Just like regular decent people, homophobes come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes they're hard to spot, because they're masquerading as tolerant. But fear not, dear readers...because my homophobe-spotter is just as sharp as my 'gaydar'. You will soon be able to spot these types from a mile away and avoid the frustration of enduring an ignorant conversation.
I've not read Hoshang Merchant and have not read any of his work. I have read Seth however. Everything he's written. But this isn't a review of Hosang's work vs. Seth's. As we celebrate Pride Week, I wonder what are we fighting for? Are we all fighting for the same rights?
To be honest this was not me couple of hours ago. In fact I have been on a perpetual see-saw of highs-n-lows for the past 10 days. And it all started from the minute we (Gaysi) volunteered to host “Dirty Talk” as part of the Mumbai Pride Week.
Cheery start, ain’t it? A very Happy New Year to y’all too. And while we are on the topic of cheer – I write this staring out of my window …
This is the sequel to our never-before-seen production that gives deep insight into the workings of a lesbian mind. Read part 1 here for context.
Recently, we were contacted by someone from a Men's Magazine that shall not be named but I can tell you that their name begins with an 'F', ends with an 'M' and has a middle initial of 'H'. We were asked if Gaysi would be willing to answer a 'witty questionnaire on lesbian sex'. Witty? Warning bells! But you know how we have a penchany for attracting these sorts.
(Part Two of Banished from India: A Two-Part Story with Audience Participation)
The Audience Participation in response to Part One was so thoughtful, I can’t help but feel that many …
Bangalore, the beginning of winter. The days are shorter, the monsoon leaves its last spells of wet love on every roof, tree and head covered with dense hair. A chilly …
This is a dialogue, this is a conversation that I have in my mind every single day of the week, only difference is, today I have an audience.
So allow …
Dhanush couldn't forgive himself for the destruction he had brought up on Sruthi. What if I hadn't talked to her on the flight that day? What if I hadn't given her my email address? The guilt was a constant companion and it consumed him.
Fighting for acceptance, I truly believe, is absolutely necessary. But our penchant for focusing on labels that we assume are forcibly thrust upon us by others, or words that we misconstrue as violating our identity, is beginning to get a bit tiresome. Instead of attempting to change mindsets, we seem more interested in drawing up a glossary of queer terms and words that others can use while referring to us.
Planet Romeo (a popular dating website for men) has an annual video contest around the holidays called the “Ho ho homo contest” and for the first time an Indian Entry has made to the final 5!
As a child, I traveled to India every four years with my family to see relatives. I hated it because I got deathly sick from dysentery, because my parents tried to dress me up in girly clothes, because relatives pinched my cheeks too hard. I would now say I had the luxury to hate it.
Three little words
“Time and space”
Justify immediate exits
With a touch of grace
“It’s about me…not you”
Another favourite – so true
To soften the blow
‘Cause they …
Every once in a while, the Indian blogosphere explodes in a cataclysm of self-righteous rage and indignation because yet another blogger brought up the Indian version of the Mason-Dixon Line. Our north-south divide. The GaysiFamily team had its own battle with Hippa Southies being the affronted group. Against my better judgment, I decided to stay out of it as the insulted always holds more weight in the moral scales of any such debate.
I’m proud to call myself a staunch queer advocate. I’m admittedly not completely out to everyone in my life, but I don’t bother to hide my queerness anymore. As long as I feel safe speaking out, I’ll do so. And that has been a big step for me.
In a somewhat unexpected turn of events, I am now seeing a dude. As in, a biological, male-assigned and male-identified individual. I won’t say it’s not weird in some ways. Then again, I don’t think I’d ever date anyone that expected traditional gender roles or attitudes, so it’s not all that different from dating anyone else who respects equality and difference.
The world is a bloody small place. And the Universe gleefully keeps reminding me that the Six Degrees of Separation theory is not some half-assed idea someone came up with on an idle day. Basically, like Alice in The L Word believes, there’s a good chance that just six people can form a link between you and pretty much anyone in the world.
5 Foot 11 inch something. Runner’s legs, glowing skin, hair from below the knees till the ankle, brushing down like a slim cover against the occasional nip in the tropical city. Calf muscles to letch at. Toes well-shaped, the arch of the foot perfect, a dancer’s feet. Clean, clipped, cured toe-nails. Feet with the occasional hard-sole of a man who has tread the hard earth to keep fit, yet lick-a-licious. Like abso-fucking-lutely lick-able. Nah, too much porn. Focus. Husband material.
Franco rolls an 8mm camera as we’re flying up the same tangled, winding hills that the real Hopper and the real Wood sped on the night of their famous accident. Franco commands the girls to take their shirts off. They giggle and strip. Dean sparks a butt in the back with his tits out. The wind slaps hard on our faces. We snake up the road, way too fucking fast.