For Us

I was lost
under what they said about me.
I wore all their words,
weighing more than my bones,
carrying them everywhere I went.

I couldn’t find myself
beneath those dirty fingerprints.
It was not me I saw
in the mirror, but I found
myself for you, for me, for us.
I pierced through the sun
to burn it all and to
come to you as I am.

We’ll meet under the moon
while the night clouds
float through my hair.
I’ll hold your hand
and nothing will weigh me down
while I fly in your love.

Author Notes:  My poetry book is a compilation of heartfelt verses that I’ve penned over the past few years, originally meant solely for my personal solace. However, after concealing my thoughts and emotions for an extended period, the yearning to step into the light became undeniable. I aspired to reveal my true self authentically. This petite yet significant book represents a vital aspect of my being, and unveiling it to the world fulfils the desire to be acknowledged for who I truly am. Moreover, my passion for sharing art further motivates me to extend this creative endeavour beyond the confines of my own contemplation. I invite you to explore my art, as I embrace the courage to be seen.

Boy from The Poems was published in December 2023 on Notion Press.

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.

Orinam congratulates Neelam on this initiative and looks forward to further episodes. View the videos below:

View the discussion (English, Tanglish)  below.

Resource centre for Youth Mental Health by SCARF is an inclusive space for youth from different walks of life. Orinam is an all unregistered collective of LGBTIQA+ people and allies based in Chennai,Tamil Nadu. It functions as a support, cultural, and activist space.

Suhavana- Clinical Psychologist, SCARF
Dwarak – Mental Health Counsellor
Mujeebur Rahman – from Orinam
Namithaa – Gender and Sexuality Educator

Resource Center for Youth Mental health by SCARF – on Instagram @ryms_scarf
rYMs Email : ryms@scarfindia.org
SCARF : 044 2615 1073
SCARF COVID HELPLINE : +91 7305928515
Email: info@scarfindia.org
Website http://www.scarfindia.org/

My coming out journey began about four years ago. The first time was to a few queer men, strangers of course, on a dating app. One of the best decisions of my life was to attend the weekly Thursday meetings of Good As You, a support group for LGBTQIA+ community in Bengaluru, in 2016. It was my gateway to acceptance in many ways. Through the platform I came out to many more people in the queer community. Cupid’s arrow struck me, and so did the desolation of one-sided love! I needed my sisters’ emotional support then and I had to come out to them. I guess they are officially the first straight people I came out to! All that happened in a span of six months. Post- that, my coming-out cruise transcended from being emotional outbursts to a fun ride. I then came out to many of my friends and a few professors in college. There was a phase when my coming out to straight people was to prove to them that being gay is not my sole identity. I realized that the more I beg for sympathy, the more I am looked down upon. I changed my ways to more straightforward ones. Despite this cocky attitude I was not yet prepared to come out to my Amma and Appaji (mother and father)!

I had always shared my deepest and darkest secrets with my mother…yeah…I was that kind of kid; I still am! Until I was 20, my being gay was not an important secret. I enjoyed being unique in the sea of heterosexuals! I thought I would grow old in my bubble with my mother. Things went awry with bad career decisions and loneliness while I was working in Bengaluru. Though being gay was never the root cause of any of my problems, it somehow felt like one. When I was 26, my parents casually informed me of the marriage proposals for me coming their way. I firmly declined, and declared that I would marry a person of my choice and at my own free will. That was not yet the moment to come out! No, I was not prepared.

Falling in love with another man, making many new friends (it is important for a guy who grew up with no friends!), my journey of sculpting a new, confident, and effervescent ‘me’ – I wanted to share all these with my mother. But I quit my job to pursue MBA and that was the next hurdle. I knew many instances of parents disowning their kids when they came out. The emotional blow of being disowned was not what I was set for at that juncture. I postponed the coming-out encounter to the time after I got a job.

Fast forward to 23^rd December 2019… some of my friends in their teens have come out to their parents. The thought of coming out to my parents before officially crossing 30 years of age was now a question of my pride! On a serious note, I had equipped myself with knowledge, morale and love to do that. If not now, when? There was no more waiting. Apparently, dropping hints for the last five years and educating my mother about different aspects of LGBTQIA+ community were not enough for her to realize I am gay! My picture with my poster for Namma Pride 2017 march was printed in a Bangalore daily and my sister-in-law shared that on the family WhatsApp group proudly (not because I am gay, she does not know that yet! She was just excited I made it to the newspaper!). Nope! That didn’t do the job either! My ‘well educated’ and ‘well informed’ parents are too naïve, I guess. I had to come out officially!

I had informed Amma that my visit home this time is strictly for business – “It is to share something with Appaji and you”. She was unimpressed with the gravitas of my concern! She got busy with her preparations to feed her hostel-dwelling, college-mess fed, frail son! I guess I had to set things straight to come out as gay! I insisted that my parents clear their schedules for the next day. I had my playlist of YouTube videos ready to assist me in the process. Like an attorney rehearsing arguments of a case, I ran through the FAQs queer folk are asked when they come out.

On D-Day, my parents and I had a sumptuous breakfast and sat on our couch lollygagging. They were either too preoccupied or too strung out to ask me what I had to share with them. I belled the cat by playing a series of YouTube videos. The first one was about a lesbian couple; a Myntra video, ‘The Visit’, for its Anouk collection. The protagonist has invited her parents to introduce them to her partner! I guess it was too abrupt for my parents to comprehend. But, I had more weapons ready in my arsenal. I then played a Kannada short film, Freedom – a gay man’s partner comes out to his mother in a rather casual way over a phone call. That did it! My mother visibly swallowed the lump in her throat and innocently asked “Andre… en artha?…What does it mean?” Those abstract videos did intimidate my parents.

The third episode of Satyamev Jayate, Season 3, was the next video in my playlist for the occasion. As I watched it with my parents, I was surprised how well it was researched and shot way back in 2014. My parents pretended to be neutral as Gazal narrated her transformation story. I guess I knew what they were thinking. I clarified what gender identity means when my parents asked me about Gazal. They were awed by her parents’ support. It so appeared that Deepak’s casual and funny narration of his life story took the load off of my parents.

I then proceeded to ask them about their first sexual awakening, which was, obviously, met with their immediate raised eyebrows. They are from families that restricted them from such discussions! My mother shared stories of a guy asking her out and how she had run away from the scene and never met him again! To my “He was not wrong. He was bold enough to express his liking for you”, her scornful reply was “Namm kaaldalli adella henge?…These things would not happen in our times”. My father did not have a juicy story to match hers, but he said back then he was too scared of the society to even think of expressing his desires. Right before audience members in the Satyameva Jayate studio raised questions about homosexuality not being natural and why not change ‘sexual preferences’, my mother shot those questions at me! It was surprising, for she seldom asks questions about anything. Dr. Anjali came to my rescue as planned and answered the audience (my parents). My parents were bowled out by the logic that if they (my parents) cannot turn homosexual, there is no possibility of a gay man turning straight. To make sure that they remember stuff from my overdose of gay gyaan, I reiterated the fact that homosexuality is natural and not a disease and that Indian Psychiatric Society has stopped looking at homosexuality as a mental illness too.

It was time to drive the point home. I showed them the short film I had shot with a few of my friends in college a year ago. It was the video in which I come out as queer. I had made sure I maintained a calm demeanor in front of my parents until then. I got a bit jittery as I showed my video. It was a personal account after all!

My narration until then was very scientific and I had struck the emotional chords right too. My father reacted exactly as I expected him to. He was logical. He connected the dots well and was overwhelmed to see my newfound confidence. It was my mother with whom I had been speaking about the LGBTQIA+ community for the last five years, who could not come to terms easily. She bawled “Why did I have to get this curse?” There went my efforts down the drain! I chided her like how she used to teach me when I was a seven year old kid – “My sexuality has got nothing to do with you, nor with the way you have brought me up. It is as natural as my other innate qualities” and asked her to repeat it a couple of times!

I chronicled the judgement of Supreme Court of India scrapping section 377. I briefed them about Dutee Chand, the first Indian athlete to come out as gay in public. I reminded them that Vasudhendra, my favourite Kannada author is also gay. My mother’s sobs interrupted my protest about Indian government being unresponsive about marriage, adoption, surrogacy and other civil rights for queer people. My father was impressed when I questioned the provisions of Transgender Persons Bill 2019. I had never hidden from them about my attending Bangalore Queer Film Festival, Kashish in Mumbai, Pune International Queer Film Festival and Bangalore Pride march every time I’d gone there for the past four years. But until now, to them, these were, ‘just another film festival’ and a ‘yearly rally on social issues’. I had not revealed the queer angle of the events! I could see the glint of happiness in their eyes (even in the tear-glazed eyes of my mother!) when I told them about my queer-themed painting being showcased at Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS), Mumbai, as part of an exhibition by Pictures Against Prejudice before Mumbai Pride 2019. I rummaged through my Instagram page to show them my posters from the last four years of Bengaluru Namma Pride marches. They did appreciate my efforts to change the stigma in the society through my posters.

It was a role reversal that day! It was for the first time in three decades that my parents sat blinking eyes like ingenuous kids and I shared with them a slice of life, my life! I ensured my parents that they have provided me with a good education and imparted me life skills. I emphasized that I am capable of deciding what I need for my life, and that they should not worry about who would take care of me. Had I been straight and married a woman there would still be no guarantee of that! I confessed that I am in love with a man. I showed them pictures of gay couples who have been together for decades – some of them, my own friends. But I did warn them that my life may not be as rosy as the picture I had painted, and that I am prepared for it. I reiterated that, like my self-acceptance was a journey, they would have to embark on one too, and at their own pace. I offered to help them connect with doctors, psychologists and parents of other gay men.

What impacted them most was when I shared with them how happy I am after the self-acceptance phase, and that I do not want any compromises to stay happy in the future. The only difference of opinion we had was about coming out to the rest of my family and of course the prying neighbours and friends! I suggested they ward off marriage proposals from nosy kith and kin by saying that I will be choosing my own spouse (which is true after all! They wouldn’t be lying anyway!). I advised them to take time and be as proud as I am about my being gay and then tell others too. I guess my parents do not trust the others to be sane enough to let me be! I know they will cross that bridge one day.

Despite the momentary denial, weeping, multitude of questions and naysaying, my parents have now made the choice of prioritizing my happiness over what the society thinks of me! My mother’s smile is as warm as before and I am still my father’s ‘Chinnu’ (Gold – his nickname for me in Kannada)! I am proud of them.

All images courtesy the author.

1. 

• Look at that guy, dude. He is so f#cking hot. Hey, see, see, he is looking at you
• Oh God! He is so damn good, man. But, what’s the matter? You are checking out boys? Have you been changed? Umm, Do I have a chance?
• Shut up!! I am arranging one for you, dumbo. Otherwise you will remain my roommate all your life. And waste your life by shopping and watching movies with me. And in the meantime I also won’t get a girlfriend.
• Ok ok!! Let me find one for you too. Look at that girl in blue kurti. Like her?
• Phew!! You look better than her.

2.

• BJP is losing this time. Mark my words.
• BJP? And losing in Gujarat? Have you gone crazy, sweetheart?
• If it does, then?
• Then…I will kiss you.
• In your dreams!!! And what if it wins?
• Then you kiss me.

3.

• Babe, it’s been a long time since we’ve watched a movie together. Let’s watch.
• Not a bad idea. Tomorrow is Christmas holiday too.
• Yes. Then today itself? After food?
• Great. You finish your lunch. In the meantime, I’ll finish my dinner. Then will sit together.
• Okay. Which movie btw?
• Dhoom 4? Is it on Netflix?
• Dhoom?? Uff, You will never change!!

4.

• Babe, which one do you like more? Spooning or getting spooned?
• What the hell is that?
• Sh#t!! You are so unromantic. Will you cuddle me or shall I?
• Honey, at least until we arrange for an AC, let’s keep some distance on the bed. At least, for the summer?

5.

• You snore too much when you sleep
• No, I don’t. Rather, it’s you who flail your arms while sleeping.
• That’s for defense. To stop you from snoring.
• Nonsense.
• Nonsense? Didn’t you listen to the recording?
• Conspiracy!! That’s not me. Someone else.
• Don’t say like this. If you don’t do anything about your snoring, I shall sleep in a different room from now.
• Go, who is stopping you? But don’t come back to wake me up at the middle of night saying “some shadow is moving outside”.
• Don’t laugh. Seriously, there is some spirit in this house.
• Sure there is. But not one, a pair of them. One snores and the other flails arms during sleep.

6.

• Someday, I will leave this house and go far away.
• Good idea. When are you going?
• Oh. You are waiting for me to leave? Listen, I’ll go nowhere. I’ll stick around here only.
• No no. Let’s go somewhere. You and me. Together.
• No way. If I go with you, you will again irritate me.
• No, babe. Just one cup of tea made by you in the evening. That’s it.
• OK, got it. Wait for couple of minutes. You won’t let me rest!!

7.

• I am now taken for granted for you, right? You don’t really care anymore.
• Huh?
• Did you even listen to what I said?
• Wait for a min. Just let me complete this e-mail and send it to my office.
• I am thinking of going to Kolkata to my parents for a month.
• No. Not this month. Next month.
• Why? Just because you have year-ending workload in your office?
• No, because your annual medical check-up is not yet done. The way you are going out of breath while fighting with me, it’s not safe to let you get close to to your brother and sister-in-law before you get yourself an ECG.

8.

• Who is that in your office party photo? Never seen her before.
• Newly joined. Very efficient.
• Yes, I see.
• Now, you are after her?
• No. Was just saying that many new people are joining your office.
• So what? They’re joining the office, not our home.
• Who is resisting even that?

9.

• …
• …
• …
• …
• …

           Complete silence.

10.

• I always pray to God to take you before me.
• Why? Why you want me to die before you?
• Without you I can still manage. But, without me you will be a complete mess. You are old, but you haven’t grown up. You can’t manage life.
• I shall learn when required.
• Seems so. Not that easy.
• Even harder than living without you?

11.

• So, finally you left me. Probably when the call comes, we all have to go. But, don’t be so happy about it, ok? ‘ Coming there very soon to irritate you. But next time, I shall go before. You can’t leave me alone like this every time… that’s not fair. You know, I don’t fear ghosts anymore. Moving shadows now just feel like you. But, I don’t get good sleep at nights. Doctor says it’s my high BP. He doesn’t know anything. It’s your snoring that I am missing. Without that, it’s difficult to fall asleep. Anyway, ‘coming to you shortly. We will start another journey together. Yours truly.

‘Together’ is a series of conversations between two persons. There is no clear indication whether the two are the same or different in each episode. An attentive reader might have already noticed that the persons involved carry no names. Not giving them names was intentional. Names map to certain identities, labels and stereotypes.

For example, if I say they are Mansoor Farhad Yusuf and Dr Nupur, you will understand that this is the couple from Kavi Nagar (Ghaziabad, UP) whose wedding ceremony was vandalized by Hindutva groups.

If I say they are Ramdulari and Ayushmaan, you will understand that they belong to different socio-economic backgrounds.

If I call them Divya and Ilavarasan, then you will understand this was the couple who were violently separated and the latter murdered because of their caste difference.

If I say they are Moumita and Venkatesan, you will wonder if they had faced great troubles for their different food habits, after starting to live together.

And if I name them John and David, or  Geetha and Priya, you would exclaim in disgust that there must have been some mistake.

My dear friend, although we tend to classify people by imposing artificial labels, in certain things we are very much the same. Our feelings of love-hate, joy-sorrow, likes-dislikes, really do not know these labels. Living together is a canvas where all these colors are painted. Irrespective of caste, religion, gender, ethnicity and mother tongue the picture painted is equally beautiful. For every one of us, the eternal happiness of holding the hand of the beloved is the same. Same is our sorrow when the loved one leaves us. Believe me, the labels we have don’t matter at that point, even the slightest.

Keeping that truth in mind, let us accept equal rights for all couples. Let us make ‘live and let live’ the music of our lives. Rather, let us focus more on loving each other. You will find the world much more joyful that way my friend. Colours of spring will fill the earth.

These musings were sparked by reading my young friend Samarpan’s inscription on the wedding card of his sister: see below.

Author Prof. Abhijit Majumder is a faculty member in the Dept of Chemical Engineering, IIT Bombay. He works on stem cell biology and tissue engineering. Writing on different socio-political issues is his hobby. Views expressed here are the author’s own.

Translator Arpan Kundu is a Ph.D. student at the Institute of Mathematical Sciences in Chennai, and is part of the Orinam collective. Apart from his studies, he has a keen interest in Marxist Feminism.

Artist Sulipto Mondal studied painting at the Government College of Art and Craft, Kolkata, and obtained a Master’s from the Department of Visual Arts, Kalyani University, Nadia, West Bengal. He is an event decor artist by profession.

India’s Public Service Broadcasting Trust seeks proposals from starting-out and mid-career filmmakers for the award of Independent Fellowships for films that engage with experiences and conversations around sexualities from various standpoints. From personal narratives and stories to social commentaries, the project provides a wide canvas to explore, both creatively and politically.

Format: Full High Definition
Duration: 10 minutes
Average Budget: Rs 2 lakh
Languages: English and Hindi mandatory
Deadline for Proposal Submission: 06 pm, 06 February 2017

Full details are available at http://www.psbt.org/general/callforproposals: scroll down to Proposal II.

PSBT has been commissioning films on non-normative sexualities and genders for over a decade. Some notables include:

There have been innumerable times when my batch mates had told me how I ‘never looked like one’, simultaneously and not-so-subtly, pointing at my lower class, Dalit batch mate who hails from Bihar: a boy who according to them clearly fits the criteria of ‘poor SC boy who needs the reservation’. How much it pained me to hear that. I come from an untouchable caste of Chamars from Jalandhar. I have been extremely privileged to be born in a family where my grandfather stepped out of his father’s occupation and earned enough to pay for my father’s education who in turn became a civil servant. Does that mean that I should feel sorry about an upper class, upper caste person’s accusations of my non-credibility of having reached a place which is so conveniently appropriated by men and women of unquestioned privilege? Was that unease I saw in their eyes when I wouldn’t just silently suffer the multiple disadvantages that were thrown at me?

I remember how as a child, my parents took me to Guru Ravi Dass Ji’s gurudwara and explained to me how he is ‘our’ guru. I remember being confused as to why he isn’t counted among the ten Gurus when he is evidently a Guru himself. I remember being confused by following rituals such as taking my shoes off, bending down just the way I saw upper caste individuals do when we were very much opposed to the way they perpetuated caste oppression by such exclusionary practices. What struck me most, and still does sometimes, is the level of secrecy that came with my caste. I was constantly reminded by my family to not wear my caste on my sleeve. How doing so, would attract unwanted attention. I get angry when I am required by my family members to touch my elders’ feet. I get angry when my parents forbid me from eating beef, of telling me to shut up about my caste when I refuse to name a fictitious number from a general list to avoid conversation about reservation list.

Much of my courage (or just plain common sense) to not shy away from confrontations with my daily realities with respect to my caste came from me dealing with bullying because of being an out of the closet homosexual. I am a cis-gendered man and identify my sexual orientation as gay. I never went through any questioning phase in my life. I just knew since 1st grade and even before that, that I was interested in people of my own gender. Not sexually of course…there was a sense of higher attachment with boys my age.

A very big part of me which was able to face caste oppression stems from the strength that I found through my comfort of being in my own skin; by respecting who I am, regardless of how everyone around me mocked me, joked about me, bullied me, for being different or girl-ish or sissy or a chhakka. I remember being in 6th grade and terribly upset about being mentally tortured by my school mates but forced to console myself because I just couldn’t ever feel comfortable about discussing it with my mother. Because if I would tell my mother what they called me, she would enquire about why would they call me such names and eventually connect the dots with my orientation.

I remember even being abused by my cousin for acting like a girl and bringing shame to my entire family. But I decided long time back in my life that I would never let anyone make me feel bad about myself. Slowly, while growing up, I came to terms with my caste. What supposed impurity meant. How I should never tell my friends what my caste is. ‘Why?’ I asked. “Bas nahi batana. Humain woh bura samajhte hain.‘ Thus I hid my caste (besides keeping quiet about my orientation). Not only did I try to look and seem masculine, I would also try to imitate my upper caste friends’ fascination with their cultures (which I came to know much later is the mirroring of upper caste ideologies by lower castes, as Srinivas calls it Sanskritization and Brahminization).

As I grew up, it became much easier for me to ‘come out’ about my sexuality, but not my caste. I guess it just became easier for me to take the struggles at my own pace. I realized that I was trying so hard to fight the shame attached to me being gay that I somehow overlooked to fight the shame that is attached to my caste. I began to accept my caste within my engagement with my sexuality. I realized Ambedkar has so much to offer not just to the lower castes but marginalized people across the spectrum. Annihilating caste by challenging the very foundation of the Hindu society helped me to come to terms with attacking the hetero-normativity and assumed notions of femininity and masculinity. Ambedkar and his readings not only helped me challenge oppression at various degrees, but it also helped me embrace the ’emotional’ within the rational.

While talking about the Gandhi-Ambedkar debate, one of the points in which some analyse those deliberations, is how Ambedkar demolished the opposing side’s arguments, one by one, rationally. For me, on the other hand, the very fact that he was so emotional about the cause, that emotional rationality carried a stupendous importance. When people around me dismiss my dis-engagement with law and my ‘dildo-shoving-feminism’, I feel in no sense non-emotional about my feminism, caste and LGBT or diluting the baggage that these movements come with just to please the comfort of the listener or the opposition. My caste taught me how not to be uncomfortable with me being emotional and dismissing them in the name of making rational and public pleasing arguments.

In discussions which are perpetually lost in unearthing each other’s dispositions, Ambedkar is someone who is supremely relevant and will be for infinity to help us deconstruct the taken for granted structures around us. The intersectionality of experiences, if not educating us about multiple marginalizations, also teaches us to be more inter-disciplinary in our approach to issues.

Credits:  Orinam thanks the author and Round Table India, the site where the article was originally posted, for consent to republish. Round Table India is an anti-caste Dalit Bahujan news and information portal.

If that is all there is to it, then surely one wouldn’t grudge the mother and the son the quest for a partner of a similar disposition or background. The tendency to seek people similar to oneself for intimate relationships is a natural tendency in most people. For instance, South Asian migrants in other parts of the world often seek comfort in each other’s presence. To deny people this comfort is to mandate a world where everyone is not just equal, everyone is also homogeneous and completely alienated from community life. Such a society cannot tolerate diversity, pluralism, and any deviation from a set norm. In its most extreme form, French republicanism tries to create such a society, and we should certainly guard Indian republican thought from such homogenizing tendencies.

Those of us who wish to assert communal identity must, therefore, think very carefully about the sources of “similarity” and “difference” we are recognizing and celebrating through our actions, and also about how these actions may be interpreted by others around us. To give an example, if a “gay” support group bars gender-queer or transgender persons from participating in its meetings, then is that merely a way to ensure that cisgender persons feel comfortable among people like themselves? And does it carry the same normative valence as barring straight-cis people from support group meetings?

The underlying discourses used to distinguish between “us” and “them” should be the central concern. Distinguishing between straight and queer, in this case, turns on the common challenges undergone by most, if not all, queer people due to the heteronormativity of dominant social institutions in their daily environment. Building solidarity around this definition of community might eventually lead to resistance against heteronormative institutions through political action. On the other hand, denying participation to gender-queer and transgender persons merely reinforces the discourse of gender-normativity regardless of the intentions of cisgender men, even if they consider their preferences to be “innocent” of any discriminatory intent.

Community, then, is never strictly apolitical and non-hierarchical, nor does it ever remain caged within the intimate or private sphere. Private actions have public consequences, not least due to the fact that economic power is unequally distributed in society. Community formations are constantly either reinforcing hegemony or adding to the resistance against hegemonic forces. We only have to choose which side we are on.

Back to the advertisement now, what is the discourse of caste that this advertisement invokes? Surely this has something to do with the larger discourse of caste, in which Brahmins hold themselves to be intrinsically sacred and are encouraged to maintain the sanctity of their body by shunning intimate contact with people of other castes? The invocation of this discourse may or may not be intentional, but doesn’t it nevertheless have the same effect? After all, not only does it communicate to the potential marginalised caste reader that they ought not to aspire for a match with someone who is in a superior social position, it also locates that superiority in the circumstances of birth itself.

Caste-based discourses are not set in stone and do change over time. If we were to inhabit a utopian world where being a Brahmin gave a person no advantage over being a Dalit, and no greater source of authority, there would be no cause for complaint. In that utopian world, caste might be reduced to a mere preference for a certain kind of community with its specific religious and cultural practices. Whether such an ideal world is possible, I do not know. But I am certain that is not the world we live in, despite the fantasies of upper-caste gay men in India.

In the world we live in, caste cannot be separated from the hierarchical ordering of society.

Unless we recognize that, we will be party to the perpetuation of caste-based hierarchies in India.