!!! that's right i broke up with AK...... that probably explains why I wasn't blogging recently... more on that later.
posted by Manav Desh (formerly Imphaldiary) @ 5:12 PM,
Shoes
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
It's no secret to those who claim to know me that I have an 'extra soft spot' (soft spot for shopping in general) for buying shoes. Of course wearing them is another matter, but the exhilaration I feel while selecting and buying a pair of shoes is indescribable. Both Jackie and Ak know this side of me well. After all AK show me buying shoes in Delhi, where it was cheaper, like it was the only ration I should stockpile before the third world war! And Jackie had seen my mouth watering like a dog-in-front-of-bone as we passed many a shoe-shop windows displaying the latest designs in all the numerous strolls we had together in the city lanes.A few months ago I was surprised and my curiosity meter broke past the upper limit when the courier-man handed me a parcel box. Sent From: Bangalore, Sender's Name: Jackie. From inside the box a brimming, sexy, sleek David Beckham smiled at me. No! Not Victoria's Beckham, but one of the shoes designed, branded and sold under his name. A note inside read: 'Don't you dare wearing them..... just worship them. Happy New Year, Jackie.' But he knew it well that that wasn't going to happen.... I wore them at the first chance I got which happened to be a date with Ak. I don't know how much it cost, but I knew it was costlier than many things I have, I just felt it when I walked on them. It felt heavenly...... costly!!
Anyway, coming back to the date with AK, it wasn't possible that AK won't notice the shoes, shining in all its glory. After the undressing and dressing up routine that we normally do when we meet, he finally asked me about the shoes. I told him the truth that a friend of mine sent them as a gift and started bragging about how comfortable it was and so on. I haven't really noticed that he remained very quite the whole day while I bragged.
That was January. Come March the shining Beckham Shoes was beginning to looked dull and as Jackie had said- I was worshiping them and I wasn't wearing them. On another meeting with AK, I was telling to myself out loud that I had to buy a pair of running shoes for my early morning running exercise. The next day AK set up an emergency date telling me it was important. When we met he was all smiles and he had a box in his hand- It was a pair of Addidas running shoes, size 7 and 1/2, white, just what I wanted to buy. 'It's yours' he said. Thanks would have been a simple and perfect answer, instead I said,'It must be costly. How did you buy it?' (Meaning: where did you get the money to buy it?) Really, it was a genuine concern on my part because I knew he doesn't have any income right now. But he didn't take it that way because in reply he said dryly, 'Not as costly as the Beckham shoes' By this time I should appropriately be angry but I wasn't because I just realized then that 'my guy' was jealous of another guy giving me a gift. I didn't give him a chance to say another word because his lips were inside my mouth and he understood that this was my way of saying 'thanks'. And yes, he didn't steal the shoes either, as it turned out he got a part-time job.
posted by Manav Desh (formerly Imphaldiary) @ 8:33 PM,
Manav Writes
Monday, March 24, 2008
Last week I received the copies of SanDiego Readers which I have requested and which have my written peices. Many thanks to SD readers for that even though the snail-mail kept up to its reputation and the joy of seeing myself in print got almost three months delayed. Now, at last, I can tell you that its a real high to see my writings in print bearing my blog name and my pen-name. And I can tell you that no amount of boost can give me that kinna high.
The two posts below are the reproduction of the published articles for the benefit of those who haven't read them and also it will help me properly file them in this blog for new readers in the future. So, those who have already read it, please bear with it. Thanks.
posted by Manav Desh (formerly Imphaldiary) @ 1:57 PM,
Homecoming
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Note: The first ever piece I have ever written for any publication. It was for SanDiegoReaders for their BlogWorld section. I never thought it will get the approval of the editors as I submitted it. But it did got approved and with kind words of appreciation. Phew!
Hours grew into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, and yet time gives me the illusion that it was just a few days ago when my illness began. Ah! Time had ceased to exist then, as thoughts of my ill health entirely consumed my mind. But I realize now, when I am regaining my health, that my illness was just a clever ploy by time to secretly make a fool of me, quietly ticking, laughing away all the while, tricking me behind my back to hand me back to my parents for the second time in my life.
“Eighteen months of medications, physical therapy, and rest,” is what the doc said. Foolish doc. He didn’t know what he was saying. It meant giving up my job and having to be babysat. It meant a complete wreck of a semblance of the normalcy a closeted gay tried creating far away from expectations. It meant running back crying to mama, just like when I was a kid, forcing me again to be a part of her dream plans for me — just like old times. “Don’t worry, you’ll make a full recovery,” the doc added with a smile. Foolish, foolish doc. How could he smile when he was giving me such a grim prognosis? I was back to where I had started without a cure and he was smiling. This doc was mad. I wanted to run away, but I was in a wheelchair and even standing up was difficult. Mama was maneuvering the wheelchair from behind, and I knew she knew only one way to go — toward home, family, a wife for her only son, grandkids, heaven. She didn’t know that she was taking home a devil from hell who wanted to spoil her carefully manicured Garden of Eden.
Home. I never really moved out of my parents’ home, but I made sure that I was never there. Work was my excuse. Earning money, which I never really cared about, became the perfect pretext to attain some sense of freedom. Traveling the whole year round gave me the normalcy away from customary life. Small hotel rooms and cramped company quarters gave me the breathing spaces I needed. I have always chosen the discomfort of a seat on a bus or an airplane over my bed at home, suspicious of any expectations my bed might have in exchange for the comfort it gives me. Often, selfish goals have led one to unintended greater heights, a bigger name. My narrow intentions let me become an employer’s dream, a selfless hardworking employee willing to sacrifice home for the company’s sake. Ha! Selfish is altruistic, and “home sweet home” is a scary home.
Mama. She once had another son, and I once had an elder brother. I was just another son then, until my brother died of an overdose. After going through rehabilitations and relapses with my brother for many years, his death killed something inside Mama. Her only consolation was me, her other seedling. Suddenly, I was under the spotlight. Ha! Invisible became visible — a gay was left to carry on the family name.
Closeted gays are visible, yet invisible. They are, but they are not. They are plants that hide their fruits deep underneath the ground. The green leaves above are just pretenses, false promises of flowers and fruits on their stems, lest it breaks the gardener’s heart. It is not easy to forget the nurturing, the love, the care, and the hope of the gardener toward that sapling; a spurious existence is much better than truth, shame, disappointments, tears, and pain.
It was a frustrating first few weeks coming back after hospitalization. I shouted at night in exasperation after trying for many hours to get up. Mama would come running, her reassuring hands wiping away my frustrated tears, skillfully hiding her own compassionate tears. But the situation improved dramatically within a few weeks. Though weak, I was soon walking again. More recently, I got a call from A.K., a gay friend (read: secret lover). He came from Delhi and wanted to see me over dinner. I told Mama that I was going out to meet a friend. When I came out of my room, Mama was knitting in the living room, her eyes proudly looking at me all dressed up. When I worked the car out of the garage, she was attending some flowers on the porch, but her eyes were still on me. When I was on the road, those eyes were there in the rear-view mirror, telling me that she, her hope, and her expectations will be waiting for me. I stepped up the gas and speeded toward my gay lover. Mama, I am not home yet.
Labels: Published Articles
posted by Manav Desh (formerly Imphaldiary) @ 6:50 PM,
Wedding Wishes to a Friend
Note: My second piece, published in the January 17 /2008 issue of SanDiegoReaders, where I became a little bit bolder and daring from a writer's point of view, all thanks to the kind words for my first piece from the editors of SDReaders.
Adorned in traditional attires of a groom, my friend, you look handsome, and your bride so elegant. The mandap, garland in bright yellow marigolds, the sparkle of the jewels of the wannabe brides, dazzling the prowling eyes of the bachelors, young married couples lost in fond memories, sweet wishful tears of the aged, the dhol and the sahanai, all sing in unison, the timeless tune of the union of two souls. Even the most ambitious of the stars above agree that the two brightest stars are shining on Earth tonight.
It was also a starry night in spring when we lay on the green lawn outside your house, ignoring the repeated calls from your mom to come indoors. Oblivious of the lurking tropical crawlers and the feasting mosquitoes, we were engrossed in important nothings of our adolescent lives. You told me everything, I told you everything — unwritten pact of good friends. My disappointment at not being able to buy my own cricket bat was true, my laughter at the big pimple on your nose was genuine, but the girl I told you I fell in love with was a lie. I am sorry I broke the pact, but truth meant saying I was gay and I was in love with you. I knew you were not gay, but spring breaks always came and shamelessly gave me hope, year after year.
Inside the mandap, your brazen eyes are searching for a glance from your bride, but her shy eyes are glued on her toes. You seem depressed, and then her glance and your smile say it all. Lovers. You are completely unaware of the war that just broke out between the bride’s and the groom’s parties on who is more handsome of you two. Their war is futile, though, for you and your bride are not two but one tonight.
Endless war it was, between the friend and the lover inside me, in all those clumsy football games we played under the muddy monsoon showers. An innocent friend was playing with you and an evil lover was reacting to the slightest touch you made. Every harmless hug of yours was so close to becoming the dagger that could have easily sliced our friendship into two. You were a merciless cyclone when you trustingly got naked to clean yourself inside the changing room, so ignorant of the havoc you were causing inside my impure soul. You innocently wondered why I was still unclean and told me you would wait outside for me, leaving me alone to pick up the debris off my broken heart and my shattered self-esteem. You will never know how hard it was to come out with a smile and listen to the magical evening you had had with your girlfriend. I knew you were not mine, but the small green life the monsoon gave atop the brown barren trees always inspired me to wait for our monsoon games, year after year.
The ceremony is over. It is now time for you to take the bride home. Her parents’ eyes are moist. They are wondering why all this mirth and joy when finally they have to give away their little girl, a piece of themselves. Everybody seems sad, but none protest. Because they knew comings and leavings are life, without which life will be no more. Your marriage is just another name; we are all celebrating life tonight.
It was also celebration at the town’s fair, my treat to you. Later, it was just a cold wintry night when I told you I was leaving for a private school the next summer. There was a long pause in our conversation for the first time. I waited, but you just kept biting your lower lip, trying to punish it for becoming so dry and harsh; you seemed so betrayed. What happens to all our dreams of college life together, you must have thought. If only you knew, friendship is benign, and my life is a dark malignant closet destined to be in perennial winter. Winters are hypocrites; they freeze everything around and then regret that the warmth has gone. I knew I wanted to forget you, but winters always came and reminded me of your disappointed warm breath, year after year.
Marriages are made in heaven, they say. I thank you for letting this sinful soul be a part of your heaven at least for the night. This day will remain in me until I die. If someone’s sorrow is some other’s joy is true, let all my sorrows be your joy. I wish you, my dear friend, a happy married life from the bottom of my heart.
mandap: A decorated platform used for Hindu marriage ceremonies.
dhol, sahanai: Musical instruments used in Hindu marriage ceremonies.
Labels: Published Articles
posted by Manav Desh (formerly Imphaldiary) @ 6:18 PM,
Holi!!
Friday, March 21, 2008
Happy Holi. I hope you'll enjoy these pictures just as I enjoyed them.
posted by Manav Desh (formerly Imphaldiary) @ 7:09 PM,
One Month Hibernation .... well, almost
Monday, February 18, 2008
The last time I wrote a post was on 19th of last month. In other words I was in hibernation for almost a month. Yes, I am very much aware of it because that's how I planned it (your curiosities make me come out of it one day earlier).
Haven't you ever wondered about animals like bears? They hibernate every year for ... God knows how many months... shutting themselves from the world as if to retrospect the hard times and savor the joyful moments they had had during their waking months.... in a dark place, eyes close, two fists tightly cuddled on their chest, the wintry hauling of the wind outside like a faint ancient folksong to their ears, almost like in their mother's womb; so secure and yet, so vulnerable. And when they come out from their slumber, when the glittering sunlight fell on their eyes once again, they glow like diamonds all over again. Their body shiver in the freshness of the naughty breeze that make waves on their furs, the greens of the forest welcome them with never ending smiles. They smell the air for food that lurks in abundance and ran towards it to break their months of fast, and magically they blend in the forest they call home almost instantly. They never left the forest, they didn't die and reincarnate like a good Hindu, and yet they feel reborn again, in a new place, as a new being.....
I am no bear and its practically not possible for me to lay cuddled doing nothing, eating nothing for months. But I tried doing a distorted imitation, I tried to keep away from the blog for a while which means keeping my closeted self in the closet as was the case before I started blogging. No, it wasn't a pre-planned one at first but just a spontaneous reaction to save my aching heart from going deeper and deeper into pain. I felt the pain in my heart when I was writing about me (as a closeted gay) and my mother for the first time in the form of a piece for the San Diego Readers. Writing the piece gave me ideas, the ideas became possibilities, and the possibilities were so stark that it became haunting me! What if I come out? What if my mom finds out I am gay and she will never ever have a grandchild? What if my love affairs became public? what if.........
All these thoughts became so painful and draining that I thought it was best that I take a break. But funnily the thought of giving up blogging all together never occurred to me. Even as I was in hibernation, I was still blogging in my other blog, which keep my mind away from serious stuffs. I was so glad that I had this fun blog to engrossed myself during hard times. Whoever said fun blogs are useless can eat their words like I am eating now.
posted by Manav Desh (formerly Imphaldiary) @ 6:06 PM,
