This post is not gay . . . not gay at all
8:55 AM | Author: Rambunctious WhipperSnapper
Sometimes I wonder what being gay is all about. I mean, is there someplace I need to go and signup for membership? And then get it renewed every year?

Does it change my life so much that I suddenly start enjoying the things I didn't enjoy earlier? Do I have to watch all the episodes of Sex & the City before I join? And do I have to watch every lame gay movie out there even though I won't be able to identify with any of the characters?

(Okay. So what if I will watch any lame gay movie which has gratuitous nudity. Sue me for showing some human emotion. Geez!)

A lot of people around the world say that being gay is a lifestyle. But you don't need to have an IQ of more than 15 to realize that it's not as simple as a lifestyle choice. Being vegan is a lifestyle choice, choosing to drive a hybrid over a gas-guzzling hummer is a lifestyle choice, choosing to have apple cider instead of wine is a fucking lifestyle choice.

How do you choose to be gay? Do people suddenly wake up one day and decide they would like to bang people of the same sex? Does anyone in their right mind think that people would suddenly choose to be something that is fraught with so many complications?

But it's very hard for people to even try to understand how you're just born gay. It's not something you choose. It's something you just know and thanks to society's fake morality, something you ease into.

Why do people fall for society's fake morality?

Well that's because who would you rather listen to? The guy who tells you that you need to be good otherwise God will send you to hell or the guy who says that it's not perverted unless it's forced and unwanted.

People are scared of going to hell. I don't know why. I saw Speed 2. After seeing something so horrid, nothing scares me know. Not even the idea of hell.

See, all religious books are like collections of short stories strung together with a slightly boring narrative. They should learn how to write short stores from Jhumpa Lahri.

What? Am I the only one who loved Unaccustomed Earth?

I mean, c'mon. I believe more in the wicked witch of the west (no, we're not talking about Oprah here) than believe in the one about how heaven and earth were created by God on a Monday morning. I mean I don't know about you, but I pretty much never used to like to work on a Monday morning. I'm pretty sure that God would have done what I did. Pretend to be sick and pocket some free aspirin.

But most people buy into this morals and values stuff and drink the kool aid about keeping up appearances.

Like some members of my family. My Dad and my brother can't even bring themselves to tell people that I currently am in my 'gap' year. Okay, the second gap year has started, but that's my problem. Not anybody else's. However, my brother doesn't see it that way. He sees it as a bad reflection on the family.

We even had a sort of "discussion" about me being gay a few months ago. Remember the pride parade in Delhi? I had gone on a luncheon that day with some of my friends. So my brother reads about it in the papers the next day and assumed that I had gone to the parade. Not only do I feel stupid for not going, he also asks me if I am gay. Now, I didn't want to come out to him at that very moment, because that would have been out of spite, even though I was tempted to very, very much, so I just answered with a "So, what if I was?" And he rambled about how I'm bringing bad repute to our family's name and shit like that. So words were exchanged between us, he said things which he meant, I said things which I meant and people were told where they can go and the word "fuck" was used both as a verb and as an adjective, mostly by me.

Anyways, I'm sure my Dad and Brother will have a lot of words for me when I do eventually come out to them.

But you know what? I really don't care. Because I am what I am. I'm not going to change or be apologetic because of some idea of a perfect world both of them have in their mind. Worst case scenario, they don't be part of my life. You know, I love them and all, but I won't lose any sleep over it.

I can't expect everybody to be as progresive as my Mom.

When I came out to her I never realized what a big bombshell it was for her. The good thing did was continue to talk about it with her. We've had various conversations about my future and being gay and all. At one time, she wondered if I could have my cake and eat it too (with a Tom Cruise/Shah Rukh Khan type of deal). But I told her I'm not like that. Then a few weeks after that, one of my brother's friend came to visit, and she told my Mom that her husband had left her and their kids for another man. So that day my Mom told me that she completely agrees with me that a sham marriage is a really, really bad idea. Really, really bad.

Fine. I'll stop saying really for the rest of this post. But it is a really, really bad idea.

And now, after almost eleven months of knowing that her son is gay, my Mom is actually a tad bit enthusiastic about it.

And no, I don't need anyone to feel bad about the lack of projected support from the rest of my family. Because my Dad knows better than to argue with me and my brother thinks that repeating the last 30% of what the other person just said consists of a comeback.

And the world knows that if I have an argument I want to win, I'll move heaven and earth (well, no one can actually do that, but I do promise to move my fingers. A little bit.) to win it. Even Socrates ended up agreeing with me when I went back in time to argue with him. (Okay. I did not. But Speed 2 reminded me of Speed which reminded me of Keanu Reeves which reminded me of Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure in which both Bill & Ted time-nap Socrates. I'm really digressing, aren't I? Fine. Be a bitch about it.)


To steal a quote from and end in the spirit of gossip girl,


The truth always comes out, it's one of the fundamental rules of time. And when it does come out, it can set you free or end everything you fought to preserve.


xoxo,

Rambunctious Whippersnapper






p.s. Why does it sound sexy when Kristen Bell says it and so lame when I do?


It's because I'm fat, isn't it?



All that hard work down the drain
2:45 AM | Author: Rambunctious WhipperSnapper
You spend your whole life trying to build a reputation. Then, one wrong move and everything you worked hard for is taken away from you.

My whole life I have worked hard towards achieving certain goals. And one mistake, one stupid, silly mistake and all that is no more.

Ever since I was a kid, I have worked and worked to have my family accept me as a no good neanderthal who cannot be trusted to do a day's hard work and who is constantly on acid or some other substance.

Now, a few months ago I my family asked for my help for something. Now when they ask me to do something, I'm usually the LAST possible person they could turn to. So, I obliged. No, not out of any guilt. That's because guilt is mostly for religious people.

Anyways, before this incident, my family was well programmed to ask me for a favor only every six to eight months. And they didn't even trust me enough to walk the dogs. Not that I am a big fan of walking the dogs. I mean, it involves three of my least favorite things. Walking, dogs and helping out my family.

Now ever since I unselfishly granted them that favor, without even debiting the six monthly account, things have started to change.

Suddenly, my opinion is being sought on something. My opinion. You know how dangerous that can be. Last time someone sought my opinion, there were tears, broken bones and the threat of bloodshed. However, certain members of my family have started treating me like some insider. They act like I am part of this social group.

How rude is that?

Just yesterday, my sister asked me to watch one of my nephews. Me. You know, l thought she knew better.

Years ago, a cousin of mine who was not privy to my reputation had asked me to watch her kid. She belonged to a family which believed in the evil practice of vegetarianism. By the time I was done watching the kid, his favorite breakfast was sausage and he started eating Pepperoni pizza every alternate day. Needless to say, I was never asked to watch anybody else's kids again.

Even though, all I did was give the boy a real taste of freedom,
no one ever asked me to watch their kids again. I wonder why.

Am I not a good role model or something?

Then there's Dad. Who expects me to help out a little with the business. He thinks that it's okay to ask me to help him with my tax return just because he is preoccupied with something urgent. He thinks I have no life.

I don't. But that's not the point. It's the spirit of the thing, really.

And my Mom. Just because I forced her to fire some of the domestic help because I was allergic to their face, she expects me to help around the house. Do impossible things like making my own cup of coffee.

Ha!! Fat chance of that happening!

I simply order out. Hmph.

This is why I used to have that six month rule. All that is in the crapper now.

Although, now when I think about this, maybe this is a good thing.

Now that my family treats me like I belong, it must translate into more money. Maybe a bigger expense account or something?

Look. I'm all about the silver lining in the dark cloud. Cause when life hands you a couple of lemons, you slice them up and add them to your cocktail.

Isn't that what they teach you in business school?
One by one I see the old ghosts rising . . .
5:32 PM | Author: Rambunctious WhipperSnapper
Today is truly a weird day. I've had this line from the John Fogerty song playing in my head since morning, even though I haven't listened to the song in ages.

Anyways, as I was not feeling like crap after a long time, I was eagerly waiting to start wasting my day, as usual, when I got a call from an former classmate. Dude was standing outside my alma mater and gave me a ring-a-ding for ol' times sake. After the momentous effort it took me in trying to place him, and having what can only be described as a one-sided conversation, wherein he reminisced about the good times we supposedly had and I pretended to remember and made all the right noises, we hung up with the usual empty promises to meet again for a beer. Yeah, sure. That's so gonna happen.

I also got a call from a college friend of mine who told me that the only girl to ever break my heart. Okay. That's a stretch. She obviously didn't break it. She just took it out of my body, made a little smoothie out of it, added a sprinkle of nuts and chocolate, drank it in one gulp and then came running back for seconds. As I said, nothing dramatic. You know I hate being dramatic. Okay. She is getting married to her boyfriend of seven years who was once caught cheating on her, screwing another girl in the powder room . Classy, I know. It was a total if-that-doesn't-keep-kids-in-school-then-what-will kind of moment.

Although, I'm glad she did what she did to me. It helped me grow and fine myself.

Who am I kidding, I would have found myself anyway.

I'm was gay as Tom Cruise in that scene from Risky Business.

(Which begs the question, whatever happened to Tom Cruise? When did he turn into this crazy psychopath who keeps babbling about some crazy religion which has totally untrue and unreal notions about life. I thought that's what the Pope was supposed to do? I'm confused now.)

Alright, I'm digressing. Now, she also made me read her diary. And though I'm not the one to read and tell, she was once in love with her cousin.

Yes, her cousin.

Who she made out with.

On TWO separate occasions.

And that's not even the worst part.

That boy was ugly as hell. He looked like a pre-pubescent Joe Pesci.

Okay. Let's all calm down. No harm, no foul.

I'm just glad that all of us have moved on and bear no ill will towards each other.

I hope her fiance loses all his hair before he's thirty. Serves her right, the little shit.

Hey, she's the one who kissed a blood relative and is marrying the cheater. What are you judging me for?

Okay. Focus. Moving on, as I was trying to read my book, which coincidentally is also called The Ghost, picking up from where I left off the day before, suddenly my phone rings again. It's a very familiar phone number. A number from which I have received more than a thousand calls and messages over the past few years. Most of which have gone unanswered. No, not trying to be rude or anything, but that's what you do to a former stalker. No, I don't think she's crazy. Of course not.Are you kidding me? She's just stark raving mad. A absolute lunatic.

So I was shaken a little bit, but still determined to do at least one constructive thing in the whole day, I tried to distract myself by trying to concentrate on some good food. But before I sat down to eat a scrumptious meal, I remembered that I had an important email I was supposed to send. So, in the spirit of a post-procrastination existence, I logged into my email account and was preparing to send that email.

Lo and behold!! Who do I see signed into chat for the first time in four years? Yes, the chat status of he-who-shall-not-be-named, was set to "available".

I stared at the screen in disbelief and horror for a few minutes. I tried to come up with a plan of action. There was a tug-of-war taking place inside me. The self-hating-glutton-for-punishment part of me wanted to try to say something to him. The sober part of me (which rarely speaks up) wanted to log off right away. The medicated part of me was wondering how much time remained until the next scheduled dose.

Anyways, as a truce, I opened the chat window, typed "Dude ...", waited forty seconds for a reply that didn't come and then immediately logged off. I don't know if I suddenly turned into a 17 year old or that upping you dosage without consulting a medical practitioner is harmful, but right now, I can't feel my legs and my hands are still shaking.


Seriously, it's like Deja Vu all over again.


Okay. I know some of you may feel sympathy for the other people mentioned above. But remember, you don't know them. You know me. So, take my side when the lawyers call.

Capiche?
5:12 AM | Author: Rambunctious WhipperSnapper
Isn't it morose that life has a way of making you eat the very words you once said?

Or that sometimes even words seem to fail you?