Delhi - A Lonely Place for the Gay

A city of more than three hundred thousand inhabitants, the city of New Delhi is a vast ever-growing city where the cogs of progress and real estate development churn at superhuman speeds. With the boom of industry and the economy rising at rates that make the powerhouse nations of the west quiver, more and more people flock to the city in the search of opportunity, and to be part of the New Delhi dream – earn a handsome six-figure income, drive a flashy car with an impressive subwoofer speaker system to make up for pint-sized gentiles, dine at classy eateries where they spend a fortune on excessively marked up food while making an ass of themselves by trying to sound ‘high-class’ by ordering “champagne on the rocks”, and finally, drop top dollar (or should I say rupee) on a swanky house in the super posh South Delhi districts (or in the water-sparse concrete jungle NCR regions). And yet it can be such a lonely place, especially for those folk who live on the queer side of the rainbow.

At first, I used to feel that I’m just overreacting, and that the city of New Delhi was full of like-minded gay men who see there’s more to life than scoring a quick-fuck off the internet. For a lot of time, I did my best to believe in it. However, in the time that I’ve spent within the gay world of New Delhi, I’ve realized that the further one searches for a special someone, the lonelier they end up feeling. And it’s not just about meeting nice guys, because despite the numerous disappointments, I have come across a few genuinely nice people (who are indeed a rare commodity), but it’s more about finding people who can really become a part of our lives in a whole complete manner.


The first thing that presents itself as an obstacle to finding such people is the whole issue of “coming out”. A country, let alone a city, that has leaped the bounds of progress ever since we gained independence from the British colonizers more than sixty-years ago, still holds on to attitudes towards homosexuality that have solely been ingrained into our minds by the foreign invaders and the times in which they invaded (and proof can be seen in an old Victorian law stated in Sec-377 of our constitution). Hence majority of us still remain in the closet, and hence limit our gay lives to the sleazy pick up lines of the next horny wanker online. Being closeted also prevents one from having a proper relationship with another gay man, as one wouldn’t be able to openly declare their love for someone, nor even be able to hold hands while walking in public without being too paranoid about “what will people think?” Those who believe being in a relationship means having someone to screw on a regular basis in discrete places (such as parking lots of malls, or dark deserted gardens at night) or whenever they have a ‘place’ to themselves, are seriously delusional. Unfortunately, that’s the definition of a ‘relationship’ for almost the entire gay scene of the city – which is unfortunately filled with closet-cases.


Then comes to the ‘cultural’ factor of the gay populous – they simply aren’t cultured. True, the term ‘culture’ is subject to perception, however, this is the same city where someone actually said, “I can’t stand the ballet – I see no point in watching fat women scream in Italian”. Gay culture is severely lacking within the gay folk of this city. Very rare would one find someone who knows the difference between Patti LuPone and Patti LaBelle, Joan Collins and Joan Crawford, or even Stephen Sondheim and Stephen Schwartz. In fact, if one has even heard of them is an achievement on its own. Being brought up to believe Bollywood with its cheap knock-off plot lines and gaudy song-and-dance numbers to be the be-all-and-end-all of culture, they’re alienated from some of the more ‘finer things’ of gay culture. A minute percent has ever been able to see gaylicious movies such as Sound of Music, West Side Story, Singing in the Rain, Funny Girl, or even the camp classics like Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything Julie Newmar, and even The Birdcage (although I prefer La Cage aux folles). Their idea of a gay movie is solely restricted to the direct to DVD releases from production companies like Falcon and Bel Ami.


The idea of a gay icon for them is someone like Whoriah Scarey, or Senile Die-on, or Hennifer Ho-pez, and even Shitney Beers – although Madonna is someone well loved, but barely known among the gay folk here. What about Barbra Streisand? Where are the lovers of Liza? Judy Garland anyone? (although ask someone if they’ve seen The Wizard of Oz or Meet Me in St.Louis, and they’ll look at you as if you’ve spoken an ancient alien dialect). Bernadette Peters, Donna Summer, Gloria Gaynor (‘I will survive’), Lynda Carter (Wonder Woman), Bette Midler, Lana Turner, Bette Davis, Debbie Reynolds, Julie Andrews, Audrey Hepburn, Marlene Dietrich, Mae West, Madeline Kahn, Kristin Chenoweth, Idina Menzel, CHER?!?! Seriously, how can anyone claim to be gay without knowing and loving these lovely ladies of gay-icon-dom! But then again, majority of the denizens don’t even claim to be gay due to their closet-status. Hell, they call themselves ‘bisexual’ despite almost never having sex with a woman!


Plus the people of Delhi tend to take a judgmental turn on things without even knowing anything about them to begin with. One such person claimed to hate Barbra Streisand because he hated the shape of her nose without even watching a single movie or hearing a single song of hers. It was only after Jordan Sparks performed “Woman in Love” on American Idol, did he limewire the song to discover Barbra sung the original. He ended up eating his words after melting at the sound of her voice and ordered Prince of Tides, The Way We Were, and Funny Girl on DVD. Another person claimed to hate Broadway musicals because he felt all they did was scream and shout and jump around. After I played a youtube clip of the Broadway smash hit Wicked, did he become an instant lover of all things Broadway! A third claimed classical music was only for losers stuck in time till he sobbed to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake ballet suite. Then again, the average gay man in this city thinks gay music are Bollywood ‘Item Numbers’ such as Beedi Jalayle and Dard-e-disco.


And speaking of Disco, let’s look at the options for Gay nightlife within the city. There is the infamous ‘Pearls n Petals’ that has been mentioned in depth in the very first blog post made here (My First Date), which has the same amount of class and sophistication as a truck stop in Manesar. A McDonald’s franchise is classier, with better looking patrons! Then there is the once-a-month Salvastion Star party that is held at a ‘secret location’, where the cover charge is excessive like the price of the bad quality drinks, and it is only open for barely three hours. The music played in both the places is sleazy Bollywood trash, the kind cab and auto-rickshaw (‘tuk-tuk’) drivers love blaring from their cheap stereo systems, and it’s not really the kind of place one would expect to meet someone soigné (if you have no idea what that means, it clearly shows where you stand). When I crib about this to others, claiming that I wish I could go dancing somewhere that plays good music, they ask, why not go to a straight club. I would, however the ones that play decent music are exceptionally few, and they have a strange rule known as ‘couple entry’. So hence if I ever feel like dancing to good music, I’m stuck to the privacy of my bedroom shaking my booty to Madonna’s ‘Give it 2 Me’. It’s the only place I can dance like a pussy-cat doll without worrying about either being groped by a slimey ‘uncle-ji’ or asked by a straight club in broken English that one can only dance on the main dance floor with a ‘female partner’.


Okay, so maybe night clubs and bars aren’t the best places to meet men of exalted quality, but where does one go? There are no museums worth going as they can’t really hold a candle to the Louvre, or the Met. The theater culture here is depressing – don’t expect Broadway extravaganza’s to be performed here. Opera and ballets are virtually non-existent – except for the rare times they have government sponsored shows at Sri Fort Auditorium, where the troupes that arrive are never really the kind one would ‘pay’ to see anywhere else. There are a few small activism groups out here, but they have this whole sort of ‘elitist’ complex where they think non-members are below them, so no point trying to join them unless and of course you have connections, or are willing to throw in a ton of cash.


So with a lack of ‘culture’ and a lack of watering holes to meet and greet, one might rationalize that perhaps one should look beyond that and search for someone who can make you laugh with their witty conversational skills. In this city, especially in the gay scene, finding someone who can carry of a conversation beyond ‘asl’ and ‘top, bot, or vers?’ is indeed a rare feat. If one does find someone willing to make pleasant conversation, it usually revolves around some sexual fetish of sorts, how much money the other makes, what part of the city they live in (that’s a whole different sort of class-disparity again), cock size and other measurements, Bollywood gossip, who slept with whom, and whether they spit or swallow. I remember this one time I went on a coffee date with someone who claimed he wanted to know me on a deeper soulful level, only to discover that he had no hobbies, no passions, no dreams, just a never-ending thirst to ‘stuff every hole I can find with my big 7in dick’. And those who do go beyond that, it’s almost hard to have a conversation with them as they’ve either never read any piece of literature that wasn’t enforced upon them by their schools, nor are they aware of anything remotely ‘cultural’ to discuss, except lame TV shows like FRIENDS (I prefer Will & Grace, better humor and wittier dialogue, and doesn’t revolve around corny cliché’s).


Now some of you might think that I’m just being too big a snob with too many expectations that are quite unrealistic, especially in a city like New Delhi, where the idea of being classy means being a slave to labels. However, at the end of the day, is it really too much to ask for a likeminded soul (who just happens to be cute to look at as well?)