Shiva Dancing

One of the first places I stopped off on my Round The World In Drag 2001 journey was India and this is to Jo who was looking after my flat while I was away. What a start to a circumnavigation....! Dear Jo, Back in Delhi, after our trip round the sites, and it was time for a night out. It was such a romantic time I thought you deserved a blow-by-blow of it. Delhi can get you down - all the talk is of the earthquake still, we're on the edge of a natural disaster area and the sanest thing on the 63-channel TV is the Sahara channel suspending broadcasting for 24 hours. Connaught Circle at night is dark and heavy, hustling, dusty, choking, eye-watering with the smog, which also hides the temples. To go or not to go? It's a regular hotel night club, like a saloon bar with a dance-floor - what's the worst that can happen? I could get thrown out by the Connaught for disorderly conduct. I could get ignored by everybody in the night-club. If I get bored I could just go home. I'm guessing the single men will be excitable Delhi queens showing off and they should be up for a bit of provocative showiness. I'll need to be very forward. If I don't want to cop off it should be alright, repressed gay men are after men. So I'll get ready to impress. The hotel bathroom is luxurious and making up is fun. I go for the long blonde. Indian men seem to like the artificial look but it doesn't turn out too heavy. The shimmery rainbow dress, glossy tights, stillies, fake Prada bag, sunglasses, and I decide to wear my Shiva necklace which Kerry gave me - diamante earrings, a classic Mandy look. Don't want to get there too early, the place should be bouncing, I've seen the photos. Reception call me up a taxi, and I do my little-girl laughs while the Doorman looks on admiring. Then it’s a drive along dark avenues, to the Park Hotel glittering and the nightclub which tonight is Someplace Else. It's a special gay promotion and since homosexuality is illegal in India I guess we're all illegal tonight. How exciting! I get a sort of welcome from the suits and ties on the door, and a couple of red tickets for drinks, and then I'm in. I make a point of handing over the Internet print-out by which I found out about the night, and a copy of the famous Mandy calling-card. But inside it's not so busy - I should have known! - a row of faces in the dark at the side and some non-Indian faces by the bar. I ask for a brandy and coke and they have to send down to the cellar for a dusty bottle. Men are looking at me. Looking at my tits, fixated. When my drinks comes I find a bar-stool and light a cigarette the go over to the DJ and introduce myself and ask for lots of disco-classics - you can't trust these nightclub DJ's! Men start to come in, big guys, small guys, expats. I decide to introduce myself to some expats by the bar, but they're German and look confused and their Iranian friend is a bit of a hippie. They start to dance and the place is starting to fill up. The older men are quite fixated by me, even the young guy in the cream top who really doesn't want to be seen to have anything to do with me. One of the big guys introduces himself, "Raul", from Bombay. I try to keep my wits about me. The barman lights my cigarette - very gallant! and I start to dance, Madonna's "Music". "Can I dance with you?" KC appears, tall, gangling, glasses, long face, check shirt, he's clumsy and excitable and treads on my feet, - "Just feel the beat, and then Groove It - yes - yes - yes!" - some holding, "I love London...." then he drifts off then back then sits on the dancefloor rail, slumped, he's off his head, drink probably, - "You have been dancing for so long, I have been dancing for two hours..." - eventually he excuses himself and disappears. I sit down, the seat’s en route to the toilets, and I notice a thickset guy looking at me – another one! – I dance again, a touch of temple-dancing, a lot of arms, and feel the occasional touch as men pass me on the way to the toilets. One of the older ex-pats is in the corner, with a big friend and a little guy who has sat in my seat, I feel his hand on my leg, I reach back and tweak his ear, he gets up and his big mate gives him a push, the sort of shove school-boys give each other, and he stumbles towards me, and we dance. Dirty dancing, eyes locked, I hold his shoulders, strong, he grips my arms very tight, he asks if he can hold my hips, he does, he loves swaying me by the hips, I like it too, we get close, he’s excited, so am I! My dress is over my hips, I pull it down – the thickset guy has been watching hard. The little guy goes off and I get another drink, another warm brandy, 200 rupees, and “Brimful of Asha” is on – here in India! Thickset has been watching me, takes his drink to the corner, turns his seat away, and I realize he’s obsessed by me, and sees man after man approaching me, and ...can’t, he’s burning, but I won’t make a move, he looks dangerously intent. The little guy’s back, and we dance some more, up close swaying, too excited when I touch his chest, I let my leg go between his. Another break. Another dancer. This one manoeuvres up to me, close very quickly, hard, rough, he doesn’t speak, holds me tight, feels close and a short intense session ends with him squeezing my tit. I give him a ticking-off sign. Thickset wanders, passes, closes in, passes, sits down, lights a cigarette,- but the little guy is back and he picks me up, I close my legs round his waist, he holds me, lets me down, we sway, turning on my stiletto soles. Raul is in the corner with a friend – “May I drop you off?” I say maybe it’s out of his way, I can get a taxi, no it’s on his way, and I have visions of being adrift in Raul’s car in a dark Delhi back-Avenue, surrounded by trees, and emptiness, and him getting overactive, the hold-back, pent-up ones are the worst – “Only a ride now, nothing more…” I give him a suspicious warning point. It’s time for the loo which is a single, unisex luxury cubicle inside a purple-tiled cloakroom-style small room. There’s a boy to point my way in and when I come out of the cubicle Thickset is there, with a whistle and and “Sexy…!”. He doesn’t go into the toilet but stands watching while I put on a bit of lippy then the boy turns on the tap for me, I sprinkle my hands and dry them on some tissue, and exit. Time to be going. I’m approached by a young Indian couple, he is Maneesh, - “We are both gay”, Delhi-stylish, she is small and pretty, - “You are very sexy.” “we are all of us sexy’” I say, and we hug closely. Such kindness, they invite me tomorrow night to a place which is the “most happening place in Delhi”. I’m leaving for Bombay the next morning and can’t be late but I give Maneesh my card – “I’ll mail you”. It’s the little guy with a jacket on – “You going?” I ask, and he pulls me on to the dancefloor and we dance again for the last time, not so close but touching. I lift my leg and rub it between his thighs while he holds me, his mouth opens - the DJ is playing “You Sexy Thing” and a guy like Errol is dancing by us – and his friends in the corner are laughing, we close, we sway, we dance – “What’s your name again?” “Shiva” – I touch my necklace again – of course – Shiva, dancing with Shiva, Shiva dancing with Shiva, Shiva, the lord of the dance, Shiva, my Shiva, - we close, we separate – “I’m going now.” “Why?” “I must”. I give him my card, we part, he goes to his friends. Thickset is still around, but falls away. I handshake the DJ, the barman – he kisses my hand – wave goodbye to anybody I see – behind me Thickset is cracking open, caving in – and hit the warm air. The two suits call me a taxi. “Why are you going so early, stay half an hour more.” The security guard is fixated with me swaying to the backdraught of the disco. The cab comes, the door is opened for me. Nothing less than I deserve, it’s dark inside, and then it’s a short ride back to the Connaught. As I step into the lift from the empty lobby two bell-boys sneak a look at me as they pass. I look a bit rough now but I’ve done it, Jo, I’ve been dancing with Shiva. There you go girl, that’s what a night out in Delhi means. Hope all’s well back at the flat, All love and kisses, Mandy