(Some names have been changed).
The windows had no curtains. Delhi was exposed to me as the bus trundled towards Kashmiri Gate. Was it smog or cloud that smeared itself across the buildings on the horizon?
I got an autorickshaw to the Hindustan backpackers hostel where I went straight to bed in my private room. When I awoke at 11am I got Paneer Parantha from a nearby restaurant before walking to Delhi’s best sanctuary: Connaught Place. In Third Wave Coffee, with the company of an enormous latte that would put any milky brew from Starbucks, Costa or Nero to shame, I messaged Malik on WhatsApp. We’ve been in contact with each other ever since I smoked weed with him and his friends in Old Delhi. His most recent communications sent to me in Shimla had raised my suspicions, and the more I thought back to how Malik behaved that evening in the park, the more certain I became that my suspicions were founded.
Later on, after getting my hair washed and cut, as well as a shave from the nearby barbers, for a total of a whopping 250 rupees (£2.50) I met Malik in the middle of Delhi’s Main Bazaar, the very street where he first approached me. Malik suggested we go hang out at Bistro 55. This happened to be the very restaurant I ate at when I first came to Delhi 2 weeks ago.
Malik looked different. Turns out he’d got a haircut today as well. ‘Do I look handsome?’ He said jokingly when I commented on it. ‘Yes,’ I said.
We sat on the rooftop of Bistro 55, surveying the Main Bazaar below. Malik with a cup of chai, I with a lemon and ginger tea. I felt very nervous. The dynamic between us was radically different to before. Malik’s gaze was much more powerful. It was relentless and crippling. I kept having to avert my eyes down to the table, or out over the balcony, and I’m usually very good at holding eye contact. I still felt I didn’t know enough about Malik to completely trust him, but sitting with him in Bistro 55, I saw a person I had not seen before.
Malik seemed simultaneously more powerful and more vulnerable. His gaze was relentless as he talked about the difficulties of being Muslim. How people judge him. How friends tell him he’s going to hell because he doesn’t pray enough. Between the lines he was telling another story. He explained he stays in Delhi because it’s a big city and people are more open minded here, not like the towns and villages of India and Kashmir.
Despite never explicitly stating anything, he spoke delicately and in no uncertain terms. His gaze poured into me. He wouldn’t have had to say a thing. I could tell everything I needed to know in his eyes. This was a very different Malik to the one I smoked with in Old Delhi.
Once again, Malik tried to get me to come with him to Kashmir; to meet his brother Ahmad and stay at his family’s guest house, for then I would see “heaven on earth.”
I told him I did not have enough time left in India for that. He told me I didn’t know what I had time for. I was resolute however, so Malik suggested we go back to my hotel room and watch a movie. We finished the food and quitted Bistro 55, walking just 5 minutes to the Hindustan Backpackers hostel. The Private room I’d booked for myself was a two-person room, so I didn’t figure there would be any problem.
We entered my room and shut the door. Almost immediately the telephone rang by the bed. I picked up the receiver. It was the receptionist.
‘Hello sir… is there an Indian man in your room?’
‘Yes.’
‘Put him on the phone.’
I gave the phone to Malik. He said a few words in Hindi and shortly put it down. They wanted us to come down to the reception. There was barely any argument at all. I could not think of a story to make up or an argument to deliver. Guests were not allowed. Minutes later we were back outside on the streets. Malik said he felt greatly disrespected. He was talking away about how one of the staff was Kashmiri. How could he know that? He just did – that’s how it worked. They had known he was Kashmiri too and they had disrespected him. They were not nice people. He rebuked me for staying in that hotel. How was I supposed to know the management were assholes?
Then Malik blamed me for acting gay. Told me the management must have known I was gay. Told me I must have said something. But I hadn’t been speaking to them. I just checked-in and that was it.
Well… I must have given it away when I was checking in then, Malik insisted. He reminded me about how his friends had sensed I was gay, said that he, Malik would never have known I was gay if it wasn’t for his friends. His friends who told him I had “gay vibes” while we were smoking together in Old Delhi. He insisted I had done something to give myself away. I thought the idea was ludicrous and knew that I had done nothing of the sort. But I couldn’t say why his friends had seen through me so easily, and I also remembered what happened on my first day in Amritsar and felt pretty dumbfounded.
I was startled by how angry I suddenly felt. I had been extremely calm. Rational. But suddenly I was fuming. Not with Malik, but with my hostel. I had paid for a double room. Having a guest over shouldn’t be a big deal. I kept insisting to Malik that we go back together. I would make a scene. But Malik didn’t want to. He did not want to go back to that place. He told me to get a new hotel for tomorrow. The problem was… I had already booked for two nights.
Malik and I parted ways and I went back to the Hindustan Backpackers.
‘Everything okay sir?’ said the receptionist as I stormed past him.
I said nothing.
‘Excuse me sir?’ He raised his voice.
‘NO.’ I bellowed back at him.
‘Sir!’
I stormed up the stairs and back to my room. Minutes later I was making my way back to the reception.
‘I want to check-out tomorrow.’ I said. ‘I have booked for two nights but I want to check out tomorrow.’
‘What is the problem sir?’
An argument broke out over the rules of the hotel. Management insisted they had told me I was not allowed guests, but of course they hadn’t. There was a small sign on a notice board, covered in advertisements behind the reception desk stating that guests weren’t allowed. But I had not seen it, and they certainly had not told me.
‘Well, you should have asked.’ The manager snapped. I snapped back that it was his job to make it clear to me. I had no idea if I was in the right or the wrong, but I was angry and didn’t care.
Our argument went nowhere. The guy relented and allowed me to cancel my booking for the second night free of charge. I returned to my room and called Malik. We had been ill met by sunset. Tomorrow however, I would make sure became a different story…
