Bengaluru Queer Pride IV

Bengaluru Queer Habba III

Bengaluru Queer Habba II

Bengaluru Queer Habba I

Am I cool or the day I will make you unsure

Cut to shady evening in village-ish town:
You are so crazy cock sure of yourself, I say. How can you be like that?
Smirk, you are fuckin anglicized babe! How the fuck can you say things like "Yes, I believe so"? Say "yes" or "no". It's as simple as fuckin'! Pretty clean huh? Oops, did I put it too rough?
Stop with the sarcasm and I'll explain. I can never be too sure and that is why I say I believe, yes for now.
While cocky sure young hearts like you may or may not evolve in their minds, I am already troubled by the big picture.
What the hell are you saying! chill out!
I ain't saying you need to evolve or mature but there will be a day when you will grow old and less attractive and less rich and lonely, your mirror will show wrinkles of self doubt and you will suddenly begin to wonder: what now? How am I gonna deal with this self now?
Let's do a flashback into your young past till then.
Cut to dark hostel bedroom:
Bird's eye view shot of you on top, doing what you think is the best you can do now, sex. What if no matter how much you went up and down me and hurled me and spanked me and bruised my collar with bites, I lay there as unsure, obsessed about happiness and other eye widening metaphysical questions that have troubled ancient men for centuries? I cut to you then, and see this tiny young human at the most fertile juncture of his miniscule space of a spot called life, breathing it away. You are little, indeed, so sure and unable to see. I turn to the other side and close my eyes.
Cut to you, tight close up. Those lines of annoyance and frustration, you can't understand what's wrong and you are wondering whose not up to it. You have had days of screaming your lungs out but that didn't help. You turn the other way and sleep.
Cut to morning table at coffee.
Telephone rings. Some psychic call center query. Did you have sex last night?
Ummm... I believe, yes...
The person on the other end in their mind (What the fuck is "i believe yes!" Either you have it or you don't!)
I told you it's never so simple...

Barber art

There was some actual(pictorial) art which is yet to be added.

Teeth between gaps
Tongue swipes like my ATM card
Crooked nod with a square smile
I want the one who looks down

Please comb with a drop of oil
Park the mush with a neat street in between
They are snorting in the garage
My backups for generator

Bread and butter
Bread and butter
Bread and butter

Please make me a fluff gummy bear for the date
The butterfly by the sill
Buried three inches deep
Her white little feet, in my soap tub

Eyes, gray tin pods
Black balls tilt from one to other end
When I don't scrub or chip cuticles
Her double chin, quick!

Throw the head back and laugh along!
Or, tape it.

Ribbons, clamps, rods, claws, china clay
Acne, fish fat, bleach.
Strap, stick, smooth, pull.
Bubble: Cinderella, make the mirror say it!

Tittick tittick... Six it is

Save me from myself!
(Please mix some alligator skin with herb)
Page me when the hemline's stained
Save me, please, bail me out
from the terror of beauty,
from barb(a)er-ious art!

Ps. I, the barber, lose faith in the truth of beauty by the day. So is the terror of this art that heaves upon me, the Godly maker, convincing me of increasingly hideous ordinary objects around.

Goosebumps, spiked, with oodles of Cheddar

Those ruffles of black soft unkempt boyish neat hair. Even bees hovering around made it seem sculpture. Those little sleep starved eyes carved in hollow slits of the white landscape of your face with high cheek bones and open pores that I could count. Lips were insignificant except for the wine smell that flew through them. The nose was calm yet protruding like some ageing iceberg. It brushed past when you pecked my cheek. Cheesy, I know. The flutter of the heart when people aren't taught that goodbyes never accompany brushing the cheek. A mere mannerism in the air. Or, the hand on the spine, just the right firmness and the correct unsure touch. The other hand admires the curve of the neck while the head tilts and seeks approval only in the eye. The morning sunlight tans it and you are melted pleasant for the rest of my day.