The Gay Desi
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I have had some friends tell me that this queer stuff isn’t so important to them, and with some friends it’s when they don’t tell me anything about queer issues and that’s how I know it isn’t important to them.
Well, in general, some say that one should focus on their own thing because no one will do anyone else’s dirty work for them. I guess that’s a big gulp to gulp for me because I’m a social work student and I take great pride and joy in wanting to help people and help myself.
It’s the holiday season and that can bring up all kinds of depressing, I mean cheerful feelings, right? Exactly. Holiday season can be complicated for us.
During Halloween weekend, at a gay bar I let out a loud “noooooo!” when I saw three white men, all at the same time, in the following costumes: a Native American man with a headdress, a blue avatar, and Antoine Dodson the Bed Intruder Hero. Thank goodness I didn’t see any blackface!
My parents have had to pay to put three children through University (in different countries) as well as pay for the expenses that go with me having an increasingly severe disability. And obviously we sometimes like to celebrate our new, more comfortable lifestyle by going on vacations, but it is not always as indulgent since we are not accustomed to doing vacations. We have to be so much more careful, and this always reminds me of how I need to prepare myself for my inevitably poor future.
Being our radical queer desi selves can be exhausting, and it’s always a positive thing to be intentionally taking care of our selves and our minds. When I first came out, roughly four years ago, I was aching so much to become an activist that I really wore myself out, as well as everyone around me! I now have a long list of conditions I have to give myself in order to be radical but still enjoy the world we are currently living in.
I woke up on my sofa in the living room with ten or so of those big, white men looking down into my face. My partner was there and he explained that I had a seizure right after I got out the shower. It made sense – the last thing I remembered was brushing the tangles out of my hair, and I could feel that one side was uncombed. The same thing happened where I could barely talk because I had only just come back to consciousness, but this time I at least understood what had happened whether or not I was able to verbalize it straight away to the paramedics.
“Most” of the desis I met in college came from conservative, religious, upper-class families. They tended to only hang out with other rich desis and would only date other rich desis (of the “opposite” gender, of course). The farthest their adventures would go would be a Hindu desi dating a Muslim desi, and their parents would end up driving them apart.
I remember being one of two Indian kids at my primary school, and one of maybe five kids of color. I remember my best friends as clear as day, although I haven’t seen them in person since I was about eight years old. One of them was a girl, D, whose family is originally from Kenya, the other was a boy, A, whose family is originally from Hong Kong – his family owned the Chinese restaurant down the street from my house. They had older siblings like me, looked different from everyone like me, and always stood at the edge of the playground like me. They both went off to private school and left me to fend for myself – sad day. I was too embarrassed to ever tell them I missed them.
My parents, on the other hand, were overjoyed that their daughter found a partner that they wouldn’t have to hide from the Indian community. You’d think him being white, an atheist, and having a kid would be the typical Indian parent’s nightmare, but all that seems like nothing compared to the possibility of me being with a woman… well not completely “nothing”.
In many ways I am thankful to have the family that I do. My father seems indifferent about who I date, and just doesn’t like to talk about feelings. However, although my mother wasn’t the most supportive person when I came out of the closet, I truly believe that she did her best considering her place in this world. She didn’t even consider disowning me, and I acknowledge that as a privilege because I have seen friends (desi and non-desi) struggle with the fear of being disowned for going against their parent’s wishes.
I first came out as a lesbian when I started college as an undergrad. I went through all the rites of passage that the white queers had set up for me, and I abandoned the straight desi girls. I’m not necessarily sad that I abandoned them. I missed them later and tried to play catch-up, but their never-ending conversations about how their evil parents wouldn’t let them buy that coach purse, and how scary black men are were ridiculous and tiring. And somehow I always managed to subconsciously find my way back to the closet whenever I was in their company.
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Recent comments
The Cookboy
Chicklet – Ill do some Asian recipes soon.
Chicken & Chorizo
The Cookboy
MJ – what do you mean by Diet (Quick)? If you mean light, then these recipes...
Chicken & Chorizo
The Cookboy
Beautifully written. Really enjoyed reading this.
It Was Nice To See You
zENAWordWarrior
Sweet! Now I need my CookGirl!
Chicken & Chorizo
zENAWordWarrior
With such economy of language, you say...
Loved this! Thanks for sharing
It Was Nice To See You
Chicklet
I’m definitely gonna try this and get perfect before i meet her again…...
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Chicklet
fantastic. mistake overturned = lesson learned ! looking forward to reading more from...
It Was Nice To See You
Chicklet
Love is a strange whirl, isn’t ? i call it a fool’s paradise!
I Hate You…Like I Love You