A previous article

It now seems that it is not just alternative narratives that are under threat, but even quotes of ‘standard’ narratives that are being silenced. At the time of writing, On Hinduism by the same author faces recall and pulping. One of the ‘offensive sections’ in the book, as cited by the petitioners (from the report in the Outlook weekly here) is this:  Lakshmana… says, ‘ I don’t like this. The king is perverse, old and debauched by pleasure. What would he not say under pressure, mad with passion as he is? The king referred to in that piece of dialogue is Dasharatha, father of the deified Rama and his brother Lakshmana, the apotheosized paragon of fraternal conduct. The petitioners who apparently treat such deification and apotheosis as undeniable truth, are perhaps shocked at an attribution of such filial irreverence towards Dasharatha, the revered patriarch and head of the archetypal Hindu-Undivided-Family on part of Lakshmana, the foremost of the Ram Bhakts (devotees of Rama). The trouble is, the Sanskrit version of the Ramayana most commonly accepted as the original one, namely the version attributed to the poet-saint Valmiki of uncertain historicity, puts those very words in the mouth of Lakshmana:

Valmiki Ramayana Ayodhya Kanda Sarga 21 Verse 3

C. Rajagopalachari, Indian independence activist, scholar of Indian classics and patron-saint of sorts for the Indian ‘centre-Right’, had no compunctions quoting other verses similarly unflattering to the patriarch, from the same chapter in his well-loved English retelling of the Ramayana, which can be read here. Even your enemies, O Raama, when they look at you begin to love you, but this dotard of a father sends you to the forest. It turns out that Lakshmana doesn’t seem to have been in a mood to stop with verbal barbs. Verse 12 of that very chapter goes “If our father with an evil mind behaves like our enemy with instigation by Kaikeyi. I shall keep him imprisoned with out personal attachment or if necessary, kill him.” This is not Doniger’s Lakshmana speaking, but Valmiki’s Lakshmana, if only those who claim to treat that retelling of the epic as their ‘scripture’ had been paying attention. Both Rajagopalachari and K M Munshi,  founder of the Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan which published the former’s Ramayana were in their time considered Hindu stalwarts and respected spokespersons of Hinduism. Those who self-identify as Hindus today, at least those among them who would like to consider themselves literate and liberal, must be gravely concerned about the precipitous fall in the quality of their spokespersons from those endowed with classical scholarship to bumptious demagogues and cultural protection-racketeers who make a mockery of India’s much-vaunted intellectual traditions.

So much for why liberal Hindus, whom I am told constitute a silent majority, must be concerned about the fate of The Hindus and On Hinduism. Why should humanists be concerned about the straitjacketing and suffocation of mythical narratives and retellings? Here’s a snippet from a conversation that might help understand what’s at stake here for anyone who values equity and diversity. In this section of a Tamil video made by members of Orinam, a Chennai-based organization for LGBT advocacy, a participant speaks of how  writings by Devdutt Pattanaik on homosexuality in Indian epics were a useful conversation-starter while coming-out to a straight friend interested in Indian lore. In a report of the Bangalore Pride Walk of 2013 published in the Nirmukta blog, one of the placards is quoted as asking “Our epics do not discriminate, why do we?” Well, it turns out that while the epics by themselves don’t lend themselves to a single discriminatory slogan and may on occasion even supply a humanist slogan, the Doniger-haters’ reading (actually ‘unreading’ and attempted unwriting) of the epics does indeed discriminate. Like the scriptural literalism afflicting the Religious Right in the US (conveniently selectively), what afflicts such ‘defenders-of-the-faith’ in India maybe called an epic litero-clasm, an infliction of iconoclasm on any  literature, however classical, that does not align with the palingenetic myth they are peddling and seeking a monopoly for. Their motto may well be “No listening. No story-telling.“, a more menacing variant of the grudging “Don’t Ask; Don’t Tell.“, and they seek jurisdiction and the last word over every town’s night-life and any bed-time story that departs from their revisionist ‘history’.

Be it Koushal vs Naz,  or Batra vs Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd., such unimaginative and inhuman readings of either Law or Lore, represent different fronts in the same larger struggle. The ‘defenders of the faith’ are ostensibly wielding legal and constitutional means, but relying on the unspoken, implicit and very palpable threat of orchestrated civil unrest. The threat is not vaguely implicit but has been manifested unmistakably in the past, be it a ransacking of an archive when a hagiography was revisited scholastically, or the vandalizing of art galleries when mythical motifs were reimagined. With such an intimidatory history and with colonial-era legal provisions by their side, such custodians of ‘normalcy’ are attempting, and alarmingly appearing to succeed, in an attempt at usurpation of cultural space and disinheriting anyone whom they consider not ‘normal’, of the slightest socio-cultural capital. This cultural disenfranchisement calls for a resolute resistance to enforced dourness and colourlessness with undimmed rainbows, and can begin with something as simple as Iranian youngsters celebrating a ‘pagan’ Nowruz in the face of the Ayatollahs’ strictures.

Additional references:

1a. Calling out selective literalism in Hinduism and Christianity during ‘conciliatory’ arguments with the religious
1b. Traditions of LGBT acceptance in Shramana traditions, notably Jainism
(Ravichander R speaking at Thinkfest 2014, Chennai)

2. Sculptural references to homosexual activity in shrines
(and why such shrines and epics are of interest to humanists)
(S Anand speaking at Thinkfest 2013, Chennai)

This essay was originally posted in the Nirmukta section of the Free Thought blogs.

I entered the hall just when Vikram Sundarraman was introducing the panel and the discussion began. Dr.Kalpana Karunakaran led the talk with her insights on how it all began with man’s need to brand and establish his ownership not only over property but also on his kin and how it acted as a root cause for the advent of casteism and the numerous rotten rules imposed based on gender. This brief on patriarchy was an eye- opener, because it had never occurred to me that the reasons for some of the issues we face now are buried deeply in our society’s past. With that came the realization that it was not going to be easy for one to usher in a positive change. Difficult but not impossible.

Then it was the turn of our very own Ramki, who effortlessly transported us from the ancient India to a modern and hi-fi genetics lab where he discussed the commonly used arguments against homosexuality. Yes, you guessed it right, the “unnatural” word. He not only brought up a lot of examples to demonstrate how natural and widely prevalent homosexuality is among non-human vertebrate species. He also summarized the various arguments used in the past and present to disparage homosexuality. Some of these arguments are based on religious proscriptions, and others on limited or false understanding of the science. He conclude by pointing out that arguments rooted in biology/genetics are neither necessary nor sufficient to make the case for equal rights for all, regardless of sexuality or gender identity.

Then there was Mr.Ravi  with arguments that could silence anyone who opposes LGBT equality in the name of religion. He cited various archaic religious texts which are not only clearly out dated and ludicrous in the present day context but also how they contain contradicting statements in themselves. Right from Manusmriti, the Vedas to the Christian scriptures, this man hardly left any stone unturned. He presented two approaches one could take to address homophobia grounded in religion: a confrontational attitude pointing out the ridiculousness of other religious strictures, or a conciliatory approach that draws on scriptural statements about love, compassion and respect for humanity.

Following him was Ms. Poongkhulali, who presented the most realistic picture of the legal battle surrounding Section 377 of the IPC. She compared the judgements of the Delhi High Court and the Supreme Court on the subject matter in 2009 and 2013,  respectively, summarized the review petitions and potential legal steps ahead. She candidly pointed out the flaws in the legal reasoning, the callous way in which the Supreme Court overlooked the genuine reasons behind the review petititions and ignored the pleas of the LGBT supporters. It appeared, she said, that the Supreme Court had  made up its mind to uphold 377, and later made up flimsy reasons to back up its decision. ‘

Then Ms. Shambhavi shifted the focus of the discusion from battling with the legal system to battles we fight within our families. Everytime I try to answer my friends’ questions about how am I going deal with my family when I have to come out to them, I am simply branded selfish and inconsiderate of others’ feelings. The way Shambhavi sensitively dealt with that topic put forward her justifications was very mature. She also spoke about alternative systems in place of patriarchal families.

The five course meal was not all: there were many amuse-bouches too. By this, I refer to the insightful questions by the audience. Several questions were raised on hetero-normative roles, sex education, LGBT in politics, the possible implications of decriminalizing consensual sexual acts.  Each question brought in a different perspective on the topic. And the occasional funny comment to ease the mood was like a sip of a lemon chiller.

This event was the first time I had come across a large group of people who were not necessarily members of the LGBT community, but were refreshingly open to the views, justifications and opinions of the community. Usually when this topic is raised among my friends and colleagues, I tend to use personal arguments to make my case for equality. Following this panel, I now have tons of arguments – be they science or religion,  social or legal.

I am determined to not stay silent ever again in a place where I feel the need to voice out for the cause. The next time I do so it would be not only for me but for my entire community. I strongly believe if these numbers of supporters can be amplified, then the courts have no alternative but to listen to our plea. Thanks to Chennai Freethinkers, its amicable volunteers, their wonderful hospitality and for jointly organizing this event with the Orinam group.

And about the Orinam group, this was the first time I had closely interacted with a group of LGBT activists and am glad it was with Orinam that I started. Every member was a delight to talk to, and the spirit and knowledge each member brought to the group was remarkable. The informative interactions, not to forget the sense of humour, are truly the hallmark of the group, and I am looking forward to be a part of many more events.  Bon appetit!

Video below, courtesy Chennai Freethinkers [see errata**]:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2xLsZ6u0SMU

** Errata:

About: Thinkfest is the annual programme organized by Chennai Freethinkers, a regional group of Nirmukta, during which science popularizers, humanists and freethought activists are invited to share their ideas with the general public. The panel was enabled by Vikram Sundarraman, who describes himself as “someone who has questioned both gender and is religion for a long time and now passionately involved in promoting LGBT rights and freethinking.” The speakers were members and friends of Orinam, an organization working for the cause of LGBT rights.

The panel included:
• Dr. Kalpana Karunakaran, who has worked in the areas of gender, health and microcredit, and teaches in the Dept. of Humanities and Social Sciences at IIT Madras
• Poongkhulali B., an advocate practicing in the various courts in Madras
• Shambhavi, a volunteer with Orinam, based in Chennai
• Ravichander R. who works in an NGO providing education to under-privileged children
• Dr. L Ramakrishnan, a public health professional, biologist, and LGBT rights advocate from Chennai

This report was originally posted on movenpick, the mailing list of the Orinam collective, and has also been cross-posted on the Nirmukta site.

This heartbreaking story has outraged people everywhere. Protests, condolence meetings and vigils are being held in many places around the world, including Ireland and Savita’s home country India. Life-saving medical care was refused to Savita because doctors were constrained by an Irish law that prohibits abortion in the name of religion. Most often, individuals, groups and institutions that advocate anti-abortion laws that refuse women the right to make decisions about their own bodies use religion as their weapon. This oppression based on religion and its influence in health-care is very familiar to LGBT people. Gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgender people are often subjected to harmful and unscientific conversion therapies because same-sex attraction is considered a sin in many religions. Religious beliefs also hinder in providing crucial and required medical procedures like sex-reassignment surgeries to transgender people. LGBT people face the same religious bigotry that women face or once faced in many parts of the world. We are discriminated against, treated inhumanely and denied equal rights in the name of religion. We are criminalized, harassed, terrorized and executed in many parts of the world because people believe such practices are justified by their religions or cultures. Historically, LGBT people have joined hands in fighting for women’s rights, because the fights of LGBT people and women are in many ways the same: the fight against patriarchy and the fight to end gender-based discrimination and the fight for gender equality and fairness.

The tragedy of Savita Halappanavar has triggered discussions on women’s reproductive rights across the world. But in India many don’t feel the need for such discussion since abortion is legal in India. However, the legality of abortion is not the only issue at stake. In both rural and urban India, women face many challenges when it comes to their sexual and reproductive freedom and rights, starting from a say in when to have babies (or for that matter, when to have sex). In many marriages, men make most, if not all, decisions in the bedroom, as they do in all places. A woman who initiates sex or expresses her sexual needs is often looked down upon by her husband. There is still this notion even among educated Indian men that a horny woman is a “bad” or “dirty” woman and a “good” one is supposed be quiet and submissive in the bedroom. This notion sometimes even leads to marital rape. Then there is the issue of contraception and family planning. From taking pills to dealing with its side effects, the burden of contraception is most often imposed on women, as men consider it a “woman’s job”. They don’t feel the need to share it, even if it is just a matter of putting on a condom. Though the responsibility is with women, the control still remains with men. In most families, men decide when to have kids. A married woman who wants to delay pregnancy for any reason is condemned by everyone in society including her own parents. And, if the reason were to be her career, then she is almost considered cruel or evil. Once pregnant, especially in rural India, women are also held responsible for the sex of the baby. Not so surprisingly, a girl child is considered bad luck and a burden. Sometimes husbands even disown their wives for giving birth to a girl child, ignoring the scientific fact that the sperm decides the sex of the baby. In some parts of India, female gendercide is also a horrific reality.

When it comes to single women, the views are even more unevolved. Single women who engage in sex are labeled as “sluts” and “whores”. Though pre-marital sex is not looked upon favorably for men either, women always get the worst of the condemnation. South Indian actress Kushboo was condemned, harassed and sued because she dared to make a comment about premarital sex in the context of sexual health. Her comments were considered derogatory and obscene to “Indian culture” and it took the Supreme court of India’s intervention to end the controversy and harassment.

For young girls who don’t engage in sex, things are not that easy either. Menstruation is still considered dirty and disgusting in many parts of India. Women are denied basic amenities in their households (access to shower, bedrooms and places used by others) when they are menstruating. In “those three days”, some women are not even allowed to go about their day to day business as they would like. Though for married women and mothers, this might mean a relief from their daily chores and errands, the disgust about menstruation is something that makes them feel inferior and shameful. Young girls are not allowed to go to schools, play with their friends and are forced to remain in a corner, in their own homes. The irony here is the first period of a girl is a reason to celebrate in many Indian communities. The family throws a party, invites friends and neighbors and the young girl is showered with gifts and jewellery. This “coming of age” party, thrown without the girl’s consent, served as a notice to the community that the girl is ready for marriage, in ancient and medieval india. Though modern India is slowly getting rid of this practice and also the taboo about menstruation, it is important to note that these things still happen in some Indian communities.

Many Indians are sad and outraged by what happened in Ireland. They shed tears for Savita Halappanavar but at the same time breath a sigh of relief: “This will never happen in India”. While that is partly true, let us not dismiss the struggles of the many Savitas living here and the sexism and discrimination they face everyday. Let us not sweep their issues under the carpet in the name of culture, customs, traditions or religion like we always do. That attitude is what killed Savita Halappanavar. When it comes to women’s sexual and reproductive freedom and rights, we have a lot of work to do in India. It begins by acknowledging that these issues exist.

Recommended Reading: Abortion in India Wiki page

Years later, Draupadi married the five Pandava brothers, sons of the Pandu, king of Hastinapura. The Pandavas lost themselves and their queen Draupadi in gambling to their cousins, the Kauravas, 100 brothers who were sons of Dhritarashtra, the king of Hastinapur and Pandu’s successor. The eldest of the Kauravas, Duryodhana ordered his younger brother Dusshasana to disrobe Draupadi in the assembly hall. The entire royal assembly of Hastinapura including King Dhritarashtra and other elders watched helplessly as Dusshasana tried to disrobe Draupadi. Draupadi pleaded to Krishna for help and Lord Krishna indefinitely extended Draupadi’s saree and protected her honor. Thus the small string of silk she tied to stop Krishna’s bleeding protected her honor at the most desperate time. From that day, Hindus started celebrating Raksha Bandhan, a day when brothers take vows to protect their sisters. Indian women have made significant progress since the time of the mythical Draupadi, but the more things change, the more they stay the same. There are thousands of modern day Dusshasanas all over India. Violence against women, both within the home and in public, is on the rise. Women are groped, molested and sexually and physically assaulted in public places, including buses, trains, sidewalks, bars, clubs and pubs. Countless incidents of rape and molestation have been reported in the past few years. Take a look at the staggering statistics tracked by Map4aid here.

One incident that shook the entire country happened recently in Guwahati. On July 12 2012, a young girl was molested, stripped and physically attacked by an unruly mob of twenty men outside a pub. Onlookers not only watched the horrific incident like the king of Hastinapur, Dhritarashtra, but eventually joined the mob. All of this was recorded on video by a local TV news reporter. Some of the molesters proudly posed for the camera, which speaks volumes about the ineffective and inefficient law enforcement system in India. The Assam government came under extreme criticism for failing to arrest the molesters and the incident caused national outrage. A few days after that incident, on July 25th, a 19-year-old girl was pushed out of a moving train in Karnataka by four men who tried to molest her [Another horrific incident happened in Mangalore between the time I started writing this and now]. And these are the incidents that get reported. Violence against Dalit women; lesbian, bisexual and transgender women; and violence in the name of community honour are grim realities in many of our lives; all acutely under-reported. Looking at the state of the country, isn’t it hypocritical of Indian men to celebrate Raksha Bandhan on one hand and perpetuate violence against women on the other? What happened to the vows they made all these years? I guess they never really meant it. I bet the Rakhi-tying ceremony, taking a vow to protect their sisters and all, are just attempts to make them feel macho and superior, nothing more. Festivals like this are another sexist attempt by the patriarchal Indian society to condition its men and women to believe that women are weaker elements of the society that need protection from men. Have you ever heard of a ceremony where a sister vows to protect her brother? If you think about it, the whole concept is fundamentally flawed. In a fair and equal society, why would women need men’s protection or vice-versa? Men love to think that women are beneath them; that they are vulnerable commodities that need protection. This also leads to the notion that any woman who is “unprotected” is everyone’s game. Single women in India (unmarried, divorced and widowed women) are constantly criticized, condemned, disrespected and harassed, even in the 21st century. Remember the Akeli ladki Khuli tijori scene from the movie, Jab We Met? We need more women like Geet to stand up to such attitude and behavior. There is no need for Raksha (Protection). All we need from men is respect. Respect for women, whether straight or queer, cis or trans, regardless of community, class, caste or religion. Respect for women’s rights and freedom. Respect for women’s choices and decisions. Respect for women’s spaces and right to exist with dignity and as equals in life’s journey. No “Raksha” Bandhan this year. Let’s start a bond of mutual respect – A respect bandhan!

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.

–

*Name changed

I ended the call with a heavy feeling in my chest. I decided on a warm bath to clear my head and help me focus. In the next couple of minutes, I was lying in my tub filled with warm water, caressing my breasts rendered tender by the hormone therapy. As I started to relax, my mind started to ponder over the course of events, from the beginning of the day to the conversation with my parents, and then raced back down memory lane to a year ago, when I first explicitly came out to my parents.

I had woken up this morning feeling a bit low. My next hormone shot was due in four days, and my only waking thoughts were on how I was going to survive those four days. I knew things were going to get more complicated the moment I saw the email from my sister requesting me to call our parents. Though she phrased it in a casual way, mentioning how our parents worried about me, I believe she was fully aware of the complexities involved in both sides of the conversation. Ever since my coming out as trans to my parents, our conversations have been like treading on thin ice. Or perhaps, like treading on Occam’s razor: with each side wanting to believe in the solution that appeared simplest. In my case, the simplest solution was to transition, while for my parents it was to deny and ignore the realities of my existence and identity.

I had a short break during my afternoon at the university and hence decided to call my family. The first conversation was with my father. It was predictable: we both knew where to steer the conversation, and more importantly, which topics to avoid. They tended to focus on the weather in Germany, my food habits, and my interactions with my professor. These would generally be answered with the practised monotony of a year of similar conversations. The weather is cold, schnitzel and sausages are cheap and they are good for the cold. The only variable responses concerned the interactions with my professor. At some point this past year, I had disclosed to my father that my research group knew everything about me, and perceived me as a woman.

In today’s conversation, I was careful to avoid the words ‘girl’, ‘female’ and ‘woman’, due to past experiences where any remarks alluding to my present and chosen gender were received with a stony silence, or with a stream of curses ostensibly aimed at BSNL for poor and noisy connectivity. The curses were supposed to indicate to me that the last few statements I had uttered had not been heard, as they had been lost due to a poor line.

Conversations with my father are a breeze when compared to those with my mother, which are like battling tornadoes. If I am to expect a response, I have to use my former (male) voice while speaking with her. Additionally, when I broach forbidden zones of conversation, I incite tears in her, which leave me troubled and brooding for over a week.

This time, I wanted to avoid any discussion that would result in an emotional response from her. I was pleasantly surprised when she used female pronouns with me, and spoken in a pleasant tone that she had never before used with me. Listening to her relaxed voice, I felt that perhaps she had come around to accepting me, as I had always wished. It was not until she remarked ”your father was talking with your brother” did I realize the pleasantness was not intended for me. In my haste I had forgotten to lower my vocal pitch, and she had mistaken my voice for my sister’s. Once I let her know whom she was speaking with, the conversation returned to its usual track.

As I prepared, disappointed, to wind up the routine and meaningless conversation, my mother unexpectedly broached a new topic by asking if I still wore unwashed jeans and metal jackets. A strange turn of events indeed. During my years in Chennai, she had been the first person to heap scorn on my biker/metalhead manner of dressing.

Harsh words were exchanged, and before I could fully grasp and take control of the situation, she began to sob. Deciding against a full-blown argument, and partly because I felt she was opening herself up to me, I allowed her to convey her opinions without interrupting. The rest of the conversation could be summarized in the message “be spiritual and you will be cured”.

What irked me most was the concluding statements of both my parents, wherein both of them asked me not to undergo surgical procedures. Both conveyed their conviction that their prayers would not go unanswered, and that by consistently believing in God, I should be able to stave off these thoughts.

While I have no issues with people invoking their faith to overcome their everyday tribulations, my parents’ constant exhortations to me to seek spiritual guidance were troublesome. They also kept reiterating how they could have obtained the best medical care to cure my “condition” had I informed them beforehand.

Through this conversation, the main thoughts that kept coursing through me were: ”Why did they not offer to ask me how I felt the whole time?
No questions about why I had been a loner all through my high school.
No questions about what had prompted me to decide to transition.
No questions about whether the decision had brought me peace of mind.
No questions about my present legal name.
Only the repetitive message that I needed professional medical as well as spiritual guidance to help me leave my present lifestyle.

I started to reevaluate the feelings I had had when I first came out  to my parents. It struck me that I had been too naive then. At that moment, I had only considered two likely responses from my parents: either they would embrace me as their daughter or they would disown me. Even though I had been cautioned by people who had come out to their parents that the news takes a lot of time to sink in, I had concluded that, in due course of time, they would educate themselves about transition and try to reach out, or – alternately – gradually erase me from their collective memory, expel me from the household, and cease all contacts with me.

The recent events presented me with a totally different scenario that I had not anticipated. A scenario in which they had totally rejected a particular important and defining aspect of me, and cultivated a false sense of security that I would be the same person that they perceived me to be. The illusion that I was their perfect son, and hope that one day I would return to being their son again.

The thought of my family being in limbo clinging to such false hope left me in a state of despair. Over the past year, I had asked them if I could send them relevant literature on transgender issues. They had refused. I had tried to provide materials from the internet. To this, they invoked the whole internet illiteracy card. I had tried to get them to meet resource persons in Chennai, and this plan was vetoed as well. Anything linked with my present identity was immediately ignored…

I decide to end these ruminations in the bathtub, and start to dry my body. I notice that over the past few days I have become increasingly comfortable with the sight of my naked body. The skin on my abdomen and waist appears healthier and smoother than ever before. My thighs are still muscular, not in the bulging sort of way, but proportionate, covered in skin now strangely sensitive. My calves are no longer prominent, and with flesh replacing muscle, they augment the appearance of my femininity. My feet are still large and overtly masculine. I would be happy if they had been a bit smaller and more rounded. The most prominent change was that of the fat redistribution in my rear. My arms have always been slender and my shoulders have never been broad.

As I get dressed and step out of the bathroom, I feel a new sense of confidence flushing through me. Armed with this self-confidence, I start to coherently reorganize all my thoughts:

My family still wants to communicate with me. So, things are not as bad as in the worst possible scenario I had envisioned. On the contrary, they still harbor a false hope of me reverting to the gender I was assigned at birth, and expect me to present my former external self in all my interactions with them. My former self is a role that has become increasingly difficult for me to play, even on an internet voice call.

Will they ever react positively to my decisions, or will there always be a rift between us? Will the rift remain the same throughout the years, or will it widen, eventually making us strangers? More importantly, should I take the initiative to educate them, or should I keep my fingers crossed and hope for them to reach a stable state?

Too many questions. All I know with certainty is that I am a lot more comfortable with who I am at the moment than I have ever been before, and that I have the will to survive this ordeal.

Maybe what I am experiencing is a part of the transitioning process. The skill to convince the ones you love to see you for what you are, and the ability to make them accept you for what you are.

I wonder if I am being immature in expecting them to accept me within a narrow span of time. As a very good friend of mine said to me: “Brenda, it took you 26 years to come to terms with your own self. Imagine how long it would take for your parents to accept you!

I will wait patiently.

Original in Tamil:
எழுத்து: சுதா சந்தானம்

கிருஷ்ணரைப் போல் என் மகன்!

English translation by Niruj Mohan Ramanujam

The boiling hot weather in Chennai that evening, was reflected in my
emotions. My eldest son had just told us that he would not be able to
marry a woman. When my husband and I asked him why, he told us
something about his sexuality.

I got up and turned on the television. I wanted to calm myself and
needed a diversion. They were telecasting a debate on the topic ‘Which
love is greater? That of the people of Ayodhya for Rama, or that of
the people of Aayarpaadi* for Krishna?’

(*Aaayarpaadi – Krishna’s birth place)

My mind went back to my son’s issue. He told us that he had realized
he was different when he was fifteen years old. He was not attracted
to girls like his other male friends, but was attracted to boys. He
initially found it very confusing. Confusion led to fear. He then went
on to read many books on this subject, and found convincing
explanations for his feelings.

His father and I tried to talk some sense into him. His father even
went to the extent of telling him to get married to a woman for the
sake of our happiness, and then do whatever else he wanted secretly,
on the side. My son was furious at his father’s suggestion. He told us
he could not conceive of cheating his life partner that way. Upset, he
stormed out of the house. He has not returned yet. His father too, put
on his shirt, and went out.

My heart sank.

The phone rang. It was my son.

“How low can you get? If Dad had an affair, would you be able to take
it so lightly?”, he asked.

“Why are you talking about our lives now? We have been married for
thirty years. We are talking about your marriage now”, I replied.

“You are talking about my marriage from your perspective. Based on
what you want. Based on your expectations out of it. You don’t seem to
care whether such a marriage would make me happy or not”

“Why would we beg you to get married, if we didn’t care?”, I
interrupted. “Why are you talking to me like this?” I started crying.

“Oh please. To stop your tears now, I have to get married and cry for
the rest of my life? That is what would make you happy!” He was angry.
“I am not going to get married just to stop your tears. You can cry
all you want.” He hung up.

I know my son quite well. He must be worried that his parents were
miserable and heartbroken. He was frustrated that he couldn’t be of
any help. That inability was making him angry, upset and frustrated.

As his mother, how can I not know what is going through in my son’s
mind? How can I not understand his feelings?

Wait a minute! Something is not making sense. If, as his mother, I
know what is going through his mind and I understand his feelings, why
am I not able to understand him when he says he doesn’t want to get
married?

I was utterly confused. I could make no sense of it!

Loud applause from the television distracted me.

The person who was debating on the side of Krishna spoke. “Andal’s
(Krishna’s lover) poems say that Krishna lied a lot. Everybody knew
that Krishna stole butter from Aayarpaadi women. Aazhvars’ (Krishna’s
devotees) verses tell you that when Krishna is missing, he can always
be found in the folds of Aachiyaars’ sarees. The people of Aayarpaadi
never judged Krishna because of these qualities. With Krishna what you
see is what you get. Krishna said if you loved him, you have to accept
him the way he is.”

“Rama was not like that. He behaved exactly you wanted him to behave.
He did things to earn your love. Did he not forsake Bharata in order
to keep his name unsullied? Did he not disown his wife and let her
suffer in the jungle, when she pregnant? Did he not do that to keep
his name and reputation unsullied? Did he not kill Vaali, hiding from
behind? On the other hand, Krishna had thousands of wives and kept all
of them happy. He even broke his vow of not bearing arms, in order to
help Bhishma succeed in his vow. That is true love! Not causing any
harm to people who trust you and depend on you, knowingly or
unknowingly, is indeed true love”, the person on TV made his case.

My mind went back to my son. Wasn’t he saying the same thing, after
all? He wants to be true to his life partner, he doesn’t want to cheat
on him, even if it is inconvenient for him. Is it not the right thing
to do, after all? If my love for him is similar to that of the people
of Aayarpaadi for Krishna, should I not understand and accept him the
way he is?

In fact, he wants to make his partner happy, just like Krishna. He
also wants to be true to his partner, like Rama. If his happiness is
what is important to me, then why should I stand in his way? My heart
would sink to see him cry, when he was a child. How could I see him
suffer now?

My husband and I wanted him to get married to a woman, because we
wanted him to lead a happy life. In reality, such a marriage would be
meaningless. It would neither make him happy, nor his wife, or even
their parents. It would just be a three-day party for friends and
relatives. (Or make it two, these days)

The debate on TV came to an end. The moderator concluded that the love
of Aaayarpaadi’s for Krishna was indeed greater, since it was
unconditional and was not bound by rules and regulations.

I told myself that I too must love and support my son the same way.

Relieved, I went inside to make myself a cup of coffee.

Another translation A Son Like Krishna by Aparna V Singh is available here on Womensweb.in

coffee table
tv stand
suitcases with
airline tags
still on
cardboard boxes
from many moves
rajasthani bedspread
covers them all
to make a
three tier shelf
our golu padi

we display
your guitar
my brass lamps
souvenirs from travels
barbie now stone butch
star shaped candle holders
christmas gifts from your mom

it doesn’t matter
if i can’t
offer you
betel leaves
coconuts
blouse pieces from raasi
little mirrors
in plastic frames
malli flowers
strung dense
and fragrant

we will still
celebrate
this navaratri

draw kolam
with corn flour
light oil lamps
redden our foreheads
with sindoor
exchange bangles
and pray to
our goddesses
that we may
remain
sumangalis
together
always

(c) 1999 desinorse/jaya from the khush list. Reproduced with permission

Anyway, it had to happen. I was invited for a performance and workshop tour to Kolkata. The request was to bring audio recordings instead of an orchestra. The time to prepare was very short and so I decided to take some known, tried and tested dance compositions with me. But after days of trying all available recordings in my dance school I ended up with just one decent recording that of the same Charukesi Varnam! I chose to see it as some divine dispensation and set out to choreograph it to suit my mind and body.

At that time, I was a little tired of performing daasya bhakti pieces (pieces that express servitude and devotion to god). So I decided to explore this composition in terms of sakhya bhakti (god as friend). Throughout the choreographing sessions there was a tangible feeling of discomfort. It was probably due to the fact that I was forcing an interpretation on the lyrics. They actually expressed a very dignified form of Bhakti-Sringara (piety-erotic love complex). There was a dilemma. Neither did I want to show a woman pining away for Krishna nor do a pure bhakti piece. My mind, I guess, was looking for something more. At the same time, it did not occur to me that my actual, subconscious intentions behind choosing to treat Krishna as a friend was because I was looking for some expression of male-male bonding. It just did not strike me. I thought the discomfort was probably because I was yet to soak in the piece and it would take time. I decided to leave it to Krishna.

While on the train I listened to the varnam some twenty odd times! I was in love with it! Never before had I had such a personal relationship with a composition. It was exhilarating.

I was performing at an ashram headed by a swamini endearingly called Ma by everyone there. On stage, when I started emoting to the lines “Innum en manam ariyaadhavar pola” [“As though you still do not know my mind”], it suddenly struck me with the force of lightning that I was in love with Krishna. I realized I was not looking for something abstract like grace or blessing, but for this touch and caress. In an epiphanic moment, I realized I had my own ideas of what Krishna will do to me to my mind and, equally or more importantly, to my body. It was a palpable physical yearning. For those forty minutes, I felt in my bones what it meant to be in love emotionally and physically. I could feel each cell in my body throb with desire and in a flash I understood what Radha must be going through in those beautiful pieces from Geetha Govindam. They were a series of epiphanies, I would say. But those forty minutes felt like one, long moment. It felt like I was simultaneously in and out of Time. How I yearn for another such experience! That concert was a defining moment in my search for my personal relationship with my art.

After the concert when I went to do my pranaams to Ma, her foster son remarked to her in Bangla, Ma! Look at this child! What bhakti! She looked into my eyes while she answered him, No! It is more than Bhakti. My friend interpreted it in english for me. I was glad someone understood it and my eyes went watery.

This piece was written originally in January 2006 and was published in the Trikone magazine the same year.