Sahil Sood’s A Thousand Dreams Within Me Softly Burn prompts readers to ponder upon the reason for reading literature and watching films. Some works of art reflect a particular philosophy of life, which create their own reality, and reflect an intermix of emotions and desires that inhabit one’s world. Their underlying urge is to share the diverse gene pool of human experience.

The book unravels the delightful, yet thorny relationship between Saaransh and Akshay. These two young men in Chandigarh have a romantic rendezvous one late evening and begin their journey together. What is it that keeps these two men together? Whether it is love, care, lust, grief, hatred, belonging or remembrance—all these notions stem from the intrinsic need to connect with the other, perhaps with the hope of merging one’s very self into the other. Yet, despite the desire to be together, the journey of love is not that easy. Byron’s quote, “Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey,” evoked in the book, reflects the strength of love and the myriad ways that love continues to drive the characters within this book.

In the book there are two narratives that unfold, along with a central essay based on the voyage through literature and cinema that evokes the voices of several writers that stir our appreciation for art. For a reader who might be uninitiated to the Thumri form of Hindustani Classical Music, or has not listened to ‘Jise Tu Qubool Kar Le’ in Devdas (1955) or Nina Simone’s ‘I Loves You Porgy,’ playing these online renditions may offer a singular experience while reading the book. The non-linear narrative adds an interesting style to the plot, making the reader peel different layers of an onion blub, seemingly muddling things up, yet seamlessly connecting each layer at its stem.

Along with the queer theme, Sahil Sood also queers the text’s structure and narrative technique, through its pictures, lyrics, letters, and essays. The suspense of a detective novel — of the mysterious ‘Dearest’ and ‘Me’ in the letters — is kept until the end. Seemingly post-structuralist in form, the text — where eight letters, sandwiched between seven chapters of Siddharth’s manuscript — might offer different readings to different readers. The personal letters included are actually poetic. Furthermore, they build on where you are in the story and give more insight into the mind of the protagonist.

Another beautiful aspect of A Thousand Dreams Within Me Softly Burn is its ability to capture the vulnerability and transcendence of the human condition. Whether it’s about Jacky, the evil dog that had a growing large patch of decaying skin, or Ami Azan, the impious lady who spent years of her life in disgrace confined to a solitary apartment, the book strikes a chord of the inner melody, waiting to find itself.

Then one day Ami Azan stepped out at dawn. She heard a mystifying aural symphony in the air. She took out her prayer mat and started walking barefoot towards the masjid. Her hair streamed behind her as she walked leaning on a jagged wooden stick. The pewter sky smiled at her. The sound of Imam offering prayers beckoned to her. Naive birds awakened by the first light of dawn flapped their silver wings furiously. She spread her mat on the pristine floor, wrapped the hijab around her head, and with hands joined in worship started murmuring fervent prayers to Allah. Her fears metamorphosed into tears of gratitude. She held her breasts in delight. She looked at the sky and blinked with wonder. A new feeling was thus born in the history of time.

Fiction on gay relationships in contemporary Indian writing is hard to find. It’s a subject we are uncomfortable writing about, precisely because we have mixed feelings about it. When we do chance upon such books, we are either skeptical or regard them as exceptions. This heart-moving book deals with the subject in a frank, sympathetic, and intimate style, and is likely to win over many unwilling mindsets. Sahil Sood has paved the way for a fresh outlook on the nature of gay relationships in the queer genre, which, for most, is synonymous with mushiness, longing, death and loss.

Title: A Thousand Dreams Within Me Softly Burn
Author: Sahil Sood
Year of publication: 2017
Paperback: 122 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (27 January 2017)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1541165020
ISBN-13: 978-1541165021

My own coming out took twenty nine long years. Coming from a Catholic background, where being gay is synonymous with shame and guilt, I chose a life of celibacy for eleven of those years.  Ensconced within my own pseudo-religious closet cocoon, I had admitted only within the confines of the confessional, as well as over some pins-and- needles sharing sessions with some of my closest friends, that I was attracted to men.  I had always sought clarity from God as to why He made me the way I was, and His only reply was that He had carved me in the palm of His hands, fashioning me in His image. Undoubtedly, He had made me unique and perfect! And in His perfection, He had also given me my sexual orientation.

Three years later, as I look back at myself, I’m surprised at my streak of rebellion while I was in the Jesuit order. There was some part of me that always questioned authority;  that often gnawed at the veneer of convention.

Yet nothing prepared me for the day that my twenty-year-old sister Ancy attempted to open up about her life with me. That afternoon I was packing my stuff to get to Chennai, where I was studying for my philosophy degree.

“I’d like to share something with you,” she said.

“Go ahead, Ancy,” said I, making myself comfortable reclining on the bed rest.

“I don’t ever want to get married.”

The moment she uttered those words I shuddered and grew pale, realizing the highly volatile ground Ancy was navigating. I had always known what my sister’s leaning was. Her sexuality was conspicuous, though none of us in the family dared to admit it.

Many times I had served as a confidante to my friends who were struggling to come to terms with their sexuality. Yet, that day, I was scared. I was really scared. Instinctively, I knew that the same fears I hedged myself from through my choice of being in the religious order were beckoning me and, worse still, were mocking me.

“Why would you say that? Perhaps you’re confused!” I lied, steering away from the direction this conversation was gravitating towards.

I continued, “You have a long way to go, Ancy. In time, you’ll think differently.”

I could see the light of hope waning in her eyes. The yearning of wanting to open up to somebody getting bleaker by the moment.  She looked crushed. And yet, through the moments of silence between our words, I knew she hoped this conversation would end differently.

And then, not wanting to give up on my sister, I said, “Ryan* is a nice guy. He likes you very much.”

“I don’t like him. He’s a liar.” Then she went on to narrate an incident when she caught Ryan red-handedly spinning a yarn.

“Oh, come on, Ancy! All of us tell lies once in a while. Cut some slack for the poor guy. But he likes you very much. It doesn’t matter if he takes a drink once in a while. All of us tell white lies.”

She looked at me quizzically and admitted it. Perhaps she just caved in, knowing that it was useless. After a while, she gave me that smile, playfully mischievous. She said that she would talk to Ryan and give him a chance.  She made me believe that things would get better. And two hours later, while I was at the railway station on my way to the seminary, Ryan and she had a little moment together when I was chatting with my parents. Seeing the two of them together, I hoped that day I had been of some help to my sis.

Now, whatever possibilities I might contemplate, I know they would only be conjecture. I can never fully fathom what must have gone through her mind those few hours, when she decided that everything was over for her. Planning every little detail of her last minutes of life to prove to her confidante (a particular nun) that the nun mattered to her, Ancy had managed to take her own life by taking her last breath in the river where she often swam in. Like Virginia Woolf, she had stones weighing down her lifeless body when it was recovered hours later.

I had not had an opportunity to speak to her at length, after that day when she attempted  to open up to me. I rue the fact that I didn’t do what I ought to have done.  To open myself to her and listen to her, keeping aside the false sense of propriety that my family, society and religion had instilled in me.

Something which I discovered about my sister after her death was that she had a good hand at writing. I read her diary entries about her feelings of confusion, desire and guilt, mixed with her overbearing desire to be faithful to God. Through her writing, she wanted to break even from her inner tumult and come out honestly. Her death has taught me the importance of being honest to myself.

Though she was not as fortunate as I was, I, myself, am grateful to all those who came out before me. It made me realize that I’m not alone.

There are so many of us in the midst of our uncertainties, careers, relationships and the everyday humdrum activities of our lives, who have to deliberate whether we can afford to come out. Each time we come out, we change a little of the world we live in. We do our bit in making a difference. Sadly, we in India are still in a rudimentary stage when it comes to rights of lesbian, gay, bi and transgender people. Though some amazing things have happened over the last three years after the Delhi High Court judgement, we have a very long way to go.

People need to see more LGBT faces. They need to see more of us in our ordinariness, doing our daily chores at homes, living in our faith in God, pursuing our goals in our universities and our work places, speaking about our lives, hopes and disappointments and, most importantly, being comfortable about ourselves.

And then, maybe, no one will ever need to make the decision my sister Ancy made for herself.

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*Name changed