Like the Fragrance of an Old Flower

There is a strange kind of silence that grows with age… especially when you are a gay man and alone. It is not loud, not dramatic—but it sits inside you, quietly asking questions you no longer have answers to.

Nothing feels more exhausting than starting again and again with strangers. Random conversations, random hopes, random disappointments. And somewhere in between, you wonder—was it always this difficult, or did it become worse with time?

In India, finding someone “reasonable” itself feels like a luxury. The ones who could have understood you are already gone—settled, married, or hidden behind walls they built to survive. Some visit occasionally, not to stay, but to escape… and then disappear again.

And then there are the others. Boys who are too young to understand what they are promising. Men who are old enough but somehow never grew up. Conversations that revolve only around themselves. Connections that feel hollow even before they begin.

Sometimes, out of sheer emotional suffocation, you return… hoping this time it might be different. But it rarely is.

And then the same old question returns—why does finding love feel like such hard work for someone like me? Why is there no simple, accidental meeting… no effortless belonging?

I had once believed I had found it. But some people don’t leave loudly… they just fade away, like the fragrance of an old flower—leaving behind a memory that refuses to disappear.

Back After a Long Pause (and a Lot of Thinking)

So, hello again.

If you are wondering where I disappeared after May 2022—short answer: life happened. Longer answer: a lot happened on the personal front, mixed with a generous dose of disillusionment with the community I write about. I stepped away not only because I ran out of things to say, but also because I wasn’t sure if someone was listening.

When I wrote my first post back in November 2012, I was younger, louder, and far more idealistic. Even since my last post in 2022, the world—and the gay community within it—has changed. Not all of it for the better. While Instagram generously feeds us images of happy, out, and photogenic gay couples (good for them, honestly), the broader reality still seems stuck in a loop of short-term pleasure over long-term connection. Lifelong love remains a beautiful concept—just not a very popular one.

Technology, especially dating apps, hasn’t helped. If anything, it has poured petrol on an already raging fire. The age at which people now confidently solicit their sexual fantasies keeps dropping, and I sometimes wonder if “getting to know each other” has quietly exited the chat.

Meanwhile, society remains largely homophobic, even as it enthusiastically embraces Instagram trends like posting about a “wife-like friend” or, more colloquially, “lugaai jaisa dost”—carefully sanitised by mandatory declarations of straightness such as, “What would my girlfriend think?” Affection is acceptable, it seems, as long as it comes with a certificate of heterosexuality.

Before restarting, I reread my old posts. Some made me cringe, some felt naïve, some suffered from obvious linguistic limitations I had (and still have). Still, I chose not to delete them. Those posts were me—honest, imperfect, evolving. Let them stand as evidence.

I don’t yet know how often I’ll write, but I’ll try. If a few old readers return and find something worthwhile here, that will be reason enough.

Welcome back.