As I have been juggling 5 different medications for my epilepsy I have been lifeless, friendless, and loveless. As I have stopped eating I have lost weight and I have been secretly excited about it. Who is this that is excited about being skinny again? I thought I was that fat-positive queer, feminist. Where has she gone?
Now, I am not known as an affectionate person. Strangers have been warned by others not to attempt hugging me randomly. I kiss family. Sure, I hug friends. But these folks have been around for large chunks of my life and I truly love them. Since hugs are the new handshakes, I engage in some of that hogwash as well. However, I am a cuddler. You and me be canoodling?
I have noticed that straight desi girls and ladies, sometimes the ones who haven’t been through trials, often have weak relationships with their mothers or “just-for-show” relationships with their mothers. These friends often seem jealous of the fact that I am close to my mother. What they do not realize is that it took my mother a long time to come to understand me, her youngest daughter. It was a rickety journey after which she became my lovely little mummy.
So you where do you start? You should always talk to your partner about sex before you actually engage in it. You should be open and comfortable with your partner before you have sex. The stronger the emotional connection that you have with your girlfriend, the stronger that your physical relationship will be. Talk about how you feel. Tell her that you are scared and you will see that she understands you but everyone has to have a first time.
I watched Sister My Sister last night, in bits and pieces, on the net—we all know where—my eyes sore with staring at a pixelated image on the screen. It was well worth it. The constant class tension underlying the sexual tension and then the change in the interaction between Christine and Lea as the level of intimacy progresses—I think it was excellently done.
I’ve got nothing against Oprah in general, but her advice was for moms of young teenagers, not for moms of twenty-somethings. The entirety of my mom’s “sex talk” that she gave me back in the day was “why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” And while I appreciate Mom's efforts, honestly, now it’s too little, too late, and basically irrelevant. Mom-type sex-talks tend to be targeted at straight sex, after all.
I always thought it wouldn't be too tough for me to come out at my current workplace. Yes, there will be the initial weirdness followed by the weirdness while visiting the restrooms but largely it is a very professional environment and people respect each other and gossip less, at least not very apparently. Given there are statutes against discrimination and the firms in my geographical area are fairly diverse, coming out should not be a big surprise to my company - at least not to the HR and executives.
Love. I very recently in my life believed I was in love. But just as quickly realized it wasn’t love. It was an infatuation with the comfort level this particular person in my life provided me. This individual doesn’t play a role in my life anymore. And she never knew of my feelings. But lets just say I miss the idea of her – what I wanted her to be.
But at 32, life's not about
bad or good.
good or bad.
I am realising, that it's just about being true to yourself. It's truly about having no rules, no wrongs or rights except what your heart says is all-right.
Living in Canada was a dream come true. It is here that I eventually met my better half, which is a story reserved for another huge article. I survived the first winter but by the end of which I was yearning for the warmth of Mumbai. Only in the absence of it did I realize the importance of the scorching sun.
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.
Growing up queer means knowing as a wee young one that I was different. Its not so much about knowing what “gay” or “lesbian” etc. means. Its just an inkling that something is not right with your part in the world. At that time, I recall not being able to understand why or how I was different because it was all still ambiguous.
As a college student, I’d lived in the dorms for 2 years – 1 as a resident, 1 as a resident assistant, which is like a hall monitor or whatnot in the dormitories of the American collegiate system. My first year, my roommate was awful, but she moved out after first term and I never had to bother coming out to her. My second year, one of the perks of the RA job was that I got free room and board, with a room to myself.
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.
When I was 16, my best friend asked me what I wanted in a guy. The first thing, I told her, in my naive innocence: "He must dance well." Years later, lots changed on the last and of course, the dancing moved out of that list.
This summer I was part and parcel of the wedding of a person near, dear and true – My sister. With it came all the drama & shenanigans of any Indian wedding. But while I was unfailingly devoted to the cause – Get her and my brother in law married amidst all the ruckus & ballyhoo and come out of it sane ( though that is still debatable ) - I never predicted the varying degrees of discomfiture my queer self would face throughout the entire process that lasted a good 8 months, with particularly brutal intensity in the last 30 days. I say my queer self almost as if it were another part of me.
This past weekend, my cousin called and invited me over for dinner. She knows I'm gay & has met The Girl. Since coming back from Canada this was going to be the first time I was going to meet her & I kept looking for hints in the conversation we had, where she was inviting me over, to figure out whether she was also inviting The Girl.
When we were in Canada, The Girl & I went to a baby planning course. Basically the course went over all the options we had - adoption, surrogacy, artificial insemination with a known donor, with an unknown donor, legalities of each option, costs etc etc etc. We also met the children of other Lesbians who were 'graduates' of the course. It was such an amazing experience, listening to the other lesbians talk about what they went through, talking about the pros and cons of the method they chose and above all to see the babies!
‘Should I? Shouldn’t I? Will he? Won’t he?’ defines the chain of thoughts that run through every gay man’s head before messaging a random stranger they think that fits into their description of a “perfect partner” (basis a profile alone) in the big bad world of online dating.
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.