Amsterdam XXX

"...Come on, oh my star is fading
And I see no chance of release
And I know I’m dead on the surface
But I am screaming underneath..." -
Chris Martin

Though I always liked Queer Coldplay's song Amsterdam but I really wondered if it was really about the place `Amsterdam'. However, luckily this summers I got a chance to see it for myself. Yes, if you have read my last posts it's a piece of cake to guess whom I went with and if you haven't it doesn't make a difference. Last posts are just like photos or postcards or whatever which you sometimes forget at the back of a drawer or closet. Of course that drawer is my mind and I am talking to myself here. Bollocks, this time I wasn't with that

wannabe. This time the `Anal Boy' accompanied me. I prefer being alone.

Ok, we reached Amsterdam Centraal at around 11 am. It was a chilly overcast Sunday morning. Like everyone does, even the majestic IITKGPites, we went to the nearest tourist info center to get the Map of the city. I remember asking the lady who gave us the map of the city how to say thank you in Dutch, she said "Hartelijk dank" My first glance at the map and as they say, `you see what you want to see' you know what I saw, given that you have seen Euro trip. With red color it was marked in bolds `Red Light District.' Not astonishingly our faces also turned red. Surprisingly not many tourist guides recommend going to the R.L.D. They don't even mention about it but everybody knows why people come

to Amsterdam. In my opinion it's a must see place (*of course not with your parents and god forbid your grandparents).

FOREPLAY

So We planned first to calm down and eat something then try finding that sacred spot. It's not that we got any erection or something just by glancing at map. I know I didn't. But we surely felt as Diane Lane feels when she sees her boyfriend in the movie Unfaithful for the first time. Now you got an idea, haven't you?

After eating like pigs at KFC and paying 50 cents for taking a piss we came onto the roads of the holy city. Nostalgic Trams running across the main roads, numerous sundry branded shops at one side of the road and an abounding number of boats, ferries running in beauteous canals to the other side. People sitting at the road side restaurants, smothered by the deathly ciggy smokes, eating Italian cuisines, drinking French wine, saluting toasts, wasting time, girls sitting in the laps of their lovers, some kissing, some cuddling, some circling their

fingers through the curly unkempt hair, feeling the heat on a cold day. It makes me jealous. In short, not much different from any typical European city.

I like swanning; I really want to do it. Lately, I have felt this immense wanderlust. It won't go away, like a baby's desire to be close to his mother. To wanna know everything about her and more. Inside out. And I don't know but I really wanna spend more time in future knowing her, for travelling is my drug now. Sorry, I started talking to myself again.

Yeah, Anal boy has O.C.D. He likes wandering too. He has lots of doubts or fears all around him. Doubting penetrates his daily life like Diego Forlan penetrated various football teams this WC. He spends almost 2 hours a day in the bathroom washing his hands mostly, but somehow can't. He tells me as a child when the fears first become prominent, he attempted to ignore them, but unsuccessfully. But now he no longer actively resists these fears. He often gets jealous while encountering semi-nude girls with their men. Sometimes he starts pulling his hair and go on forever. It sucks. He can't think for himself.

But I didn't have no choice, did I?

So we kept rambling through the narrow streets throwing caution to the wind... and suddenly we saw three unique doors having windows. The glass windows covered about 2/3 part of the door. But one couldn't see anything through the windows as the multicolored, predominately red drapes were hanging. All the doors had an unique hoods on top of them so as to keep small area in front of the door always shady. We moved further along the same street and we found more and more similar kinda doors with windows. I had a feeling that

this was the place we have been looking for, but I wasn't sure. Until, a curtain was drawn upon and a black, little fatty, middle-aged lady in maroon bikini appeared. Oh, this is it I whispered. And then another curtain was drawn, a Caucasian thin lady in pink aphrodisiac two-piece could be seen. The windows kept appearing and we kept watching one after one.

Red bikinis, voluptuous mongoloid Asian girls, some looked weary, some were faking a smile. Black erotic bikinis, leggy, athletic, European chicks whose nipples can easily be seen. Some dismissive, bootylicious white girls with huge bosoms wearing green luminescent swimsuits. Thin African girls with disproportionate amount of flesh on their lips and breasts. Few standing, few sitting on the chairs, few lying down on a soft bed with pristine white sheets, seducing everyone exactly like the ones we find in Porn movies. Some talking on their i-phones presumptively with their pimps or boyfriends and at the same time talking to the customers with their eyes. Some manicuring fingernails, now that's something I really liked given the whereabouts of them fingers. Few older and fat ones lowered their panties all the way just to seduce some customers. Some stood like robots, catatonic.

I looked straight into the eyes of one of the prostitute, she smiled and winked. I smiled back. I and Anal Boy kept walking and we entered a very thin street having room barely enough for one human to walk. The street ended abruptly to some sorta club with pink lights on, playing trance gay music and smoke coming out of it, it wasn't scary but we were terrified. Men were going inside causally so we followed them like we always do. Dim red and pink lights were glowing through the club and it smelled funny. It was a big hall divided into

small transparent but colored glass cubicles as in a big restroom minus any wash basins and shit. Not all the cubicles were open, but the ones which were, were occupied by prostitutes. Packs of cigarettes, drugs maybe marijuana, coke, meat injection, heroin or some herbal sex tablets were lying beside these women. They were impelling everyone to join them and experience the pleasure of it. One guy comes outta the cubicle, and the women says, "Come again baby! it was nice", "Yes fuckin' A I will."

It felt suffocated inside that place; I thought to myself this is not happiness nor misery, this is not what I want. So after few minutes anyhow I reached the exit. Anal boy was looking restless yet happy I don't know why.

It had started drizzling when we came out. We saw numerous sex shops like the candy shop and few sex theatre at one side of the road and the boats, ferries in the beauteous canals to the other side. Sex shops generally contains different types of soft objects which can be used for self-stimulation and can be put in places where you know, god hasn't made you equipped enough of reaching. And Sex peep shows, strip-tease, pole dances, banana shows and whatever you have dreamed in your wildest dreams were available in those sex theatres. Anal boy asked one of the Guys selling tickets how long the show will be? the guy answered by showing him the distance between the ring fingers of his two hands. You know what he was indicating.

As the night fell every tourist began to move towards the R.L.D as the ants move towards sugar. Earlier, sitting in a Chinese restaurant we decided that we won't go to the RLD again, but who cares about that now. So again, we entered the region whose entrance had small metallic equally spaced cylinders having small red lights on top of them. Literally the red light zone. All them doors with the windows had switched on the red light above them so that no one should miss them. In the morning also the lights were on but we didn't notice.

Without wasting anytime we started looking up to and admiring the windows again. Suddenly one guy was kicked out of the door and door was closed back in a flash, he cried "Fuck..Fuck." I don't know why he was thrown out but after all women of the street like Roxanne also have respect. A lot.

We saw a prostitute running after an old guy probably from the USA and finally when she reached him she slapped him right on the back of his skull. Thud...People laughed, a drunken girl said, "He must have taken her photo clandestinely. Dumb fuck." I raised my head and saw a sign saying "PHOTOS NOT ALLOWED." and it should be taken fuckin' seriously. Meanwhile, many people kept going inside and coming outta them doors. Mostly old hideous fucks, few muscular young lads who zip up only after they come outta the room to save time maybe, few Indians perhaps from Madras.

AFTERPLAY

"Hey Indian, come on!" some guys screamed standing outside a door which had an Indian looking woman sitting inside it. "Bhangra Bistar" song from the movie 'Dil Bole Hadippa' was being played inside the windows(*not Microsoft) Anal boy tried to control me but I couldn't

myself this time. I knocked on the door with trembling hands, she partially opened it. She

had brown eyes, brown skin, long hair, was around 30, wore black bikini, black high heels, had a sultry body to say the least. Her red lipstick was all out of the place, like someone tried to forcefully kiss her. I say, "Hello, I Just wanted to know the price of...?", she says " 50 euros for 20 minutes", "And what all can I do?", "SUCK and FUCK. Fixed Price." and she makes a gesture with her body and mouth when she says this. Then she asks , "You wanna come(*please don't confuse this with cum) inside baby?" The next moment just froze, everything stopped. War with all the moral fibers I have embedded in myself over my lifetime, all the fuckin' hypocritical scruples imposed by them phony people of this mad world on me, started inside me. I was shaken through my roots, shivers went down my spine. Can I for once think for myself? Did I really wanna do this? I could almost imagine vividly what will happen inside that door. Is this the fuckin' pleasure I crave for? Will it be real? Do I feel

sorry for the prostitutes?...

Suddenly Anal boy pulls me away and she looks at me in a way similar to a famished puppy looking in the eyes of his master...

Before we reached Amsterdam I kept telling the anal boy that, "I will go to a prostitute only if she didn't look a prostitute." I don't know what the fuck did that supposed to mean. Many of them looked like supermodels. On the way back home I said, "It really feels like a shite loser to go to a fuckin' prostitute man, plus I am virgin and I don't want to deflower myself by paying money for it. I mean you gotta love someone to have sex, don't you? It's all about getting respect innit?..."

He didn't say a word for he knew I was just like him. And all the fuckin talking in this world won't make a fucking difference. For we are all abject slaves of this crazy fuckin' society or are the internal chains binding us .



**THIS IS A PURE WORK OF FICTION. ANYTHING LIKE THIS NEVER HAPPENED AND NEVER WILL AMEN.

When we fell for Paris...

“We are so lucky to be here (Paris), I mean how many people have seen this in real? (*According to Wikipedia 45 million every year)”; “I like Europe because there is a great degree of respect given to women, plus they can wear anything or nothing”; “Tu mereko judge karne aaya hai ya Paris ghumne ? Dude, Do you see a ‘born to lose’ tattoo across my chest?”; “Tell me one direction where you don’t see a hot chick (*I say vertically upwards and the joke is on me)”; “Paris has a latent soul I tell you, that’s been greatly missing in other European cities (*apparently he has seen only two European places one being Paris and other being some obscure Swiss village)”; “We are absolutely fucking (silent)free tomorrow!!”(* on being asked by a French girl about his plans); “I like French music helluva lot, I eat, live and die for it” (on being asked by the same French girl about his music taste, but I guess he has heard only one French song his whole life, that too during an official French language class) …

Partly because he knows Francais (French) and mostly because he is my Wingie back college, I planned a trip to Paris with him. No, this whole story is not about him and his queer adventures, come on I am not that useless and irksome. I have just used him as a fucking tool so that people can laugh a little. Yes mortals enjoy sarcasm and scoffing. But, seriously I read somewhere “Though sarcasm is a kind of wit but of the cheapest kind”. And I say “Kindly fuck off” to the person who said these lines. I mean its pure fucking fun ain’t it? aye?

I just told you what this applesauce story is not about, I think my job is done (*as if you are paying me for this). Not even one page long, you are thinking what the fuck! I argue back by saying I am being very fucking honest with all you people because many legendary authors don’t tell you so easily what their book is NOT about. They just keep writing pages, flurrying, misleading fucking brats who try their level best to finish their first ever novel cover to cover. But everyone knows that the brats have read Playboys, Penthouse, other Desi magazines (*I refrain from mentioning their names here, it makes my article chinchy ) cover to cover, line by line, word by word, between lines, between sheets, over the sheets, inside out, audio mode, visual mode and whatever fucking possible way you can imagine in your wildest of dreams. I ask why these magazines ain’t considered as a cussing piece of literature shit, they seem pretty fucking honest and straight to me. Strange are people.

On Metro Train to St. Remy, around 11pm

Ok, I see a 5’ 7” long, blonde, blue eyed, about 20 years old girl standing in front of me. She is wearing a transparent white shirt (*but I know you are rather more interested in what’s beneath it), knee length black skirt and some fucking whore like black see-through stockings on her legs. I can see bruises on her legs, maybe she got them from her last customer or maybe she is the Catwoman. I fallaciously think that she hopes that these stockings will get her laid and I guess she is pretty fucking aright. I would fuck her and I know you would too. For that matter I would fuck anyone right now because I haven’t till now and I am 21. But again, I don’t think any chick worries about getting laid more than she worries about Om getting reincarnated in Kahaani Ghar Ghar ki? Not worrying about getting laid is the only area where they score heavily over men (*because an average male spends more than half of the office time per week in worrying about it) and I think it’s some consolation they got from God when he took their (females’) brains and exchanged the brains for a few pints of Bavarian beer, a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and sex with some angel or whatever played the role of holy prostitute at that time (*pardon the cruelty of language for I am follower of St. Richard Dawkins).

She looks at me and I look back at her, then suddenly I look in some other direction just to make sure that it isn’t just a fucking coincidence, but it’s not. Then I think Oh maybe she is looking at the bald scumbag sitting beside though chances of that are minimal. I again look at her and she grins and I think to myself it’s my lucky day though after 21 years of useless chickenshit life. But yet again ‘she’ proves me wrong, the bloody bald guy (*about her biological father’s age and is uglier than Hugh Jackman) asks her something possibly to entice her into a dirty conversation and she seems very fascinated maybe she is a whore after all (*I was never sure). Not to forget the dude (my wingie) is also standing there rock solid. I look at him and I laugh. I go into my visual mode and remember how earlier today he took a pee in the bushes present to the sides Avenue Des Champs-Elysees. I even clicked a picture of him committing that flagitious crime. I mean it’s not a big deal in India. There you can shit anywhere in the streets nobody cares but you can’t kiss in the streets, the case is exactly the opposite in Europe. The dude seems to have to a good time standing to the proximity of the whore and why he wouldn’t. He looks at me and moves his eyeballs and head to point towards the whore’s shoulder touching his shoulder because the train is too crowded. I know it’s the happiest moment of his pretty dreary life.

Train stops at a station, the bald guy and few other passengers leave. Their departure leads to a happening that’s quite unfavourable for me and quite favourable for the dude. Now the dude and the whore are sitting in front of me, beside each other and what the fuck! They start talking too. I pretend I am not looking at them, I must admit that dude has for first time in 3 years gained some respect in my eyes. I am observing her in a clandestine way, I like the way she smiles, and ‘She is like the wind’ comes up on my iPod. But then the dude ruins the moment by asking me something, I remove my one of earphones and try to listen to what the fuck he is trying to say. I want to say “You talkin’ to me?” but I don’t, he shouts, “In which university are you in?” I say “I don’t know” just to shut him up and plug my earphone back again. I don’t know what has changed in the past few minutes but I have developed a strange attraction towards her, I won’t talk shit about her from this point onwards. I think just because the dude has an upper hand that’s why I am feeling this firm urge of talking to her, knowing her, taking her to Austrian Alps, then sit naked by the fireplace, drink Sangria, probably paint her and then to forget myself. We can live happily and make lotta children.

“So what all places did you see today?” she asks me, I don’t have any words. Suddenly “Where do you go to my lovely” comes up on iPod, though the song is so beautiful and makes you fall in love in with Paris every time you hear it, I still remove my earphones and try to answer her. “Hmm…Louvre Museum, then took a boat tour on Seine river and clicked few pictures”, she replies “That’s lovely did you go to Notre dame too?”, “No but we will surely”. Then the dude interjects and starts asking her about India, “Do you know the Taj Mahal? It’s one of the Seven Wonders of the World like the Eiffel tower, but it’s not a tower”, she answers smilingly “Yes I know, I have been there”, the dude adds “I have been there too, actually I go there every summers and take a picture with Taj in the background. You wanna see it?”

I am listening to “Tiny Dancer” now, I periodically look at both of them and smile just show that I am very cool with dude doing all the talking and I don’t care if a stranger girl wants talk to me. I am acting as if it happens to me every day except for the fact that it doesn’t and I don’t remove my earphones and keep listening to the songs. “Lisztomania” comes up and I remember that Phoenix is a French band and currently my favourite too. Maybe because of the love for Phoenix I ask her “There is this new French band called Phoenix do you know about their upcoming concert?” She says “I know them, but they talk in English” she meant they sing. I say “Yes they won the Grammy awards this year and they are fairly cool”, she replies “I haven’t heard them but one of my cousin is friends with them, and sorry I don’t know about their upcoming concerts” I love the way she speaks English, it’s like a baby talking with lollipop in his mouth. She makes me mad.

Dude comes between us again and starts talking like the RJs of the cheesy Radio stations of Kanpur city. She then asks us “What plans you have for tomorrow?” the dude replies forthwith “We are absolutely free!!” For a split second, I too think that she’s gonna ask us to come out with her, like what happens in the movies after all this is Paris not Kanpur. But, thank god she doesn’t for it would have been very difficult to handle over-excited dude if she had asked. Instead she writes down names of some places on a piece of paper and suggests the dude to visit them. I feel ecstatic.

I lean back and put my earphones on again. I try to see outside, I can see few hazy street lights glowing and the lonely crystal drops of rain on my window pane. "The Only Living boy in New York" plays in the background...

*THIS IS A PURE WORK OF FICTION. NOTHING LIKE THIS EVER HAPPENED AND NEVER WILL.AMEN.

Muenchen Mag Dich

Somewhere in Europe, precisely Munich, Germany.

Many a times I had thought of writing about my journey from India to Deutschland but never really took this seriously till one very guten day. This Voyage has been interesting and pure fun. Maybe it is exactly what I wanted plus (minus) a lot more covariation effects, but now asking for more simply feels so covetous.I mean I am not like those geekiest nerdy pussies (American English meaning intended) who keep crying even when they get 98 on 100. I hate ‘em suckiest losers's bitches. Never mind, now it is the good time; well time was always good but I don’t know this time-zone feels so fine. One thing leading to another and this is what casacade called life is; full of small coincidences, few lovely faces, good food, good music, sleep and NOTHING else. Everything is so random. But more you try to find out what the purpose of life is the more confuse d you are, so I will not waste much of your time, just a little. You wake up one day and you don’t know how a very small object in this wild universe that doesn’t matter at all in the long run can make you feel so happy or unhappy. The dumbest thing is that we all are so stupid to cry for things. But again these small things (can be people sometimes) are what every moment is all about and I am not Gandhi I get angry when someone(read chicks) calls me ugly, or when I get low grades ( yes I am very serious this time, mommy) or when India loses to Bangladesh or when...ok leave it.

So coming back to this very momentous day, this was my first day at the Der Universitat Muenchen (University of Munich). Prof Dr. Eva (*she’s my angel, don’t worry I will explain everything) told me to be at the entrance of Psychology and Psychiatry Department by 8:30 am and so I was there sharp as the tips used in electron microscopes for shuffling atoms around individually, metaphorically speaking of course. The wind was very cold as moon and dry as IITK but, I was feeling restless and nervous as a Schizophreniac paranoid delusioned patient. I entered from the main gate and what I saw was what I had expected to, a bunch of doctors, running wearing their lab coats like the way the coolies run on New Delhi railway station but come on..desi coolies are way cooler. The feeling in the room was similar to the NewDelhi station to say the least. And then the really Big Kongress (meeting) of all the rich doctors started. It was in a big library containing all the similar looking books, you know what is being talked about here. Those books that no one has ever read and if a child asks his father, "papa why these all books look the same?" his dad would answer that they are different edition of the same book by his favourite fucking author. But the truth is that they are just kept there to make worthless junkies feel miserable about their inane multidirectional life. Fucks feel like they could have choosen a different path all together by spending their time reading these fucking books while actually they spent it scoring, fucking and doing nothing.

Surprisingly I was also invited to the Kongress, just as a new member( I felt like newbie of Scrubs) of the department. Okay, the Big Boss started asking the doctors something in German which I didn’t understand even a word. I say this because for past one week I was trying to learn german when I could have utilised that time doing something productive something like facebooking. Anyways, I guess he was inquiring what the cuss they all did during the past week or maybe whom they did. Still I was pretending hard to look serious & that I understood everything that was being talked about, few times even faked some laughs. Hahaha…guten..shit…that word goes with everything and then...

Yes this was it, the very moment which has inspired me to write this piece of story that might change lives of many people of the coming generations. Seriously this massive it is, I know you all will thank me in the end. Actually I mean my life and my progeny’s given I am productive enough. It goes like this, Prof Eva stood up and introduced me to approx 50 big doctors, big as in age, so I assumed they know a lot more than me about anything but that could have also been possible if they were younger. They all welcomed me by slowly tapping the round table around which they were sitting. It was a moment of pure joy. I never had achieved such great high in my life. I don’t know but it was AWESOME. At that moment an immense respect for the German people was born inside my heart and a new inspiration to work with 100 % on my project arose. You know back in India no professor or doctor would ever welcome a naïve baby boy like me by beating their desks or anyother thing. But they did, yes they did and nothing was ever the same....

cont…