I hope this life brings me this treasure,
So the triumph of my struggle will be a measure,
To reunite my body and soul,
And I will once again become whole.
Throughout history we’ve seen this trend of queer coding in all types of visual media. From indie French films to mainstream Hollywood films, queer coded characters are a common trend. Even in the popular Cartoon Network series, The Powerpuff Girls, we see a queer coded character, HIM.
I wanted to capture him in his most vulnerable state, without the shrouds of morality, in a state where you could lay bare your inner thoughts.
The film is problematic with its very premise of making a ghost out of a trans person played through a cis person and the image and representation that is portrayed through this.
Its these boxes of the past-
They’ve told me cis men show love this intense
Can’t take no for a no.
But here you are scaring me,
A woman in love this intense
What I remember is for days, weeks after that, I feared that in my sleep I would be sent away to some freaky conversion camp or something. It got better over some time. But after a few months, the news was filled with reports of a bisexual girl in India who committed suicide after she ran away from a conversion camp her family forcibly sent her to after she came out to them.
Days of self-experimentation go by and his fondness for the new style grows. He has now begun trying on new outfits and accentuates the look with makeup.
It is a new morning.
You know you will have to do this over and over and over.
Everytime, you get a little bit stronger. Not because it gets easy, but because you know the
battleground so well.
Recognition of Queer Relationships in Law –
Indian marriages have both religious and civil nature. While personal laws such as Indian Christian Marriages Act, Parsi Marriage Act, Hindu Marriage Act,…
My dad said, " You are my brave boy, you don't need a mask to help you shine."
But little did they know, the mask was now my identity,
Some people knew me with the mask and they loved me.
The teasing started, and that was followed by bullying. Things got worse. I changed schools hoping that the problem would vanish but it seems like the problem was never attached to the school, it was attached to me.
Society ensures you believe that your individual identity is a privilege and standing out is a sin. These quarrelling and kissing bunch of queers unwittingly so ensured that I had my own semblance of a family despite often having been denied one themselves.
I met a man, and he forced me have bareback sex. I knew about HIV precautions but he was adamant enough and I was ignorant and gullible, indeed a guy from the hills who believes and trusts people easily.
It has been almost two years since then, and a lot has changed for me. I have since been on dates with women, made a lot of queer friends, completed my Master’s degree which focused on queer literature, and came out to my parents. And yet here I am, trying to write this piece, not feeling at all like these were victories – my victories, our victories, or any victories at all. I think my queerness was theoretical up to that point in my life, and so my struggles were too.
So here’s the tale!
Here’s to the violet when I was bullied for not being ladylike and pushed against the last
bench of the classroom.
The blood cloth as if showed the first colour of the flag on my skin.
In our conversations, we also realized that we converged in our likeness for the same boys. These boys were out of our reach and with whom we could only dream conversations. I tried to show that I was jealous of us liking the same guys, but I don’t think I cared for them anymore.
So would you not
join me in the investigation
for the world to decipher
why (spoiler alert)
you killed “what a poor boy”.
predictably building up to a steamy lovemaking scene,
marked by the male gaze
and then there's the inseparability
I wasn't good
You weren't all bad
But that wasn't love
And that I understood.
Everyone was in their dormitory but loud whispers in the dark carried out through the hostel corridors. The warden had just retired to her room, and from there she bellowed out names, calling for silence. And I? I was there watching you. I was perched on the bathroom slab; of marble, cold and flat. I remember that. I sat on it unflinching still because I couldn’t allow myself to seem fragile. You had just finished washing your undergarments, and were slowly clipping them up to dry at the other end of the washroom.