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Lesbian. Lezbian. Lez-beeyun.

I took the longest time to say the word. Even longer to put my name in front of it. When I first caught grasp of what it meant to me, I’d mouth it ever so slowly, never letting the sound of it escape my lips for fear I might actually hear it. When I mustered up the courage to whisper it, I hated the way it sounded; it seemed so dirty, filthy, unnatural.

It’s the first word I’m teaching my kids to say. Not mum, not mommy. Lesbian.

One rainy day, I was wrestling my conscience in front of the bathroom mirror and I couldn’t contain myself. Index finger pointed at the center of my reflection’s accusatory nose I roared, “Lesbian!” The argument was over. I smiled. It fit. I said it again and again. By the end of the day, I was Samira, a lesbian. The rainbow was in plain sight.

My story isn’t one for ages. It won’t go down in history books. But it has started conversations. Conversations that aren’t had often enough growing up in India.

I am a woman, a lesbian, and an Indian — three wonderful minorities that have, over the years, created a strong personality I am proud to call my own.

Before I moved to the United States, I lived in Chennai, India, for 23 years. I’ve never been in the closet. Well, not really. I’ve always been butch — short hair, boys’ clothes, a gentleman’s manner, and of course, a way with the ladies. But in India, not being in the closet doesn’t necessarily mean being out of it. As long as you keep the tongue tied and let the blind ignore the obvious, being a lesbian is a piece of cake. But it wasn’t so much about being gay as it was about being different.

It was a daily routine of playing the tomboy for my family until it got so old everybody knew I wasn’t growing out of it. It was time to talk. But silence was all I ever heard. I ended every sentence just as soon as I put the words together.

I must’ve been about 18 when a cop cornered me at the end of the street. To him I was a young boy with an attitude problem. I had it coming. Let’s just say what happened next wasn’t pleasant and I didn’t leave the scene unscarred.

I didn’t say a word. I didn’t tell my parents. I didn’t tell anyone.

I moved to the U.S. a few years later. I wasn’t trying to escape; I’d learned to live with my life and I did a pretty decent job of it. I took to the stage. I sang. I wrote poetry, stories and plays. I had a job. I did well for myself. I didn’t know what I was missing.

When I came to Tampa, all I could say was, “I am gay.” I still couldn’t stomach the word lesbian. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I liked being gay. I was okay with it, proud even. But I couldn’t talk about it. Not with my roommates, not with my Indian friends.

I haven’t met another gay Indian woman in Tampa. I wonder where they are, sometimes if they are. As the self-proclaimed, stand-alone Indian lesbian in the area, I have taken it upon myself to educate the rest of the Indian population in Tampa about the LGBT community as best I can.

Conversations can answer questions and deconstruct stereotypes. Sometimes, it’s just as easy as that. Sometimes, it’s not.

Indians can be difficult and incredibly confusing at times. An undeniable mythological history filled with subjects of sexuality and I hadn’t heard anything about it until I looked. I mean searched. More like dug deep into Google and pulled it out. I’ve heard an Indian wrote the Kamasutra. I’m beginning to think that’s a conspiracy, a big one.

I love being a true Indian, one who can embrace the honesty of an inclusive culture. But it isn’t the only culture I’m a part of. After years of contemplation and trying to marry the two, I now wear both flags with pride.

Three and a half years later and I am an obnoxious lesbian. The stage knows it. My audience knows it. My pen knows it. Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube know it.

The world knows it.

As for my family in Chennai, some conversations are just easier with strangers.

Orinam’s note: An earlier version of this essay was published on Creative Loafing’s LGBT blog

This Valentine’s Day, Orinam brings you essays, poems and a short story on love in some of its flavors, including self-love, unrequited love and transient love. The collection includes:

• My Valentine, by Vinodhan
• Nails, by Edwina Shaddick
• Bharatham is my love; Mohini is who I am, by Taejha
• The Fifth and Final Arrow, by MG Ashley
• time, by L Ramakrishnan
  
• 1989: a love story [தமிழ்], a short story in Tamil by Shri, podcast narration by Lakshmi Sriraman

I have been trying to have relationships for many years now. I mean romantic relationships, each of which I have entered always with the great conviction that it will last for the rest of my life.

After many trials and errors, I have come to a point in my current relationship (which, I hope with the same, persistent naivete, will last for the rest of my life),  where I am getting present to this conflict between my need and demand to be loved in a certain way and the way in which my partner loves me. There are some distinctions that my mind cannot hold when it is consumed by emotions and when it is busy projecting its past on to the new situation, the new partner. For instance, there is a subtle distance between feeling unloved and feeling loved in a way different from the one I want. All of that is too theoretical for me when I am caught up in my shadows. In those moments (honestly, they are days and weeks, not moments!), I cannot even read my partner’s love for me as love, because I lack the patience and clarity to read as love anything that is different from my notion of love. When I get present to this, I shudder at how unaccommodating and closed I can be. I am shocked by the violence I do to my lover’s love by not even according it the status of love.

How then can I truly understand the limiting nature of my idea of what love is? How do I live the next many days and weeks in a way that helps me recognize my limiting conception of love, bracket it aside, and receive what my partner is offering me? The primary act of love I can do now is to acknowledge his love for me as love. Since it is important to remember that love is also a verb, a set of acts, a mode of being in the world, and not just a cozy state of being where things happen to us, how do I be loving in a way that seeks to undo my hitherto violent rejection of love that has been coming to me from my partner?

I think it is very sad that we are never really taught these things. I understand that life is to be experienced, to be learned as we go on, but I do wish someone taught us, even as they were busy making us learn how to balance equations and to remember dates of wars and conquests,  to love ourselves, to examine our fears, apprehensions and projections. Oh I have nothing against balancing equations and knowing dates of wars, for I do find this world fascinating and want to learn as much as I can about it. I only wish our inner worlds weren’t neglected this much and left for us to figure them out on our own.

As we get close to yet another St. Valentine’s Day, I cannot help but muse on the theme of love. The language of love continues to be occupied by a consciousness that is all about young, heterosexual coupledom. Sadly, this currently available language falls woefully short of addressing even that one form of love. The glorious light this language of love casts on mushiness, the good feelings one is conditioned to feel and want, the unqualified longing for love one is supposed to feel, casts the darkest shadow on all that needs to be worked through for love, in love and through love: our fears of abandonment, our unexamined investment in patriarchy and other ways of wielding power, our readiness to sabotage something beautiful before it threatens to destroy us, our adamant refusal to believe that something good can ever happen to us, or, even if it did, that it should last, and many more things.

If I were to embark on a personal reclamation of St. Valentine’s day, I would, at least this year, make it my project to turn the light on my shadows where all the real business is, where all the things are that most urgently need the light of my love as well as my partner’s. You can ask me why bother about St Valentine’s Day at all, or some might even ask why bother about romantic love at all, that smug and narcissistic form of love that often relegates other relationships to a side, at least until the heart invested in it is hurt and comes rushing back to other relationships for comfort and healing. At one level, I will tell you that love seems to be badly needed in the world, that the recent discussions around sexual violence, the resurgence of violence on inter-caste unions, etc. point to our failure in thinking critically and usefully about love.

At another, more honest and personal, level I will tell you that as long as I seem to be bothered about love and romance, I think it would be a good idea to look for more healing, less turbulent and less toxic ways to love.

So, this year, for the first time, I have a proper Valentine. Myself. Love.

This essay is part of the Orinam V-Day 2013 series called The Original L Word

Everything seemed so auspicious. I was bathed in turmeric powder and decorated, my father made me wear my paatti’s Pathakkam. A fresh veshti was draped around my waist in the kshatriya fashion. The moist and sweet-scented smear of Sandalwood paste on my forehead looked like the Third Eye. I lifted my left foot and squatted on the floor looking at the idol of the  eternal dancer, Siva as Nataraja, that was before me, glowing bright in the middle of the nilavilakku and the agalvilakkus, oil-wick lamps of various sizes and shapes, placed in rows and circles. The beating of the cymbals began, and I moved my feet in exquisite patterns drawing crescents and suns on the floor.

“He will be called a sissy boy”, my mother protested. My father did not echo her sentiments, nor did he voice his support for me: he was the proverbial cat on the wall. I had to fight the most vicious demons called religion, gender and caste. At the end I emerged the victor.  I simply must  have it, the joy of dancing; yes I have to; and forever. “Aadinakaalum paadinavaayum chumma irukkadhu!!” The feet that dance and the lips that sing never stay quiet….

The aptly-named Guru Uma Maheshwari hails from a family of Devadasis, dedicated temple dancers for several centuries. Her face is  calm and  always exudes joy and peace, making her look like she really is the daughter of King  Malayathwajan, the Pandya king who fathered Goddess Meenakshi. Her curly locks, decorated with pearls and held in place with pins, always look proper and prim; the string of mallika, pearly white jasmine flowers, subtly entwined with her hair,  makes one wonder if she was born with it. In rich red fabric, she is a carefully and gorgeously decorated Amman statue ready for an Oorvalam, a procession to grace the world with the vision of her beauty. My feet danced, feeling no weakness for hours, to her brisk chollukattus[1] and the beats of her thattukazhi[2]. I was her only male student, and she was proud of me. She knew it all and taught me all she knew. We would finish choreographing intricate pieces of dance in just two or three classes. We became mother and son in dance; I started calling her Amma. She taught me shringaaram, love. Not the mortal shringaaram, but  Shringaaram, the essence of life, the love that is without blemish; unconditional, true love that is omnipresent, andomnipotent, the love that is divine, the love that is me, the love that is God. I was shringaaram myself, mortal yet immortal.

The words of one lover in the middle of a sweaty coital rendezvous resounded in my ears – “You Malayalee boys are blessed with huge eyes that are hypnotic and gorgeous”. The memory is still fresh. Though only partly Malayalee, I felt flattered and cocked my head to the side, avoiding his breath in a gesture of sheer modesty. He said,“I want to look into your eyes,” and held my face tight in his strong, virile hands. I looked into his eyes as he closed them tight, and I knew what would follow–a moment of rapture as we both reached the peak of what seemed like a mixture of lust and love, and exploded. Covered in sweat and our own love juices he lowered his head to place soft, wet kisses on my eyes; kissed my upper lip with passion and probed into the warmth of my lips. I felt like his exclusive courtesan. He unleashed the Mohini that remained dormant within me, hitherto unknown even to me.

The part of me that is from the God’s Own Country needed acknowledgement.  The beats of the edakka and the maddalam,  drums that rarefy the air during dance and theatre performances in Kerala, have always made me sway in unending semi-circles. She brusquely said no when I articulated my desire to learn Mohininadana, the dance of the enchantress. “It is against my faith and I have taken a vow not to dance again, I am a baptised Pentecostal Christian and you are a BOY!!!” my aunt Omana explained. I convinced her with my promises:“ Ammayi, you will only teach and not dance.” I sold her my sh#t.

I moved my torso in the crescents of ardhachandraas and strutted like a peacock. I swayed in rhythm like the paddy field that dances to the breeze. I moved my eyebrows to the enchanting edakka drum, emoting love.I needed an elaborate bath in chandanam, kasthuri and milk to quench the Shringaric fire within me. And men noticed it, the fire called Moha. Even women-lovers appreciated it,  and one said , “You have the eyes of the Mohini, I smiled turning my head towards him  and said, “I am the MOHINI, and I enchant.”

This essay is part of the Orinam V-Day 2013 series called The Original L Word

Realising and then accepting I was gay was one of the toughest things I have ever done. In a span of 5-6 years I went from being completely ashamed of myself to wanting to shout it from the mountain tops. I think the years of hiding ‘my secret’ and being untrue to myself finally came to a head when I went through severe depression and became suicidal. Luckily, I survived through that and have now matured into someone who is utterly and totally at peace with herself and looking excitedly at the future to see what it has in store for me.

I’m going to mention a few things that have helped get through this hard phase of mine, in the hopes that it might help someone else.

1) Don’t give up: There’s a beautiful saying, “After the darkest night comes the brightest dawn” . I was lucky enough to stumble onto this wonderful piece of wisdom at the onset of my most horrible years. I have clung onto that with everything I had and it has seen me through to the other side. It is a matter of holding on with everything you have and more and riding the storm. It will get better.

2) My Faith: The grace of God saved me from committing suicide. Slowly but surely I started to place my trust in the Almighty and was able to save myself from insanity. Whatever you believe in, Ram or Allah or Jesus or Nature or anything else, stick with it. Don’t let go of it just because you are having a hard time. Faith in something is better than no faith at all.

3) Find someplace to hibernate: One of the first things I did,was to move back home to the safety and comfort of my folk’s place. There is nothing like being somewhere, that gives you security and peace and warmth. And then hibernate. I would imagine I was a bear and that all the I had to do was sleep and eat and sleep again. And that’s what I did. For 3 months I did not leave my house other than very occasionally. I slept most of the time . I did feel like a bum, but I realised that my body, mind, soul and spirit needed it.

4) Try and look to the future: No matter how bad or dark or depressing the present is, it will not be the same way in the next month or year. It is very difficult to put ourselves in a positive frame of mind, but that’s what we must try to do. Positive thoughts and actions are so essential to help us move on and get through what we are going through right now.

5) Cheer yourself up: It is human nature to expect other people to cheer you up when you’re down. But for how long. Make an effort to get better yourself. Exercise, watch a dozen comedies,read a book, meditate, pray. Do whatever needs to be done to get yourself out of that sad and hopeless frame of mind. You are your own master. So act like it.

I hope this helps. Is there anything else that, you dear readers, have done that has helped? Do leave us a comment and let us know.

Orinam editors’ note: This is one of a series of articles on Orinam that discuss living and coping with depression. Also see Vinodhan’s essays Storms Without Warnings and Spells and Charms.  For readers who would like to learn more about coping with depression, a guide on mental health for LGBT people developed by Ireland’s Health Service Executive mental health project is available here. Additional resources are being developed by Orinam and will soon be available here.

I recently came out to a really close friend.  She could not have been more supportive. Though this was unexpected, she said she was extremely proud of me. While this did make me feel really happy, it got me thinking. Is it so easy to come out? More than that, is it easy to accept who we are?

Accepting this fact about our orientation is a tough choice. For a long time, I had chosen not to. All along, I had been playing around sexually, but not once had I given serious thought to who I actually was.  A choice that society almost always denies us. A choice we choose to ignore or deny to ourselves.  We choose not to create an identity. Instead, we are content with what identity is handed over to us by default.

Accepting who I was was not easy. For a long time, I chose to ignore serious introspection, and led a happy double life. I was always attracted to men, but was equally flirtatious with women in college. I was very sure that I wanted to get married, just to please my parents, and, by extension, the society at large. I even had a girlfriend back in college and a supposedly serious relationship with a girl when I entered the workforce. This was last year. We even discussed the idea of getting married and settling down in a tier two city of Tamil Nadu. Yes, my self-denial was serious.

However, even when I was with her, something kept nagging me. A puny childish voice inside me kept whimpering; trying hard to speak up, to scream out. A voice that I had kept contained for such a long time that it had almost gone silent. I was content with that. Or so I thought. Every single day, I kept denying who I was. A few times, I have even prayed to God to “correct me”. Scores of times, I have deactivated my profile on a gay chatroom, only to re-activate it again. But not once did I delete it, knowing full well I could not.

And then came a chance. A dream to study abroad.  It has been close to a year now since I moved out of India. A lot has changed in this year. I have put on some weight, lost some more. I have made some really good friends and visited two other countries. I broke up with my girlfriend from work, although we are still on talking terms. But more than anything, I have mustered up enough confidence – confidence to accept who I am; confident to say I am 100% gay, confident I will not get married to a girl and spoil another human’s life; confident to come out to a really close friend.

But this has not been easy. The past year has indeed been a learning lesson. I have learnt the value of being true to myself. And that has made me happy. More than anything, that has made me proud. True, the path ahead is going to be difficult. Coming out to my parents is going to be one tough job. But I don’t have to deny myself my reality.

My learning journey over this past year has, thankfully, not been a lonely one. I have gained a few good friends in the community who have transformed me; who have accepted me as one of their own. They have made me realize it is okay to be gay. Now, I am a content man.

True, I haven’t really told a lot of people who I am. True, I don’t have too many friends in the community (and I hope that changes). But atleast I am secure and proud in the knowledge of my sexuality.  True, coming out to others may be a really wonderful feeling, but accepting who we are is a lot more satisfying. Atleast to me, for now.

I dedicate this post to all the wonderful people who have made my journey possible.

Today, I have been highly tired and distressed. My brain refused to co-operate to give the final touches for my second journal paper. I have been sitting on that poor paper for past two days and now, I am getting even more irritated at my inability to write. So, this post is a vent for my brain and heart.

I am a (proud) doctoral student at one of the prestigious technology institutions in India. I love the research work I do. Yes, I have had my share of frustrations that occasionally led to thoughts like “I am going to quit my Ph.D.” or “my work is trivial: I really should quit my research”. But, I am still here and I am on the verge of completing my work and graduating next summer. I have absolutely no idea as to what I will do after this. If someone asks me now, I can give them only two vague answers: (a) post-doctoral fellowship abroad or (b) job. Ask me for more details and you will draw a blank. I want to take it one day at a time and focus on the important things like getting my papers  published in  scientific journals, and that big D, my doctoral dissertation.

I know, I know, you are probably wondering what I am frustrated and distressed about then.

You see, that is the professional side of me. A personal side of me also exists. That personal side of me is gay.

Gay as in ‘gay’. Queer. Lesbian. Homosexual.

I have always known that I was different, starting with the time when I was in a (girls) school. I had a few crushes in school, but I never gave the subject of my sexuality that much thought. I thought it was a phase and I would get over it. Then, when I was in college, I had my first brush with falling head over heels in love with this girl, but, sadly enough, I was left with a broken heart. But, the actual sad thing was that I refused to accept that I was capable of ‘girl love’. I didn’t think it was right. I was afraid of those feelings, just as much as I liked them. Conflicted, I thought that my first ‘boy love’ would be the right way. I thought I loved that boy and of course, it had ended before the ‘girl love’.

Those ‘girl love’ feelings left me confused and lost. But, one day, I woke up and decided that my career was more important, and worked my ass off to get into one of the most prestigious institutions in India. I conveniently ignored those feelings brewing within me,  and relegated them to the back-burner of my consciousness.

My first year and a half of doctoral work were blissful.  I loved my work. In my leisure, I enjoyed reading, going to movies and cultural shows by myself. All was well until another girl love walked into my life. I did everything I could to ‘not’ fall in love with her. But, I did, and it ended badly too. But, that was the first time in my life I was forced to look into the mirror and tell myself “This is what you have always longed for – to share all aspects of your life with a woman. Basically, like a man and woman would do”.

I fought that realization so much that I almost had a nervous breakdown. I even had a brief relationship with a boy to prove to myself that I was ‘normal’. But, unfortunately I ended up only hurting the boy and even to this day, I am ashamed of myself for having done that.

After all these struggles, I finally told myself that this is who I was, and nothing would change that. To think meeting the ‘right’ guy would set me straight would  amount to a deception that would haunt me for my entire life.

This conversation with myself felt like a release from prison. I finally found myself at ease.

But, I had my fears too. Fear of what my family and my friends would say. I started out by coming out to my closest friends. They were supportive and happy for me. Then, I came out to my family. Initially, they said they wanted me to be happy and that they would support me. I was elated, yet there was a nagging feeling at the back of my mind that things would not be as simple as they said. I knew I was up for a huge battle.

You see, just before I came out to my family, I had met her. She was the woman I always secretly envisioned I would be with. She is smart, funny, extremely caring and loving. She is, most of the times, more mature than me and at the same time, she is a kid too. Her energy and enthusiasm for life is boundless, which makes me wonder at times if I can have such energy too. She loves nature, animals and photography, all with the same intensity, which makes me in awe of her. She is my strength and has helped me see through myself. They say that sometimes it takes the person who loves you very much to recognize and accept your flaws/shortcomings. That is what she has done for me. I truly and totally adore her. I love her with my whole heart and want to grow old with her.

We both have only one small problem – that of being in a long-distance relationship. It has caused several misunderstandings between us, yet we have held on together. The simple pleasure of seeing each other once in six months (we take turns visiting each other) is the only thing we both look forward to very eagerly.

And yesterday, even that was robbed from us.

I was due to visit her next month. I had meticulously planned out my work schedule, so that I could spend time with her peacefully, unencumbered by thoughts of pending tasks. We wanted to make the best of what time we had with us.

My family refused to let me go. Their refusal took the form of a litany of objections to my relationship with my girlfriend: “This illegal relationship will cause a lot of problems, especially with society  being what it is. You will be a social outcast, even within your own friends’ circles. People will be talking behind you, you will be exploited, no one will respect you….”. They went on to tell me to focus on my career and shelve thoughts of relationships for later. They concluded by saying they cared for my happiness, and that was why they preferred I go in for socially acceptable marriage with a man. I listened to all this, speechless with anger at their hypocrisy.

How could they claim to care for my happiness and,  simultaneously, suggest that I go in for a socially acceptable marriage?

I had never been as furious with my parents as I was yesterday. While it is true that their status in society could be affected because their daughter would be living with a woman, she and I would bear the brunt of the social ostracism. It is not like we had not thought about the consequences before arriving at our decision. Life is a battle, even if you are not a homosexual!

As far as career and financial security is concerned, it is not as if I am ignoring these because of my relationship with her. I am working towards that also, because I (we) want a financially secure and comfortable future for ourselves, just like any other couple.

That was when I realized the core issue was that my parents really didn’t want to accept me as gay. All through the conversation, they kept saying that they didn’t know anything about her or how long this relationship would last.

I have tried my best to involve her in my conversations with my mother, to whom I am closer than my father. There was absolutely no reaction from her: she refused to acknowledge my partner. It hurt like hell. It was the love of my life who consoled me saying that, with time Ma would accept us. Even though she has not met Ma till now, she absolutely adores and loves her. She even tells me not to bother Ma! (which I do sometimes).

{This scenario reminds of ‘The Memories in March’ movie. It is a beautiful movie by the (Late) Bengali director named Rituparno Ghosh, who also is one of the lead characters in that movie. The movie begins with a mother who comes from Kolkata to Delhi when she hears of her son’s death in a car accident. While her office colleagues help her out with the funeral proceedings and packing his things, she comes to know of her son’s gay identity. She is shocked and blames herself for not bringing him properly. Ghosh, who enacts the role of the son’s boss, is also the lover. At first, she is loath to meet him. But, when he describes her beauty and personality, just as how her son would have described her, she realizes that her son meant a lot to him and though, she grows to accept their relationship. The movie ends with them parting as good friends.}

What my parents don’t seem to understand or appreciate is that, I came out to them so that they could accept me as who I am and support me to face society. When my parents themselves don’t want to accept it, where is the question of society’s acceptance? I had clearly told them when I came out, ‘I don’t care for the society. For me, the society is my family and my friends. It is important for me that they accept me first more than anything else.’

I could have easily hidden all of this from my family and gone abroad or some place else to settle with her. But, instead I chose to tell them because both of us want to be there for our families. We want to support and take care of them in their old age.

All this anger slowly ebbed into sadness today. I realized it is us alone against the world. No matter what, I will not succumb to the socially acceptable hetero marriage my parents want for me. I will carve out a niche for myself professionally and live the life I have envisioned for us. I cannot and will not trade my chance at happiness for social acceptability. Call it selfishness, or whatever you like.

As for the support of the people we care about, it is up to them to decide if they want to be with us. We are humans, as the rest of them. We have emotions and feelings too. We believe in love and families too. Yes, it is battle and we will fight for our existence. We are who we are and we are not ashamed of it. Actually far from it, we are happy as we are.

At the end of the day, I still hope that my parents will come to understand and accept me. They have given me all I wanted till now in my life. I respect them and love them. I don’t ask them for anything else other than their understanding and support for who I am, for this lifetime.

We have only one life to live and what use is it, if you cannot live that in happiness and peace?

And yes, sadly, there is a price for everything in this world, including happiness. You win some and lose some. It is up to you to choose which you want to win/lose.

I choose to live for my happiness with her. I will live through the losses also with her.

The baby came out of my womb in the middle of the night and I was unconscious. After two hours I opened my eyes, and the nurse told me it was a boy. Again I fell unconscious. My husband came to visit in the morning, along with other family members. And when we looked at our baby boy, he was sneezing. From that instant we loved him. While most new-born babies do not allow their mothers to sleep, he used to sleep a lot. He was different from other children of his age. When he started going to school, the only thing which made him happy was toys – like trucks and sporting cars. And he always chose his father over me to ask for them. That was his only demand. Since we both started working immediately after Tatai had started going to school, he used to spend most of his time alone, probably with our neighbours or his grandmother. His cousins were too old for him to spend time with. I never heard my mother-in-law or any of our neighbours complain about him or his attitude. He was happy with his homework, cartoons, and toys. And after reaching home, my first job was to listen to his stories about how he scolded the crows, about the puppies, how the mommy dog fed her kids, how flies disturbed the cows, and so on. And then at night while sleeping his only demand was to sleep between his parents so that he could sleep without any fear. We loved him even more for his calm and quiet nature. He enjoyed being around women and girls. And my husband used to joke about it. But I sensed something “different” in that. He was not like other boys: his calmness was unusual.

One day – he must have been eight at that time – he expressed a desire to smell the lipstick I used to have. It was a maroon coloured lipstick. After smelling it, he asked me whether he could use it. This was the first doubt I had about him and it helped my understanding of him. Once I nodded my head with approval, I noticed that he was,  surprisingly, quite good with it. The way girls purse their lips after applying lipstick, he did the same. I understood that he had been observing me for quite some time. When I told everyone about that incident they started saying that my son was practicing to see what lipstick he would buy for his wife. I laughed with them, but that doubt was poking me. And then with time, I started having more doubts seeing him grow close to girls, instead of playing with boys. His unwillingness to play with other boys at school was a message we chose to ignore.

One day after eating, he asked me to tell him a story. And I started with a fairy tale where a princess is rescued from a demon’s house by a prince. And I can still hear his voice asking me, “Ma, who will rescue me?” Upon asking him why he wanted to be rescued, he said that he would not go to school because his classmates called him “ladyboy”. But other than his unusual calmness and couple of lipstick incidents, I hadn’t noticed anything “wrong” in him. And then I wanted to know the reason behind his being called “ladyboy” and he said that he had once asked one of his friends to become his “husband”, the way his father was my husband. My entire world fell apart. I slapped him so hard that he started bleeding, and I angrily said that he should have concentrated more on studies and “wives” instead of looking for husbands among his classmates. I threatened him, telling him not to call me “Ma” if he wished to do the same again. And that was the last time I heard him talk about his “feminine” nature. He was a child of nine! I do not know what he understood that day. Probably he was scared to lose his mother, or he knew that society had more slaps for him in the future.

After that, he started playing cricket with other boys, joined the swimming and gymnasium team, and later the soccer team. But when he used to come home his eyes would be clearly telling me that he didn’t like them. Yet I was happy to get a “son” who played cricket and soccer rather than with dolls.

He scored well in 10th grade, but asked his dad if he could opt for Arts instead of Science as his major. My husband said if he wanted to pursue arts, he could start looking for his own accommodation. He looked at me and said that he did want to study English in the future, while most of his friends wanted to become doctors or engineers. He was “different” in this respect too – but we did not allow him to select Arts. In +2, he again scored well, and we were so proud of him, but chose to ignore his happiness. He wanted to join either Presidency College or St. Xavier’s College, Calcutta, with Physics as his major. We cursed him for his choice and called him dumb for talking rubbish. We forced him to choose Engineering as we wanted our son to be an engineer and start earning money. But now I know that he is a pure Arts student. If we had allowed him to take English, he would have been happy. He used to write a diary; I do not know whether he still writes or not. Once I happened to read it. It was in Bengali, and looking at the poems he had written, I was amazed. How could a fifteen years old guy think so deeply? His ideas about secularism, religion, woman power, gender issues, transgender issues, call girls and other issues were so insightful.

Anyway, the drama started when we got internet at home. I caught him watching a pornographic movie one day. We were both embarrassed, but I was shocked that it was between two guys! I tried my best to make myself calm. It was just before his +2 final examinations, so I asked him to concentrate more on studies. But by then I had already understood that my son is “different”. I could feel that he wanted to tell me something, but at home, my husband and I had made the atmosphere too tough for him to come out and declare himself as gay. I was scared of the word “gay”. What if others got to know that my son is gay, what if society did something to him? I found him crying one day in his room, but I failed to understand him. Neither me nor my husband said, “Do not cry, we are here”. That’s our failure as parents.

When he was in his 1st year of Engineering, I noticed he was very happy. I had never seen him that happy since the day of the slap almost ten years ago. I asked one of his cousins, who used to be very close to him, to talk to him. He was always scared of talking to me or his father because other than fulfilling his childhood demands of getting him toys, we always said “no” to him. After a month, one day one of his friends came and told me, “Aunty, Tatai thinks he is in love” and before that I saw him chatting on Yahoo messenger. The minute we would enter his room, he would minimize the chat window. And then one day, while snooping on his mobile phone, I saw a message from a guy stating, “Waiting for your call, darling”. I think I began to understand him more than ever before, but chose to be silent despite seeing all this. So my reply was “Who is the guy? Is he older or younger than him?” Tatai was shocked and cried in fear, and again I chose the same line, “concentrate more on your studies”. He kept saying, “I am gay”, but I pretended to not hear him.

I do not complain about my son at all, but he is not outspoken when he needs to communicate his needs or issues. He is too shy to express himself. He doesn’t complain much, and tries his best to be happy with whatever he has. I do not blame him; perhaps we never allowed him to speak out and that became a habit. Or this might just be his reserved nature. So, after a year of his coming out to me, I understood something had gone terribly wrong with his life, but he chose to be silent about it with us. Eventually, I learned from his cousin that the other guy had left him. I was so happy. Yes, happy! I thought this might prompt him to return to what I considered normal. To help things along, at home, we started bashing homosexuals in front of him. But we did not understand that our act of disowning homosexuals tore him apart.

In the meantime, he had become close to one his female classmates, and we all liked her. We praised her excessively in front of him and literally forced him to be close with her! Later, we discovered that she was going through a breakup and Tatai was comforting her, and taking care of her. He made us understand that when he needed our help, we had neither helped not comforted him.

So though we were expecting the outburst, we were in denial. Silently he was making himself ready to leave home. For the first time he went to Pune for his 3rd year internship and that was the beginning. He decided against the job he was offered through on-campus interviews and went to Pune instead, to join the lab he had been working at during his 3rd year internship.

In 2008 he went to Bangalore for another internship, and was excited about Pune. We were running out of time and were desperate to stop him from going to Pune, as we feared him going out of our control and choosing to fully embrace a gay life. But he was determined and bold. On the day after his final year exams, he packed everything and left home. While leaving, he left me a big letter, and in that letter he opened his heart. After reading that letter, I understood. As parents we had crushed our child’s dream. We had wrung him dry from the inside and then buried all his dreams. I felt that whatever he had written in the letter was right. He asked me many questions, and I did not have answers to any of them. But then other than crying, I had very little to do. I asked myself why we did not kill him immediately after his birth, what is the need of keeping a child alive where he is not allowed to do anything he wants. He told me how much he had tried to make us happy, had tried his best to fall in love with girls, and he named all the girls he thought he was dating. I spoke each of them and the uniform feedback I got went thus: “A person like Tatai is hard to find. He is gay, but, above all, he is a human being and a good human being, so we had to accept him.”

And, since then, I started reading more about homosexuality. When he decided to move to Bangalore with a guy he was in a relationship with, he fought with his father, and his father called him a “homo” instead of calling him by his name, and said wrong things against the other guy. He came home just for a week, and the day before he left for Bangalore, for the first time in his life I saw him getting angry. All of his frustrations came out on that day. He cried, he shouted, he broke everything he had, and that lasted for hours. The only question he asked was, “Why can’t you accept me the way I am?” Seeing him we understood again how painful it was for him not to be accepted by his parents. My husband and I had dated each other for nine years before we got married. Everyone was against that marriage, but we fought against all the odds to get married. We asked ourselves whether we could survive in a situation where we were not allowed to be ourselves. And the answer was no. After this reflect, we decided not to stick to our own prejudice anymore.

My son is better than many of his peers. Today when I look around, I find him different from others. And I am sincerely thankful to god for making him different. When he moved to Chennai from Bangalore, I felt something had gone terribly wrong for otherwise he would never have left Bangalore. And this time I was not happy, and did not want to make the same mistake I had made before. I went to Chennai within two months to see him, to comfort him. But his assessment amazed me. I do not think that after a breakup, I could be in touch with my ex-boyfriend as if nothing had happened. When I asked him about the reason of their breakup, he said, “If two people cannot get along, people often tend to blame one of them, or both of them, when the fact is they just couldn’t walk along together on the same path, and decided to break up, without destroying their love for each other. We should not find any reason or logic. It’s our decision and promise me ma that you will keep maintaining a healthy relationship with him the way you used to. He is a very good person.”

I finally understood that my little son who used to shout at the crows, play with the puppies, and save his fish to feed the stray dogs, had become mature. We made a mistake while bringing him up, but not only did he understand us, but gave us his selfless and unconditional love, which makes me so proud. As a mother I should have taught myself how to love my child the way he is, but I did not.

Now after reading articles and talking to others, I have decided to stand by him against all the odds. Whenever someone talks rubbish against homosexuals, I protest. I ask them to read more on homosexuality before commenting. With his calmness, determination and good nature, Tatai made many of us understand that homosexuals are as normal as heterosexuals. There is no room for hatred.

I sincerely thank Good as You for providing me a platform like this, where I can hear other Tatai-s, who are equally good or better than many of us and fought or have been fighting against all the odds to live with “pride”. And I am sure your pride can never be snatched away from you if you chose to be yourselves.

-with love to all of you.

Orinam notes:
1. An earlier version of this essay appeared on the online forum of Good As You, Bangalore, and has been re-published on Orinam with consent.
2. Thanks to volunteer Sami for editorial support

The first version of this essay was written in 1988: it evolved over the ’90s and was shared on queer Indian mailing lists in 1999.

Queer Madras, and sundry musings on sexuality
True, if you scout the city with the eye of an amateur ornithologist looking for a distinct subspecies called the homosexual, you are likely to conclude that it’s a rare bird or at least an elusive one. There are no bars or yuppified clubs in whose smoky recesses gay-identified men gather for an evening of dancing or cruising. Then again, Madras is hardly as exuberant as Bombay or Bangalore to begin with.

What I would include under the rubric of queerness is more subtle and far more pervasive than any institutionalized lesbian or gay identity. It’s like those flakes of tomato pulp nearly dissolved in steaming peppery Madras rasam, lurking below the surface, gratifyingly tasty yet barely palpable, and threatening to vanish if you attempt to define them or pick them out from the matrix of which they are a part and which they help constitute.

Some recollections.

All the schools and colleges I attended in Madras had queerness so amply represented that for the longest time I firmly believed that the Indian Kinsey Zero was a mythical creature. The Catholic boys school: where the gorgeous Malayali boy in my French class missed no opportunity to make salacious body contact and out of whose notoriously clumsy hands the pen would invariably fall into my lap, affording him scope for a leisurely feel.

Even that arts-and-science college that was the bastion of Mylapore middle class conventionality may have been straight-laced but was anything but straight. Encounters between day-scholars and hostelites were all too frequent, eroticised by a sense of otherness in both parties and enacted in late afternoons in decrepit hostel rooms with windows wide open, as the coconut fronds rustled in conspiratorial bemusement.

The hip rival college west of Gemini was no repository of heterosexual virtue either. A friend and study-partner resided in its hostel: this fellow was plenty smart, witty, a debating team rival, and big crush of mine. On one particularly memorable occasion after we had finished taking an competitive exam practice test in his room, he pulled out his stack of straight porn to show me, a common gesture of male bonding. Of the momentary wordless debate that ensued on the issue of who would initiate what with whom, I fondly recall there were two winners…

Inter-collegiate literary, music and art competitions, especially those in which out-of-town colleges would participate, were incubators for sexual exploration. It was in one such event at a co-ed college that I met the woman with whom I was to have my first “all the way” experience, one that left me starry eyed and gazing vacantly into space weeks after she was long gone. The intercollegiate festival of a prominent engineering college had immensely popular light and Western music competitions to which the hip crowds thronged while the more paavam-fied junata stood around the periphery in their rubber chappals and gaped at the unabashed revelry. Drawn to one such event by the hype, but finding myself out of place in both of these demographic strata, I opted instead for a walk through the campus woods, where, having left behind the crowds and the smattering of boy-girl couples making out or getting stoned behind sundry bushes, I chanced upon a vigorous scene of what the French describe so delicately as soixante-neuf, involving, yup, two guys who were audibly having the time of their lives.

But queerness wasn’t confined to the classrooms and grounds of academic institutions in Madras. The PTC buses, especially the 23A and 4G routes that serviced several colleges, packed in warm horny bodies like vegetables in aviyal stew. As the guys huddled and jostled in clumps to letch at the gals yonder, displays of homosocial bonding slid seamlessly into sexualized contact, all ostensibly catalysed by the sight of one “deadly babe, macchi” or the other. Tales of nocturnal travel on Thiruvalluvar inter-state buses are beyond the scope of this article…

How can I forget the venerable music auditorium, where, at an evening concert during the 1984 December cutcheri season, I was groped by an elderly gentleman in a fine pattu veshti (silk dhoti) as his wife sat on the other side resplendent in Kanjivaram sari and oversized nose stud, blissfully unaware of what her husband was up to as she noisily and inaccurately kept time to the ongoing keertanam.

As dusk fell on the corporation playground opposite the park on Venkatanarayana Road in T Nagar, bodybuilders would trickle in to pump iron and occasionally more. At the now defunct music school operating out of a dinky garage near GN Chetty Road: while young girls were sent to acquire credentials that would enhance their future marriageability, the boys usually went of their own accord, and not a few lingered after the school closed for the evening, the mridangams and violins were stacked away and the lights turned off.

I remember the strip mall in Besant Nagar where, on one of my visits home in 1995, a former classmate whom I was meeting after a long time proceeded to demonstrate his recently acquired skills at seducing even the straightest of guys. As I looked on in wonderment, he licked his lips, fluttered his eyelashes, ground his hips, and girded his loins as he minced over to a strapping specimen of Mallu masculinity, gave him a deliberate once-over that said it all, and walked on forward and around the block. In moments, the cruisee stubbed out his cigarette, glanced furtively around, and hastened to catch up with my friend. That was the last I saw of them that evening.

The more cynical or jaded reader might inquire: what relevance do these admittedly lurid anecdotes have to our contemporary (1990s) discourses on queer identities and movements in India? Everything, in my opinion. Bear with me as I detail my argument. See, some people would be wont to dismiss the above examples as opportunistic or situational homosexual behavior that “regular” heterosexual guys would readily engage in when testosterone surged and female companionship was unavailable. To yet others, these instances would illustrate the tyranny of a society that invisibilizes gay people and allows them only such fleeting encounters devoid of emotional substance. Both these views may be partially correct, but, in my opinion, are overly simplistic as they refuse to acknowledge the inherent complexity and fluidity of desire.

Mixed in there with the libidinous teenagers and adults are individuals stuck in unhappy marriages, some male “friends” whose relationships remain invisible to most of the rest of society, not to mention the single women who deliberately acquired enough educational or professional credentials that they made themselves over-qualified for marriage in the eyes of prospective in-laws. Some of these “spinsters” live with their parents. No questions are asked about their sexual lives, of course, because it is assumed that women have no sexual desires, only sexual duties. Even parents who know what their daughters really want would prefer not to know.

There are untold tales of boys from conservative families who choose the spiritual track, sometimes leaving their homes to join ashrams or becoming vadhyars/pujaris because these options are queer enough in their unconventionality that they can allow them to escape the trappings of heterosexual marriage.

There also tales of men and woman who have unquestioningly acceded to their wishes of family and society and are not too unhappy with their heterosexual lives, but may have chosen other options had they been available.

Sure, we need gay and lesbian people to come out and identify as such, gaining acceptance within their milieux. But what about the countless others whose sexualities are more complex or fluid? By subscribing to the rigid binarism of sexual orientation most often prevalent in gay rights discourses, we deny some of the richness of human erotic experience. We also run the risk of pathologizing sexual orientation by presenting gays and lesbians as that minority that are only “that way” because they could not help it. While intending to elicit sympathy for their cause, such “born that way” arguments only serve to distance gays from the rest of society. They shove the bisexuals into one of two closets and further vitiate bipartisan politics.

Such rigid identity politics also have serious public health implications – HIV/AIDS awareness schemes that only target gay-identified men are going to exclude a large subset of the population that is not exclusively homosexual or is not gay-identified.

I am pleading for a more inclusive movement that recognizes the heterogeneity within our communities, that instead of creating “us” versus “them” polarities that only alienate, points out that some of us are also them, some of them are also us. A movement that challenges the gender inequality and heterosexism that’s at the root of not just homophobia but also institutionalized misogyny – brideburning, domestic abuse and rape. A movement founded on the premise that we have the right to choose who we love, and that it does not matter if we are guided by our hearts or politics or DNA.

Any takers?

To reach the author, please leave a comment on the Orinam website.

It is a world of names, of categories. People tend to put a label on everything they encounter, to make it fit into their limited understanding and background, and then forget it. It is also a world of change. But love can never be categorized or changed.

I loved my cousin brother Raghu*. I liked to think I was the one in the family he was closest to, the one he would confide in, seek advice from.

Well, not close enough, evidently.

One morning, three years ago, Raghu called me on the telephone. Without preliminaries, he announced to me that he loved men, not women, and hung up just as abruptly. This, just weeks after he had become father to a baby boy, and a year or so after his marriage.

Later that day, Raghu, all of 26, ended his life in the south Madras flat where he and his family lived.

I wish I could say I had suspected something like this was brewing when he made that call to me, the call that was to be our last conversation. I hadn’t.

Love and forgiveness. I wrestle with these each day. Through love, one can overlook others’ faults, however significant they may be. Through forgiveness, one seeks peace.

Raghu, I wish I could forgive you easily for ending your life, leaving your wife and infant son behind, casualties of the choices you made. Forgiving you remains a struggle, though I try. Questions race through my mind all the time. Why could you not have thought about your preferences beforehand, and avoided drawing her into your life? Did we, as a family, make it so difficult for you to admit your different orientation? Or, was it your desire to conform, to not hurt your parents, that drove you to consent for marriage in the first place? What of the hurt that engulfed everyone when you chose to depart?

Raghu, wherever you may be now, I still love you, my brother. Your difference did not matter to me then, nor does it now. I wish you happiness wherever you may be. And I continue to try to forgive.

To the readers of this note, I ask that you live and let live. If you have a sibling, child, friend or other loved one who has a different orientation, please do not let this difference come in the way of your love for them.

And if you are yourself differently oriented from the so-called mainstream sexuality, be strong in your convictions. Going against family expectations may cause some grief, but that is nothing compared to the devastation resulting from the choices that Raghu – and I fear there have been many like him through the ages – felt compelled to make.

*name changed

This piece is based on a note submitted by an Orinam reader, and is being posted on Sept 10, World Suicide Prevention Day. If you or someone you know is depressed or suicidal, please seek help. Some crisis support resources are here.

“It’s a great day for prejudice and inhumanity, and a bad day for law and love”, said celebrated writer Vikram Seth of the Supreme Court 377 judgement, pronounced on Dec 11, 2013.  The SC judgement set aside the Delhi High Court’s 2009 Naz Foundation ruling, and effectively recriminalized LGBT people and those heterosexuals whose physical expression of love was deemed to be ‘against the order of nature’. It was a travesty of justice and a blow to the constitutional rights that the highest court in the land is supposed to uphold. The SC verdict has provoked sharp criticism and worldwide protests.

What did you, as a lesbian, gay, bi, trans, queer, questioning person, or heterosexual ally, parent, sibling, or friend, feel when you got news of this verdict? Send us a few or many lines, prose or poetry, on what that day and the succeeding ones were like for you and/or someone you know and love.

You may post as responses on this thread. You will still retain copyright and the freedom to publish on other blogs or print/online media, though we’d appreciate a reference to Orinam or a trackback to this link.

To get an idea of the kinds of responses we look forward to, check out the thread titled “Once Upon a Time: Fairy Tales for the Queer Desi“

Arun Mirchandani

I was eight years old. The year 1990. I picked up a bollywood film magazine that my mother loved reading. On the cover of ‘Movie’ were Govinda and Chunky Pandey. So good-looking they were, clad in denim, all rugged and masculine. My heart skipped a beat. That was the first time in my life I felt attraction. It was such a beautiful feeling. I wasn’t scared. My mom had always told me to follow my heart. I thought of that feeling during that fleeting moment as natural. In no way did I feel like I was going against the order of anything. My religion, my parents, my moral science teacher – everybody told me to love, not to hate and I was doing just that. Loving. Loving myself, loving the fact that I felt the way I felt, loving life at that young age with the discovery of a new feeling every day.

My brother and I fought a lot as kids. Like most boys our age, we ended up having wrestling matches every other day. When I was eleven, we were having one of those days. Both of us screaming, wrestling each other, trying to pin the other to the floor of the bed. An older cousin who happened to be at home at the same time, walked into our room and said, ‘Will the two of you stop behaving like homosexuals!’ My brother and I stopped. Not because we were hurt by what our cousin had said. We were curious. We didn’t know what homosexual meant. My cousin was irritated when he said what he said, the tone condescending. It was obvious to my brother and I that being a homosexual seemed like a bad thing. Since in the early 90′s we didn’t have access to the internet, we quickly pulled our encyclopedias and began reading up on homosexuality. We were really young and were quite clueless of what a lot of the big words being used meant. But I quickly understood that if you were attracted to the same sex as you are, you were termed homosexual. My heart sank. I quickly realised that the encyclopedia was talking about me. I liked the feeling when my heart skipped a beat, not when it sank. In a fraction of a second, I had now become aware that there was no place for me in the social construct of ‘normalcy’. I was what people referred to as abnormal. From thereon began a conflict with myself that lasted right from the age of eleven till the age of eighteen.

I spent years in denial of my true sexual orientation. I thought this was a phase and it would go away. But it didn’t. For some reason, I believed that god wouldn’t want for me to be like this, so I prayed for it to go away. Surprisingly, god didn’t listen either. All my conversations with friends revolved around how attracted I was to girls my age. I thought if I called myself a heterosexual several times aloud, maybe my heart and mind would believe it. I was wrong then too. I was so scared. I had never felt that scared my entire life, not even the time I was robbed at knife-point. The fear I felt inside soon became visible to everybody. I became an easy target for bullies at school. I was beat up and called names because my classmates knew I felt weak. I thought I deserved to be treated like that because I was different. Family just saw me as an under-confident nervous child. ‘He will grow out of it,’ they used to say. And what did I do? I continued putting up a facade of being happy. The truth was I wanted out – I wanted out of school, out of home, out of life. For three whole years, I spent every single day thinking of ways to kill myself. When I look back, I wonder how I kept all of that bottled up for so many years.

At 18, I finally came out to myself. Somebody said to me, ‘Love yourself for who you are, that’s when everybody else will start loving you.’ That was the turning point in my life. I realized that homosexuality was not unnatural. I was born this way and the only choice I had now made was to be honest to myself. That was it.

Why am I narrating all of this?

A lot of my friends are parents to young kids who range in the age group of 0 months to five years. If you are a parent of young child living in India, I ask you, would you like your son or daughter to go through what I went through? When I came out to my mother at the age of 27, the first thing she said to me was, ‘I feel terrible that you had to fight that entire battle on your own. I wish I knew.’ My mother would have known if society didn’t force me to think I was abnormal. Conceptions about what is right or wrong are unfortunately determined by society. Do you think your child will feel comfortable coming out to you in a country that calls homosexuality a crime? What I went through in my adolescence is just a small sample of what millions of gay kids around the world go through. Confusion, bullying, harassment for no fault of their own. Trust me when I say this – gay people are born gay, they do not choose to be gay.

The next time you wonder, ‘how does section 377 impact you since you are not a homosexual,’ remember that in a population of 1.2 billion people, if 10% of the population is gay, I could be your son, your daughter, your brother, your sister, your friend. Voice out against section 377! Give your kids the future they deserve, the choice to be who they really are!

It has been a while now, since ‘My Bisexual Story’ was published. A lot has happened in that time.

The first question I was asked was how my parents reacted. Well, they did not. They looked my way and went back to their work. My sexuality – same as the fact that I have eaten beef – is news every time I mention it. My parents live in denial.

I have not dated any girl yet, so I am exempt from any biphobia they may have. Although, their reactions have never been good even when I dated boys. They would rather I didn’t date at all. However, their disapproval have never been much of an obstacle in my life. As long as I know that something is right, I do it anyway. Most times, they get used to it.

The second question was rather hilarious. My friend thought that bisexuals need to have one male and one female lover simultaneously. So, he kept asking me if I wanted a girlfriend, even though I kept saying that I already had a boyfriend. It might explain why people tend to think that bisexuals are promiscuous and unfaithful.

I told him that I don’t need to have a girlfriend and a boyfriend simultaneously. That’s the same as having two boyfriends or two girlfriends.

Another well-meaning friend asked me if I have decided what I will ultimately become, heterosexual or homosexual – Will I marry a man or a woman? A third friend had simply enquired, “Bisexual? Do you mean you are confused?” No, bisexuality is not a state of transition or confusion. It simply means that as long as you are within the gender binary, I do not care about what is in your pants.

People somehow tend to assume that the sex of potential lovers matter to bisexuals – that it matters if it is a man or a woman, so we want one of each. Or, it matters if it is a man or a woman that we’re attracted to, so we have to choose between the two.

The reality is the opposite. If we find someone attractive, we find them attractive. Their sex does not matter. If I fall in love with a man, I will marry a man. If I fall in love with a woman, I will marry a woman. No matter whom I marry, I will still have crushes on attractive female and male actors. So, my sexual orientation won’t change.

Another common misconception about me, personally, is that I lean more towards men than women. I have only ever dated men, yes; but hello, I was closeted! I found girls attractive all the time. I found boys attractive all the time. So, I dated the boys because I was pretending to be straight.

Also, I do not openly express my attraction towards girls, but I express my attraction towards boys very openly to my friends. That is because I am still getting comfortable with my sexual identity, and I don’t know how people will react if I do the former, and I don’t know how comfortable I will be with their reaction. I’m easing myself in.

Overall, the reactions to ‘My Bisexual Story’ have been overwhelmingly positive. People I thought I knew to be biphobic, were congratulating me and praising my article. Many others did not say anything at all. That’s okay. I was expecting to be shunned and I was not. People treated me the same, which was all I wanted. I am the same person after all. Normality is a privilege.

Then, I met my old friend. Well, what do I say about her. I entered the closet because of the way people treated her. It was not when people gossiped about her and another girl – I would gossip the same way if it was her and another boy. We were in middle school. We gossiped about everything under the sun – it was when our warden beat her and her friend ruthlessly with a ruler, took them to the principal’s office, and told them that they should get checked for sexually transmitted diseases*.

I was horrified. I realized that there was something bad about this, that it was different from dating a boy. For the first time, I saw how the world sees bisexuality. I saw the hatred and the phobia. And I tiptoed into the closet, shut myself in, resolving to stay there forever. So, yes, I only dated boys and stifled all my desire for girls – at least in public. I even tried to convince myself that I was not bisexual for as long as I could.

I met my old friend during my summer vacation and told her that it was great to be out. Because the people who matter, who are the closest to you, see you for who you are anyway. I told her about the response I got after I came out. She replied, “Yes, you stay in the UK. If I come out now, oh my god, the reaction I will get… It will be the hottest topic of discussion at my university.”

Of course. Privilege is invisible indeed.

If I had come out while I was studying in Kolkata, I would have no friends. No one would be my friend, forget about getting close enough to me to accept it. And the boys in my class. Ha. They would have a field day with that information. I would be bullied, harassed, friendless and miserable. The teachers would know too and it would be pure purgatory.

Am I brave? Maybe. Maybe not. Am I lucky? Definitely.

I came out when I was miles away from the people who could react the most negatively. I came out when their reaction did not matter: I was in a new country, with a new life. If they reacted badly, I would cut them off. I came out when I did not need their acceptance anymore.

Is UK a perfect place for LGBT+ people? No. Is it better than India for LGBT+ people? Definitely.

My suggestion to my friend and other bisexual or LGBT+ people in Kolkata would be to get involved with the LGBT+ scene there. Get to know the people; go to the events. You’ll realize how okay it is and how not-alone you are. I was surprised to find Orinam, an Indian site for LGBT+ people. I was surprised to know that we have pride marches in India. I was really surprised to know that we have pride marches in Kolkata! I will march proudly if it ever coincides with my summer vacation.

There are resources for the LGBT+ in India; you will find them when you seek them.

I may have never publicly come out if I had not joined my University’s LGBT+ Society and met other LGBT+ people. Knowing, meeting and talking to other LGBT+ people makes it a lot more okay. It lets you know that you are not alone, and that you are not a weirdo for loving who you love.

Of course, everything is not bright and sunny outside the closet, even in the West. The more I reclaim my identity as a bisexual individual, the more I realize how heavily prejudiced the world is against bisexuality. Apparently, bisexuals are one of the most invisible and least understood among the LGBT+ spectrum. There are many stereotypes and misconceptions against bisexual people, sometimes even in the gay community.

In a way, I’m glad that I didn’t know anything about bisexuality as a child. That way, to me, bisexual was whatever I was. Bisexuals were into literature and hip hop, classical music and foreign language movies. Bisexuals had male and female just-friends, and male and female more-than-friends. Bisexuals idealized love and never settled for anything lesser. Bisexuals loved to dance.

I’m glad I wasn’t exposed to the knowledge of bisexuality that is out there in the wider world. Knowing about those prejudices might have made the coming out process that much tougher and I might have been more prone to self-hate. Remember that I cried for two hours when I first came out? That was only from knowing that people considered bisexuality ‘perverse’ – not ‘greedy,’ ‘promiscuous,’ ‘confused,’ ‘unreal,’ ‘attention-seeking’ and everything else that everyone thinks.

But it is okay. We are society. Each one of us. Society will change if we demand it. All we have to do is talk. Nothing shelters prejudice better than a cloak of silence. So, talk – dispel that prejudice with your words like bullets through ignorant minds. Tell the world your story.  Show them that phobia is ignorance. And if ignorant people have nothing nice to say, maybe they should not contribute to conversations that shape so many of our lives. Show them that their phobia is shameful; our sexual orientation is cause of great pride.

Orinam’s note: For more information on bisexuality, see the Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ) developed by the soci.bi Usenet group, available in English and தமிழ் (Tamil) on Orinam.

 Shankar Ganesh

I’ll begin by quoting Jonathan Rodrigues who wrote this piece on suicide in The Hindu:

“Many teenagers die of failure of what I would call an ‘attempt to threaten suicide.’ Their main intention is to deliver a message or a threat demanding attention and love, but they eventually succumb to the tortures they force on their bodies. Suicidal behaviour whether attempted or threatened must be taken seriously and dealt with maturely. It should not be treated as taboo anymore. There is need for discussing the concept of suicide in schools and colleges.”

I come from Tuticorin, India. Growing up, I didn’t know of any gay people, let alone role models. I wasn’t out when I was in high school, but I got bullied for a host of other reasons. During my final years there, I felt lonely and aloof and  I sat through the day, imagining things to write about when I was at home. Computers were my escape from reality. I wrote about technology. I had a personal blog. I connected with tech enthusiasts from across the world. Although my life then was filled with purpose, I still felt alienated as I couldn’t find anyone like me in school. By the time I was done with high school, the awareness of my sexuality had existed in me for years and I was able to fully understand and accept my identity. I thought I was all set for the life ahead of me.

And then I moved out of my town to go to college. The first two years were fine. I made good friends along the way. Then, I fell in love with someone straight and that ripped my heart apart. That was my first real taste of rejection and it was painful emotionally and physically. At that age, love that isn’t reciprocal can make you want to kill yourself. I fell into depression in my last two years of college.

I thought I spent those years wandering around doing nothing, but in hindsight, I actually did a ton of things to put myself back together. I thought I’d share them with you, because you might find them useful when the going gets tough.

• I built a personal support system. I’ve never had trouble finding friends (despite my own bouts of loneliness in both high school and college). By the time I finished college, I was out to around 20 people, including my Dad. I did not plan on building such a circle, but it happened. I had a straight roommate who was also my 4 AM counselor. I had a classmate who was aware of my sexuality and offered reassuring advice when I needed it. Whenever I visited home, there was a childhood friend who stood by me. A lot of others were always there for me no matter what. I actually have a WhatsApp group for my best friends and that’s my go-to place for venting. I know it seems like overkill, and I am sure I’ve taken too much of their time, but truth be told, I wouldn’t have survived if they hadn’t listened to me. Trust me: you’ll also find people like them whose support is priceless.

• I jumped at every chance I got to socialize. Until college, I always kept to myself, and there’s nothing I enjoyed more than being alone and contemplating random things. But after my depression episode began, every time I got invited to hangout with my friends, I forced myself to go. I made sure I wasn’t alone and that helped me put off suicide. The idea is to surround yourself with people you love, and trick your brain from going down that road.

• I sought professional help. Though I tried everything I could, sometimes things went way out of control. I’d be depressed one day but feel deeply elated the next and I wondered if I was doing irreparable damage to my mental health. Just being with friends and leaning on them wasn’t enough, so I found an LGBT-friendly counselor in Chennai and sought her help. Although she didn’t have a magic wand, her advice helped and she connected me with organizations in the city that worked on LGBT issues.

• I read ‘It Gets Better.’ The book had real-life accounts of LGBT people from across the world. Granted, I’ve read a lot about queer issues online, but there’s something that stood out among the anecdotes in the book: ‘it doesn’t get better; you get stronger.’ I couldn’t agree more. I don’t think there was a huge change in public perception in India of LGBT issues; what changed was me. I’ve grown stronger. You’re might encounter homophobic laws like 377, but you’ll grow a thick skin and learn to deal with hate like I did. Just remember: what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger

(On a side note: if you’re a parent or a friend of someone who is constantly feeling suicidal, I urge you to read this piece from March 2013 that was published in The Hindu. The real reasons why people try to do what they do, are clearly laid out in this article. I also suggest reading this comic on depression by Hyperbole and a Half because that I am sure it will resonate with you).

Orinam editors’ note: This is one of a series of articles on Orinam that discuss living and coping with depression. Also see Pink Me’s essay No Matter What Happens, and Vinodhan’s essays Storms Without Warnings and Spells and Charms.  For readers who would like to learn more about coping with depression, a guide on mental health for LGBT people developed by Ireland’s Health Service Executive mental health project is available here. Additional resources are being developed by Orinam and will soon be available here.

In this hangout, some of Orinam’s members who are gay, talk about their respective journeys of realizing and accepting their sexuality and their coming out stories.

“அம்மா-அப்பா, அனுமார் கோவில், சைதாப்பேட்டை, சுவாமி விவேகானந்தர், சினிமா போஸ்டர், சின்ன வீடு, முதற் காதல், முடிவில்லா பயணங்கள்.”

இந்த ஹங்அவுட்டில் ஓரினம் அமைப்பை சேர்ந்த சில தன்பாலீர்ப்பு கொண்ட அங்கத்தினர்கள், தாங்கள் எப்படி தங்கள் பாலீர்ப்பை உணர்ந்து, ஏற்றுக்கொண்டார்கள் என்பதை பற்றியும், தங்களின் வெளியே வந்த அனுபவங்களையும் பற்றியும் பேசுகிறார்கள்.

In this hangout, some of Orinam’s members who are gay talk about how they dealt with their family members post-coming out (Language: Tamil)

இந்த ஹங்அவுட்டில் ஓரினம் அமைப்பை சேர்ந்த சில தன்பாலீர்ப்பு கொண்ட அங்கத்தினர்கள், தங்கள் குடும்பத்த்தினரை சமாளித்த அனுபவங்களை பற்றி பேசுகிறார்கள்.

பகுதி 1/Part 1:

பகுதி 2/Part 2:

On the 16^th of February, the 2014 Harvard India Conference featured, for the first time in its history, a panel discussion LGBT Rights in India: The Way Forward featuring community spokespersons and activists based in India and the US. Orinam is pleased to bring you the first in what will be hopefully a series of talks from this panel.

Apphia Kumar,  representing young Indian LGBT voices and the bisexual community, writes “It always humbles me to have these opportunities to speak up and reminds me how important my voice is, as a bisexual Indian woman, and that there is hope for things to get better for us and for future generations.”

Image credit: Robyn Ochs

Please click to listen to her talk, and read the transcript below:

“My experience as an advocate for the Indian LGBT community is something that came about by way of necessity and I have had to learn on the job. Like almost every other young LGBT person my age, I grew up thinking that I was the only queer in the country. I grew up in a predominantly South Indian and very Christian home and in a city with no visible LGBT community, support system or allies. In the small world around me, no one was queer as far as I knew, we didn’t talk about sex or sexual orientation and when I tried asking my parents to send me to a therapist because I thought there was something wrong with me, they refused.

It took me over four years, a South African roommate in Malaysia, four seasons of The L Word, a lot of articles, a few emails from Robyn Ochs – an amazing bi activist from Boston – an online conversation with Siddharth Narrain and the courage to show up at a meetup by ‘Good as You, Bangalore’ where I met him and a group of men who didn’t identify as straight either, for the first time in my life. Soon after that, Bangalore had its first Pride and at it, I – like many others – experienced a profound sense of liberation and empowerment. So I was being called a lesbian… that made me even more determined to correct people and create a space for me as a bisexual. If you were going to give me a label, give me the right one. It finally felt like it was okay to be exactly who I am.

In 2009, my father was diagnosed with cancer and I had to move back home, to Pune – which isn’t a big metro city. After a couple of months back home, I missed being a part of a community that knew exactly who I was and accepted me unconditionally. On a trip back to Bangalore, I mentioned this to Siddharth and another brilliant activist – they both heard me out and then told me that if I wanted things to change, I had to do something about it myself. That’s what they all did. Siddharth introduced me to someone from Pune who had just moved to Bangalore. He told me that though there wasn’t any ‘visible community’, there were a few of his friends he could put me in touch with. I jumped at the opportunity, but wanted to do more. With the few resources I had available to me at the time, by way of my job in the entertainment industry and the internet, I managed to get a venue to open it’s doors exclusively to LGBT people for one night. We had 55 people show up the first night, simply looking for a safe space to socialize in. They were some of the warmest and nicest people I’d ever met, and though they didn’t know me at all we had an automatic sense of belonging. Even the staff at the venue were pleasantly surprised and felt a sense of community among us.

With one event every month for about three years, we grew consistently to over a community of 400 people who identified as LGBT or were allies. I ensured that we were a family friendly space, very aware of the younger crowd that were reaching out and we made it a point to celebrate every coming out like it was a big birthday party. From connections made here, emerged a digital monthly magazine, called The Queer Chronicle and a local support group for Marathi speaking queer men. The fact that we were doing all of this without any major financial backing or bigger NGO, encouraged us even though we had our share of opposition.

As we continued to keep doing the events, I realized that a lot of the people who showed up also wanted to talk about issues they were having – with their families, with their friends, at work, with coming out or even figuring out their own identities. I arranged one on one meeting with them and group meets for those who wanted to – but we always had to find a coffee shop or a restaurant to meet at. There was no safe space for the other important conversations that were needed to be had.

Unfortunately, I did not know then, and still don’t know how to create a permanent safe space. A few conversations with a local women’s rights activist told me that there was a lot of paperwork and fundraising I would have to do, to make that happen and almost no resources I could turn to. Even though I continued being a visible vocal advocate, I felt that the community I represented, needed me to be doing more and I simply did not know how to cater to that need.

At some point in the beginning of 2010, I was invited to a conference in Bombay, of LGBT activists from all across India. I was excited to be a part of that event, but what I experienced startled me and was very disappointing. We were only two out bisexual women at that event and the other person was a volunteer at that event. When discussing issues, and when votes were called for, I couldn’t vote because I was there as an independent and did not belong to a registered organization. At one point I asked the activists representing supposed bi-inclusive groups to help and would anyone please take a vote as a bi representative. That was the only time that the entire room was completely silent. Nobody really wanted to associate themselves with us, even though almost all of their mission statements include the word bisexual. After that incident, I started an online support group for Indian bisexuals across the country, along with the amazing Sonal Giani. The response to BOZ was incredible – within an hour of launching, we had 62 people join up and start talking about how incredible it was to finally have a safe space focused on bi issues, and to connect with a larger community of people.

I also looked into what it would take to create a permanent space for the change I wanted to bring about. The inspiring people at the core of the LGBT movement were busy doing the best they could in their cities with every waking hour they had and other than corresponding with me via email, there was little they could actually do to help me equip myself with the tools I needed to be more effective. Through my research online, I created a plan for what was needed and got some paperwork put together. In order to get any legal work done, I found out that I needed money I did not have and again found myself falling short and unable to move forward. Around this same time, I got a few emails from people in smaller cities like Pune asking me how I did what I did and how could they do the same. Unfortunately all I could tell them was my experience and not having them myself, I could not equip these other eager voices to become effective leaders in their own communities.

Bi activists Apphia Kumar and Robyn Ochs

As a young advocate for the queer community, I believe that it possible to change this and create a network of young leaders that can radically change the future of equality in India. I am not saying that there is absolutely no one who cares enough to do anything about it. I’m saying that the people who do, do not have the time or resources needed to make the difference. From the work I managed to do in Pune, I know for a fact that even the smallest voice, that has the courage to speak up, be heard and be seen – can make a huge difference to many lives – irrespective of age, gender, economic standing or orientation.If we want to see change on a larger scale, we have to focus on every corner of the country and should not leave anyone behind.

We need to have a solid network of agents of change that are equipped with the right tools, network and support system to do community outreach work all across the country and be effective voices for the Indian LGBT community. Right now, the movement is almost lopsided. The major campaigns and outreach programs are in the major cities and we’re not including the smaller LGBT communities – which infact would benefit from this kind of liaison the most! Instead of us learning what we need to know by trial and error, or surpassing what we might think is beyond our capabilities – we must have a training program for our youth that want to be LGBT leaders. I believe that this is the only way for us to have well equipped leaders, leading our movement from all across the country and who knows… we might even have them successfully run for election and eventually have someone in parliament speaking up for our equal rights as citizens.

I strongly believe that this has the potential to bring out and equip leaders that the future of the Indian LGBT movement desperately needs, because right now – we are failing a large population of our community and that must change!

And like someone wise once told me – “If you want things to change, you have to do something about it… that’s how we all started.”

Story of X (via Good As You Bangalore, shared with X’s permission)

I am finally ready to share what happened to me last Wednesday… finally I am able to make sure nobody else goes through this kind of agony which I had to go through as a victim in this situation. Yes, I know it’s because article 377 still sits on us as homosexual individuals, who are trying really hard to make a respectable living after coming out of closet to our folks. There are times when we do get lonely and want to meet someone, with complete trust and hope of new possibilities of friendship, companionship, fun or a much serious relationship.

Last couple of weeks my gay profile on a popular gay dating site was followed up by this one guy, and I received numerous request for friendship and dating from him. But luckily I was a bit pre-occupied with a yearly house party planning and preparation, and of course, my work. But finally last Wednesday I was taking a day off after an amazing party and my work, when I again received a request to share my number for a fun date from him, the same afternoon. Without thinking much I invited him over at 4pm to my place in North Bangalore. Finally at 4:15pm he (Shyam) reached my door, after multiple phone calls to guide him with directions to my place. He seemed to be a bit unsettled and said he is from a small town and is new to all this. Just to make him comfortable I offered him a cup of coffee. While we were having coffee in my dining area, he was asking all sorts of weird questions like ( how many guys I have met so far… since when I have been using this dating site… how many dates in a week and all that…) he was talking to me, a bit strangely, as he was hiding his face behind the coffee mug… And I could only see his eyes… Still he seemed to be a bit unsettled and asked if he can smoke. Being a non smoker myself I asked him to move to my balcony while I cleaned up the coffee mug. I stay all alone in this beautiful house, and I try my level best to keep it clean and tidy… So he was complimenting me on the same… but suddenly I heard a knock on my front door. So I washed my hands and went to open the main house door.

To my complete shock, I see three men of roughly 25 to 30yrs age group, flashing their video cameras, and phone cameras at my face. They checked me with my real name and asked what I am doing in my house at that point of time. I felt an immediate surge of horror, of being caught doing something offensive. And as a response to that I thought I should close the house door at once on their face… but then the next very second I realized I don’t want to come across as someone shying away from the media cameras if this footage is ever gonna be telecasted any where… as I have not done any crime which I should be shying away from. So I allowed all these 3 guys to come inside and locked the door myself. Still their cameras where pointed at me and they were trying to make me feel as if I have done something really wrong. They, without my permission inspected both my bedrooms, restrooms and kitchen to finally go to my balcony and pull that date guy (Shyam) by his shirt sleeve. By that time I had already started thinking of worse possibilities.

Close to one year back, all of us users of this popular gay dating site where informed about the TV9 spy operation where they presented couple of gay guys’ profile openly on national television and naming us all as predators from whom the society needs to be at ALERT. So by now I was connecting the dots and it was very clear that they must be from some media bully or spy network, trying to create some content for themselves. I found myself engrossed in the panic attack and a fear that any gay person in this country has to face now, under the shadow of Article 377. If this content is released without my free will, I could imagine the scrutiny which I might have to face professionally or personally with my family and friends. Just in fraction of seconds I could sense that its gonna be a doomed life going forward. I could also imagine how much what really happened will be twisted, which will show me or any other gay guys as social sexual leeches who live undercover life. So I immediately to my defense asked them for their id card and warned them of calling the police. But they said that they have already informed the police and showed me their ID card, which stated that they were from some media content team called cyber square or something like that. I was fearing them so I quickly dialed the number of one of my friend whom I could call in an awkward situation like this one. But only to find that he is taking a short break in Udupi for that week. So I was feeling complete helpless and given to this situation and to these guys. I could also imagine them blackmailing me to pay them heavily for this footage which they have in their possession.

Finally one of the guys showed me a folder which had black and white printout of my profile images and my chat with Shyam, from that dating site. As they say, in situations like these only we can help ourselves, and to my shock, instead of fearing them, I accepted that I am gay and I do have profile on that site and also that Shyam was there to meet me for a date. I also openly said to them on their face that I know that Shyam is part of their team and they all were together trying to catch me helpless in this situation. “ I don’t fear you guys anymore as I am gay and am not ashamed of it. I am not afraid that you will show all this in television as, I am out to my parents and close family and friends. I don’t work for any corporate that I am need to fear losing my job if this video is released openly… So do whatever you want… But since you guys say that you are from some media content team, I am currently only dressed in my vest and my boxer… Why don’t you give me 2 minutes so that I can change into more appropriate clothes and come back to reshoot the entire footage with you all from the start… So that atleast I don’t look inappropriately dressed for a date.” By the time I said all this the smile had returned back on my face for being so strong and taking charge of what was happening.

Yes I did open up to all my close friends gradually in the last 2 yrs – to both my elder brothers in the last 1yr and my parents, just couple of months back. I could only feel happy at that moment for coming out of closet and sharing the real me with people for whom I really care or who matter to me in my life. But I think this all bravery talk like gladiator really turned the dice in my favour. I could see that their energy and tone in their voice had changed. And the smartest one, their leader immediately leaned forward that that they simply wanted to give me a media ALERT “I should not let unknown people inside my house like this”. And they all immediately wrapped up everything and left my house. It was all so quick that I could only see them leaving my main door. Yes they were finally gone and I could finally feel the cold sweat behind my ear.

Recommended Reading: Dealing with Extortion

Trigger alert: descriptions of bullying and abuse.

I. Self

Young boy in profile [Marie Kroyer, image source Wikimedia Commons]

It started thus for me:

During school days, my teachers perceived extra grace in my dance movements and selected me to play the role of the female consort of a male deity in a stage play. They also spared me, as they did with girls, the corporal punishment they freely employed on boys.

Ever since, a series of unconnected events have kept reinforcing that I am different.

Some of these are,

Observing me walk in front of him, my uncle cautioned me to change my gait, lest people call me a ‘lady’.

Classmates started walking beside me mimicking my walk, accompanied with claps and catchy movie songs that described the gait of a young woman, “nadaiya… ithu nadaiya…” and “aiyo … mella nada mella nada … meni ennagum?”

I got called by different female nicknames. And one that tweaked the spelling of my name, Shankari.

Boys in class would re-enact movie sequences treating me as a woman and holding me in an endearing clasp or brutal grip, depending on whether they were playing hero or villain.

While removing stains in my hand, a maternal aunt wondered out loud why my palms were unusually soft.

A boy seated next to me in one of our crowded classrooms called out friends to touch me and feel the softness of my skin. I was touched and rubbed by a number of boys who vehemently agreed with the first one.

Two of my neighbours were irritated with my soft nature, and started hitting me regularly, till I broke down inconsolably one day.

A classmate started interacting with me in an overtly physical manner; nuzzling and teasing my face with his fingers and winking at me. I reacted with ignorance at first, followed by shock, and then with curiosity at what new things he might do. Finally, when I began to like the attention, he pulled away scolding me for not resisting him all these days. That left me thoroughly confused, and thereafter suspicious of the intentions of anyone who showed any signs of intimacy towards me. I was only able to speak to my mother about this twenty-five years after the incident.

My cousins suggested that I join ‘people like me’ who live in groups in some huts nearby.

A male teacher sent shivers down my spine when he subjected to me a sudden unwanted bad touch, and kiss.

The list goes on, but now all these other people have moved on in their lives leaving an indelible mark on me. Strangers still point at me on the road. Recently, a group of boys let out a peculiar sound on seeing me walk by. After the usual shock, I decided I should not let this affect me anymore. I went briskly and sat next to them, as if daring them to touch! You know what happened next?

They all fell silent.

Part II. Incident on a Train

It was a day  I regretted I being at that precise location: the upper berth of an unreserved compartment of Jolarpet Express heading towards Chennai. A vantage point from where I could observe the behavior of those around me.

I was engrossed in a book, as I usually am during train journeys, when I became aware of  intermittent laughter, hustle and bustle around me. The tone of mockery in the voices was all too familiar, and my senses alerted me that something was amiss.

On the floor of the compartment, standing below me, was a short, bulky and dark-complexioned man in his twenties, wearing pants and a shirt, the fingernails on one hand painted a dark red. He was being smothered on all sides by a  group of laughing, jeering men, who addressed him as ‘Bajji’. One of the men said something in his ears in a seemingly endearing tone. Bajji rebuked the man in a way that suggested the man was known to him, and tried to push him away. Only to end up entangled in the arms  and gropes of more men.

What I saw after that was too much to bear. A tall man kept grinding  against Bajji from behind, while holding the latter’s shoulders and simultaneously engaging him in conversation. A few others made comments  that were not  audible in the noise of the moving train. At the next station, a passenger seated below got down, leaving his place vacant. Bajji’s ‘peers’ generously offered the seat to our Bajji. But wait, it was not the vacant seat they offered, but the lap of another man who had occupied it by then. The man behind him firmly  clasped Bajji by his waist, while the man who was nuzzling him called in a man with curly hair to join in the action. This curly-haired man took his position in front of Bajji. Now Bajji was captive, positioned in a such a way that he was imprisoned by male bodies—for I would not like to call them human beings, after witnessing what they next did to him. The man who had Bajji on his lap, tightened his grip around Bajji’s waist. The curly-haired man began squeezing Bajji’s chest. Bajji tried to push those fingers away but his hands were then promptly restrained by another man. It was neither affection nor curiosity. It was utterly cruel abuse!

My own prior experiences of harassment made me feel that Bajji needed help, but multiple thoughts held me back. What if I had misunderstood the situation? How could I, on my own, confront a group of passengers? What if these people were an organized gang of traffickers?

I looked at the co-passengers seated around me. Most were sleeping or completely unconcerned by what was happening.

As I hesitated, mustering the courage to intervene, I waited for a cry from Bajji, an audible confirmation of his distress, so I could also cry out loud and alert people to his predicament. But to my surprise, Bajji mustered a wan smile every time some atrocity was committed on his person. Now and then he would wipe his eyes, as if to prevent tears from rolling down. Perhaps he had learned that crying would only provoke further abuse.

The worst part was yet to come. A loud-voiced bystander asked the men surrounding Bajji what they were doing. One of them replied that they were auctioning Bajji off. A few quoted prices on him, much to the merriment of the group. One of them remarked that the auctioneer could earn a fortune through Bajji. I looked helplessly at Bajji. I noticed that he forced himself to join in the laughter, as if wanting to belong to the group! Perhaps he had been socialized to be manly and face the abuse without shrinking or running away.

The train then reached Arakkonam junction and he asked one of his ‘friends’ to help him get his bag from the luggage rack. A tall man pulled down the bag and handed it over to Bajji who then scurried away.

I am still struck by the violence of the episode.

Do such incidents happen every day? How long will Bajji, and others like him, survive these attacks and insults?

Or, was I over-reacting about something over which no other co-passenger worried?

Why did circumstances place me so close to such a harrowing event?

How should I respond if I were to find myself in such a situation again?

We are pleased to feature this piece on Shankar Ganesh from ‘I am Madras’, a Facebook initiative. Photographer and group owner Raunaq Mangottil describes ‘I am Madras‘ as an effort to “capture, document, archive and showcase the thousand emotions attached to living in a metropolitan city like Chennai.” As part of his ongoing effort to featuring Chennaiites from different walks of life, he says he looks forward to interviewing more members of Chennai’s LGBT community. Kudos to ‘I am Madras’ for this bold initiative, and hearty congratulations to Shankar. The interview below gives you a flavour of his coming out narrative, which will soon be posted on Orinam in Tamil and English.

“I knew I was gay really early on. I can’t pinpoint to an exact time or date, obviously, but I think I knew for sure around 7th or 8th grade. I’m lucky I was exposed to the computers and Internet, and I started reading, blogging before most kids my age even knew blogs existed. I remember looking up the internet to know if there were other people like me. I remember reading articles about gay people getting arrested, and somehow everything just revolved around gay sex, and nobody had an understanding of other issues surrounding sexual orientation.

Sometimes in school and college, my peers bullied me and made fun of me, because of my lack of interest in ‘sight-aduchifying girls’ and all that. But, no one really suspected I was gay or anything. But as an individual I felt really stressed that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it (I did not open up about my orientation till the end of second year in college). And at times, to de-stress, I would come out to my closest friends who always understood, always returned my calls, even if I dialed them at 4 AM and stood by me through my toughest times. Despite that, there were so many moments when everything I believed in conflicted with everything I saw and I stopped being productive, felt depressed and suicidal. End of last year, I couldn’t take it anymore and decided to come out publicly on Facebook and get it done with once and for all. I honestly thought it’ll be one of those random statuses that will shame into oblivion, but I was surprised when a thousand people sent me personal messages or shared their views and just stood by. And when I wrote that post, I did not backspace a single line, because I’ve been writing it for years internally in my heart.”

“So what annoys you the most?”

“Apart from the most recent and ridiculous verdict on section 377 which I think is a clear violation of my fundamental rights, people have told me incredibly funny, and sometimes infuriating things. Some people said orientation is just a phase and that I’ll get over it. But what really annoyed me that a lot of people, including my Dad, said I could become straight if I try. It doesn’t work that way. I told him: ‘Sure, I’ll become straight if you can become gay’.

I don’t know – I just think people who don’t respect or for that matter, even recognize that there are others who are different from them – they’re really on the wrong side of history.”