THE MAGICAL PALACE (24 page)

‘You’re not serious, are you?’ Richard sounded incredulous. ‘You know, Andrew is madly in love with you. Lovers’ tiff, man. It will be over before you know it. Christ, you look totally miserable. Poor thing. Now stand up straight like this. There … that’s better. And smile a little. You look like you could do with some fun.’ He stood behind me, massaging my shoulders. ‘I know what you really need right now,’ he whispered into my ear. ‘A little pill and some fun dancing will chase the blues away.’

I looked at Richard, carefree and happy. Perhaps he was right—I needed to spend the night with a friend, not all by myself.

Richard discreetly slipped a pill into my hand and handed me his bottle of water. I casually put the Ecstasy into my mouth and, after a few moments, took a swig.

‘Rahul!’ Another familiar voice hailed me. It was Michael, Richard’s boyfriend. I wished Andrew were there with me, like he had been on other nights at Club Folsom. Sadness descended on me like a dark cloud.

‘Hey, hey,’ Richard broke in. ‘This is no time for feeling bad. It will all work out. Just hang with us tonight and have some fun.’ He embraced me in a big hug. The brotherly
affection was a balm to my sore nerves. ‘Come, let’s get to the dance floor.’

It had been a long time since I had gone out with friends like this. The floor was packed and we managed to squeeze our way through the crowd until we found a little free space. I watched entranced as the laser lights made an insane pattern through the fog exploding, cannonball-like, from the fog machine. The kaleidoscope of images frozen for seconds in the strobe lights hypnotized me as I looked at the sea of smiling faces around. Most of the men had their shirts off, the buff bodies clad in tight jeans making islands of opalescence in the black light. Many couples were dancing close together, others were even more intimate, dancing skin to skin. And still more men danced in groups, making little circles that expanded and contracted to allow for the wave of movement to ebb and flow. The music was heavenly and I felt a tingling in my scalp and chills run up and down my body as the Ecstasy took hold of me. The music started sounding far away and then very close and then far away again as the beats reverberated through the club. When Lady Gaga’s ‘
Born This Way
’ came on, the dancers erupted in frenzy. I felt my eyelids grow heavy and flutter.

Through the haze of the fog, Richard appeared close to me and smiled roguishly. ‘Looks like you’re feeling it, buddy.’ He turned towards Michael and they danced close, in an embrace, lips locked together.

I opened my eyes wide and looked around. Fluorescent colours flashed before my eyes and my eyeballs vibrated, as if zapped by a tiny electric current. Suddenly, I started to feel incredibly light and happy. All I was conscious of was euphoria—so much that I could not remember having ever
felt unhappy. I felt love, saw love, experienced love as never before …

‘Hey, gorgeous!’ A handsome, dark-haired, young, collegiate type came up to me. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Rahul,’ I said as loudly as I could, cupping my hand to his ear. I could smell his sweat and the sweetness of his hair.

‘What?’

‘Rahul. RAHUL.’ I boldly embraced him and traced the letters on his bare back, feeling his nipples brushing against mine.

‘Casey,’ he said, extending a hand and shaking mine. ‘Man, you are hot! Let me look at you again.’ He stepped back and held me at arm’s length. ‘Man, you are so very hot,’ he repeated. Stepping in close, he started dancing, gyrating his hips to the beat.

He must be a salsa dancer, I figured, watching him move in close and step away, expertly keeping the beat. I looked at his broad chest and the clear outline of his pectorals, the six-pack defined and shadowed in the changing lights, the glint of his teeth as he smiled broadly at me. He was not shy and, for once, neither was I. Suddenly, I felt this surge of confidence that I had never felt before. I felt whole and complete. Desirable. Grounded. A few feet away, I saw Richard and Michael giving me a silent thumbs-up before turning back to each other.

The music continued, time stood still. I felt an indescribable burst of energy and affection from everyone. Faces were wreathed in smiles and there was acceptance, unconditional acceptance such as I had never experienced before in the gay scene. I felt as if someone had peeled away the layers of armour that I had built around myself, exposing me
to the real people around. People who were happy with their lives, who revelled in their sexuality and the family they had created—with men and women from all walks of life and beliefs, creating a microcosm of the world they lived in.

Casey moved close. His lips brushed mine and I smelt the musky odour of his skin combined with the scent of cologne. It was all so overpowering that I walked to the edge of the floor and leaned against a wall.

Casey followed me. ‘You are sweet,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘Are you single or do you have a boyfriend?’

I thought about Andrew, our love for each other, and my heart constricted. I knew I had to get back together with him again. I would do whatever it took.

‘Sorry, Casey. I do have a boyfriend. He is not here tonight. We … we broke up … and I am still in love with him …’ My voice trembled.

‘Are you cheating on him?’ Casey asked, frowning.

‘No. He left me because I am still seeing girls for an arranged marriage to keep my parents happy.’

‘Wait a minute. So you are not out to your family?’

‘No.’

Casey looked stunned for a few moments. ‘Man, he must feel like a second-class citizen in your life.’

I stared at him, nodding sadly.

‘You seem like a really nice guy,’ Casey said after a while. ‘I would love to date someone like you, but you’re taken. And you’re not out yet, Rahul. Not even to yourself. I used to be like you. But now … Look around you. It is amazing once there are no more secrets. Life is easy and it flows.’ He gave me a hug and walked away.

‘Of course,’ I said to myself. Suddenly, I wanted to go
home. I didn’t know exactly what had happened, but I felt … free. I was not afraid of sleeping any more.

The palest sliver of a moon hung in the sky, casting a light streak of silvery pink over a cloud, making it glow against the heavy, leaden sky. The street lamps were unusually bright and there was a purple ring around the moon. I breathed in the fresh air and smiled. I felt carefree and happy, confident that I would work it out with Andrew. I had hurt him, yes, but I knew that he loved me and I loved him. That was all that mattered.

The taxi ride back to the apartment was a blur while music from the club still echoed in my ears and I felt warm all over. And there was a lightness to my feelings, as if I had been cleansed.

10

Sunday Afternoon. San Francisco.

It was the sound of the cable car that woke me up. I looked at the clock. It was two in the afternoon I had slept dreamlessly for the first time in a very long time. As I replayed the events of the night, I looked out of the window. A thin finger of fog was snaking its way across the top of the Golden Gate Bridge. It would be another afternoon of summer mist. Opening the windows to air out the apartment, I felt the chilly breeze ruffle my hair.

In the bathroom, I turned on the shower. Hot jets of water hit me, stinging my skin, waking me up. I emerged, feeling clean and fresh, and started to get dressed. Looking in the mirror, I cocked my head to one side, like Rajesh Khanna, and smiled. I could not wait to show Andrew what I used to do in front of the mirror as a boy.

The lock turned and the door opened abruptly as Andrew walked in looking serious.

‘Hi, Andrew.’

‘I have come to get my things.’

‘What? Why are you … ? I thought you were going to give us some time.’ My head started spinning. ‘Please, Andrew,’ I
pleaded. My euphoria of the past twelve hours ebbed with the shock of the finality in his face. This could not be how it would end … I had to show Andrew that I was not the same person he threw out of the motel room.

I reached out to him, but he pushed me away, walking to the closet to gather his clothes.

‘No!’ I blocked his path.

Andrew pushed me roughly. I fell, my head grazed the end table by the bed. The picture of Colonel Uncle and Claudio came crashing down on my head and then to the floor. I saw stars for a second. I tried to get up, but I felt dizzy and sank back onto the floor.

‘Oh my God!’ Andrew was on the floor beside me in an instant. ‘Oh my God, Rahul, I am so sorry!’ Now he was crying, cradling me in his arms. ‘I did not mean to hurt you, I promise. I love you, baby. I don’t want to leave you. I just don’t know how I can stay …’

I lay there for a minute, trying to gather myself. I finally sat up, shaking my head, feeling disoriented. Darts of pain shot through my head like bullets ricocheting off an iron wall. My eyes fell on the picture of Colonel Uncle and Claudio lying face-down on the floor. On its back were the words Colonel Uncle had written—words I had long forgotten: ‘To Rahul, the sweet prince of the palace. Think for yourself and you will be strong enough to face the world. And always follow your heart.’

In that moment, I knew what I had to do.

‘Never mind.’ I stood up, shaking Andrew’s hands off. ‘If you feel we don’t have a future, Andrew, and want to leave, I am not going to fight you. I know I have hurt you terribly and disappointed you very much. But let me tell you the rest of my story—then, perhaps, you will give us another chance.’

Andrew shook his head. I don’t think he believed me and I didn’t blame him. My heart grew heavy again at the thought of losing him, but I knew that it was up to me to heal this relationship, to erase the pain I had caused. I thrust away my anxiety. I could not afford to lose focus.

Sometime later, Andrew and I both sat on cushions, facing each other, in front of the fireplace. I took his hands, he pulled them away. ‘This is too intense,’ he said. ‘Let us figure out if we are going to be together before getting close again.’

I could not help feeling rejected. I guess I was trying too hard.

‘You know, Andrew,’ I said. ‘At first, there was just the loss of Amit, which I managed to deal with. Then there was Mallika Didi’s loss, which was harder. But there were more and more. And at some time, I started to feel as if it was all
my
fault. That I had somehow caused things to happen because I was bad. Do you know what I mean?’

Andrew was silent for a while as he stared at the sparks dying as they flew into the fire guard.

‘Yes.’ His face was sad. For a moment, he looked like a little boy, a wounded child. ‘Your story is bringing up all those memories for me, you know. I remember thinking after my parents’ divorce that it was all my fault. That
I
must have done something wrong. I remember asking my mom if my dad had left because I had used his power drill to drill holes in the garage wall.’ His laugh was bitter.

I wanted to touch him, but I held back. Touching in America was a loaded action—a touch means intimacy, I had learnt. The most organic human action, to touch someone, was classified, labelled, quantified. Holding hands was for lovers only. A hearty pat on the back was
the standard expression of affection between male friends. Anything more made them complicit in a shameful, suspect act of homosexuality. There were Americans who actually believed that all men in India were gay because they held hands. I had never got used to this kind of censorship. But Andrew was American and I lived in America. And so I had learned to adapt. Andrew had already indicated his comfort level for this conversation—I was not about to push it.

‘You know, for a while, I not only believed that I was bad but that I was also possessed by the devil,’ Andrew said.

‘What? That is so fucked up! Why would you think such a thing?’

‘Just like your community that met to plan the festival of your Goddess Dur … Durka?’

‘Goddess Durga.’

‘Sorry, Goddess Durga. Our community would also meet to celebrate our faith. My father forced us to go with him to church, where the pastor translated the Bible literally.
Literally
. And he said that feelings of homosexuality were caused by the devil. Our math teacher was gay and he was fired when the parents of some students found out that he lived with his life partner. He was such a wonderful teacher, you know. I would not have become an engineer if he hadn’t nurtured my love for mathematics. But when that happened, I learnt to hide by being as invisible as I could. I used to pray for hours for God to exorcise the devil from me. It was hell, being part of that narrow-minded community. That is why I moved away as soon as I turned eighteen and got a college scholarship …’ Andrew sighed. ‘Anyway, this is about you, not me. So what was this Goddess festival about? It seems like you guys met in large groups to eat and
celebrate whenever you got a chance. Did your priest talk about sin and repentance as well?’

‘Not our priest. Our festivals are based on mythology and our rituals are symbolic. It was not until the Hindu– Muslim riots started that I came to understand that people can be so intolerant of each other’s religions. But no, the pujas are not about sin and repentance. Durga Puja is the festival that worships and celebrates Durga, who is our mother goddess. It is the best time of the year for Bengalis. Our Christmas. New clothes, lots of food, fun. There is also music and dance and singing. And we kids loved it, as did the grown-ups. As the myth goes, the Mother Goddess comes to earth for ten days each year from her husband’s home in the Himalayas. She has four children, Goddess Lakshmi, Goddess Saraswati, Lord Ganesh and Lord Kartik. The artists that came to Hyderabad from Bengal each year were very talented. Here, in the US, those poor, underpaid guys would have been stars. They built statues of clay and straw and then dressed them up in silks and jewellery. The idols towered over us, twelve or fifteen feet in height. The pantheon of Durga and her children would be stunningly life-like and incredibly awe-inspiring to my young eyes. I had no idea, however, that it would be so bloody traumatic at the festivities that year.’

‘Is this the same Goddess whose picture you have on your altar? The one with several arms, riding a lion?’