Thank God It's Tuesday, Report From a New Delhi Gay Bar

It's close to midnight at Pegs N Pints pub in Chanakyapuri – New Delhi's diplomatic enclave. Illegal acts are being performed close to the maximum security zone of the Indian Prime Minister's residence.

On normal days, Pegs N Pints is "normal" - strictly straight. But on Tuesday evenings as the clock strikes ten, queers start trickling out of their closets. Lying husbands relegate pretty wives to their solitary dinners. Guilty sons fake extra tuition classes. Bored European diplomats exchange Grey colored blazers for black leather jackets. They all gather together in Pegs N Pints – New Delhi's only discotheque offering "gay nights on all Tuesdays."

Camouflaged as private parties hosted by a certain "Mr. David", these unofficial "gay nights" remain dependent on word of mouth publicity. (Despite requests no one from the bar management was willing to be quoted.) The secrecy is understandable since gay sex is forbidden under the Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code and is punishable with imprisonment.

A recent The Times of India report on serial killings in Mumbai casually mentioned cops questioning a man sitting at Chowpatty Beach if he was a homosexual, the latter confessed and was brought to the police station.

Inside the Den

Inside, it's an unkempt place. The wooden counter is scratched, the beer glasses chipped, and the restroom out of order. But nobody cares. No one minds the expensive entry charge of 400 rupees. This is one of the few watering holes for wealthy gays not willing to risk being interrogated by police-men in shady parks.

As the evening progresses, the crowd filters in. The dance floor is downstairs and a boy with a teasing smile gyrates to Shakira's Hips don't lie. Roving eyes rest on him. His smooth chest and gelled hair shine in the blinking strobe. He shakes shoulders, moves his flat belly, waves his arms, flings and lands masterfully on his feet. He leaps, inviting others, hugging one, moving on to the next, never staying at one place for more than a moment.

He seems unattainable.

The men have come in groups but some are with lovers. Many are alone.

A venerable gentleman makes his beer bottle bob up and down in sync with the pulsating music. A young man in a brown corduroy jacket shakes his head in pleasant disbelief. A middle-aged person dances with no dance partner. An awed waiter, picking the used glasses, looks clueless.

After a while, desire fills the smoky atmosphere upstairs. Boozing men are huddled on a long sofa lined against the wall. Some sit on the laps of others. On the balustrade stand men-uncles staring down on the fancy fairies of the dance floor. It's midnight, two hours for closing time. Beyond that lies a barren week before the thrill of kissing in public can be relived!

It's 1 am and the music becomes louder. Kajra Re is replayed. More vodka bottles opened. Kisses become desperate. Dance vigorous, squeezes frantic, embraces hungrier. Foot taps are forceful and eye contact lasts longer.

Call boys pace the stairs offering last-minute deals.

2 am: The doors close, the gates shut. Re-exile into the cold straight world. Car engines shudder, headlights are switched on, making the night fog glow orange. The fantasy has ended. Till next Tuesday.

Epilogue

A kid on his cell-phone announces, "Papa, I'm studying at Vaibhav's place. Will be home in half an hour."