I hope to catch the man again, but I have not had any luck so far.In my usual routine, I do cardio only two days a week, with a five-kilometre run from my home to the park on a trail off the Almora-Bageshwar Road.The state highway has excellent views, quiet trails, and a sufficient incline to push my endurance.I rarely cross anyone in the early morning runs, so the voice in the colonial-era secluded garden shocked me.
Curious, I walked up, following the direction from which the words came.At first, I only saw the man in the tracksuit — broad shoulders, head full of black hair, and gosh, what an ass.The man had me drooling.He stood alone, staring in front, hands in his pockets.So who was he speaking to?My confusion turned to amusement when he addressed the statue and, later, his pet squirrel.The words ‘gay’ and ‘bisexual’ pinged on my radar.What were the chances of finding a new queer man in a small city in Uttarakhand?
“I am adding ten-kilo plates.”Sahil checks with me before stepping up for his set.
“Uh, oh.Yeah sure.”The monosyllabic confusion earns a set of bunched eyebrows from him.“Go ahead.I will spot.”I allay his concern.
“No, bro.Clear your head first.Do you mind telling me which fantasy land you are in today?”He leans on the squat stand and stares at me.
“I met someone.”Best to come out to my closest friend.He and I have worked together for the last three years.We spend eight hours in the gym, and more during the weekly offs at movies or outdoor activities.The journey of growing from teens to adulthood sealed our friendship.
“Ah, ha.Do tell.Who has caught your fancy?”
“I don't know.”
“What do you mean?Did you meet a ghost?”
“He might as well be.I met a man at the park four days ago.No name.No address.He ran away when I said hello.”
“So, go back to the park at the same time.”
“Duh.”I leave out the part where I have been stalking the park for three days unsaid.
“Was he sexy?”Sahil winks, the sly amusement written all over his face.
“Yaar.He was so cute.”I place my palm on my chest and recall the man’s chubby cheeks, bewildered, panicking eyes behind askew spectacles, a perfect coif of hair and his delicious, thick body.R.Madhavan fromTanu Weds Manuhad appeared before me.“The best part is the man is either gay or bi.”
“What?How can you say that when you don't even know his name?”Sahil runs his fingers on his sweat-laden forehead to tuck in a strand of hair.
“He said so himself.”
“Stop talking in circles.You said you did not get a chance to speak to him.”
“Umm, yeah.You won't believe this part.He was chatting to the Wilson statue about his sexuality.Or is the British officer’s name Wilfred?Whatever?”I don’t verbalise the memory of him cooing to the squirrel, but grin at it in my mind.
Sahil's eyebrows rise.“He can't be a local.You deleted the gay dating app.So, how do you plan to find him?”
I roll my eyes.What should I say?Gay men aren't falling off the trees in my small hill state, and with the legal status of LGBT rights in India, one must be careful.Indian men are often married and looking for adventure.They are not my scene.I have no intention of wrecking anyone's home.Gay foreigners are harder to find.But if you chance upon one, avoid making my mistake, even though things ended well.I found two great friends– Kenny and Brian, a few years ago.We have sworn to one another not to share our tale with anyone.Despite all these roadblocks, I had enough fun in my tourist city.
“Why would I chase him?I am more mature than the teenager you met.”I turn away from Sahil to adjust the weights on the rack.
The fiasco with Daljit flashes before me.After the heartbreak, I deleted the gay dating app on my phone, leading to over a year’s dry spell.And hence, why the man in the garden has planted himself in my brain.Grand declarations of sexuality to stone busts are not a common occurrence even in the forward cultures of the West.So yes, my options are limited, and this man is a godsend if he is single and ready to tingle.
‘He can't be a local’ Sahil’s assertion switches the tube light in my head.
Instead of killing myself running daily, I should check out nearby tourist lodges.I surprise Sahil with a hug and push him towards the squat rack.“Finish your set.”
He rolls his eyes and starts his exercise.After ten reps, he returns the bar, and I take my place.
“Sir Ji, a man is at the reception, asking about our training packages.”Our cleaning boy, Vikas, interrupts our routine.
“Were you expecting someone?”I turn to Sahil, but he shrugs.3-5 PM is our afternoon break.
Accompanied by Vikas, I move to the front desk but stop in my tracks at the sight of the bespectacled man in a light blue button-down shirt admiring the photo stories of our clients.The grey pants stretched across two perfect round globes are no less enticing.Hai-o-rabba, I never imagined the nerdy dad bod types were my jam.
“What can I do for you, sir?”I use my gruff, professional voice to attract his attention.
The man pivots on his leg and stumbles, eyes wide in terror.I extend my hand to support him.The warmth of his skin comes across the cotton fabric of his shirt.“Hey, be careful.”
