Saving Ryan's privates

Ryan is an anglo. A sentence like this will be dripping history, judgement and preconceived notions anywhere else. It also does here.

Ryan is an anglo with a familiar way of speaking — he says ‘hey man’ and ‘told you no’ a lot. He has tattoos too. One on the nape of his neck — a serpent coiling around a nude man with long hair and carrying a staff and another one girdling his delicately muscled right arm — a necklace of thorns much like the one that many wall calendars show Christ to be wearing around his forehead. He also has a continuously consistent curiosity towards genitalia and love. Male genitalia and love from men that are stronger and hairier than him.

In our society, that is in twenty first century confused and highly plugged Indian society that is fairly fucked up from high school upwards, puberty means going to pubs and checking out (wo)men. Anything other than this means you are either sexless or wrongly sexed. We recently changed our Facebook profile pics to a multi coloured rainbow striped candy-like square claim to fame — while silently saying ‘thank god my member doesn’t rustle for a fucking man.’ Women, I still believe, think with more class than men but that is for another time.

Ryan is fucked up and confused. He works very hard at a pub where boys and girls blow up more money over a drink that may not get them laid than he has ever seen in his life at one go. Except for Hollywood films where they show dollars a lot. He plays decent guitar and makes silent eyes at a burly truck of love and hair called Johnson D’Mello every once in a while at his local gathering. While watching TV, he keeps getting confidence that gay rights are here to come and there to stay. He sees men kissing each other on American TV and is silent on the subject of lesbian porn. Yet, when he sees Johnson and other men, he is confused. What the hell should he do? How will he approach them? How will he approach anything? There is no ‘Walk in the Clouds’ or ‘Dilwale Dulhaniya …’ for men. With men. There is none for women with women either. How does he love. Is a quiet alleyway groping his sudden peck on the cheek? Are specially arranged parties in specially arranged venues on specially arranged days of the week his candlelight dinner? Will a quickie and a hicky be his everlasting forever? Is publicly mainstreaming the silently peripheral an act of ultimate subordination? Vanquishing openly by sweetened public shaming? The issue about Ryan’s privates is not public. Shouldn’t be. We talk about brains, hearts, achievements, mistakes and feelings in public. To influence others. We don’t drop the pants of our minds and scream for equality of rights like left out children. Or do we?

Maybe we should have a 4 letter acronym like ASAP for ourselves as well — Amazingly Sexed Aggressive Punjabi. Or should it be ASSAP — numerologically as well as logically correct with the S for ‘Straight’ added. No confusion there. But then, why did that girl order an LGBT sandwich at Ryan’s pub?