Kolkata and My Indian Gay Appeal

Kolkata and My Indian Gay Appeal

I’d been warned: in Kolkata there’s no privacy, no personal space, and no hygiene. But, worse still, it’s hard to find a bar…  

After a few days in the city, I’ll tell you this: the Victoria memorial is impressive, and the museum is alright – probably more so for its colonial architecture than for its content alone. Mother Teresa’s house is ok. But it doesn’t get much play here. Her missionary position was in the world’s most competitive religious market.

Sudder street is a kind of backpacker strip. There’s a couple of cafes and a few tour agents. That’s all. The attempted guest houses are sad-clown scary. I’ve been in holding cells with better amenity. And be ready, everyone will try and scam you. My go-to is usually a curt ‘no hablo ingles’ with an exaggerated hand flourish. Cop that. I’m latin as fuck. Unfortunately, it turns out, some of these blokes speak Spanish – and have duly called me out. 

Be prepared for all the beggars. I’ve been shelling out coins like a broken slot machine. At least they’re not using them on drugs, I guess. But it kinda depends on how you view religion…

What else you’ll notice is that there’s no wifi, anywhere. Yep. In the home of IT support, you can’t find a network. And yes, for fucks sake, I want you to fix it Sanjeev. This isn’t a social call.

Speaking of Indian blokes: the manager at my hostel was a friendly little fruit. First, he asked for a selfie – sounds harmless. A freebie for his wank bank, I thought. Two nights later he called at 2am and asked to come in. I guess he wanted to stir my chutney. I politely declined. I’m as straight as a fence line, but Kolkata is totally gay for me. Just think of all the free drinks! Now, I just need to find a bar…