My friend made sure I got a seat, and the bus was relatively empty. I spotted a seat next to a guy who greeted me with a smile. I placed my bags there and started chatting with my friend. As the bus set off, I moved to sit beside the guy.

Soon after, I began sneezing, and the guy remarked, “It’s good you didn’t get a seat on that A/C bus.” I was taken aback and asked how he knew. He said, “I overheard your conversation with your friend.” We both chuckled, and he offered me a balm, which I found surprising coming from a stranger. As I sniffed it out, he reassured me in Malayalam, saying, “Enik kushta rogam onum illa,” roughly meaning “I do not have leprosy.” We both laughed again, breaking the ice.

Introductions followed; he was Dileep from Thrissur, with an MSW from Trivandrum, currently working. He was traveling from Aluva to Trivandrum for a meeting the next day. We quickly formed a friendly bond.

During the journey, he observed a lot about me and my life. Dileep sensed a pain in my eyes and predicted that I would open up before my stop at Kayamkulam. He believed this would change my life and give me new hope.

As we conversed, I found comfort in sharing personal stories about my breakup, the loss of my father, and my family. This moved him, and he held my hands, providing a shoulder to lean on, where I even dozed off for a while.

His words, though initially a lecture, began resonating with me. He encouraged me to concentrate on myself and work on my wishes. There was an unspoken connection, a sense of trust building between us.

Time flew by, and with an hour remaining, I wished for some bus malfunction, just to have a few more minutes with Dileep. His unexpected question, “Are we getting closer?” caught me off guard. I confessed, and he believed we were a perfect match. He asked if we could date, to which I couldn’t say no but needed time to decide.

Curiosity led me to ask if he was gay, seeking an honest relationship. He smiled, evading a direct answer. As I prepared to disembark, he declined to exchange numbers, saying, “Let’s love without numbers.” This left me feeling both tense and anxious.

I was really frustrated.

I was feeling tense because, honestly, he was a complete stranger. I barely knew him, and his sudden remarks were really getting to me.

He agreed to take my number but insisted on memorising it. That made me upset again. I suggested he just type it in, but he was dead set on learning it by heart.

He asked for my number and started to memorise it in front of me. I was nervous because he was making mistakes. But surprisingly, he managed to learn it and repeated the number several times. I thought he’d save it when I got off. However, I was still anxious, so I scribbled my number on my bus ticket and handed it to him. He refused to take the paper, saying, “Amal, not everyone’s the same. Let go of the past; I’ll be waiting for you.”

As we approached the Kayamkulam KSRTC bus stand, my heart raced faster than ever. I asked Dileep when he would call. He said, “Sharp at 8 PM on March 1st.” He wanted a straightforward answer from me—YES or NO.

When I asked for his number, he said he’d call before 8 PM on March 1st if he was alive. That got me angry. I retorted, “What if you can’t call me before 8 PM on March 1st?”

He responded, “Then, consider me dead.”

The bus stopped at the stand, and I got off. I asked Dileep to let go of my hand as I had to leave. He said, “Amal… Don’t worry about anything because I won’t let you cry anymore.” He whispered, “I LOVE YOU” in my ear. Stepping off at the bus stand, I started to feel better. I had a good time and, just as he predicted at the start, I felt a new sense of hope reaching my destination. He became that hope.

Returning home, I contemplated his proposal, seeking advice from friends who suggested that if he was genuine, I should say yes. I mentally prepared to accept, eagerly anticipating his call. But days passed without any communication and I began to wait. Every time I received a missed call on my number, I dialled back, hoping it would be him.

March 1st arrived, the day Dileep had promised to call. I returned to Kochi and settled in my room, eagerly anticipating his call. I switched my mobile to general mode, glanced at the clock—it was 7:58 PM, just two more minutes to go. I closed my eyes and started waiting for his call with my fingers crossed. When I opened my eyes slowly, it was already 8:01 PM, signalling that I should no longer wait for his calls. I prayed for it but, sadly, the call never came till date. I tried tirelessly to find him on social media and through contacts in his area but in vain. His absence left me questioning his sincerity.

I couldn’t deny that he had alleviated my depression to some extent during that journey, and his impact lingered in my thoughts. I sometimes wonder if he was just a dream or an imaginary figure, yet his words brought me comfort amid my despair.

Despite the uncertainty, I have come to accept that Dileep’s brief presence had a profound effect on me, teaching me invaluable lessons. His voice, face, and smile are all I can recall, and in a way, he succeeded in reaching depths where psychologists had failed.

The lingering question remains—will he ever return? Uncertain. Will he read this? Doubtful. Nevertheless, life must move forward, clinging to the glimmers of virtue that remain.

• This story has been republished from Amal’s blog with the author’s consent.
• Names have been changed
• Image supplied by the author, courtesy Pinterest.

Not just a minuscule minority hankering for our “so-called” rights, India’s rainbow communities have an opportunity to step up in solidarity with another group in need of support – the survivors and displaced among Kerala’s citizens – who have been affected by the worst floods to hit the state since 1924.

There are many avenues to lend support to flood-affected Keralites through monetary and other means: see here and here.  The Orinam collective seeks to collect amounts of up to Rs. 100/- per person and send the collection to the Kerala Chief Minister’s Distress Relief fund. Every rupee matters. Please leave us a message here, email orinam_dot_net_at_gmail_dot_com, or WhatsApp +91 9884373433 for transfer details.

The Orinam collective seeks to collect amounts of up to Rs. 100/- per person and send the collection to the Kerala Chief Minister’s Distress Relief fund. Please leave us a message here or WhatsApp +91 98843 73433 for transfer details.

If you are able to contribute larger amounts, you may consider directly contributing to the Chief Minister’s fund. If you would like to get in touch with LGBT+ groups in Kerala involved in on-the-ground response mobilisation, please connect with  Queerythm in Thiruvananthapuram and Queerala in Kochi.

As we await our constitutional rights via the pending Supreme Court verdict on Section 377 and a NALSA-compliant Transgender Rights Bill, let us continue to discharge our constitutional duties by contributing to the ongoing crisis response in Kerala.

UPDATE Nov 12, 2015: The final policy document is here.

The 19-page draft State Policy for Transgenders in Kerala (2015), prepared by the state’s Department of Social Justice is available for feedback [download here] on their website.

The Policy, drafted in response to the Supreme Court’s NALSA judgement of April 2014, envisions  a helpline, crisis management centre, self-employment grants, monthly pensions for destitute transgender people,  formation of a transgender welfare board and district committees. Following NALSA, the policy adopts an inclusive definition that encompasses transgender people who identify as men, women or (non-binary) transgender, and also includes intersex people within its ambit.

The policy was drafted based on a statewide needs assessment of 4000 transgender people (99% transwomen, 63% married to women) that also estimated 25,000 transgender people in the state.

We at Orinam grieve the loss of Deepu, a transman, who took his life on Thursday, July 26, 2012, in Kerala.

Deepu was part of the LesBiT theatre group that performed at Nirangal, ChennaiPride’s cultural festival, in 2010. Most recently, he was brought to the screen in Gee Ameena Suleiman’s film Kalvettukal (2012),  a moving docu-fiction on transmen in southern India that screened at Chennai’s Queer Film Festival in June this year.

A condolence meeting will be held in Chennai at 6:30 pm on Saturday Aug 4, 2012 at Spaces, Besant Nagar.

At the meeting,

• we will screen Kalvettukal in tribute to Deepu, and Charu from LesBiT Bangalore will  facilitate a discussion on the issues faced by transmen.
• we will raise funds to help defray some of Deepu’s funeral expenses, based on a request from his family for assistance.
• we also hope to generate a community dialogue on peer support for individuals coping with depression associated with living and loving in an LGBT-phobic society; and on resources available to our communities to prevent more such losses.

The event is being organized by Orinam together with Nirangal and The Shakti Resource Center. For more information on the event or to make a donation, please contact us. 

Click here to listen to an excerpt of the song Teri Diwani rendered by Deepu, that he had posted on his Facebook wall in June 2011.