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Sometimes some dreams come true, but not quite July 7, 2009

Posted by globejam in Denmark.
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Sometimes some dreams come true, but not quite
This happened a long time ago when I had just started living in Denmark.
I was a bachelor then and shared the company provided accommodation with Matt, a colleague of mine.  Matt, by the way, is a devout Syrian Orthodox Christian Malayalee, which is germane to this story and some others to follow – otherwise I will not bring it up.  Both of us moved to Denmark at around the same time, towards the latter part of winter.  The days were still short and we just had time to go to office, work, come back home, cook, eat, watch some TV and sleep.  Since we were new to the place, we did not venture out much after dark, and it was pretty much dark most of the time.
During the initial days, after work, I would be glued to the television watching the rather explicit scandinavian fare.  While I was beginning to enjoy the open culture, Matt was finding it rather difficult to adjust. He would retreat to his room and read the bible.  On several ocassions, I heard him repeat the phrase “decadent society” like a mantra, I think, to drown the moaning and groaning that was emanating from the TV.
Gradually my interest in the unwavering constancy of the libido of the actors waned.  Summer was also creeping in and the days started getting brighter and longer.  During the weekends, Matt and I would wear several layers of clothes, sweaters and jackets and venture out to some place or the other.  Since it was still pretty cold, we tended to go to indoor places like museums and such.
A few months went by and one Saturday in May dawned, bright and sunny.  It was like summer had decided to do a preview show.  We stood outside and soaked in the sun, though it was still pretty chill for us, except under direct sunlight.  Our spirits soared and we decided we would make a trip to one of the numerous castles around Copenhagen.  We checked Copenhagen this week which suggested that the Rosenborg Have was the right place to be on a sunny Saturday.
So, Matt and I, wearing only a sweater and a jacket over our regular clothes (it was still cold, by Madras standards), set out to Rosonberg Have, the gardens around the Rosenborg palace.  We reached the gates and it appeared that half of Copenhagen had had the same idea.  People were coming in from all directions.  Not only had we been deprived of sunlight all these months, we had been deprived of crowds too. We were so happy.  For the first time in months, we felt as though we were in Madras.  There we were, two Indians, overdressed for the ocassion, in a sea of Danes, looking around with wide eyes, taking in the crowds and the noise.  We walked on and soon we were surrounded by youngsters holding hands, kissing, with hands roaming under each others shirts.  We should have noticed the signs, but we didn’t.
A little further down, there was this empty bench under direct sunlight.  Matt suggested that we sit down for a while and soak in the sun.  We sat down and I was talking to him in my usual animated fashion, oblivious to the happenings around us.  Suddenly we looked around and realized we were right bang in the middle of an impromptu nudist camp.  There was not a stitch of cloth around, except for the two of us, of course, who it seemed, had enough clothes on to cover everyone else.  GLBT and straight, all represented.  It was like all the movies I had watched rolled into one and how!
I was too overdressed to look, though all I wanted to do was stare. While I was contemplating removing my clothes and blending into the group (I would have been the only non-white, non-blond, non-blue eyed single feller around, but hey, you got to take a chance once in a while!), Matt, I thought was having a heart attack.  He had his eyes scrunched up, was hyperventilating and making all kinds of strange noises.  Before I could decide whether to strip first or call the ambulance, he got his breath back, sprung up in the air like a jack-in-the-box and dragged us both out of that place.
Later that night, I lay in my room listening to the chants of “decadent society” from the next room while wondering if tomorrow would be bright too, and how I could get out of the house without Matt finding out.

This happened a long time ago when I had just started living in Denmark.

I was a bachelor then and shared the company provided accommodation with Matt, a colleague of mine.  Matt, by the way, is a devout Syrian Orthodox Christian Malayalee, which is germane to this story and some others to follow – otherwise I will not bring it up.  Both of us moved to Denmark at around the same time, towards the latter part of winter.  The days were still short and we just had time to go to office, work, come back home, cook, eat, watch some TV and sleep.  Since we were new to the place, we did not venture out much after dark, and it was pretty much dark most of the time.

During the initial days, after work, I would be glued to the television watching the rather explicit Scandinavian fare.  While I was beginning to enjoy the open culture, Matt was finding it rather difficult to adjust. He would retreat to his room and read the bible.  On several occasions, I heard him repeat the phrase “decadent society” like a mantra, I think, to drown the moaning and groaning that was emanating from the TV.

Gradually my interest in the unwavering constancy of the libido of the actors waned.  Summer was also creeping in and the days started getting brighter and longer.  During the weekends, Matt and I would wear several layers of clothes, sweaters and jackets and venture out to some place or the other.  Since it was still pretty cold, we tended to go to indoor places like museums and such.

A few months went by and one Saturday in May dawned, bright and sunny.  It was like summer had decided to do a preview show.  We stood outside and soaked in the sun, though it was still pretty chill for us, except under direct sunlight.  Our spirits soared and we decided we would make a trip to one of the numerous castles around Copenhagen.  We checked Copenhagen this week which suggested that the Rosenborg Have was the right place to be on a sunny Saturday.

So, Matt and I, wearing only a sweater and a jacket over our regular clothes (it was still cold, by Madras standards), set out to Rosonberg Have, the gardens around the Rosenborg palace.  We reached the gates and it appeared that half of Copenhagen had had the same idea.  People were coming in from all directions.  Not only had we been deprived of sunlight all these months, we had been deprived of crowds too. We were so happy.  For the first time in months, we felt as though we were in Madras.  There we were, two Indians, overdressed for the occasion, in a sea of Danes, looking around with wide eyes, taking in the crowds and the noise.  We walked on and soon we were surrounded by youngsters holding hands, kissing, with hands roaming under each other’s shirts.  We should have noticed the signs, but we didn’t.

A little further down, there was this empty bench under direct sunlight.  Matt suggested that we sit down for a while and soak in the sun.  So we parked ourselves on the bench and the usually reticent Matt started talking about what a wonderful day it was or some such thing, oblivious to the happenings around us.  During a lull in the conversation,  we looked around and suddenly realized we were right bang in the middle of an impromptu nudist camp.  Everybody had wanted the same sunny spot, I suppose.  There was not a stitch of cloth around, except for the two of us, of course, who  had enough clothes on to cover everyone else.  GLBT and straight, all represented.  It was like all the movies I had watched rolled into one and how!

I was too overdressed to look, though all I wanted to do was stare. While I was contemplating removing my clothes and blending into the group (I would have been the only non-white, non-blond, non-blue eyed single feller around, but hey, you got to take a chance once in a while!), Matt, I thought was having a heart attack.  He had his eyes scrunched up, was hyperventilating and making all kinds of strange noises.  Before I could decide whether to strip first or call the ambulance, he got his breath back, sprung up in the air, jumped across a pair of lesbians in full flow and dragged us both out of that place.

Later that night, I lay in my room listening to the chants of “decadent society” from the next room while wondering if tomorrow would be a bright day too, and how I could get out of the house without Matt finding out.

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Comments»

1. padmajav - July 8, 2009

hahahah!!! that was hilarious!

globejam - July 8, 2009

Now it is. At that time it was heart-rending 🙂

2. maami - July 8, 2009

To strip or not to strip, was the Hamletian dilemma faced by the Danish Prince from Madras….

globejam - July 8, 2009

Stripping was the only option. I will never forgive Matt.

3. Bliss - July 20, 2009

Daiy – semma enthu da! How the heck do you find the time? Good stuff – especially the GlobeJam bit!! Still in touch with S?

globejam - July 21, 2009

Not in touch with S. Last time I met him was at some airport somewhere – he was working for Unisys and doing a Masters or a PhD at Stanford!
This blog is my internal rewards program. Relief from writing all the other serious stuff. 🙂


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