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It was an interesting evening out with the
boys. GB (Gay Bombay) had
arranged one of their soirees out in the city.
Today we met at
McDonalds at VT. The maitre de (if you can
call the head honcho at
McDonalds one) was cute. But then as one us
remarked, most of the
McDonalds in Bombay seem to have a good
selection of men!!
The fifteen of us were bundled into cabs and
we snaked a procession
into the heartland of Bombay. We emerged in
one of the lanes off
Mohammed Ali road. Sultan was our guide, since
he seems to be a
denizen of these lanes. As we walked down a
narrow lane, avoiding
being run over by cabs, scooters, mobikes and
the occasional Tata
Sumo, we took in the scenario. There were
Muslim men and women all
around us. It was Ramzan and they had emerged
from their day of
fasting, ready to devour food on these lanes.
Our entourage stopped
at a small restaurant. I remarked
disparagingly "Is this it? ".
Apparently we had arrived. We were ushered to
a table that was ours,
standing on the roadside, a solitary table.
There were no chairs. I
assumed they would magically be brought in
from nowhere. I was wrong.
We were to stand and eat.
Then the food appeared there were kababs and
an assortment of mutton
dishes. Small rolls of bread called naan was
brought out, not your
typical naan. The kababs were delectable. They
were real hot and
wrapped in bread when dunked in the green
chutney, the morsels
exploded in sheer glee in your mouth. The food
though very
unpretentious, was wonderful. I had had a
dinner before I left home,
so it was not a hungry stomach that liked the
food. The food was
good. The few vegetarians among us had to be
content with a plate of
French fries. But then these fries made
McDonald's offerings
pathetic in comparison.
I must remark that as we ate, we took in the
occasional cute Muslim
boy or man who walked by. The only indication
that one of us had
spotted a " Man ", was the fact that he had
paused eating and he was
oblivious of the chutney dripping onto his
well-starched Lucknowi
kurta.
Dee joined us late. It is due to the good
graces of Dee that GB
has been able to secure Golden Gate as a venue
for some of its
fabulous parties in South Bombay.
We then moved to the next stop on this
fascinating journey though the
wondrous lanes of Mohammed Ali road. It was
now the Minara Mosque. It
is a very fine example of architecture. The
mosque loomed above the
brightly-lit shops vending everything from
kurtas, to phirni to
kababs on squeers. Now the crowd was
oppressively close. We had to
fight our way through the crowd as if we were
making our way out of a
crowded local train. You were being jostled by
women in burkhas
begging for money, to cute young men proudly
sporting their skull
prayer caps and not minding your hands feeling
their slender waists
as you pushed your way through the crowd.
I was craving a phirni (a Muslim / Punjabi
sweet served in an earthen
pot). But the guys wanted more meat. So we
sat through another
course of meat, khichidi, meat parathas and a
few more delicacies I
could not but help taste. They were wonderful
again. Pieces of cut
newspaper served as napkins. An ever smiling
Muslim waiter catered to
every need of ours. Cold Biseleri water
quenched my tongue that was
aflame with the culinary smorsgaboard set
before us.
Then it was finally time for Phirni. So I
thought. I saw our entourage
snake through the oppressive crowd. I spied a
phirni vendor. I
screeched my brakes and bought a pair of those
earthen pots
containing their heavenly wares. Then I looked
up and saw no familiar
face. I was lost. I looked around and could
not spot one person whose
face or derriere rang a bell. I was asking a
pandu (as the local
police are referred to) directions to the
nearest station, when
Kawas spotted me. I was saved.
Everyone was safely ensconsed in a tiny shop
eating phirni. I joined
them and we had a choice of Kesar (yellow) phirni, mango,
strawberry and a few more flavors. The maitre
de appeared. He was a
" khas" friend of Sultan and we told " Hands
off ". There was this
imposing Muslim young man. He was like a cross
between Arnold and
Rocky. But then he had this soft smile that
broke the severity of his
imposing carriage. He brought was a sampling
tray containing a wide
assortment of sweet delicacies. We literally
staggered up from our
tables, wiping off the remains of a king's
feast from our weakly
smiling lips. There was just no energy for any
further dalliance. No
other hungers could be attended to this
evening.
I glanced at my watch. It was nearing midnight
and I had to catch my
last train home. I took my leave from this
wondrous evening, thanks
to GB, the savior of all gay men in gay
Bombay.
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Uploaded on 07-Nov-2002
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