So this one’s a long one and I don’t plan to preface it with a TLDR if it gets too long, so buckle up.

I’ve been thinking through who I am, and why I am what I am and the truckload that it has opened up is quite a bit to unpack.

1.  On the surface of it I am the perennial good guy. Long suffering married guy who’s finally ended it all, an amazing dad (I’d like to think so), the responsible son who takes care of his parents, a great friend, witty, tall, dark, not necessarily handsome handsome but serious Daddy vibes who cleans up well. The kind of guy a girl would want as a friend, a mentor, a buddy, a bruh. Someone you could rely on without an agenda, someone who loves sharing tidbits from his Bollywood movie tragicomedy of a life often at the risk of oversharing, and someone who if you ask about his day, you’d actually brighten it. If you’re desi and listen to Anuv Jain; there’s one song from his “Husn” that perfectly describes that last bit - “aur poocho naa Zara mere din ke baare mein bhi, bas itne mein sambhal jaaon haan”. Basically, you know the one who’s missed out on companionship, but who craves it, desires it with a thirst and hunger that cannot be put in words. Someone who’s going through some serious issues and is not afraid to talk about feelings and emotions anymore. Someone who knows there will be times in life when you feel like it ain’t worth it anymore and will acknowledge and validate them and help you understand why you can fall down 7 times but get up 8. Well put together with his mask on, but ready to crash and burn at any point of time. If nice guys finish last had a face and body to it, this would be it. The face of one who fell for someone over a few words of love and affection, a few stolen kisses and then flew too close to the sun and played Nero’s fiddle as his wings burned. The face of one who encouraged who he obsessed with to find her true love with someone else thinking that is what he was put down on this planet for. And yet he pines for his Casablanca moment with her sometimes, his “of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine”.

2.  But this is also someone whose posts talk about the kinks you’ve always wanted to explore but at the same time someone you could find safe harbor in. Intriguing, exciting, naughty. You want to touch him. You want to feel him. Experience him, see what it is about him that sounds good. Maybe it’s just the words. You wonder him talking about sluts, what that’s about. CNC, fuck that sounds hot. Taboos like the hijab, interfaith, cheating - fuck this is 🔥 innit. And you want to touch the flame, feel the heat, drink from the poisoned chalice. And ye shall if ye just ask. And you will love it. You will enjoy it. You will want more of it. Until you won’t. Because he just got too close for comfort. He’s open about who he is. His grandfather named him what effectively translates to generous and that’s what he is to a fault. Maybe not with the 💵 per se, but with his time, his feelings and his emotional availability. His affections. Remember the first part of his personality? The second doesn’t exist without the first. 

3.  And now comes the darkest side of it all. The dominant. The crazy kinkster. The absolute misogynist. Talking about misogyny and patriarchy. Talking about your holes and using you like his personal fucktoy. Talking about a younger you and how he will be grooming and moulding you into becoming what you deserve to be. The darkness is scary and maybe instead of him stopping at 2, and allowing his emotions to take over, this is what you wanted. A Man who’s the type of person that most certainly your mom wouldn’t warn you about because she’d have no clue such men existed, but your sluttier friends or the ones who’ve been around the block in relationships would warn you about. He of the kind who obsesses and who owns. He who is a walking talking fucking 🚩. But oh such an intriguing one. He shouldn’t be the “bad boy”. That’s reserved exclusively for those hot mofos in their high end clothes and their 200Dh designer stubbles, their expensive cars. Not this guy who looks like a desi dad through and fucking through or should it? But the darkness in him is all enveloping. He will use you. Obsess over you. Every single inch of your body being done things to in ways that you didn’t know existed. And the gaslighting, oh the sweet sweet gaslighting; the damage that it would put you through. Because he is damaged. Because he is broken. And we all are; both damaged and broken. You shouldn’t touch it, you absolutely fucking shouldn’t touch it. Run for the hills sweetie, because nothing good is going to come of this? Or will it? Has this been what you have been looking all your “lives”? Would getting fucked by his damage make your damage lesser or would it make you stronger? Would being used and abused and treated like this, help you slay these demons of yours?

So this is the trichotomy of coming across someone like me. The absolute complexity of it all. Or maybe the absolute simplicity. After all light wouldn’t have existed if it didn’t have to shine a path out of the darkness. I am all of these, I am some of these and I am none of these.

But don’t be ashamed. Don’t be sickened. There is redemption for us all. Some where in some time, in some space, there is redemption. Let me leave you with my favorite quote from Rumi

“Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again , come , come.”

Jelaluddin Rumi