A perfect wife from matrimonial ads who turns into a Savita-bhabhi-esque avatar for you with the question of consent out of the window since there will be no memory of anything that you do.
I cannot see that much. So, when I need something, over visual aesthetics, I would choose comfort, softness, texture, design and style - aspects of any material creation that I can feel through my tactile abilities. Taking this metaphorically, one can discern my experience during dating expeditions.
The society is broken and deplorable in the sense that it has such hard and orthodox stereotypes set up for all kinds of people, that these words, ideas and unsaid rules that control every aspect of a person’s lifestyle and choices.
Even before I learned how vast the LGBTQI+ spectrum was, I don’t think I was biased against someone because of their identity. However, due to the lack of conversation on the topic, I’m sure I’ve had my fair share of insensitive moments. I’m sure a lot of us have.
However, the biggest fallacy of the entire piece lies with the basic thesis; that Trans and queer rights differ. The classification of queer rights as ‘gay rights’ is erasure in itself, as it boils it down to the oversimplified assumption that human sexuality exists within the gay-straight binary.
Due to the lack of widespread legitimate recognition in the area of the LGBT+ Community, oftentimes the members of the same are resolutely ignored and, in most cases, alienated. They are considered no longer a ratified member of the society and their uniqueness is interpreted in the likes of a contagious virus.
LGBTQIA+ people have at several points in time being legally excluded from the public eye, and now it has transformed into a plethora of illegal yet forgivable acts of harassment, exclusion, violence and discrimination against such people.
My closet is a library, with nested closets filled with epics and love stories of that my heart wishes it would recreate, in this heteronormative world.
My closet frees me, my closet restricts me.
I look down at my rainbow socks, I used to cover them with black school stockings. I stare at them like I stare at my abyss and get caught up amidst flashbacks.
As queer individuals in a homophobic and transphobic society, we are always striving to integrate into the very systems that have marginalized our identities. In doing so, we are tempted to adopt a conciliatory, pro-establishment approach.
More often than not, we tend to fall in love with a depiction of how we feel about our selves.
I am out to most people in my life – sister, cousins, friends, friends of friends, professors, coworkers – except my parents. That’s a tricky one.
Self love? How can I force my mind into loving a body that it cannot relate to. A mind that fails to find space in its vessel. It’s a terrible and violent act.
I always say that before I met Spoorthy, I did not understand what love was. Her love changed me, my anger, Casanova-nature, rudeness, and my all-time decision of not marrying anyone. I never used to believe in any relationships and always said that money could buy anything and everything. Her love taught me to smile, care for everyone, listen to others, and give other chances too.
In her live video, she recalled incidents of solitary confinement at a mental health centre because her family believed that they could "cure bisexuality." She had been a subject to domestic abuse and mental torture resulting in depression and suicidal thoughts.
There is an inherent problem in assuming we can only talk about our personal lives and nothing else, that we are somehow remote from, say the migrant crisis and Islamophobia during COVID-19. By foregrounding one aspect of ourselves at the expense of other equally important concerns, inclusivity efforts in their present restrict rather than expand our civic engagement.
Can we be cautiously optimistic that this unprecedented and once-in-a-lifetime crisis will change the gay narrative, particularly in India?
She ignores my remark and continues to dream about her second daughter marrying an upper caste boy and raise sons. The last time I let the truth slip out, she laughed it off as a cruel joke.
Growing up, I always saw myself as British Asian. That was the culture that I was born into and existed in. But this identity conflicted with itself. British and Asian are two words that felt like two entirely different worlds, and it seemed almost impossible to be both.
Sweeping pieces of my heart from under the bed, the table and shedding the bits that get stuck to the broom is old. But damn, it felt so much worse after us. Your complex cage set me free and returning to you felt better than seeing the world.