The LGBTQIA community had its presence in my home, however tiny it was. I have my elder sister to credit for that; she came out as bisexual while she was in 12th class. I was lucky enough that the road was cleared for me. It’s been three years since I came out to my parents. From my father, I learnt not to let casteism stop me. From my mother, I learnt how to fight back against the stomping rage of patriarchy. And yet, I found both of my parents unable to accept my queerness. Sure, they didn’t outright disown me but the disregard stings as well. My university is far from home, a melting pot of various cultures. The weather can be unpredictable here, and the grind of college kept wearing me down. Until I found my people among members of the queer club it was a rush of feelings and consumed much of my waking thoughts. The liberating feeling of finally being understood and the freedom to take up space felt like a semblance of solidarity. Being close to my mother, the mentions of the club, and everything queer globally from the legalization of queer marriage, queer celebrities to transphobic legislation began to permeate our conversations over call.

Back home, my father remarked, “Ruhi oi shob L– G- B-T jinish matha theke nemeche?” (Ruhi have you gotten over all of that LGBT things?). The disdain in his voice was enough to finally push me over the edge.

“It’s not a temporary thing to get over”, I began. And over the next half hour, I debated with him about the biological, social “rationale” of being queer.

It finally ended when it was time for dinner. He was finally quiet, but not convinced. I was tired, but not defeated either. Recounting this to my friends later, many of them advised me to let it go and keep my peace.

 “It’s no use dear, they won’t understand.”

 “Don’t waste your time on them, just be happy they haven’t thrown you out yet.”

There was just one part of his argument that stuck with me.

“Why do you want to stand out by being queer?”

“Why do you want to invite more trouble and ostracization into your life?”

I had been born with enough oppression on my plate. Assigned female at birth, a middle-class family, dark-skinned and Dalit. This rhetoric comes up everytime I talk about the struggles against oppression of any kind. Especially, if it’s with someone from a privileged position concerning the topic of conversation.

 “It’s going to take a lot of time, calm down.”

And even the outright pessimistic view, “Why bother, these things will never work and sort out by the time you grow old and die.”

I am appalled by this notion. The freedom I have today as a woman, my education, and my rights as a Dalit person have been ensured by Savitribai Phule, Dr B.R Ambedkar and many more. They dedicated their entire lives to pushing back against – oppression so that we, the future generations, could have better lives. How far down the capitalist self-centered mindset does one have to be, to not care about things which don’t concern us? The bare minimum we can do is pass on this knowledge, and these core beliefs to ensure that systems of oppression cannot lead to imposter syndrome within us. With this determination fueling my actions, I became the head of the queer club on campus. It was a space for discussion, but the gaps remained. Being the only openly Dalit queer in the club, the rest of them being savarnas, I dared not awaken the elephant in the room,  for fear of it trampling down my few strong connections on campus.

With the last few years as the saffron and orange flags are ubiquitous and the superiority complex of -religion swells, every moment feels like the nation will boil over. In the garb of “de-colonization and national pride” these movements label queerness, women’s rights, and Dalit, Adivasi’s and other marginalised castes progress and rights as sacrilege. Laws to ensure – live-in relationships are notified to the court (enacted in Uttarakhand), archaic orders for women’s nighttime curfew in women hostels across all universities in Odisha  (which was revoked fortunately) and the operationalization of the CAA act signal a bleak future where all pretences of democracy are dropped. Innumerable atrocities against the oppressed communities in India are left out of news reports, continuing the rose-tinted view of the current political climate.

I cannot rest easy with this uncertainty. Feeling torn between enjoying my freedoms while they last and working against oppression has taken up most of my waking thoughts now. There is no easy escape either; the so-called developed countries of the USA, and UK thought of as queer people’s havens are regressing toward fascism and religious conservatism as well. The recent upsurge of the 75-year oppression of Palestinians by Israel was what triggered me to look deeper into history and politics. I still have much to learn and understand; how the US has been influencing politics globally, the economic crisis and even Brexit and the “refugee crisis “. We will not keep running and hiding only to be hunted and killed.

My priorities have now changed and I strive to work for the real liberation and emancipation of people, not just of queerness but their material conditions. by taking part and building organisations that fight against oppression using a three-pronged approach with students and sympathetic groups- Educate, Agitate and Organise.

[This article is part of a special series at Gaysi highlighting the work of Dalit creatives, artists and writers curated and edited by BRC (positionality: Dalit queer non binary neurodivergent). If you would like to be a part of this series, please write to gaysifamily@gmail.com with subject line “working with BRC” along with a pitch or proposal. All published articles are paid.]