In the background a new tweet arrives, reading “Up to 20 explosions rock city of Kano in northern Nigeria – no information on casualties”. While Adele continues to sing about lost love, and the crap that comes along while we struggle to let go.
In the foreground, I am calm.
To be honest this was not me couple of hours ago. In fact I have been on a perpetual see-saw of highs-n-lows for the past 10 days. And it all started from the minute we (Gaysi) volunteered to host “Dirty Talk” as part of the Mumbai Pride Week.
And since we are on an honesty drive here’s another truth to your face – MJ cringes at the thought of teamwork and how! Yes, now don’t fall off your potty seat! This “Breaking News” comes straight from the hottie’s mouth. You see I have always considered myself as this lone stallion (blame the star sign), wandering, exploring and forever learning, leaving no room for dependency.
But, being part of Gaysi means being part of a team (and a hell lot of effort). However, this is an online space where each member contributes from the comfort of their own surroundings behind their glowing screens it somehow reduces the level of dependence on one other. Or perhaps Broom and I have been blessed with a responsible team. In which case “Praise the Gaylord!” I say.
On the other hand (and pardon my French here) when shit hits the roof, yours truly can be the most difficult person to breathe around. This along with my all my OCDs, the picture is worse than all Ramsay Brothers’ creations put together. And if Chicklet had her say, she would have issued a fatwa against my ways ages ago.
“Dirty Talk” was pretty much like taking a bite out of the forbidden fruit wherein “teamwork” meant actual working with a team, in real life. In the offline “community” being part of a team means – many more egos to please, favors asked, requests made…requests turned down, at times by those least expected. Deadlines. Disappointments. Dependence. Shit hitting the roof.
And then came a helping hand. Joined by another. And another. A yes. Followed by a yes. Yes! Yes! Yes! (Not in the way you think!) Patience. Passion. Pride.
So while Adele continues to sing the blues and the final outcome of all this “Dirty Talk” is a few days away, the calmer me smiles.
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Damn, I can only do ‘Dirty Whisper’ (now don’t stare at me as if I stole a tampon) – my throat is royally fucked. So fucked, I have not been able to have any dirty action with slutty, sleazy, sweaty men. So fucked, I’m pumped with natural supplements to keep my guts, chords and limbs lubricated.
I might just wear a saree to the Big Nasty, to avoid clearing my big nasty throat. Husky, dusky I shall be. Whilst MJ jingles and mingles with Pride to “aaya, aaya, atariya me koi chor”, courtesy Rashida.
I’m already gone. Amrutanjan style.
p.s. if any of this really made sense, and you found the above poster sexy, cheer for us and spread the news about this event