Frustration to straight fun: desi gay tale

Yeh baat tab ki hai jab main naya-naya naukri join kiya tha — ek chhoti si post, northern border ke paas. Mausam hamesha thanda, hawa hamesha tez, aur raat hamesha lambi. I was a city boy, used to noise, to people, to warmth. Suddenly, life had slowed down to the sound of boots on snow and radio static in the dark.

Pehle kuch mahine theek the, lekin jaise-jaise din badhte gaye, ek ajeeb si khaali-pan mehsoos hone lagi. No leaves, no visits home, no one to talk to beyond the same faces. Lust, warmth, affection — sab kuch jaise barf ke neeche daba hua tha.

And yet, hum log sab mazak karte the. Thand mein, jab campfire ke paas baithte, jokes and gaalis were the only way to survive. Har koi thoda lonely tha, har koi kuch chhupa raha tha — par kisi ke paas waqt nahi tha dil kholne ka.

—

It was one of those nights in late November.
Snow was falling softly, aur hawa mein ek ajeeb sa sukoon tha — the kind that makes you think too much.

We were two on duty — me and my friend, Sulemaan. He was from Rajasthan, always joking, always energetic, ek aisi energy jo camp mein sabko hasaa deti thi.
Lekin us raat, dono thake hue the.
Whole day we had been running between posts, radio reports, and endless checks.

I was sitting near the small heater, rubbing my legs. “Bhai,” I said, “aaj to taange toot gayi. Lagta hai haddiyan bhi thand se bol rahi hain.”
He laughed, walking in small circles, “Tu to purana aadmi lag raha hai. Kya hua, dum khatam ho gaya kya?”
I smiled tiredly. “Dum ab bhi hai, par dard bhi kam nahi. Agar tere haath mein taqat hai to zara peeth daba de.”

He looked at me, teasing grin on his face. “Duty ke baad, dekh loonga tujhe. Abhi toh guard kar, soldier.”

—

Our shift ended around 3 a.m.
Barf ab bhi gir rahi thi, aur hum dono apne barrack mein wapas aaye. The room was barely warm — ek bulb jal raha tha aur chhoti si table par flask mein chai thandi ho chuki thi.

Sulemaan stretched, looked at me and said, “Chal, tu keh raha tha na — daba deta hoon teri peeth. Next time tu mera kar dena.”
I smiled, half embarrassed, half thankful. “Done. Abhi sirf daba, kal mai tere liye chai bhi bana dunga.”

He came behind my chair, placed his palms on my shoulders — warm against the cold air.
For a few seconds, silence.
Bas heater ki halki si khanak aur hamari saansen.

When his fingers pressed my shoulders, I realized how tired I really was. “Haath mein dum hai,” I muttered, “par aur zor se daba.”
He chuckled softly. “Itna zor dunga to gardan hi tod dunga.”

We laughed.
But between the laughter, there was something else too — ek ajeeb sa sukoon, ek comfort jo shayad hum dono ko chahiye tha.

—

He started pressing my neck, shoulders, upper back — slow, firm movements.
My muscles eased. My breath slowed.
Kabhi kabhi uska haath zyada neeche chala jaata, and then he’d pull back slightly — as if unsure.
Our laughter faded.
Sirf silence baaki thi — aur barf ke girne ki halki si awaaz.

“Thand badh gayi hai,” he said after a while.
“Haan,” I replied softly, “par ab itni mehsoos nahi ho rahi.”

Usne kuch nahi kaha, bas dabata raha.
There was something grounding about it — jaise har touch ek yaad ko mita raha ho, har press ke saath ek thakan kam ho rahi ho.

I could feel the warmth from his hands spreading across my back.
For the first time in months, I wasn’t lonely.

—

When he was done, he patted my shoulder. “Bas, ho gaya. Ab tu so ja.”
But I turned around, looked at him — his face half-lit by the bulb, eyes tired yet kind.

“Tu bhi so ja, bhai,” I said. “Kal fir lambi duty hai.”

He nodded. “Haan. Par… tu theek hai na?”

That question hung between us — not just about my back, but about everything. About the silence, the isolation, the strange ache that came from being too far from everyone and everything.

I nodded slowly. “Haan, ab theek hoon.”

We both smiled.
He switched off the light, and for a while, hum dono ne kuch nahi kaha.

Outside, snow kept falling.
Inside, warmth lingered — not just from the heater, but from something human, something wordless.

That night, for the first time in months, I slept without dreams.

Subah ka waqt tha. The sun was still hiding behind the clouds, and the valley below our post looked like a frozen painting.
Mujhe yaad hai, raat ko pehli baar sookoon se neend aayi thi. Peeth ka dard bhi kam ho gaya tha, par mann mein kuch aur badh gaya tha — ek ajeeb si lagav wali baat, jo maine pehle mehsoos nahi ki thi.

Sulemaan was already awake, sitting near the heater, writing something in his notebook.
“Subah ho gayi?” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.
“Tu to so gaya tha jaise duniya khatam ho gayi,” he laughed, “main soch raha tha tujhe uthaun ya nahi.”

His voice felt different that morning — softer, calmer.
I joined him near the heater, and for a few minutes, we just sat quietly, watching the fog dance over the mountains.

—

Days turned into weeks.
The cold grew sharper, duties longer, and loneliness deeper. But somewhere in between, hum dono ek routine mein dhal gaye.
Duty ke baad hum dono ek saath chai banate, kabhi kabhi cards khelte, kabhi bas silence mein baith jaate.

Us silence mein bhi ek comfort tha — jaise bina kuch bole sab keh diya ho.

Ek baar to aisa bhi hua ki jab main pehra par tha, radio ke zariye Sulemaan ne kaha,
“Thand bahut hai, haath jam gaye.”
Maine mazak mein bola, “Tere liye to main haath garam karne aa jaoon?”
Woh hasa, “Aaja, lekin chai bhi le aana.”

Simple words, but somehow they warmed the night more than the heater ever could.

—

One evening, around late December, we received news of a storm.
“Do din tak post se nikalna mana hai,” our commander had said. “Stay inside and keep radio contact only.”

That night, the wind howled like a wild animal.
Barf itni tezi se gir rahi thi ki khidki ke bahar kuch dikhayi nahi de raha tha.
Inside the barrack, the light flickered, and the heater hissed softly.

Sulemaan was sitting near the window, lost in thought.

I didn’t know what to say. I just sat beside him, quietly.

After a moment, he said softly, “Tere saath time achha jaata hai. Pata nahi kyu.”
I smiled faintly. “Shayad isiliye ki hum dono ek jaise hain — dono chup rehkar bhi samajh jaate hain.”

He nodded.
And then, bina kuch kahe, he took the flask and poured chai into two cups.
“Cheers,” he said. “To surviving the cold.”

“Cheers,” I replied. “And to friendship.”

—

That night stretched longer than usual.
We talked about everything — childhood, dreams, fears, the people we missed.
Kabhi-kabhi uske jokes se hum dono zor se haste, aur fir khamoshi chha jaati.
Between laughter and silence, there was something fragile — something that didn’t need a name.

Around midnight, the heater died.
Thand ekdum se badh gayi.
Sulemaan pulled his blanket around his shoulders, and said, “Agar dono ek hi kambal mein aajayein to thoda garam rahega.”

I looked at him — for a second, both of us hesitated — then nodded.
“Thand zyada hai, bhai,” I said lightly, “bacha lo mujhe.”

We both laughed, but as we sat close under that single blanket, I realized how much I’d missed simple human warmth.

Hours passed.
Outside, the storm raged on; inside, hum dono ek dusre ki saansen sun rahe the.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared — sirf hum the, aur woh sookoon jo dhoondhne par bhi nahi milta.

Sulemaan whispered, “Agle mahine jab chhutti milegi, tu ghar jayega?”
“Shayad,” I said. “Par dil yahin rahega.”
He smiled faintly, “Yahan, barf ke beech?”
I nodded. “Barf ke beech, aur tere saath.”

He didn’t reply.
But I saw something in his eyes — warmth, understanding, maybe even affection — something pure, untouched by labels.

We were warm and cosy in the blanket with touching each other body softly but hesitantly.

night was long dark but turning to be hot 🔥