The Love Issue | Private acts in public places
An Australian professional has his first gay encounter in a country where homosexuality is bannedon Bombay's Chowpatty
Most Bombayites seem to go to Chowpatty Beach to escape from something—the relentless routines of home and work, the prying eyes and ceaseless demands of family, or the deafening cacophony of taxi horns, bicycle bells and screeching brakes that penetrate every corner of this sprawling octopus of a city. In my case, the highly regulated, cheek-by-jowl communal life in the fishbowl we called a staff residence was reason enough. But it was not only that I was running away from something that led me down to Chowpatty Beach that warm April afternoon more than 30 years ago. It was as though I was being called there by a voice deep inside me that had been struggling most of my life to make itself heard. For some unfathomable reason, I decided this once to listen to it....
As I strolled along, I noticed I wasn’t the only foreigner enjoying this seafront promenade. But it wasn’t the fair-skinned firengis who caught my eye; it was young Indian men with their lithesome build, cheerful smiles and beckoning manner, such natural beauty and charm. Did they know how attractive they were?...
As I ambled along, I noticed several young men walking hand in hand, some with one hand draped around another’s shoulder or waist. The sight had jolted me when I first encountered it in India, though I soon realized that it was not uncommon.
In Australia, such behavior would have meant only one thing and could have had serious repercussions in the wrong place at the wrong time. But in India and much of South Asia and the Arab world, it would not raise an eyebrow. Young men felt free to express their friendship and affection for one another in such ways. Sexual interest was not implied, although it may not have been out of the question. How I wished I had been able to experience the same while growing up. It made me want to scream out, ‘Don’t you know how lucky you are, to be able to do this?’
When I reached Chowpatty Beach, the sun had lowered itself over the horizon.…
By this time of day, the throngs at Chowpatty were winding their way home. The circus of entertainers was thinning out as families with children dwindled and the evening crowd began to take over. Within a short time, mangy monkeys and scrawny bears were replaced by another species. Their repetitive cry of ‘maalish, maalish’ pierced the silence like the first crows early in the morning. They were men, some old, some young, most a dark chocolate brown and rather emaciated. I later learned that many of them came from northern India, from cities like Kanpur, Patna and Allahabad.
I sat on the sand and observed them for a while as they walked up and down with thin cotton towels draped over their shoulders and small bags clutched under their arms. It soon dawned on me that I had just met another of India’s service professions—public masseurs. One or two looked quite attractive but I was not about to let them know, since it was sure to influence any economic arrangement we might enter into. I ignored the first few who approached me, feigning disinterest, but intently observing their routine. They would sidle up to a potential customer, start talking with him, then take off together to another part of the beach. This made me even more curious. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. When a trim young man with a butter-melting smile approached me, I couldn’t resist.
I wasn’t about to spend half my month’s stipend there and then, so I bargained with him until I’d whittled him down to ₹ 25. He scowled, then tried his guilt tactic.
‘You foreigner. Why you not pay 50 rupees? I give pukka maalish.’
I knew it was useless to argue. Of course all foreigners could easily spare ₹ 50 for a cheap body rub. If he had even the slightest inkling about my financial condition, he probably wouldn’t have even bothered with me. We haggled a bit longer until I pulled out ₹ 30 from my pocket and waved them in front of him. He relented and indicated for me to follow him to the darker end of the beach, away from the crowd and intrusive street lights.
I tramped along nervously, wondering what was in store.
Once he found a quiet spot, he laid out his towel and indicated for me to lie down. As he did so, he glanced up and down along the beach to see if anyone was approaching. ‘Any problem?’ I asked.
‘Plice.’
‘What about police?’ I asked.
‘No good. Don’t like maalish-wallah. Take money, beat up maalish-wallah.’
I had no doubt that he was telling the truth and no desire to deal with local law enforcement. Apart from the troubling stories I’d heard about the irregular methods of the Bombay police, I was worried that my status as a volunteer with an international organization, if not the organization itself, might be jeopardized should I fall foul of them. What’s more, unlike most foreigners, I didn’t have the means to bribe my way out of awkward situations.
But this night I wasn’t about to let such considerations deter me, as I watched my young masseur lay out his tools of trade on the sand. He asked me to take off my trousers so he could massage my legs. I could feel myself trembling. I’d never taken such a risk before. Should I go through with this? Why didn’t I quit while I had the chance? Voices of caution were clamoring for my attention, but I resolutely ignored them. I undid the hook on the flap around my waist, unzipped, and pulled off my trousers.
The moment he laid his hand upon my thigh I knew that history was being rewritten. It was as though the heavens opened and blessings showered down upon me. Ripples of pleasure shot up like an electric current through my abdomen to my chest and arms and back down again. Thoughts came and went so fast I couldn’t disentangle one from the other. They soon disappeared altogether in a confused haze, subsiding into the most satisfying sensation I had ever experienced. As he gently worked his hands up and down my leg, I could feel my stomach muscles gradually relax. I glanced up and saw a mass of stars, something I had never noticed all the time I had been in Bombay. Had they come out this night just for me?
Edited excerpts, with permission from Yoda Press
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