It is not surprising that the moment one is faced with the prospect of talking about one’s sexuality, the first instinct is to take refuge in fiction. The subjective experience, recorded in the first person—in acknowledgment of the conventions of the autobiographical—rings false; one is suspicious of interpretations of one’s past, however well-intentioned, however temporary.
What happens when your identical twin brother whom you’ve spent all your waking hours for twenty years, becomes your sister? Red without Blue
is a documentary about just that.
So there we were showcasing our popular traits; Ruswa and her Colgate smile, whereas yours truly was almost ready to dish out her gyaan on how to attract Quality women & Quantity women, depending on what one is running after. (Please Note: Gaysi recruiters are selfless creatures, who stop at nothing to accomplish their goals). Needless to say, in 30 minutes, our prospect was ready to have “Gaysi” tattooed on his forehead.
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.
I am fascinated by happy stories where my gay friends and their families have found peace. When a gay friend told me, how her ex-girlfriend was accepted as a part of her family and her dad got along like house on fire, I almost turned green with envy. Another narrates how her partner and she lived with her parents like a married couple, under the same roof! When a friend’s status update talks about how her sister and her girlfriend are cooking her favourite food, I can’t help but be thrilled for them!
I am writing this letter because I have something important to tell you and I felt that writing it down would be the best way to do so. Before that I want to reassure you that everything is alright with me. I am perfectly healthy, happy and doing something I enjoy for work. As your daughter, I love you and dad very much and can never be grateful enough for the comforts, opportunities and love you have always provided.
I usually had the habit of blowing things way out of proportion; I read between the lines, I interpreted a gesture more than I should have. But not this. Here …
We had known one another for more than a year, working in the same organization, and sharing the same company accommodation. We easily discovered comfort in one another's company. We were introduced through a common contact and very soon our professional relationship crossed personal boundaries and when exactly we got so involved, was hard to tell.
To share something so personal with everyone except with the ones who made me feels like a betrayal. So does the book itself: exposing our family, telling their stories, stories which aren’t mine. “What happens in the home, stays in the home,” my mom would warn us. Which betrayal is worse? Which betrayal weighs more?
Later that night I dropped by her cubicle, to hand in my research. She was beyond doubt, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And it didn’t stop there.
I looked strangely nervous in response to an everyday ‘Mom’ question like the one that was just put forth to me. I could feel the sweat on my brow in spite of the ceiling fan blades rotating at full speed. My hands were bizarrely cold and numb on a hot Sunday morning resulting in the loss of my sense of touch.
Adults can be assholes sometimes. Or most of the time. Children on the other hand are so much more accepting and kind. Life is simple if you’re a child- fewer …
I have observed something (even in the Q community) – that when someone says they are “Queer”, people just assume they are “gay”. This was much more on my face …
It’s been a year since 377 and queer businesses are taking off. There’s been an increase in gay magazines, there are exclusive gay themed greeting cards and there’s even a …
When I was eleven years old, I had a massive crush on a friend of mine. Well, not friend so much as a an older, very together classmate. Ours was more of a mutual admiration society than a friendship. To her I was this entertaining, super naughty kid in an otherwise rather boring, all-girls convent school.
So, I find this Queer South Asian women’s group in my town and I subscribe to their listserv. I read through their website and it quotes welcoming all self-identifying women …
Sancharram (meaning “the journey”) is a 2004 movie that is perhaps the first of its kind. One might say that “Fire” was the first Indian movie to deal with sapphism, but in the movie the sisters-in-law were pushed into a lesbian relationship more out of loneliness than anything else.
I was told to stay abroad – not come back except for vacations. Even if that had been my plan always, it felt odd hearing it. When my older sister threw a tantrum over how shameful it was to have to tell her friends I was gay (as I pointed out, she didn’t have to tell them if she didn’t want to), and worse, claimed that I was threatening her sexuality by asserting mine, my parents told me it was a tiny problem. I had to move on.