About `Ugra'

It was lying on the table, besides the printer, abandoned among piles of paper. Not more than 150 pages, I thought. The name was unfamiliar - I almost willed myself against picking it up. Not another amateur writer, translating his Hindi poems into juvenile prose.

A couple of minutes later, I returned my attentions and finally picked it up. Turning it over, I started reading the blurb. ``To save me from following in the foot steps of my older brothers who had taken the road to the next world, it was decided... to sell me as soon as I was born.'' That got my attention...I read on.

``As a child he was expelled from school; and as an adult, he defied every one's advice when he published stories on male homosexuality.'' BINGO!! Jackpot!!! I exulted.

The book was `About Me (apni khabar)' by Pandey Bechan Sharma 'Ugra' translated into English with an introduction by Ruth Vanita.

When it comes to books I am a firm believer in the maxim - ``Its not you who choose the book, its the book that chooses you''.

I have seen this in action over the years. I would walk past a shelf at a library or a book store a couple of times before I noticed that green hard cover cover peeking out invitingly.

In the last few years I have been actively seeking out gay fiction, so much so that, I venture towards straight works as an exception. (Of course, I will devour anything by Amitav Gosh). And, I pride myself and boast of having a very well developed gaydar when it comes to books (now, that's a topic for another blog). But in my heart of hearts I know, it comes out of years of practise of trying to fool the books hidden in the stacks into picking me up.

At the Strand book fest, I would preen and pose like a street walker, navigating the tables clothed in white and laden with books. Starting at the right side of the hall I would walk all the way to the other end of the room without much luck, then then retrace my steps back again. Before the end of that journey - yes, I hit pay dirt and I know I would be walking home with some one!

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All books that come to the office for review land up on the corner of the table next to me, after my colleague has read and wrote about it. So inevitably I get the first pickings.

More about the book:
http://www.penguinbooksindia.com/Bookdetail.aspx?bookId=6867

M & B

Everyone has either heard about it, read it or denies ever going near one. Mills & Boon - that adolescent rite of passage from comic books to adult romance. A recent discussion on a yahoo group about Mills & Boon entering the Indian market - earlier they had local distributors - got me on a nostalgic trip to my last school vacation. It seems India is the only market where M & B has a significant male readership, elsewhere in the world some men may read it but wouldn't want to admit it.


I was around 14 when I discovered M&B at the neighborhood raddi wala. I remember being fascinated with those tales of damsels and of course, dark handsome men. I would choose the books based mostly on the front cover men.

It took about a year for me to get over the fascination with M&B – but not before it managed to add to my vocabulary the word ``tumescence’’. The sentence went something like, ``her hands slipped and touched his tumescence''. I can still feel the goose bumps that I got every time I read the word, but unable to explain the reason. The dictionary was of no help – it gave the meaning as ``a swollen part or organ''.

A late bloomer – I think it was only a couple of years later that I actually understood what had swollen up – lol

A panic

The pounding started as soon as I put down the phone and pulled the sheets to my chin. Beginning as a mild buzz my heart started racing to a crescendo in the matter of a minute. Heart attack- was my first thought as I gasped for breath in the dark. Coughing can prevent a heart attack I remembered from an office email and tried to cough. As I surfaced for short gasps of breath, I started praying, ``Not today, please God, don't let it be today.''

It ended as abruptly as it had started and all that remained to remind me of those moments was a heavy and sore heart.
I woke up Neeraj and said I had to see a doctor. I needed to get well before the flight. An ECG later, the doctor pronounced, ``Nothing's wrong, you must have experienced an anxiety attack''.

That was the first time I heard it - Anxiety or panic attack.

``Panic attacks are sudden, discrete periods of intense anxiety, fear and discomfort that are associated with a variety of somatic and cognitive symptoms. The onset of these episodes is typically abrupt, and may have no obvious trigger. Although these episodes may appear random, they are considered to be a subset of an evolutionary response commonly referred to as fight or flight that occur out of context, flooding the body with hormones (particularly adrenalin) that aid in defending itself from harm. Experiencing a panic attack is said to be one of the most frightening and uncomfortable experiences of a person's life. (Bourne 2005).''

Frightening it was, and two more attacks followed in the following two months - once on my way to office in the train (I got down at Ghatkopar station and took an auto to Chang's clinic) and another time in the car on my way home (more experienced this time, I used a brown paper bag to breath.

The first thought that strikes you is that one is going to die - I later read it’s a common feeling during the first attack.
The next two months were hell when usually quite introvert I started to avoid being alone. Because, being alone meant sinking into depression - the amazing thing was that I could actually feel the pall of depression over my head.

Reading about the symptoms, made me more aware of an oncoming attack - those two months I lived through lots of mini attacks and the more difficult waiting for another attack.
Anti depressant pills were I decided not the answer as I had read it would lead to dependency. As time passed, I developed my own mechanisms to tackle an attack.

* For the first few months I always kept the anti depressants in my bag, just to reassure my mind.

* Instead of praying that I may not get another attack, I changed my thought process to What’s the worst that can happen. I will get another attack, but that’s not the end - I will ride it out. Convincing ones mind to face the attack in some way helps to ward off the feeling of helplessness that can actually trigger an attack.

* Keep a brown bag to breathe into. This helps prevent the hyperventilation (symptom of gasping for breath).* Whenever I felt like an attack was coming I would start humming or actually singing a tune.

* If you feel an oncoming attack in a crowd, start speaking to the person sitting next to you. S/he may think you are a weirdo, but what the heck it may save you.

*Seek the help of a psychiatrist/psychologist. And anti-depressants help, but don’t make it a habit.

*Read and educate yourself about panic attacks. This will make you fear it less.


Panic attacks here I come with a brown paper bag in my hand and a song on my lips.

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I had my first episode on February 24, 2007, around 3 am.

Resources:
http://www.nomorepanic.co.uk/

http://www.psych.org/disasterpsych/fs/panic.cfm

http://www.apa.org/topics/anxietyqanda.html

He leapt

A shout, then a noise THUD

As I edged towards the stone railings an unnerving memory of years ago came rushing back. The same sound ``Some one's cupboard has fallen down,'' Appu screamed as we ran towards the door clutching our Superman comics. Suddenly my mom appeared out of nowhere and barred the door, and as we fought through the folds of her saree to have a look outside at the source of that sound, a scream pierced the air. A day later the boy from the fourth floor, his face and body wrapped in shrouds of clothes, was carried away in a haze of smoke.

My stomach in a tight knot I looked down two floors to see a man running away holding his hands to his face... and then I saw the body as a pool of blood started to stain the tiles.

I rushed down - 250 words or may be 300 I thought - to the crowd that gathered around the body, no one willing to check if it was human. The cops came and turned the life less lump over the stretcher - the face smashed into the skull, the wrists respectfully crossed over his chest.

Travelling back, his story in my notepad, as the bus moved at a snails pace through the evening traffic at D N Road, I thought about his family learning about the news - from the ticker on the TV or a phone call. Was it an accident or did he take his life, that question would haunt the family their whole lives.

What had he thought when he left home in the morning for work. Did he tell his wife that he loved her more than anything in the world or had he sworn at his children. Was his lover waiting at the bus stop for him to finish his work so that they could say sorry and make up for the quarrel that they had last week. Was he saving money to buy his children Christmas presents or waiting for the night to fall to down his tipple.

``He was standing near the railings on the third floor of the high court, when he slipped and fell. In mid air his body did an about turn and he fell on his face,'' Shinde, the peon who was on duty in the opposite wing, regaled the audience that had gathered around him asking him to repeat the incident for the 99th time the next day.

All that remained of William Samson D' Souza's (47), life was the lifeless lump, the traces of blood stains that the staff had missed on the tiles and 250 words in a corner of the newspaper.

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William Samson D' Souza's (47), fell to his death around 5.15 pm from the third floor of the gothic Bombay High Court building on November 19, 2007.

Cleaning up the closet

-January 5, 2000 was sitting in the office of the BMC PRO.
-April 12, 2003 was waiting for my first HIV test, fervently promising that I would never have sex again.
-April 11, 2004 was at the MMRDA grounds for the Enrique Iglesias concert.
-September 28, 2004 I was buying paper lanterns at Singapore's Changi airport.

The dates stared at me from stubs, entry passes, airline tickets, receipts, diary entries... The only reminders that I had lived through these days not in a blur or that everything was not just a dream.

Cleaning up my closet was a thing I was avoiding for too long. I am an unabashed hoarder.. so stuffed into my closet are things that should have been in the dust bin the very same day but which I found too traumatic to throw out.. restaurant bills, torn movie tickets, some ones visiting card, airport brochures, boarding passes.

So cleaning it meant I had to make tough choices between the empty spectacle box or the envelope - all smudged in my pocket in the rains - in which Joe had sent the college brochures. Weighing which would be less painful to throw out - the `mini-electric' that I had ordered from a tele shopping network which never worked or my adolescent collection of underwear ads.

``You better throw out all the junk,'' my mom warns as she enters the room and finds me sitting amidst small hills of papers, broken ear phones and rusty key chains.

I am turning 30

Turning 30 - is it the end of an era? Barely a month after entering the 30s the fact is still to hit me.
In your 20s you hardly have time to think of it - till you turn 26. Friends warning you of the dreaded number is the first inkling of the looming perilous times.

I have visions of being at a GB party where no one will give you a second glance. Having to hang out nursing a drink, sitting next to Mr morose plump on a couch, never daring to take the dance floor. Wrinkles, white hair, receding hairline, hair sprouting of your ears, and being addressed to as `Uncle' - In India that is hardly uncommon some times when a middle aged (oh gosh - that word suddenly seems headed for you) rickhsaw driver calling a 20 something `uncle'.

26, 27, 28 - it was time to take stock. At 29, start making plans of things to do before you are 30 - have to learn to swim, to drive (even tats not uncommon here), to bungee jump, to get a tattoo.
Well 30 is here and still havent got a tatoo. Will get it this year.

Joe went to Chang (mr Dentist). Called up to say he will be at home with his parents most of the week - he may come on thursday night.

better get going - planning to make dinner - have to call up mom

(Wrote this on October 9, 2006)