Being a flight attendant is like a dream job for many gay men. You get to travel all over the world wearing uniforms that make you look cute and adorable, with free hotel stay as well. You get to meet and greet all sorts of people – from celebrities and big power players in first class, to the suburban middle-class ruffians in economy. You get paid to smile, to look young, and keep fit – what gay man wouldn’t just love to be paid for that? And the best part is – you can also become a regular patron to the infamous ‘mile-high club’ (if you have no idea what that means, you so need to get out a little more often).
One of the things that I love about most flight attendants, at least the ones that lived in my fantasy world, is that they have a sense of poise and graceful charm about themselves that very few ‘civilians’ tend to possess. In fact, many people in the hospitality industry in total give the impression of being well-groomed and well-read and having quite a culturally enriched upbringing. With their knowledge of the way different cultures mesh with each other, and their ability to know when to bow before a Japanese businessman, and how Italians view cheese in a different manner than the French, one might think they stand in the same ranks of many cultural anthropologists.
That would have been true in cases of swanky airlines with attendants that have grown up in more gay-friendly and well-cultured environments. The Indian gay flight attendants, especially the ones raised in New Delhi, the city where people consider being ‘greasy’ as someone who applied too much hair gel, are a different story all together.
One such person is Rajiv, whose name has been changed for the purpose of this story.
What I liked about the way Rajiv approached me on gaydar was the way he used a mild casually flirty opening message, without sounding too corny or too cheesy. A rare feat indeed!
After a few messages online, we graduated onto yahoo, where our banter took a mild, yet cheeky, flirtatious turn. Unlike most of the men that one would chat with online, he had a rare quality that charmed me a whole lot – he made me laugh. And not just in the friendly ‘lol’ manner. I was laughing to the point that I spat on my monitor. Okay, I know that’s gross, but still, any man that can make a person laugh like that has got to be witty. Then again, it was 2 am and I was having a bout of insomnia, I could have just been an easy mark.
He was cute, but not in accordance to my extremely high standards (which leads me to be super-critical of myself), but more in the average Delhi-gay standards. He was reasonably tall (180 cms), light skin with blue-ish eyes (I prefer a golden tan with hazel or green eyes, but Delhi-ites have an obsession for all things ‘Gora’). He wasn’t well built, more of the naturally slender kind who don’t really need to work out and yet never really skinny nor fat, just slender (yes, I was jealous of that fact – why does god have to be so mean and give me cellulite!) What I liked was that none of the pics were too “posed” nor looked like they underwent a digital autopsy via Photoshop. Plus, he had that cute naughty schoolboy grin that no matter how hard he tried couldn’t mask the mischief going on in his mind.
The next night we chatted over the phone, and unlike most conversations that revolve around a third degree slew of questioning, we chatted about random things and made seemingly boring topics to stimulating battles of wits. From the exceedingly materialistic and spiritually shallow upbringing of majority of Delhi children, to how Delhi girls have no idea how to dress (that shall be a topic reserved for another blog). However, despite the seemingly casual breezy conversation, something about him just didn’t go well. My spidey-senses were tingling, and not in a good way.
When he asked me where I lived, I mentioned that I lived near a rather upscale part of town. Usually I would get a response like, “Ah okay, cool… I live in so-and-so place” and then the subject would change accordingly. I didn’t really expect the following – “Ooooo someone has grown up in the lap of luxury!”
I wasn’t really offended by that remark, although it did make me wonder where on earth he got off making a comment like that. For the curious reader, I’ve not lived in the lap of luxury, nor had a silver spoon in my mouth (or elsewhere). I just have good tastes and am well-read, and know enough about good manners to know that it’s very improper and downright rude to discuss things like wealth or similar with a complete stranger. In fact, even with friends it’s bad to talk about money. Doing so gives the impression your parents raised you to have a soul-less existence.
However, not wanting to be labeled judgmental, I ignored that remark and tried to change the topic with a quip about the latest season of Nip/Tuck. Unfortunately, Rajiv wouldn’t take a hint. He went on and on asking questions that I personally find quite offensive. How much do I earn? What all cars do I have? Do I only wear labels? So on and so forth. Finally I faked a yawn and informed him I needed my beauty-sleep in order to wake up fresh and early for Yoga. He ended the conversation with a tarty jab about sleeping on silk sheets.
Another thing that irked me about him was that he always tried to portray me as some kind of Casanova that juggled men. At first it does seem flattering, but then he just would go on and on and on without known when enough was enough. For instance, one Monday morning, he asked me what I was up to, to which I replied jokingly that I was trying to adjust to the drudgery of the week ahead. He then went, I see and you’re adjusting your appointment book. I replied, as a matter of fact, yes. And he went, I see, so it’s Tom at 10 am, Dick at 1, and Harry at 3, when is the time for me? Arching a quizzical brow I replied, “Darling do you really think I’d just bed any Tom Dick or Harry?” in the hope of diffusing the moment. He then went on about how I probably have men around the clock chasing me, and then more quips about the area I live in.
Perplexed, I decided to call Wolfie, the only gay man I can trust to listen to my tales-of-woe in the dating world and give me a complete and honest feedback.
“YOU’RE DATING RAJIV!!!” the ever-blunt Wolfie bellowed.
“No, I’m not ‘dating’ him! I’ve not even met him. Although he’s been pushing to meet me so much” Which was true, he had asked me to meet him in person over 5 times already, and it hadn’t even been a week of chatting over the phone. Not that I wouldn’t have accepted, but he kept insisting to meet at the drop of the hat. For those who wonder why that’s a problem, read parts one and two of The Art of Dating.
“Did he ask you to drive to some weird far off place?” Wolfie questioned.
“Why yes, in fact he wanted me to drive up to Sarita Vihar of all places! I never even knew such a place existed until I checked with Yahoo Maps. ” My geographical skills are exceedingly poor.
“That’s because the bastard is too cheap to go anywhere else. He lives near that area and only goes to places close by, or where his office cab can take him to if on the way to the airport. Plus the guy is a total pretender!”
“He is? Do you know him?” Of course he would know him, Wolfie knows virtually everyone in the gay scene. Aquarians – they sure do get around.
Wolfie went on to tell me about his date with Rajiv. He too was charmed by Rajiv’s wit and his calm relaxed and non-intimidating style of flirting. He too was pestered to meet him as well. On the eleventh time, Wolfie was free to meet him, and so they met up at a café near Deer park.
Once there, the first thing Rajiv did was comment about Wolfie’s weight. Like me, wolfie is a bit on the heavier side, and hence we both share a common bond of working our butts off to be thin – him by means of killing himself on a treadmill and home-weights, and me by a macrobiotic diet and yoga (so Madonna-chic I am). Wolfie was taken aback by Rajiv’s blunt comment, and said nothing, only to be shocked when Rajiv commented, “Lose 10 kilos more and you’ll look presentable enough.” Bastard!
Throughout the evening, Rajiv kept eyeing Wolfie in the creepiest manner. And anytime Wolfie mentioned anything seemingly innocent, Rajiv would perversify it and make it sound crude (come would become cum, peanuts would not be something that is edible, and let’s not get started on what all he did with ‘cream’). By the end of the evening, Wolfie didn’t just feel bad about himself and his issues with his body, but was completely offended in more ways than one. And the fact that Rajiv’s baby blue eyes had their mischevious sparkle replaced by a lecherous glaze didn’t help at all.
Just as he thought the worst was over, Rajiv walked Wolfie to the parking lot, where in broad daylight reached out and pinched his nipples. When he let out a tearful yelp, Rajiv pinched the other one. “What the fuck are you doing?” snapped Wolfie, covering his chest with his arms as if he was a woman in a bad b-grade Bollywood movie rape scene. Rajiv replied that he was so turned on by Wolfie’s nipples that he couldn’t help but sneak a pinch. Before Wolfie could reply, Rajiv went, “Gosh I so wanna fuck you in the ass, let’s get inside the backseat of your car and steam things up.”
Without a second thought Wolfie pushed him aside and drove off like a screaming fairy on the last day of a shoe sale. I’m glad Wolfie didn’t give in. It was a shitty thing to do. Make someone feel selfconscious and then shamelessly hit on them. It’s just making someone feel vulnerable and then take advantage of them when their defenses are low. Such moves are often made by date-rapists, child molesters, and sleazy casting-couch agents taking nightly auditions. To top it off, Rajiv continued to call Wolfie, begging for a hook up. It took three weeks to get him to stop doing so.
The minute I got off the phone with Wolfie, I deleted Rajiv’s number from my cellphone. He still calls. He still leaves text messages. Too bad they get deleted without being opened.
One of the things that I love about most flight attendants, at least the ones that lived in my fantasy world, is that they have a sense of poise and graceful charm about themselves that very few ‘civilians’ tend to possess. In fact, many people in the hospitality industry in total give the impression of being well-groomed and well-read and having quite a culturally enriched upbringing. With their knowledge of the way different cultures mesh with each other, and their ability to know when to bow before a Japanese businessman, and how Italians view cheese in a different manner than the French, one might think they stand in the same ranks of many cultural anthropologists.
That would have been true in cases of swanky airlines with attendants that have grown up in more gay-friendly and well-cultured environments. The Indian gay flight attendants, especially the ones raised in New Delhi, the city where people consider being ‘greasy’ as someone who applied too much hair gel, are a different story all together.
One such person is Rajiv, whose name has been changed for the purpose of this story.
What I liked about the way Rajiv approached me on gaydar was the way he used a mild casually flirty opening message, without sounding too corny or too cheesy. A rare feat indeed!
After a few messages online, we graduated onto yahoo, where our banter took a mild, yet cheeky, flirtatious turn. Unlike most of the men that one would chat with online, he had a rare quality that charmed me a whole lot – he made me laugh. And not just in the friendly ‘lol’ manner. I was laughing to the point that I spat on my monitor. Okay, I know that’s gross, but still, any man that can make a person laugh like that has got to be witty. Then again, it was 2 am and I was having a bout of insomnia, I could have just been an easy mark.
He was cute, but not in accordance to my extremely high standards (which leads me to be super-critical of myself), but more in the average Delhi-gay standards. He was reasonably tall (180 cms), light skin with blue-ish eyes (I prefer a golden tan with hazel or green eyes, but Delhi-ites have an obsession for all things ‘Gora’). He wasn’t well built, more of the naturally slender kind who don’t really need to work out and yet never really skinny nor fat, just slender (yes, I was jealous of that fact – why does god have to be so mean and give me cellulite!) What I liked was that none of the pics were too “posed” nor looked like they underwent a digital autopsy via Photoshop. Plus, he had that cute naughty schoolboy grin that no matter how hard he tried couldn’t mask the mischief going on in his mind.
The next night we chatted over the phone, and unlike most conversations that revolve around a third degree slew of questioning, we chatted about random things and made seemingly boring topics to stimulating battles of wits. From the exceedingly materialistic and spiritually shallow upbringing of majority of Delhi children, to how Delhi girls have no idea how to dress (that shall be a topic reserved for another blog). However, despite the seemingly casual breezy conversation, something about him just didn’t go well. My spidey-senses were tingling, and not in a good way.
When he asked me where I lived, I mentioned that I lived near a rather upscale part of town. Usually I would get a response like, “Ah okay, cool… I live in so-and-so place” and then the subject would change accordingly. I didn’t really expect the following – “Ooooo someone has grown up in the lap of luxury!”
I wasn’t really offended by that remark, although it did make me wonder where on earth he got off making a comment like that. For the curious reader, I’ve not lived in the lap of luxury, nor had a silver spoon in my mouth (or elsewhere). I just have good tastes and am well-read, and know enough about good manners to know that it’s very improper and downright rude to discuss things like wealth or similar with a complete stranger. In fact, even with friends it’s bad to talk about money. Doing so gives the impression your parents raised you to have a soul-less existence.
However, not wanting to be labeled judgmental, I ignored that remark and tried to change the topic with a quip about the latest season of Nip/Tuck. Unfortunately, Rajiv wouldn’t take a hint. He went on and on asking questions that I personally find quite offensive. How much do I earn? What all cars do I have? Do I only wear labels? So on and so forth. Finally I faked a yawn and informed him I needed my beauty-sleep in order to wake up fresh and early for Yoga. He ended the conversation with a tarty jab about sleeping on silk sheets.
Another thing that irked me about him was that he always tried to portray me as some kind of Casanova that juggled men. At first it does seem flattering, but then he just would go on and on and on without known when enough was enough. For instance, one Monday morning, he asked me what I was up to, to which I replied jokingly that I was trying to adjust to the drudgery of the week ahead. He then went, I see and you’re adjusting your appointment book. I replied, as a matter of fact, yes. And he went, I see, so it’s Tom at 10 am, Dick at 1, and Harry at 3, when is the time for me? Arching a quizzical brow I replied, “Darling do you really think I’d just bed any Tom Dick or Harry?” in the hope of diffusing the moment. He then went on about how I probably have men around the clock chasing me, and then more quips about the area I live in.
Perplexed, I decided to call Wolfie, the only gay man I can trust to listen to my tales-of-woe in the dating world and give me a complete and honest feedback.
“YOU’RE DATING RAJIV!!!” the ever-blunt Wolfie bellowed.
“No, I’m not ‘dating’ him! I’ve not even met him. Although he’s been pushing to meet me so much” Which was true, he had asked me to meet him in person over 5 times already, and it hadn’t even been a week of chatting over the phone. Not that I wouldn’t have accepted, but he kept insisting to meet at the drop of the hat. For those who wonder why that’s a problem, read parts one and two of The Art of Dating.
“Did he ask you to drive to some weird far off place?” Wolfie questioned.
“Why yes, in fact he wanted me to drive up to Sarita Vihar of all places! I never even knew such a place existed until I checked with Yahoo Maps. ” My geographical skills are exceedingly poor.
“That’s because the bastard is too cheap to go anywhere else. He lives near that area and only goes to places close by, or where his office cab can take him to if on the way to the airport. Plus the guy is a total pretender!”
“He is? Do you know him?” Of course he would know him, Wolfie knows virtually everyone in the gay scene. Aquarians – they sure do get around.
Wolfie went on to tell me about his date with Rajiv. He too was charmed by Rajiv’s wit and his calm relaxed and non-intimidating style of flirting. He too was pestered to meet him as well. On the eleventh time, Wolfie was free to meet him, and so they met up at a café near Deer park.
Once there, the first thing Rajiv did was comment about Wolfie’s weight. Like me, wolfie is a bit on the heavier side, and hence we both share a common bond of working our butts off to be thin – him by means of killing himself on a treadmill and home-weights, and me by a macrobiotic diet and yoga (so Madonna-chic I am). Wolfie was taken aback by Rajiv’s blunt comment, and said nothing, only to be shocked when Rajiv commented, “Lose 10 kilos more and you’ll look presentable enough.” Bastard!
Throughout the evening, Rajiv kept eyeing Wolfie in the creepiest manner. And anytime Wolfie mentioned anything seemingly innocent, Rajiv would perversify it and make it sound crude (come would become cum, peanuts would not be something that is edible, and let’s not get started on what all he did with ‘cream’). By the end of the evening, Wolfie didn’t just feel bad about himself and his issues with his body, but was completely offended in more ways than one. And the fact that Rajiv’s baby blue eyes had their mischevious sparkle replaced by a lecherous glaze didn’t help at all.
Just as he thought the worst was over, Rajiv walked Wolfie to the parking lot, where in broad daylight reached out and pinched his nipples. When he let out a tearful yelp, Rajiv pinched the other one. “What the fuck are you doing?” snapped Wolfie, covering his chest with his arms as if he was a woman in a bad b-grade Bollywood movie rape scene. Rajiv replied that he was so turned on by Wolfie’s nipples that he couldn’t help but sneak a pinch. Before Wolfie could reply, Rajiv went, “Gosh I so wanna fuck you in the ass, let’s get inside the backseat of your car and steam things up.”
Without a second thought Wolfie pushed him aside and drove off like a screaming fairy on the last day of a shoe sale. I’m glad Wolfie didn’t give in. It was a shitty thing to do. Make someone feel selfconscious and then shamelessly hit on them. It’s just making someone feel vulnerable and then take advantage of them when their defenses are low. Such moves are often made by date-rapists, child molesters, and sleazy casting-couch agents taking nightly auditions. To top it off, Rajiv continued to call Wolfie, begging for a hook up. It took three weeks to get him to stop doing so.
The minute I got off the phone with Wolfie, I deleted Rajiv’s number from my cellphone. He still calls. He still leaves text messages. Too bad they get deleted without being opened.
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7 comments:
'the city where people consider being ‘greasy’ as someone who applied too much hair gel' ....hehe!! too funny...
ewwww at the antics of Rajiv...what a lech!
Excuse me whilst I go fetch myself a vomit-bucket *bleurgh*
Well aah finally your back...was wondering where you lost!!!
nicely written as usual..and puts light on how pseudo can some people be..like Rajiv...by heart felt sorry to 'Wolfie' to have gone through such an experience..
Love the way you have put the last line running like a fairy...' very witty one must say!!!
cheers!!!
OMG!!!
i never knew that such disgusting people exsisted in the delhi gay scene.
i guess the saying 'Appearances are deceptive' holds true for Mr.Rajiv.
Feel lucky for not having met him yourself.
i really appreciate the way you have written ur blog.
you make it very interesting for a reader to visualise what u write.
keep it up!!!
HMMM VERY INTERESTING WRTE UP DUDE...AND YOU HAVE TO SEEM TO HAVE SOME CELEB READERS!!!
eye opening post.
clap clap clap
Nicely written with good interpretation.
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