Orinam is pleased to bring you the videocast of the panel discussion, in conjuction with filmmaker and festival curator Moses Tulasi, who facilitated the panel. Panelists included Mahesh Kathi (Film Activist), Rachana Mudraboyina (Transgender Activist),  Gautami Challagulla (Writer), Neha Vyas (Psychotherapist), Manoj Sunanda (Filmmaker), and Rohan Kanawade (filmmaker).

The panel covered a wide range of issues pertaining to representation of women and LGBTQ characters in mainstream cinema, including representation, the sacrosanctity of sexuality and monogamy, the future of independent film distribution,  indifference towards bisexuality, psychology as perceived by the community and society, victim shaming, assertion vs. victimhood narratives.

Apphia Kumar,  representing young Indian LGBT voices and the bisexual community, writes “It always humbles me to have these opportunities to speak up and reminds me how important my voice is, as a bisexual Indian woman, and that there is hope for things to get better for us and for future generations.”

Please click to listen to her talk, and read the transcript below:

“My experience as an advocate for the Indian LGBT community is something that came about by way of necessity and I have had to learn on the job. Like almost every other young LGBT person my age, I grew up thinking that I was the only queer in the country. I grew up in a predominantly South Indian and very Christian home and in a city with no visible LGBT community, support system or allies. In the small world around me, no one was queer as far as I knew, we didn’t talk about sex or sexual orientation and when I tried asking my parents to send me to a therapist because I thought there was something wrong with me, they refused.

It took me over four years, a South African roommate in Malaysia, four seasons of The L Word, a lot of articles, a few emails from Robyn Ochs – an amazing bi activist from Boston – an online conversation with Siddharth Narrain and the courage to show up at a meetup by ‘Good as You, Bangalore’ where I met him and a group of men who didn’t identify as straight either, for the first time in my life. Soon after that, Bangalore had its first Pride and at it, I – like many others – experienced a profound sense of liberation and empowerment. So I was being called a lesbian… that made me even more determined to correct people and create a space for me as a bisexual. If you were going to give me a label, give me the right one. It finally felt like it was okay to be exactly who I am.

In 2009, my father was diagnosed with cancer and I had to move back home, to Pune – which isn’t a big metro city. After a couple of months back home, I missed being a part of a community that knew exactly who I was and accepted me unconditionally. On a trip back to Bangalore, I mentioned this to Siddharth and another brilliant activist – they both heard me out and then told me that if I wanted things to change, I had to do something about it myself. That’s what they all did. Siddharth introduced me to someone from Pune who had just moved to Bangalore. He told me that though there wasn’t any ‘visible community’, there were a few of his friends he could put me in touch with. I jumped at the opportunity, but wanted to do more. With the few resources I had available to me at the time, by way of my job in the entertainment industry and the internet, I managed to get a venue to open it’s doors exclusively to LGBT people for one night. We had 55 people show up the first night, simply looking for a safe space to socialize in. They were some of the warmest and nicest people I’d ever met, and though they didn’t know me at all we had an automatic sense of belonging. Even the staff at the venue were pleasantly surprised and felt a sense of community among us.

With one event every month for about three years, we grew consistently to over a community of 400 people who identified as LGBT or were allies. I ensured that we were a family friendly space, very aware of the younger crowd that were reaching out and we made it a point to celebrate every coming out like it was a big birthday party. From connections made here, emerged a digital monthly magazine, called The Queer Chronicle and a local support group for Marathi speaking queer men. The fact that we were doing all of this without any major financial backing or bigger NGO, encouraged us even though we had our share of opposition.

As we continued to keep doing the events, I realized that a lot of the people who showed up also wanted to talk about issues they were having – with their families, with their friends, at work, with coming out or even figuring out their own identities. I arranged one on one meeting with them and group meets for those who wanted to – but we always had to find a coffee shop or a restaurant to meet at. There was no safe space for the other important conversations that were needed to be had.

Unfortunately, I did not know then, and still don’t know how to create a permanent safe space. A few conversations with a local women’s rights activist told me that there was a lot of paperwork and fundraising I would have to do, to make that happen and almost no resources I could turn to. Even though I continued being a visible vocal advocate, I felt that the community I represented, needed me to be doing more and I simply did not know how to cater to that need.

At some point in the beginning of 2010, I was invited to a conference in Bombay, of LGBT activists from all across India. I was excited to be a part of that event, but what I experienced startled me and was very disappointing. We were only two out bisexual women at that event and the other person was a volunteer at that event. When discussing issues, and when votes were called for, I couldn’t vote because I was there as an independent and did not belong to a registered organization. At one point I asked the activists representing supposed bi-inclusive groups to help and would anyone please take a vote as a bi representative. That was the only time that the entire room was completely silent. Nobody really wanted to associate themselves with us, even though almost all of their mission statements include the word bisexual. After that incident, I started an online support group for Indian bisexuals across the country, along with the amazing Sonal Giani. The response to BOZ was incredible – within an hour of launching, we had 62 people join up and start talking about how incredible it was to finally have a safe space focused on bi issues, and to connect with a larger community of people.

I also looked into what it would take to create a permanent space for the change I wanted to bring about. The inspiring people at the core of the LGBT movement were busy doing the best they could in their cities with every waking hour they had and other than corresponding with me via email, there was little they could actually do to help me equip myself with the tools I needed to be more effective. Through my research online, I created a plan for what was needed and got some paperwork put together. In order to get any legal work done, I found out that I needed money I did not have and again found myself falling short and unable to move forward. Around this same time, I got a few emails from people in smaller cities like Pune asking me how I did what I did and how could they do the same. Unfortunately all I could tell them was my experience and not having them myself, I could not equip these other eager voices to become effective leaders in their own communities.

As a young advocate for the queer community, I believe that it possible to change this and create a network of young leaders that can radically change the future of equality in India. I am not saying that there is absolutely no one who cares enough to do anything about it. I’m saying that the people who do, do not have the time or resources needed to make the difference. From the work I managed to do in Pune, I know for a fact that even the smallest voice, that has the courage to speak up, be heard and be seen – can make a huge difference to many lives – irrespective of age, gender, economic standing or orientation.If we want to see change on a larger scale, we have to focus on every corner of the country and should not leave anyone behind.

We need to have a solid network of agents of change that are equipped with the right tools, network and support system to do community outreach work all across the country and be effective voices for the Indian LGBT community. Right now, the movement is almost lopsided. The major campaigns and outreach programs are in the major cities and we’re not including the smaller LGBT communities – which infact would benefit from this kind of liaison the most! Instead of us learning what we need to know by trial and error, or surpassing what we might think is beyond our capabilities – we must have a training program for our youth that want to be LGBT leaders. I believe that this is the only way for us to have well equipped leaders, leading our movement from all across the country and who knows… we might even have them successfully run for election and eventually have someone in parliament speaking up for our equal rights as citizens.

I strongly believe that this has the potential to bring out and equip leaders that the future of the Indian LGBT movement desperately needs, because right now – we are failing a large population of our community and that must change!

And like someone wise once told me – “If you want things to change, you have to do something about it… that’s how we all started.”

It has been a while now, since ‘My Bisexual Story’ was published. A lot has happened in that time.

The first question I was asked was how my parents reacted. Well, they did not. They looked my way and went back to their work. My sexuality – same as the fact that I have eaten beef – is news every time I mention it. My parents live in denial.

I have not dated any girl yet, so I am exempt from any biphobia they may have. Although, their reactions have never been good even when I dated boys. They would rather I didn’t date at all. However, their disapproval have never been much of an obstacle in my life. As long as I know that something is right, I do it anyway. Most times, they get used to it.

The second question was rather hilarious. My friend thought that bisexuals need to have one male and one female lover simultaneously. So, he kept asking me if I wanted a girlfriend, even though I kept saying that I already had a boyfriend. It might explain why people tend to think that bisexuals are promiscuous and unfaithful.

I told him that I don’t need to have a girlfriend and a boyfriend simultaneously. That’s the same as having two boyfriends or two girlfriends.

Another well-meaning friend asked me if I have decided what I will ultimately become, heterosexual or homosexual – Will I marry a man or a woman? A third friend had simply enquired, “Bisexual? Do you mean you are confused?” No, bisexuality is not a state of transition or confusion. It simply means that as long as you are within the gender binary, I do not care about what is in your pants.

People somehow tend to assume that the sex of potential lovers matter to bisexuals – that it matters if it is a man or a woman, so we want one of each. Or, it matters if it is a man or a woman that we’re attracted to, so we have to choose between the two.

The reality is the opposite. If we find someone attractive, we find them attractive. Their sex does not matter. If I fall in love with a man, I will marry a man. If I fall in love with a woman, I will marry a woman. No matter whom I marry, I will still have crushes on attractive female and male actors. So, my sexual orientation won’t change.

Another common misconception about me, personally, is that I lean more towards men than women. I have only ever dated men, yes; but hello, I was closeted! I found girls attractive all the time. I found boys attractive all the time. So, I dated the boys because I was pretending to be straight.

Also, I do not openly express my attraction towards girls, but I express my attraction towards boys very openly to my friends. That is because I am still getting comfortable with my sexual identity, and I don’t know how people will react if I do the former, and I don’t know how comfortable I will be with their reaction. I’m easing myself in.

Overall, the reactions to ‘My Bisexual Story’ have been overwhelmingly positive. People I thought I knew to be biphobic, were congratulating me and praising my article. Many others did not say anything at all. That’s okay. I was expecting to be shunned and I was not. People treated me the same, which was all I wanted. I am the same person after all. Normality is a privilege.

Then, I met my old friend. Well, what do I say about her. I entered the closet because of the way people treated her. It was not when people gossiped about her and another girl – I would gossip the same way if it was her and another boy. We were in middle school. We gossiped about everything under the sun – it was when our warden beat her and her friend ruthlessly with a ruler, took them to the principal’s office, and told them that they should get checked for sexually transmitted diseases*.

I was horrified. I realized that there was something bad about this, that it was different from dating a boy. For the first time, I saw how the world sees bisexuality. I saw the hatred and the phobia. And I tiptoed into the closet, shut myself in, resolving to stay there forever. So, yes, I only dated boys and stifled all my desire for girls – at least in public. I even tried to convince myself that I was not bisexual for as long as I could.

I met my old friend during my summer vacation and told her that it was great to be out. Because the people who matter, who are the closest to you, see you for who you are anyway. I told her about the response I got after I came out. She replied, “Yes, you stay in the UK. If I come out now, oh my god, the reaction I will get… It will be the hottest topic of discussion at my university.”

Of course. Privilege is invisible indeed.

If I had come out while I was studying in Kolkata, I would have no friends. No one would be my friend, forget about getting close enough to me to accept it. And the boys in my class. Ha. They would have a field day with that information. I would be bullied, harassed, friendless and miserable. The teachers would know too and it would be pure purgatory.

Am I brave? Maybe. Maybe not. Am I lucky? Definitely.

I came out when I was miles away from the people who could react the most negatively. I came out when their reaction did not matter: I was in a new country, with a new life. If they reacted badly, I would cut them off. I came out when I did not need their acceptance anymore.

Is UK a perfect place for LGBT+ people? No. Is it better than India for LGBT+ people? Definitely.

My suggestion to my friend and other bisexual or LGBT+ people in Kolkata would be to get involved with the LGBT+ scene there. Get to know the people; go to the events. You’ll realize how okay it is and how not-alone you are. I was surprised to find Orinam, an Indian site for LGBT+ people. I was surprised to know that we have pride marches in India. I was really surprised to know that we have pride marches in Kolkata! I will march proudly if it ever coincides with my summer vacation.

There are resources for the LGBT+ in India; you will find them when you seek them.

I may have never publicly come out if I had not joined my University’s LGBT+ Society and met other LGBT+ people. Knowing, meeting and talking to other LGBT+ people makes it a lot more okay. It lets you know that you are not alone, and that you are not a weirdo for loving who you love.

Of course, everything is not bright and sunny outside the closet, even in the West. The more I reclaim my identity as a bisexual individual, the more I realize how heavily prejudiced the world is against bisexuality. Apparently, bisexuals are one of the most invisible and least understood among the LGBT+ spectrum. There are many stereotypes and misconceptions against bisexual people, sometimes even in the gay community.

In a way, I’m glad that I didn’t know anything about bisexuality as a child. That way, to me, bisexual was whatever I was. Bisexuals were into literature and hip hop, classical music and foreign language movies. Bisexuals had male and female just-friends, and male and female more-than-friends. Bisexuals idealized love and never settled for anything lesser. Bisexuals loved to dance.

I’m glad I wasn’t exposed to the knowledge of bisexuality that is out there in the wider world. Knowing about those prejudices might have made the coming out process that much tougher and I might have been more prone to self-hate. Remember that I cried for two hours when I first came out? That was only from knowing that people considered bisexuality ‘perverse’ – not ‘greedy,’ ‘promiscuous,’ ‘confused,’ ‘unreal,’ ‘attention-seeking’ and everything else that everyone thinks.

But it is okay. We are society. Each one of us. Society will change if we demand it. All we have to do is talk. Nothing shelters prejudice better than a cloak of silence. So, talk – dispel that prejudice with your words like bullets through ignorant minds. Tell the world your story.  Show them that phobia is ignorance. And if ignorant people have nothing nice to say, maybe they should not contribute to conversations that shape so many of our lives. Show them that their phobia is shameful; our sexual orientation is cause of great pride.

Author’s note: *Women engaging in same sex have the least chances of catching an STI or STD. My warden thought that they have more chances of catching them. Wrong. Is it a surprise that homophobic people are so uninformed? No.

Orinam’s note: For more information on bisexuality, see the Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ) developed by the soci.bi Usenet group, available in English and தமிழ் (Tamil) on Orinam.

Queer Madras, and sundry musings on sexuality
True, if you scout the city with the eye of an amateur ornithologist looking for a distinct subspecies called the homosexual, you are likely to conclude that it’s a rare bird or at least an elusive one. There are no bars or yuppified clubs in whose smoky recesses gay-identified men gather for an evening of dancing or cruising. Then again, Madras is hardly as exuberant as Bombay or Bangalore to begin with.

What I would include under the rubric of queerness is more subtle and far more pervasive than any institutionalized lesbian or gay identity. It’s like those flakes of tomato pulp nearly dissolved in steaming peppery Madras rasam, lurking below the surface, gratifyingly tasty yet barely palpable, and threatening to vanish if you attempt to define them or pick them out from the matrix of which they are a part and which they help constitute.

Some recollections.

All the schools and colleges I attended in Madras had queerness so amply represented that for the longest time I firmly believed that the Indian Kinsey Zero was a mythical creature. The Catholic boys school: where the gorgeous Malayali boy in my French class missed no opportunity to make salacious body contact and out of whose notoriously clumsy hands the pen would invariably fall into my lap, affording him scope for a leisurely feel.

Even that arts-and-science college that was the bastion of Mylapore middle class conventionality may have been straight-laced but was anything but straight. Encounters between day-scholars and hostelites were all too frequent, eroticised by a sense of otherness in both parties and enacted in late afternoons in decrepit hostel rooms with windows wide open, as the coconut fronds rustled in conspiratorial bemusement.

The hip rival college west of Gemini was no repository of heterosexual virtue either. A friend and study-partner resided in its hostel: this fellow was plenty smart, witty, a debating team rival, and big crush of mine. On one particularly memorable occasion after we had finished taking an competitive exam practice test in his room, he pulled out his stack of straight porn to show me, a common gesture of male bonding. Of the momentary wordless debate that ensued on the issue of who would initiate what with whom, I fondly recall there were two winners…

Inter-collegiate literary, music and art competitions, especially those in which out-of-town colleges would participate, were incubators for sexual exploration. It was in one such event at a co-ed college that I met the woman with whom I was to have my first “all the way” experience, one that left me starry eyed and gazing vacantly into space weeks after she was long gone. The intercollegiate festival of a prominent engineering college had immensely popular light and Western music competitions to which the hip crowds thronged while the more paavam-fied junata stood around the periphery in their rubber chappals and gaped at the unabashed revelry. Drawn to one such event by the hype, but finding myself out of place in both of these demographic strata, I opted instead for a walk through the campus woods, where, having left behind the crowds and the smattering of boy-girl couples making out or getting stoned behind sundry bushes, I chanced upon a vigorous scene of what the French describe so delicately as soixante-neuf, involving, yup, two guys who were audibly having the time of their lives.

But queerness wasn’t confined to the classrooms and grounds of academic institutions in Madras. The PTC buses, especially the 23A and 4G routes that serviced several colleges, packed in warm horny bodies like vegetables in aviyal stew. As the guys huddled and jostled in clumps to letch at the gals yonder, displays of homosocial bonding slid seamlessly into sexualized contact, all ostensibly catalysed by the sight of one “deadly babe, macchi” or the other. Tales of nocturnal travel on Thiruvalluvar inter-state buses are beyond the scope of this article…

How can I forget the venerable music auditorium, where, at an evening concert during the 1984 December cutcheri season, I was groped by an elderly gentleman in a fine pattu veshti (silk dhoti) as his wife sat on the other side resplendent in Kanjivaram sari and oversized nose stud, blissfully unaware of what her husband was up to as she noisily and inaccurately kept time to the ongoing keertanam.

As dusk fell on the corporation playground opposite the park on Venkatanarayana Road in T Nagar, bodybuilders would trickle in to pump iron and occasionally more. At the now defunct music school operating out of a dinky garage near GN Chetty Road: while young girls were sent to acquire credentials that would enhance their future marriageability, the boys usually went of their own accord, and not a few lingered after the school closed for the evening, the mridangams and violins were stacked away and the lights turned off.

I remember the strip mall in Besant Nagar where, on one of my visits home in 1995, a former classmate whom I was meeting after a long time proceeded to demonstrate his recently acquired skills at seducing even the straightest of guys. As I looked on in wonderment, he licked his lips, fluttered his eyelashes, ground his hips, and girded his loins as he minced over to a strapping specimen of Mallu masculinity, gave him a deliberate once-over that said it all, and walked on forward and around the block. In moments, the cruisee stubbed out his cigarette, glanced furtively around, and hastened to catch up with my friend. That was the last I saw of them that evening.

The more cynical or jaded reader might inquire: what relevance do these admittedly lurid anecdotes have to our contemporary (1990s) discourses on queer identities and movements in India? Everything, in my opinion. Bear with me as I detail my argument. See, some people would be wont to dismiss the above examples as opportunistic or situational homosexual behavior that “regular” heterosexual guys would readily engage in when testosterone surged and female companionship was unavailable. To yet others, these instances would illustrate the tyranny of a society that invisibilizes gay people and allows them only such fleeting encounters devoid of emotional substance. Both these views may be partially correct, but, in my opinion, are overly simplistic as they refuse to acknowledge the inherent complexity and fluidity of desire.

Mixed in there with the libidinous teenagers and adults are individuals stuck in unhappy marriages, some male “friends” whose relationships remain invisible to most of the rest of society, not to mention the single women who deliberately acquired enough educational or professional credentials that they made themselves over-qualified for marriage in the eyes of prospective in-laws. Some of these “spinsters” live with their parents. No questions are asked about their sexual lives, of course, because it is assumed that women have no sexual desires, only sexual duties. Even parents who know what their daughters really want would prefer not to know.

There are untold tales of boys from conservative families who choose the spiritual track, sometimes leaving their homes to join ashrams or becoming vadhyars/pujaris because these options are queer enough in their unconventionality that they can allow them to escape the trappings of heterosexual marriage.

There also tales of men and woman who have unquestioningly acceded to their wishes of family and society and are not too unhappy with their heterosexual lives, but may have chosen other options had they been available.

Sure, we need gay and lesbian people to come out and identify as such, gaining acceptance within their milieux. But what about the countless others whose sexualities are more complex or fluid? By subscribing to the rigid binarism of sexual orientation most often prevalent in gay rights discourses, we deny some of the richness of human erotic experience. We also run the risk of pathologizing sexual orientation by presenting gays and lesbians as that minority that are only “that way” because they could not help it. While intending to elicit sympathy for their cause, such “born that way” arguments only serve to distance gays from the rest of society. They shove the bisexuals into one of two closets and further vitiate bipartisan politics.

Such rigid identity politics also have serious public health implications – HIV/AIDS awareness schemes that only target gay-identified men are going to exclude a large subset of the population that is not exclusively homosexual or is not gay-identified.

I am pleading for a more inclusive movement that recognizes the heterogeneity within our communities, that instead of creating “us” versus “them” polarities that only alienate, points out that some of us are also them, some of them are also us. A movement that challenges the gender inequality and heterosexism that’s at the root of not just homophobia but also institutionalized misogyny – brideburning, domestic abuse and rape. A movement founded on the premise that we have the right to choose who we love, and that it does not matter if we are guided by our hearts or politics or DNA.

Any takers?

To reach the author, please leave a comment on the Orinam website.

I don’t remember her name but I remember her face. Big eyes and two ponytails. Cutest girl in the class. In second standard, I wrote “I love you” on a piece of paper and passed it across to her. She read it, exclaimed, “Eww, she says such dirty things” and promptly flung it into the dustbin.

I was hurt and confused but not because of the rejection. I told her that I loved her because it was the only thing I could do. There were no hopes of reciprocation or fears of repulsion.

I was confused because she called it dirty. How was it dirty? I just said that I loved her. I didn’t mean anything dirty.

Everyday I would make a mental note of the stop where she got down from the school bus. I would make plans of coming there years later and befriending her. Of course I never did.

Bisexuality did not seem like a big deal to me at that time. Every night I would fall asleep telling myself stories about Prince Charmings coming to rescue me, or think of the beautiful dancers I had seen in some casino at Nepal. Their beauty and grace had mesmerized me, the same as the princes in fairy tales.

Eventually, I realized that bisexuality was a big deal. Being anything but heterosexual was a big deal. I concluded that I had to be bi-curious. As for the crushes I had on women, they had to happen to everyone. There was nothing unusual about that, right? I preferred heterosexual porn, but it was mostly the women in it who turned me on. It was all very confusing. It all gets confusing when you refuse to recognize yourself.

Finally, I conceded.

It was tough hearing my friends bitch about openly non-heterosexual girls, say it was a ‘disease’ and keep a pile of books in between when sitting next to them. It was tougher not to protest.

I first came out to my first boyfriend and then cried for hours, because of what I thought that made me in his eyes. He was followed by my sister, parents, best friends, and successive boyfriends. I did not tell my immediate circle of friends. I highly doubted that I would remain just-another-female-friend after that.

With men, it went from “He’s cute” to “Is he single” to “Is he interested?” With women it stopped short at “she’s cute.” I never again wrote “I love you” on a chit of paper. I did not even think of any girl that way. It was unthinkable, then.

***

A few days back a dear friend messaged me on Facebook. She was in love with a girl. She was scared and confused. She was terrified of what that made her…to others and to herself.

Humans have a broad and flowing personality that swerves and flows like an endless river, flooding across the banks of stereotypes and definitions. Society tries to keep things simple. So, it invents terms, then umbrella terms, then scales and broader scales to hold everything within comprehensible limits. It shoves the beauty and complexity of human personality into tiny boxes with labels and rules. It breaks our wings and limits our flight.

Now, I am the international student representative at Cardiff University’s LGBT+ society. I am a perfect three on the Kinsey scale. I have not dated any girl yet but I have kissed a few. “She is cute” has evolved  to “Is she single and not heterosexual?” My Facebook friend has found her wings and is learning to fly. Helping her has inspired me to write this article. I am not as brave as I would like to be, but I am getting there.

So, what about you? What’s your score on the Kinsey scale? Or, are you graphing yours out on Storms’ right now? More importantly, do you know that it does not matter?

Author’s note: I use the term ‘non-heterosexual’ to signify all sexual orientations other than asexual.

Orinam’s note: For more information on bisexuality, see the Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ) developed by the soci.bi Usenet group, available in English and தமிழ் (Tamil)  on Orinam.

I am not a person who finds it easy to express. I was since my earliest days, a distant kid. I didn’t like to be held or hugged and I definitely did not voice my thoughts. To make to make things worse, I realized I was different. So, instead of questioning myself or trying to understand what I was feeling, I threw myself into reading novels and a million other articles till the time I gathered some guts to guiltily start collecting pictures of women from various magazines and newspapers. Since I did collect pictures of men too, I thought that meant I was not gay. I was so ignorant at that time that I believed that there was only homosexuality and heterosexuality. Then of course in college I met the woman I fell in love with and the one who reciprocated. It was more than love and friendship. She opened me up to myself. I realized that I was bisexual (“duh!” I thought to myself at that time), like her. I was newly 18, madly in love and I couldn’t share my joy, my sudden fearand confusion that came from suddenly facing my emotions. As usual, I locked it up in me till I thought was going to burst a vein in my head if I didn’t die of a heart attack. I became moody, sullen and withdrawn and that scared my mom who knew that as usual I was terribly bothered by something but not talking. She asked me many times at various occasions if there was something I wanted to talk about but I always said no.

One late night when my sis was asleep (my dad, an army officer, was postedto north-east at that time), she called me, asked me to sit in the dinningroom and there, in front of me, she began sobbing. “What’s bothering you? For god’s sake, confide in someone!! If you don’t wish to tell me, talk tour dad. Just talk! It’s impossible for me to watch you like this and to top it all you don’t even talk. Tell me or talk to dad now. Call him up. He’ll listen. Don’t keep it in you. Whatever u got to say, say it. Don’t let iteat you up.” Watching her tears of frustration, I broke down and came out toher. Watching me cry (I don’t cry in front of people. Not even my parents), she was shook up. She hugged and rubbed my back while I poured my heart to her. I told her everything. I told her that I was in love with a woman. She held me tight and said it was ok and that everything was going to be all right and that she loved me no matter what. I felt strangely light as the burden took off from my heart. She wiped her tears and said, “Growing up kids often feel like you do. It is not some thing new. All you have to do is to stay away from girls for sometime. Don’t hold hands. Don’t sit too close to them and do not give them a lift on ur Scooty and u’ll be fine. You must not tell ur husband about it once you get married. Men don’t take such news well.” I couldn’t believe my ears! All my coming out and confessing was an entire waste of time. I was fortunately too exhausted (physically, mentally and emotionally) to kill myself out of utter frustration, so I wept some more and then slept. But now I feel coming out to her was not a complete waste. She was right about loving me no matter but she was still bothered about my attraction to girls. And of course, there was an issue she couldn’t face–my girlfriend. For years we tiptoed around the subject till this year when I was going to over to Hyderabad to stay with my girlfriend at her house. We had a heart to heart exchange of letters. Anger, fear, pleads…almost all frustration flowed from both sides and then she wrote, “if you are going to that girl’s place (plz note the lack of word girlfriend or lover or even her name), don’t get physical.” I snapped back with, “My bedroom life is nobody’s business but mine.” And then she stopped. She didn’t talk for some days but now, she seems more accepting. Baby steps at a time is ok as long as it’s towards acceptance. Then of course I have a sis (younger) to whom I wished to come out. She was worried that I didn’t have a love life because I was shy. I came out to heron messenger because I knew I wasn’t going to meet her for a long time(she’s studying in Hyderabad and I work in Delhi) :

Me: I got to tell u something really personal…
Sis: ya. Tell.
Me: remember u told me that I should go out on dates and meet ppl and to allow romance into my life?
Sis: ya
Me: I didn’t have guts to tell u then but I have been dating mostly girls usee…
Sis: that’s gr8! Double dates make things more comfortable for some
Me: I don’t think u read it right. I said I DATED GIRLS…
Sis: OMG!!!
Me: er…ya
Sis: are u a lesbian?
Me: bisexual is more like it.
Sis: all these years I knew u were not st8
Me: ridiculous!! U never knew a thing
Sis: I do observe u know. (lots of talks and details better left censored here)
Sis: u think u cud get married and…er…u know, do the married stuff?
Me: I’ m attracted to men too. I will manage a marriage if I do get married in the first place. For now I wanted to come out to you. U seem ok with the news. I’m surprised.
Sis: lol…I’m not a kid anymore. I’m fine with the news. I have many gay friends so I know how it must be for you.

I am happy to say that my sis has been an amazing (and a surprisingly strong) supporter ever since. Then of course is dad to whom I am yet to come out. But I got a feeling that he either knows (through mom) or has an idea. He did ask me once, “so, how’s life without a wife?” but then maybe its wishful thinking that he just knows abt it already and save me the trouble of coming out to him. I know I’ll break his heart with the news that his darling first-born is queer (when my mom was pregnant with me, my parents went to holy places asking for a daughter coz my dad wanted one. At least his first one, he prayed). I’ll need strength to break this news to dad…I wonder when my next breakdown is going to be. Soon I think. Soon. I read somewhere that coming out is a continuous process. It never really stops. I am out to all my friends and I keep meeting newer people to whom I reveal the fact once they become good friends. Coming out has been liberating on so many different levels. I now quite like being myself though not everybody accepts or understands. I just go on being myself and ‘educate’ straight friends about homosexuality along the way.