Date: Fri, 14 Jan 2011 21:15:17 -0800 (PST)
From: gaurang kamat <gaurang_kamat2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: Gaurang - II

I could hear the sound of a pop singer crooning as I stirred in my sleep. I
opened my eyes to find Abhishek clad in just the skimpy boxers lying on the
floor watching MTV. He was leaning on a couple of multi colored pillows that lay
on the floor. It was an amazing sight. The white of the floor contrasted the
multi colored pillows, and on which lay this brown colored man who I worshipped.
A few rays of the morning sun peeked through the window and rested on Abhishek's
chest. Somehow everything seemed right that minute -- my sleeping on his couch --
his relaxing lazily on the floor -- almost naked, and oblivious to my attraction
to him. I sighed. He turned and smiled at me. "You awake lazy boy" -- he said
dreamily and punched me in the stomach. I giggled and excused myself to the bath
room.


I spent some time to run the mundane biological requirements after which I
showered and stepped out to find my evening clothes. Abhishek walked in that
minute and stared at me for not longer than a second. My nakedness didn't
surprise him, nor did he feel awkward about it. It was as if this was normal.
"What are you looking for?" he asked -- I answered "my clothes". "Oh those? I
mistakenly shoved them in the washing machine along with mine. Why don't you
wear my denims for now?" A few minutes later I was clad in light blue colored
jeans and a loose white t shirt. I stepped out into the drawing room where I
found Abhishek playing with a basket ball all by himself.

"Arggh. So I should leave I guess" I muttered

"you are leaving already? I thought we could have brunch. I wanted to have your
egg omelets."

"Oh sure. Just let me know where the stuff is, and I can fix you that in a
couple of minutes"

He showed me to the kitchen. It was a nice long kitchen with the right amount of
sun light that illuminated the room! I busied myself with chopping onions,
peppers, mushrooms, green chillies. I then broke the eggs and was beating them
fluffy when Abhishek walked in. "You should be a chef". I smiled looking at him.


Over the next thirty minutes brunch was ready -- I had omlets with hash browns on
the side with bread toasted brown -- just as he liked it. I had also squeezed
some orange juice. While I was laying the table I thought to myself -- this is
what I would like to wake up doing every day of my life. Fixing breakfast for
Abhishek -- laying the table for him.


Ordinarily I would not do this -- I hated to sleep over at friends' places. I
hated to cook in their kitchens. I was a loner. I wondered why I liked to spend
time at Abhishek's apartment. I had even started unconsciously thinking of what
changes should be made to the apartment to make it more livable. Why? Was this
not exception making. And had I not once admitted to myself that love is
exception making?

I shuddered at my own acknowledgement to myself. Later as I washed the dishes
and placed them in the dish washer and cleaned the kitchen platform I wondered
what was happening to me. I knew that I was getting not only physically but
also, and rather more so, emotionally attached to Abhishek. I knew that it was
perhaps not right, knowing that he was straight -- or at least there was no
reason for me to believe otherwise. I was confused, and more than that, I was
scared.

Despite Abhishek's repeated invite for me to spend the rest of the day with him
bowling or playing tennis, I excused myself and went back home. Entering home
was painful. Painful because I lived alone. My father lived in another city, and
since my mother passed away a few years back, I had this weird pain in the
throat whenever I entered home. It would remind me of the last few days of her
life, and it reminded me always anew of how close I was to her. I shared an
amazingly excellent relationship with her. At times Mom was my friend. At other
times she was a mentor and a guide. There were times when I would just let her
pamper me! With a doctorate in literature and a post graduation in History, Mom
could talk with authority on most of the topics I was most interested in. My
utter passion for literature was a reflection of our genes, perhaps. I remember
there were times when we spent hours discussing some book we would have read,
and we would analyze every character thread bare. I was always fascinated by
fiction and was amazed with the simplicity with which eminent personalities
authored such great novels!


Entering home this Saturday afternoon I could feel that weird pain in the
throat. I knew I wanted to cry, and I knew I would eventually. This was a luxury
I had reserved for myself only in solitude. A distant relative had once
commented that one should not celebrate suffering. And while I agreed with her,
I knew that deep within the time I spent crying was actually the most peaceful
time I ever had. I am not sure whether I would ascribe these moments as self
pity -- it was different. It was as if the real pain that I endured was too much
to even acknowledge. Instead these moments when I would cry would be a welcome
get away from that pain. It was as if the loneliness that I went through this
minute would lessen should I think of something else. I don't know -- maybe I am
not making sense. But the closest metaphor I can draw is about a character I had
recently read in a novel -- this young woman would use a knife to peel skin off
her knee when in solitude. When questioned by her friend why she did that, she
answered "because the pain I go through when I torture myself with physical pain
makes me forget the emotional pain that I otherwise have to endure." I had cried
to bed that night when I read this remark. Why is human living prone to
suffering? Is there something grossly wrong about the way we live our lives? I
don't know!

I spent the rest of the weekend running chores -- buying groceries, vacuuming the
apartment, writing checks on due bills, and then setting the agenda for work for
the following week.

On Monday when I went to work, my eyes kept searching for Abhishek. He was of
course at his desk busy working on some assignment. "Hi" I said. "Oh Hi, he
answered" and returned his attention back to the screen. After exchanging a few
pleasantries, I asked him if he would like to go for a football game with me
over the weekend. "Actually no. My girlfriend is back in town and we would be
busy." "Oh of course, no worries." I exclaimed and excused myself


"What was I even thinking" I screeched inwardly at myself. Of course he is
straight. Why would he go out with you? And to be fair to him, he never said
anything to suggest otherwise.

So my fascination of Abhishek remained to myself. I continued to love him and
worship him in my mind. I imagined what it would be like to be made love by him.
I kept imagining about how long his long uncut organ would get and what would it
feel like to taste him. I wondered how great it would be to be the one to give
him pleasure, and I wondered how lucky that person would be who derives pleasure
from him.

Thus began my silent admiration of my dear friend! I am not sure whether it was
apparent for the rest of the world this new change in me -- but it was apparent
to me of course. It was an obsession, I was sure. I would like to be the one
next to Abhishek when at work. I would like to be the person who was a co team
member with him. I would get jealous of colleagues who would get to work with
him. I would be hurt if someone else knew something about Abhishek before I knew
it.

Over the next few months I realized that Abhishek had a craving for good food. I
would then try my hand at different recipes and cook lunches for him. No -- I
didn't do it for him. I am too selfish to be so selfless! I derived a lot of
pleasure in cooking -- and that pleasure was the maximum when I was cooking for
him. Once he casually mentioned that he likes Italian cuisine, and that evening
I spent hours trying to find the necessary ingredients and the right equipments
to make fresh pasta for him the next morning.


At work, our team work received superlative recognition. My analytical mind and
his leadership qualities made us a perfect duo to be entrusted with complex
assignments. The two of got to be recognized as the star performing team, and I
inwardly enjoyed that recognition.


Abhishek did mean a lot to me -- more than I would dare to acknowledge to myself.
They say that the power in a relationship rests with the person who cares less.
Not sure what relationship I have with Abhishek -- but he does care much less
about me than I about him, that much aware I am. Is that the reason why the
power rests with him? Is that the reason why even if he treats me as a doormat
at times, I am ready to live with it? I -- who would not place anything about my
self respect, was ready to let that respect be butchered and kicked. Why? Is
love really exception making?


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxMore to follow in the next partXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX