Homosexual Pride

A few days ago I saw a fairly attractive couple, braced with infants strapped to their torsos, absorbed in shopping for infants' items in GVK mall! The only difference was they were both men. Two daddies with their two babies. Another scene on Independence Day at KBR Park in Hyderabad. A group of ten youth did the Freedom Walk with posters stuck to their T-shirts. Each poster was worded differently. “If being gay is a choice, then when did you decide to become straight?” “I’m not gay but I support gay rights because I believe in freedom of love.” “I kissed a girl and I liked it.” The sight evoked curiosity. Some read the posters, and were aghast. And some read a few words and shied away from reading further.

(Designed by Amar Mitra)

Instances, such as these, of lesbian and gay visibility are increasing by the day. And that’s something extremely refreshing and positive. Yet that does not happen in all places. There are some who take objection to that. A friend asked whether gay people have to wear their sexuality on their sleeve.

Homosexuals would not have to wear their sexuality if they were in a society where they were considered equal. I’m sure you have not seen heterosexual men and women walking in a parade, holding banners stating their heterosexual preference. They do not have to. They are not discriminated against within their families and work places because they love or are attracted to someone of the same sex. They do not have to live in insecurity of whether it is fine to share about their life with someone they consider close, out of fear of losing a relationship. They do not experience hatred or confusion or silence from their closest relatives, only because society and the state does not acknowledge and validate homosexual relationships.

The pride of being homosexual is a personal experience which manifests itself as a political act. It is a desire to be acknowledged for who one is in society. It is an invitation for others to accept them for who they are and for who they love. It is cry for wanting to have the same rights as those who love a person of the opposite sex. It is a hope that some more people would be considered equal and not be discriminated for loving another person.

This need to come out is an intrinsic act of survival. One might wonder why some homosexuals do not feel need to foreground their sexual orientation, while others do. The reasons could be various. For some the risks are very high, which would involve the loss of their loved ones, threat to financial security, or perhaps a certain kind of middle class “shame” to the family. For some others, it is the inability to live a life of suffocation where homosexual relationships are not even recognized, least of all considered a norm. While for a few others, their sexuality is visible and their personal, social and economic lives depend upon how others treat them.

Our stubbornness to acknowledge and accept homosexuality has only deteriorated heterosexual marriages. The parental expectations of their children’s marriage, the fictitious belief that the “gay phase” is transitory and the possibility of social ostracism have only led to many unhappy and torturous marriages. Often it is the most vulnerable who have to pay the price. Those who can afford it, get divorced. Most languish in their unhappy marriages. Others commit suicide. Little do we realize that every time in every conversation that we denounce homosexuality, we are unconsciously condemning someone to life of affliction.

For the moment we take great pride that we not only have those who risk themselves fighting for gay rights and but also those who live their lives quietly forging new kinds of relationships and families.

You and I: The poetry with

A piece I had written earlier for Prathibimb in 2010.

A celebration of love for another, the heart-warming desire for another body and the discovery of the ‘I’ through the ‘you’. Sometimes love, in its ever-intriguing physical and bodily form, is the most palpable and understandable of feelings. 

I looked into your eye. I am. Just the way I am. Your eyes looking at me. You are. You are the most beautiful being I’ve seen. I see your eye sty, your blackheads, your acne, your dimple, your stubble, your ear, your eyebrows, your marks, your hair, your skin, your contours, your body. Your glance. You looking back at me, reminding me that I am. 

As I look at you, I realize my own opacity. Who am I? Who am I but in relation to you? I am me for you. As I am with you, I am not the same person I was, before I was with you. I am a mystery to myself as much as you are a mystery to me. The more I want to know you and lift your veil of mystery, the more I am aware of our distance.

Who is this life behind this body? The person behind this skin. I look at you with wonder. I experience the beauty of your body. Where are you? Where in your body are you? My arms are wrapped around your body as we sit on the couch. I feel the warmth and the touch of your body against mine. Our touch reminds me that I am on you and you are under me. Yet, where are you? Who are you?

This moment of being with you inebriates me. I feel charged by the grandeur of your body. You overwhelm me and I am blinded by you. I long to be within you and lost in you, so that we are not you and I, but we, where both, you and I, are not two entities, but one. Yet I know that it cannot be, because you are and I am. We are separated by the exterior of our skins, whose impermeability refuses to climax into the fusion of ourselves. We will be distinct, no matter how much we desire to lose ourselves with each other. We are in this moment, where time converges on the now. If only we could be this way, eternity would be a moment. Together we would be lost in the comfort and bliss of each other. 

And yet, as we are together, I sense that I am all alone. As I look into your eye, I see you are not here. The feel of your touch seems distant. Probably, you do not feel the same way as I do. Probably, you are in a moment and time so far away from now. And yet, for me, this moment is beautiful. I am thankful that my life was a prelude to this moment, where we are, just this way. You and I.

Coming Out at the Work Place

Disclaimer:

This post is meant to be read as a piece of fiction. Honestly, I have to confess that I really can’t afford to step on anyone’s toes, knowing that matters such as these are of a highly volatile nature. Any resemblance to a real incident might have only worked its way into this text at my subconscious level. After all, I’m sure you’d agree that it’s impossible to write bereft of any experience.

 

Those of you who work in a corporate set up would have definitely been subjected to experiences when your managers brag about their wives and children. You can’t fail to notice that twinkle in their eyes, the swell in their chests and the raised chins. Not forgetting the zillion times they make the ‘wives at home’ vis-a-vis the ‘manager in the office’ comparison during meetings and their pep talks! But if you’re a guy and you dare mention your boyfriend, immediately their faces contort into grotesque sneers. Often, over training sessions new entrants at my work place inevitably inquire whether I'm married and I reveal that I'm not, but would definitely like to get married to my boyfriend sooner or later (though, I must admit, I still haven't broached this topic with my boyfriend yet nor do I know how he'd react.)

On a lighter note, going out with some chums for a sutta break or chai can be a lot of fun! There are those guys who can’t resist telling you how ‘ripe’ and breathtakingly ravishing a particular woman in the office is. Apparently, the woman’s scent or her gait almost makes them wet, sorry, melt in their pants. I often wondered how they could possibly feel that way, until I happened to point out to them a guy who had sturdy thighs and a delicious chest chair! 

  

Knowing my temperament, I usually like to have a book beside me at all times. There are times when I have to wait for ten long minutes or more for my computer to reboot and I have a paroxysm of guilt that I’m wasting time, doing nothing. These guilt trips concerning time wastage only heightened after watching Andrew Niccol’s In Time, where the protagonist’s mother died only because she fell short by a few seconds of time, which meant life in her case. One day, it so happened that the book on my desk caught somebody’s attention. Little did I realize that a title such as Undoing Gender would ruffle anyone’s feathers. So I was discreetly advised not to get a book which had a title (like the word “gender”) that makes a political statement. I was somehow given to understand that if I sported the book with a contentious title, I was advocating gender ambiguity. And ironically, it seemed perfectly alright when the same person had a gender related discussion with someone of the other gender. So much for undoing gender! These little exchanges might seem rather trivial and mundane. But they also reflect how constricting our language and interactions are on a daily basis. Anything that upsets this forced internalized normalcy is often met with violence or is subtly ostracized if not penalized.

Image taken: Times of India

At least at the workplace, after being out to my colleagues, I assumed that things would be rather smooth! Yet, I was sadly mistaken. Of late, I’ve had to share my cab with a particular homophobe. {Perhaps he isn’t a homophobe, but he merely dislikes my straight hair.} And to make things worse, he’s got a certain designation which has not only put me on the not so sunny side of things but has also earned me a cab full of others who share the same feeling as the Daddy Bully Homophobe. {I hope I’m not pushing it too far in painting myself as a victim of sexual discrimination.} Initially I took it in my stride that I cannot expect everyone to like me. I tried to overlook their not wanting me to sit beside them and their smirks. However, now I’m honestly beginning to feel scared. I am uncomfortable that they know the place where I live. Their cumulative acts of arrogance and bravado behind a facade of normality unsettle me. This has upset me so much that at present I have five ulcers in my mouth, something that happens only when I’m agitated (and I have never had more than two). Perhaps, I’m worrying too much and compounding my own fears. I know at this point in time, I have to put an end to this. And I will have to stand up for myself. My first step is to admit that it’s happened to me and it’s real. That’s why I have written this post as well. And I know what I have to do next. Speak out to them (and as simple as it might sound, I pray that when the moment arrives I would be able to.)

I have to make sense of this; I know this is certainly not right. That these acts of intolerance might only increase in frequency, if I don’t find a healthy way to survive this ordeal. Yet, I’m also sure I would get passed this. Perhaps I have to find newer ways of relating to these people. I refuse to admit defeat in this little battle of misunderstanding and ignorance. I believe that under the veneer of toughness, there’s also kindness that we all share. And that’s one thing which gives me a lot of hope. 

(I hope you did not let your emotions get carried away; this is certainly not a cry for sympathy nor is it an attempt to assassinate anyone’s character, living or dead. As I said in the disclaimer, you have to read this as a piece of fiction.)

Opening up: A Jesuit and his Mentor

From: Renita*

Date: Thu, Aug 2, 2012

Subject: Letter

To: Andy Silveira

Dear Andy,

I thought about you today, a lot. Quite apart from the fact that I've been meaning to get in touch and ask how you were. And now I'm about to bore you to tears, so is might be a good time to stop reading what may turn out to be a pretty long message.

A couple of weeks ago, one of my students came to talk to me. He's a novice sent here to do his science undergrad. We got to talking, and for the first time I saw among my students a Jesuit who wasn't afraid to ask questions, who reads and thinks for himself. You get the picture. So I did what we do in the English department here with people who want to talk. I took him out for coffee.

He talked. A lot. About growing up, becoming a Jesuit, falling in love and not being certain about being a Jesuit. A lot. Mailed me after to tell me it was the first time in two years here that he could talk to someone. So I told him anytime he needs someone to talk to he should feel free. Which he did. So feminism happened at some point, and race, and sexuality. Which is when he asked me, over an email, if I was gay.

I met him today, a couple of hours ago. Wasn't sure whether to tell him or not and then he brought it up again. And somehow I felt I wasn't comfortable with the dishonesty of not telling him, though I couldn't see what difference it would make. So I told him.

It was one of the saddest things I've ever done. Suddenly, this human being, who seemed perfectly comfortable around me, turned to me with a mixture of disappointment and pity and told me 'but you can't be, you're too good to be that.' So I asked him what he meant. He meant I seemed like such a nice person, intelligent, could talk philosophy, could talk oppressive systems, and here I was, betraying it all by being gay. So I asked him why it was a betrayal, why it was a bad thing. And he replied with the view of the Catholic Church on it. Same person willing to otherwise question imposed views, same person willing to risk disobedience, now tells me that for normal people it's easy to disagree. But a Jesuit knows that the church takes these issues seriously, considers all the social implications, and therefore whatever decisions it arrives at are final and they're good enough for him.

I sat there feeling bad for him. I could see that he wanted to continue liking me, being comfortable with me, but the knowledge of my being lesbian was hanging between us, giving him a look of unadulterated misery. So I did the only thing I could do. Told him to think things through and make up his mind for himself what he thinks.

And now I reached home and I don't know what I feel. I spent an hour there trying to figure out how to make it easier for him, but what I feel is something I didn't have time for. What words do you use to describe what you feel when someone looks at you with pity, as if you are genetically deformed? I mean, my dad told me it was abominable, it was a disease, and nobody in my family had it, so I couldn't either. And that made me angry. It was easy. This makes me infinitely sad and something else. I don't know what. Like having swallowed a ball of fur and feeling it in the pit of my stomach.

Why am I telling you this? Cause I don't have the need to juggle faith and sexual identity, mine or anyone else's. It's easy, cause what I believe in is freedom and trying really hard not to hurt people. I can't begin to imagine what it's like trying to reconcile gayness with god, for someone who for twenty five years has been secure in the belief that they won't ever need to.

I'm sorry I made this so long. If you've reached this far, thank you. Hugely.

Be well,

Renita

From: Andy Silveira

Date: Fri, Aug 3, 2012

Subject: Re: Letter

To: Renita

Renita,

I can only imagine what you might be feeling. However, I'm sure that the current discomfort that both of you are experiencing is a growing experience. You'd be feeling angry and hurt because the response you anticipated backfired. And he'd be feeling angry and hurt because you were exactly what he didn't want you to be. (An avatar of Beelzebub in human form!) But, I'm sure for a guy like him, what you told him was exactly what he needed. You struck the right chord by opening up yourself to him and challenging him to take his own stance.

People of faith often regard themselves as self-righteous which is bolstered through their relationship with "their" immaculate, omniscient god. And by this equation, those who do not share a similar relationship with "their" god only evoke pity or, at best, their concern.  A person who is grounded in faith may not call into question anything that threatens her belief. Questioning her faith, which she has been constantly absorbing since childhood is a process. And being ready to position herself against the echoes of her church’s teachings involves risking her comfort zone of familiarity and apparent security.

And more so, for someone like this young Jesuit, who has decided to live his entire life by the dictates of his faith. For him to reconcile your sexuality with his god, would also involve rethinking his own sexuality which he has assumed as given. And this might open unforeseen possibilities for him which, at this moment, he might not be prepared for. Also, you have challenged the horizons of the Others in his life whom he considers worthy of his recognition. This would involve making changes within his personal world. What you have shared has made him realize that there are fissures within the foundations of his own belief. I believe it will take time for him to sort this out. A week, month/s or perhaps years! However, I do hope it'd happen soon. And even if it doesn't happen, I sure that this experience would make him realize the limits of his fragile belief system.

Renita, you should be feeling shamelessly wonderful about yourself. Without this Jesuit knowing it, you have been an angel in his life. A messenger of hope and promise. You have challenged him with an invitation which he would either have to accept or deny. Irrespective of what he decides, you should consider yourself fortunate, because at some level, by making yourself vulnerable to him, you have grown stronger and, hopefully, wiser in understanding the way people act and react.

Thank you so much for sharing this experience with me. And you don’t have to be apologetic for sharing this. This is your own story, your own reality, which is infinitely more arresting than the ideal possible lives that we seek.

Love,

Andy

* Name changed in order to protect the identity of the persons involved. 

Hyderabadi Homosexuals and the US Consulate

A timid smile on meeting someone for the first time, words exchanged while waiting for a movie to begin, the possibility of a new relationship while chatting over tea, and the affirmation of being who one wants to be in the company of others. Moments like these marked the Rainbow Film Festival in Hyderabad organized by the US Consulate and Wajood. It was a wonderfully quiet and well spent evening, watching films that reflected the actual struggles and tumult of living a wholesome life. Among the audience, they were a shared bond of understanding and compassion as most of them came to witness a cinema which spoke directly to the audience there, who were either lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or who had LGBT family members or friends or merely those who were curious and came with an open mind. It is during these congregations that we make inroads by widening the horizons of our tolerance and acceptance to include those who did not fit in previously.

And yet, one might ask, why would someone feel threatened and want to thwart such attempts. Why does one feel violated against, when a group of people wants to gather together to watch films? That’s exactly what happened a few hours prior to the event. Annapurna Studios was threatened not to screen these films as it would provoke violence. An MP from a minority community gave a hate speech on the Urdu news, claiming that it violated Islamic and Hyderabadi tradition. Such eventualities only tend to excite unwanted fear, anger and insecurity. It made people feel that some of them are not part of this society, worse still, that they are not human or Indian enough to even watch films collectively. In fact, the studio suggested that the screening be hosted at another venue as it had high stakes involved, keeping the organizers on tenterhooks. Finally through the assurance of protection on the behest of the US Consulate, the event did take place peacefully.

We’ve often heard some people voice out that homosexuality is a western import. And I often smile at their ignorance. Men had intimate relations with men and women had intimate relations with women through all ages, in all societies and, of course, in India too! Even in our literary tradition be it the ancient Indian texts, such as Vyasa’s Mahabharata to medieval material in the Sanskrit and Perso-Urdu tradition, we have several instances of same sex love. (One could always refer to Ruth Vanita’s and Saleem Kidwai’s Same-Sex Love in India.) Homosexuals are everywhere. And they haven’t come from the west. And we have them in all shapes, sizes, classes, castes and religions. (Yes, honourable MP, Muslims included.) Historically and, ipso facto, traditionally, Hyderabad has always been extremely tolerant towards diversity of sexualities. No community or religious leader should restrict or destroy the conditions of living a meaningful life for others, by prescribing for all lives what is only liveable by only a few. 

Rainbow Film Festival

It is a very sorry state of affairs that our own government has not taken a clear stand on homosexuality in India. It’s dismal that in Hyderabad, where there are so many of us, we have few allies. The US Consulate is one among them. It did not take a Hillary Clinton to tell us that gay rights are human rights on International Human Rights Day, for we knew that much before. Yet, the fact that she proclaimed it only brought to light how much still needs to be done for the LGBTs all over the world. The act of a consulate endorsing the arts and fostering the rights of a community goes a long way in creating spaces of love. Above all, in this case, the US Consulate’s intervention is also a political act as it calls attention for the need to act and support the LGBTs among us who are still in a state of limbo in the eyes of the Indian Law. I am sure, in time, we will have more allies, a greater number of people who have the openness and understanding to regard all people in society as equal.

Seeing More LGBT Faces

Since last week, while I’m here in Hyderabad, and reading about Anderson Cooper and Frank Ocean coming out and the flurry of emotions it’s caused, I’m bewildered. I have always been enthralled by those who dared to love themselves at a time when they were given to understand that they were obnoxious. Especially those who dared to affirm themselves at the risk of their own ostracism. And yet, through it all, they honored their own humanness.

Each coming out story is a testimony of how beautifully diverse we all are. Despite our loves, attractions, ages, skin colors or castes, each one of us has a unique narrative weaving itself among a myriad of others.  Yet what makes everything even more intriguing is the way in which each of them is influenced by the others, rubbing their traces onto the others, thereby altering them.

My own coming out took twenty nine long years. Coming from a Catholic background, where gay is synonymous with shame and guilt, I chose a life of celibacy for eleven long years.  Ensconced within my own pseudo- religious closet cocoon, I had admitted only within the confines of the confessional as well as over some pins-and- needles sharing sessions with some of my closest friends that I was attracted to men.  I always sought clarity as to why God made me the way I was, and His only reply was that He carved me in the palm of His hands, fashioning me in His image. Undoubtedly, He made me unique and perfect! And in His perfection, He also gave me my sexual orientation. Three years later, as I look back at myself, I’m surprised at my streak of rebellion while I was in the Jesuit order. There was some part of me that always questioned authority; some part of me that often gnawed at the veneer of convention. 

Yet nothing prepared me for the day, when my own twenty-year-old sister attempted to share her life with me. It was an afternoon while I packing my stuff to get to Chennai, where I was doing my philosophy.

“I’d like to share something with you,” she said.

“Go ahead, Ancy,” said I, making myself comfortable while reclining on the bed rest. 

“I don’t ever want to get married.”

The moment she uttered the words, “I don’t ever want to get married,” I shuddered and grew pale, realizing the highly volatile ground she was navigating. I had always known where my sister’s leaning were towards. Her sexuality was conspicuous, though none of us in the family dared to admit it. 

 Umpteen times earlier I served as a confidant to several friends. Yet, that day, I was scared. I was really scared. Instinctively, I knew that the same fears I hedged myself from through my choice of being in the religious order were beckoning me and, worse still, were mocking me.

“Why would you say that? Perhaps you’re confused!” I lied, steering away from the direction this conversation was gravitating towards. 

I continued, “You have a long way to go, Ancy. In time, you’ll think differently.” 

I could see the light of hope waning in her eyes. The yearning of wanting to open up to somebody getting bleaker by the moment.  She looked crushed. And yet, through the moments of silence between our words, I knew she hoped this conversation would end differently.

And then, not wanting to give up on my sister, I said, “Ryan* is a nice guy. He likes you very much.”

“I don’t like him. He’s a liar.” Then she goes on to narrate an incident when she caught Ryan red-handedly spinning a yarn. 

“Oh, come on, Ancy! All of us tell lies once in a while. Cut some slack on the poor guy. But he likes you very much. It doesn’t matter if he takes a drink once in a while. All of us tell white lies.”

She looks at me quizzically and admits it. Perhaps she just caves in, knowing that it was useless. 

After a while, she gives me that smile, playfully mischievous. She says that she’ll talk to Ryan and give him a chance.  She makes me believe that things will get better. And two hours later, while I was at the railway station on my way to the seminary, Ryan and she have a little moment together when I was chatting with my parents. Seeing the two of them together, I hoped that day I was some help to my sis.  

Now, whatever possibilities I might think, I know it would only be conjecture. I can never fully fathom what must have gone through her mind those few hours when she decided that everything was over for her. Planning every little detail of her last minutes of life to prove to her confidant (a particular nun) that the nun mattered to her, Ancy had managed to take her own life by taking her last breath in the river where she often swam in. Like Virgina Woolf, she had stones on her lifeless body when it was recovered hours later. 

I didn’t have an opportunity to speak to her at length, after that day when she was about to open herself to me. But I rue the fact that I didn’t do what I ought to have done.  To open myself to her and listen to her, keeping aside the false sense of propriety that my family, society and religion had instilled in me. 

Something which I discovered about my sister after her death was that she had a good hand at writing. I read her diary entries about her feelings of confusion, desire and guilt mixed with her overbearing desire to be faithful to God. Through her writing, she wanted to break even from her inner tumult and come out honestly. Her death has taught me the importance of being honest to myself. 

Though she wasn’t as fortunate as I was, I, myself, am grateful to all those who came out before me. It made me realize that I’m not alone. There are so many of us in the midst of our uncertainties, careers, relationships and the everyday humdrum activities of our lives, who have to deliberate whether we can afford to come out. Each time we come out, we change a little of the world we live in. We do our bit in making a difference. Sadly, while in some places in some countries more people are coming out and making progress in terms of LGBT rights, we in India are still in a rudimentary stage when it comes to LGBT rights. Though some amazing things have happened over the last three years after the Delhi High Court judgement, we have a very long way to go.

People need to see more LGBT faces. They need to see more of us in our ordinariness, doing our daily chores at homes, pursuing our goals in our universities and our work places, speaking about our lives, hopes and disappointments and, most importantly, being comfortable about ourselves.

*Name changed