My First Date and the Closet Gay Bar

Now I know what some of you who are reading this must be thinking, 'There is a gay bar in New Delhi, India?' Well, the answer is a simple, yet slightly complicated, yes and no - Yes, there is a gay bar and No, it isn't a proper gay bar. Tucked away in an almost inconspicuous space between a multiplex cinema and a hotel of questionable standard stands a petite structure barely two floors high that I shall call Pearls n Petals (its name is different but the initials are the same - my name makes it sound a lil bit more fabulous than it is).

I came to know of this establishment over a year back when I first felt brave enough to set up a profile on an online gay personals site. By that time I had lost a significant amount of weight and decided that perhaps I could meet a cute guy who was a bit of a chubby chaser (but then again, since when are chubby chasers cute?). After a few weeks of sifting through the usual riff-raff who just send one common message - hi, a/s/l? top, bot, vers? cock size? - I met someone who seemed rather charming and civil (later to discover he was a total manipulative shit but that's another story all together). We began chatting online on MSN, followed by telephone conversations that sometimes even exceeded four hours. True, he wasn't exactly cute by my standards, but then again, at that time, I was at least 50 lbs heavier than what I am at present while typing this entry, so I couldn't really complain. Within the span of almost 3 weeks, we had grown really close and knew almost everything there was to know about each other (barring a few super intimate details of course but you know what I mean), and even though we still hadn't met, I realized that I had started to develop feelings for him.


One Tuesday night, at about 9.30, I get a call from him, "You have exactly one hour to get ready". After a rather bewildered, "Excuse me?" he explained that he was going to take me out to a party. Arching a brow I asked who the host was and whether he would be okay to have someone he doesn't even know crashing. He explained that on Tuesday nights at Pearls n Petals, there is a gay night that is announced as a 'private party' so that the gay denizens of New Delhi can party in peace without being bothered by heteros and cops and all that jazz. Filled with a mix of panic and excitement I ran over to my closet (not the one I live in) and searched and searched for something nice to wear. You see, I was at that stage in my weight loss journey where none of my clothes fitted me nicely. They were either all loose and would have made me look like a bag-lady - or too tight and would have hugged my not so manly curves in the wrong manner (as a motivational tool, I bought clothes two sizes smaller than what I was to keep me driven). Luckily for me, my cousin (let's call him Harvina - an honorary drag queen name I gave him as he totally accepted me when I came out to him), was spending the night with us and helped me pick out something that I looked remotely decent in - a pair of khaki Dockers and a navy sketcher's button down, not the most fabulous thing for my first visit to a gay bar of any kind.


The guy was half-an-hour late, and I had begun to panic like a junior-high girl who was getting late for her prom. I kept pacing up and down my bedroom in histrionic fits - OMG, he's late, where is he? Is my ass looking fat in these Dockers? Did I say or do something wrong? Is my ass looking fat in these Dockers? Do you think it's odd that he's taking me to a gay bar on our first meeting offline ever? Is my ass looking fat in these Dockers? Do you think he'd like me in real life despite me being on the heavier side? Is my ass looking fat in these Dockers? - all to which my patient cousin answered in a deadpan tone while watching Prison Break - Relax dude he's on his way... no... no... no... no... chill man he'll like you... no.


Not satisfied, I ran into my reading room and pulled a card - 8 of Cups. Those of you reading this who are well-versed with the Tarot would know that 8 of Cups from the Thoth deck isn't the most reassuring card to get about a first meeting of any sort. But before I could pull out a clarifier, 'Rich Girl' by Gwen Stefani began playing from my cell phone, signaling that he had arrived. Upon meeting him, I was instantly reminded of a T-Shirt slogan that I saw at a store the other day, 'You looked better online'. However, my gracious Libra rising just made me swallow that comment and flash a charming Venusian smile and say, "It's so finally good to meet you." He smiled and we hugged and did the air kiss (muah muah), and while driving he confessed that he was relieved to see me and the way I dressed. Upon my arching a quizzical brow he replied that he was a little afraid that I was some flaming drag queen who would have arrived wearing some trashy sequined tube top and low-waist jeans with a Shakira-belt. I didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted so I resorted to the next best thing - a silent smile.


Upon arriving there, I got outta the car first so that he could go park it somewhere in the dingy parking lot, mainly as an excuse to just scope out the crowd that was outside waiting to get in. Let's just say this looked absolutely nothing like what I'd seen of gay bars in Sex and the City, Will & Grace, and Queer as Folk. None of the men looked like Adonis donning a Dolce. None of the men seemed as if they just stepped off the cover of GQ. None of the men looked as though they knew anything about style at all. In fact - this didn't look like a gay bar at all. More like some working class stag bar where men dressed like shabby heteros. Whoever said gay men were always the most attractive and the most stylish and refined had obviously never been to this gay bar.


Upon entering the bar, after the big burly gorilla of a bouncer with a big beer gut over what once must have been a muscular frame felt me up in all the wrong places, crappy remixed-bollywood music (like the non-remixed versions were any better) were blaring through the speakers as a miniscule dance floor was cramped with virtually every gay man within the tri-city area. Luckily as we're an endangered species here we still didn't violate any codes and restrictions over over-crowding. Icky sweaty slimy men all bumping and grinding against each other, thinking they'd resemble a pussycat doll, only to resemble Britney at her tragic VMA performance of Gimme More.


My so called date took me to the bar where he faux-introduced me (where you hug and kiss everyone and then turn to the person you bring, oh hey everyone, this is so-and-so without even looking at him) to a group of his friends who barely gave me a second glance. Before I could even say hi back, he was whisked away over to the dance floor by some random guy who seemed to have appeared outta nowhere. As expected, his group trailed off into their own lil world, leaving me alone in a shadowy corner of the bar, all wide-eyed and completely outta my element. I didn't know what was worse, the fact that I was feeling self-conscious by the judging eyes of all the gay men who were probably going in their heads 'who's the fat loser all alone'; or the fact that the guy who invited me over in the first place and who I had started to develop feelings for was dancing from one guy to the other and completely forgot about me. The icing on my cake was when I saw him holding another guy by the waist and entering the men's room. Unlike women who go to the ladies room together to re-do their makeup and exchange bits of gossip, when gay men go to the loo together, it's only cause they wanna do (as a friend of mine calls it) the McNasty!


Almost on the verge of tears, I noticed someone was heading my way. Even though he wasn't exactly someone I'd find borderline dashing, I quickly masked my sorrow with a quiet yet gentle smile. My smile turned into a frown of disgust when I found out that he was a hustler trying to get me to rent his services for the night. Dropping my jaw in horror, I shoo-ed him off. After twenty more minutes, my 'date' emerged from the men's room with that 'cocksure-after sex' smug expression on his face with the other guy following behind him smiling coyly. Luckily, it was now two a.m. and it was time for the bar to close (fire codes n stuff). When the lights came back on, he found me tucked away in my corner. "Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked with his eyes glazed due to all the beer and god knows what else. My smile said 'yes' but my eyes said, 'Are you freakin' kidding me?', but I remained silent nevertheless.



On the way back, I sat in his car with my arms crossed tight to my body with my lips pursed trying to control my anger as he swerved through the streets drunk and at a speed above 80 Mph, while his toilet fuck-toy was sprawled on the backseat, drunk and belting a slobbery rendition of 'Girls Just Wanna Have fun.' When we reached my place (in one piece) I got out and due to being born with etiquette, I smiled and said, "Thank you for the night out it was really nice meeting you to". He leaned out his window, "I'm so glad I met you cause I like you a lot" (He certainly did a good job of showing it) while the fuck toy at the backseat waved indifferently as he was on the verge of passing out, "Shall I call you sometime?"



"Only when you're sober." I replied and headed inside as he speeded away with Justin Timberlake's Sexy Back blaring.



And that was my first date, and my first night out at a gay bar!