It’s been about six months since I have known Kreacher and for most part I have been chasing Kreacher for what seems like eternity now (in reality, about three months). But my attempts at trying to snog Kreacher have been disastrous so far. This post therefore is my attempt at chronicling Love (not in the time of Cholera) but in the times of the Twenty Ten.
For those of you who have been reading the trials and tribulations of Razorsharp Rolzie during the past two weeks, today’s post is a sharp departure from the usual light banter about the Pandus in my life and my eternal pursuit for the elusive Mr. Right. This post is about acceptance, coming out and the whirlwind of emotions that in encompasses.
You know the clock doesn't tell you the year but you feel relieved with the fact that there a few hours less to go than when you turn 18, even though its months away. You think your life will change. You'll be in college, and you'll have really nice friends and you'll have the perfect boyfriend and your life will change. You can start fresh.
It was a jubilant warm November afternoon. More than 3000 colorful people, irrespective of their gender identity, participated in the march, and danced like crazy to the beats of ‘dhol’. Last year, I felt alienated amongst them but this time I felt like I belonged there. It felt right. Though I wonder if there is really a change in the perception. There were not many people wearing masks or veils. Many were open with big smiles to the shutter of the thousand cameras.
As soon as we walked in we were surrounded by a world of some beautiful and some not so beautiful men (euphemism for ugly). They were there in all shapes, colors and sizes. And it was undoubtedly a celebration of physical perfection. You had to preen, pout, parade and of course pray that you were not missed by the hunk you were gazing at while sipping on some terrible house wine. Thankfully for me, after being offered BJs from complete strangers (which statistically can be broken down to 15% flattering and 85% grossing out at the same time) and being ass pinched for the 70th time (bum still raw and healing after that night of pinching- nope you perv. nothing else happened!), I met an old acquaintance, lets call him Hardy Boy.
There is an interesting observation I notice in all these puranas. Let's take the example of Panchali's earlier life. The sage is uhm insatiable and he makes love to her in many "different" ways. What exactly does "different" mean here? I let my mind wander and see that what is probably considered as an unacceptable act, or viewed as a perversion by the society need not be deviant in the first place, or may be I am reading too much into the word. Even to the dhoti clad pundits eh.
Acceptance is a journey, parents take some time to understand fully. I work with parents on this issue and it is a struggle for many. I find sometimes a parent is very understanding and in a couple of weeks there is an issue that comes up and the same parent is saying something which makes me wonder if it is the same person speaking! parents experience a sense of loss and we need to be patient and work with them through that as well.
Do I have your undivided attention loyal Gaysi reader? I know that the lady folk have seized this website with their ‘clit active’ material but now it is time for us men to ‘RAISE’ our consciousness (nothing else you Pervert, this ain’t that sorta site!!) and as your self-appointed representative, share the concerns, fears and worries that plague us Gaysi men.
So darling boys, log off Xtube or whatever else your ‘dingle’ dangles to and devour this delightful factual account of my experiences in coming out or at least, attempting to come out and the madness and mayhem that follows in my attempt to find Mr. Right.
Most days nothing much happens. When something does, it seems to involve clusters of ‘intellectuals’ engaged in…intellectualling? And sometimes they go on these spiralling loops where the same things keep coming back again and again, as if it were a rehearsal (for me not for them, cause they are new people each time) in which the same old argument reaches the same old conclusion.
As was mentioned in the Pride schedule, last Monday was the first meeting of family and friends of LGBT people in Bangalore. It was moderated by Vinay and organised by Docsid, and we are all excited at the response at the meeting. The discussion was honest and far-ranging, and the end, the participants decided to continue these meetings and also act as a support group for other parents. Vinay and Docsid did a marvellous job in pulling this off! Below is the report - it is rather long, but worth reading in full.
Got to witness a lot of ‘Coming Out’ stories lately... both online, and offline! Though the outcomes varied vastly, the fact that so many of us, queer folk, have started breaking the (un)comfortable walls of the closet fills my heart with the joy and hope that probably can’t be expressed in words.
I have read a bit of Sister Toldja’s rad sex column and sex advice but she mostly just compares black women’s sex lives to white women’s, and obviously that racial binary is not all-encompassing.
So, as QC has mentioned before, us desis can get a little hush-hush when it comes to mas-tur-bay-shun. And I can personally attest to this because this lack of open-communication about sex within the desi community has definitely affected my sex life, especially with my experience with a woman. Plus, I didn’t have my first orgasm until I was 19, and maybe that is not shocking but my white friends definitely thought it was!
Two years ago this month "Dostana" was released and made big news. The community was clearly divided in its reaction; some loved it and some absolutely hated it. Some said it caricatured being gay, and used all the stereotypes. I loved the movie. I thought it was ground breaking in many ways.
There are times when I wish I could just cut off ties and be 'free'. I know that this is impossible because I love them too much. Then I have conversations in my head where I confront them and tell them how mean and hurtful they're being. 'Am I a drug dealer? Am I a prostitute? Am I a bum without a job or a future?', I demand, in these imaginary confrontations. 'Where is the unconditional love that a parent is meant to give their child?', I follow up. All in my head.
While people were always telling me that I should come out only when I am comfortable doing so and which is true of course, I still found myself procrastinating. There were stages in my life when I was ashamed of myself, to the point that I was unable to open up even in a support group. I was just so embarrassed, that I would confine myself to the privacy of my home and sit through evenings and weekends together. Even after I accepted myself , I was still afraid to come out to my family because I feared I would hurt them or just purely that I would rather take the pain on myself than sharing it with anyone else. While it might sound selfless, it was just plain stupid.
I saw him the first time in a train. He was tiny and timid, very unlike his naughty and loud brothers and sisters. Dressed shabby with a torn t-shirt and torn slacks, a pair of mismatched shoes, all he wanted to do was just get enough place to sit but his siblings would not let him.
They were from the slum, it was fairly obvious with the way they were behaving. These kids seemed unperturbed when the aunties mocked them and asked them to move out of their seats. They had tickets these kids didn’t. The kids pretended to be deaf and continued being seated where they were, a noisy naughty lot of five.
As much as being queer and Indian can be a pain, being queer and at a large university can be pretty sweet sometimes. Even though my college town isn’t the most liberal place in the world, there’s still an active Pride Center and a pretty strong queer advocacy community. One of the events that the Pride Center puts on biannually is a drag show
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!
Indian society has long stifled the Queer expression and our way of communicating with the world. Therefore, the idea of stand up performances as a medium of expression…the Queer expression… is something I can never give a miss. So, this very inclination led me to Mumbai last weekend where the gorgeous and famed founder of Queer Ink, Ms Shobhna was holding a book fair and a Queer Open Mic event as part of the fair festivities.