I danced the night away. Clinkering glasses of wine and spirits added to the rhythm of the night. We bathed on dance floor in colours of celebrations painted over our moods- blue and battered from weekdays of struggle at work. Escaping from an earful by the boss, parents and loved ones, our refuge was perfect only until on my way back I saw a man with his son, dressed in pristine white unapologetically sleeping on a park bench.
Skies began crying. It poured in streams and not droplets as if Mother Nature finally had turned teary eyed without any sobs or sound. Maybe she was not in mood to be consoled
They ran for shelter while I rolled up windows of my cab. The little one clutched big hands and tried to shake sleep off his eyes. Dreams were not meant for him. It was in harsh waking truths that his life was to shape up. I don’t know why but i stopped the vehicle near them. The man was apprehensive till I showed my press badge and asked if everything is alright. He asked me to watch over his son till he fetches his stuff he left behind near the bench and I nodded silently asking him to cover his head with a newspaper I had in my bag. As he moved some metres away with fast sogging offering that I had given him, cabbie asked the boy what they were doing there at this hour. The boy looked up and turned towards the man and just to let us know that if he tells us as the man would be angry.
Considering it a kidnap or some such shady business, I probed further and prompted the boy to speak up if there is anything wrong. I told him sleeping in park is illegal and police officers would be happy to get them moving if I complained.
At my attempt, looking down he muttered unapologetically that there is no need. Their landlord had thrown them out and his father – the man that he was with had no money, so they were waiting for the temple doors to open in the morning. By the time, he finished a few more details about where they lived and the tea stall that they had nearby, the October rain stopped, and father returned. I offered them a lift if they wanted to go anywhere and he refused. After which I asked the cabbie to move from there.
Yes, I was smashed yet, not with the drinks but with my own view of life
There might be many 8 year olds in this world calling sky their home, a few supporting their parents in daily struggle without knowing the role that they play. That kid for me is answer to my prayers for guidance about my life. I could never pray specifically and always asked god to show me the answers as i move ahead in journey of life. Today was a landmark, a reason to celebrate as true reverence and faith had met me in person. They were contained in a small frame with a smaller mind, big eyes and bigger questions but yes the child and his self respect was bigger as he never asked for money which a child would normally and easily in this situation and stood being half drenched with rains instead of seeking convenient comfort from helpful strangers.
His determination shone in his eyes to move ahead and change the situation without being apologetic and to face the life like his father who did not expect this young life to seek help elsewhere. I remembered my maid who helps my landlady run her household in clockwork precision keeping my mind off the trivialities. Also about the watchman who guards my home 24x7 with his meagre pay, the rickshaw drivers who have left me at my correct destination when I did not have a clue and strangers who were hardworking poor people without begrudging their challenges in life.
On the other hand, I had my day job, the deadlines that I was ready to crib about, and my humble abode which lacked the best paintjob i desired. I realised at that moment the easy route of self pitying behaviour prevalent in the queer community of my city. There are challenges that lie ahead of us – social acceptance, section 377, fear and misunderstandings at every junction of our lives.
I asked myself while climbing the stairs towards my home when I visit the parties and hang out with friends or date, what is the void that needs to be filled? It is the spark of determination that the kid had. His acceptance of his realities and will to support his dear ones through it rather than an easy rebellion route or self-pity can guide each one of us.
I was sleepy and ready to enter the realm of dreams. The ones that showed the blue print of change required in our attitudes. The brighter, better tomorrow where each one of us brings to the fore – our unique views and creates value rather than spilling over petty issues of sexual compatibility with the cruisers at a particular location.
I guess it is these experiences that are humbling and for which Billy Joel wrote River of dreams which I am ready to enter blissfully
Showing posts with label norms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label norms. Show all posts
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Summer days of contradictions
It’s a sunny day today. Pleasant and familiar, taking me back to the idle afternoons of childhood and discovery of many joys in boyhood. My world as a child revolved around my home in a sleepy suburb of Mumbai. Somewhere close to the mean madness of the metropolis, my township provided me ample of adventures to last one summertime after another.
I witnessed my best friend’s upbringing in a cliché south Indian fashion where life ideally is as simple as an idli. The formula to follow is to bury your noses and more into books while in school and college and at the most learn carnatic music, bharata natyam or join a chess club if inclined towards extracurricular activities. Simultaneously my Punjabi upbringing had its share of problems of a disjointed nuclear family that hadn’t been able to find any roots in this city except a small flat in the suburbs. Most of my family which would have been responsible for my identification or association with my culture or traditions was in north India, scattered like beads of a gaudy ornamental necklace.
As far as the environment goes, this apartment was the only thing that connected me to my neighbours, none of whom had a wish to dream big, leave alone ambitions to conquer the city they were a part of.. An opinion was considered lethal for a kid my age and determination was viewed as an inconsequential part of a child’s make believe games. Somehow I knew from day one that I was a square peg and should not even think of trying to fit into these round holes. I wore similar clothes to their kids, I had same issues like the lack of money, space and privacy as most of them, but I never let the awareness of my distinction sink into depths of my mind. It didn’t need recall even though I gained expertise in local dialects and could hold a conversation in Marathi as fluently as English, much to the amusement of my neighbours.
As a true blue member of the bollywood city, I had started my reading one summer looking at a movie ad in paper and reading it in roman Hindi with the alphabets S-H-O-L-A-Y. This biggest hit of Indian film industry may not be in my list of personal favourites, but does hold its significance just like these incoherent facts. Well let’s put things in perspective. Though I enjoyed being a witness to my friend’s life which worked in clockwork precision and produced some wonderful results for him, I never regretted not having much order in my life.
Through my college, I sang, danced, and acted on stage and off it into jobs that I fancied, while he studied to get top grades, as if he would ace in life if he topped his class. His summers ended with results of his annual run to the winning post, mine just were intervals till I returned to be my old social butterfly self.
In a summer after college, I fell in love, maybe for the first time as earlier I had loved my girl friend but wasn’t in love with her. This time it was a boy from US who found me online. My afternoons were sunny with smileys, days were filled with reading print outs of romantic emails over and over again. Maybe it was the heat or blind puppy love, but if there was a smile that mattered to me, it was his. I basked in radiance of his love. We planned gazillion things about his visit to Mumbai, our life in coming years and more like two kids, sitting idly deciding lives of their dolls in the perfect pink plastic house
I moved out of my parent’s home but he didn’t turn up online for long. I called his dorm to know that he hastened his chemotherapy as a medical student authorized to do so for a non-malignant tumour in his head and had expired due to brain hemorrhage. That summer didn’t cheer me up. The memories of it still don’t fade. Harsh brightness of the days mocked my dark life and warmth scalded my heart. His memories were coupled with a knowledge that no one else in the world probably knew his true nature. His thoughts, emotions or desires were all unknown, uncared for and died with him. I lived for the seasons to change, rain soaked my spirit and winter froze the fire of anger within.
Today, it’s been many years since and many people have come and gone in my life. My friend still awaits his arranged south Indian marriage and works 24 x 7 like a good boy. He hasn’t faced deaths except a few old relatives. That’s because he didn’t venture out much in sun listening to his mother who warned him of burns. I remain friends with him and connect as frequently or infrequently as per my work. The reason for doing so eludes me. Maybe I want to be rooted in ordinary mundane life too even if I fancy my alternative lifestyle. Security of love and family still has value for me as it has for him. But for me, summer is knocking again. Mornings are arriving earlier and twilight seems to evade me. The question remains what to expect this time. Nostalgia remains and enthusiasm for new day too. Summer strikes and I wait for its bittersweet contradictions to unfold. As I head towards an unknown destination jogging early morning, I reach a conclusion that no matter which road u take, the sun will shine bright. It’s for us either to stand in way of its light and warmth completely and bloom from bud to a flower or to stagnate with security of never reaching our true potential in shades.
I witnessed my best friend’s upbringing in a cliché south Indian fashion where life ideally is as simple as an idli. The formula to follow is to bury your noses and more into books while in school and college and at the most learn carnatic music, bharata natyam or join a chess club if inclined towards extracurricular activities. Simultaneously my Punjabi upbringing had its share of problems of a disjointed nuclear family that hadn’t been able to find any roots in this city except a small flat in the suburbs. Most of my family which would have been responsible for my identification or association with my culture or traditions was in north India, scattered like beads of a gaudy ornamental necklace.
As far as the environment goes, this apartment was the only thing that connected me to my neighbours, none of whom had a wish to dream big, leave alone ambitions to conquer the city they were a part of.. An opinion was considered lethal for a kid my age and determination was viewed as an inconsequential part of a child’s make believe games. Somehow I knew from day one that I was a square peg and should not even think of trying to fit into these round holes. I wore similar clothes to their kids, I had same issues like the lack of money, space and privacy as most of them, but I never let the awareness of my distinction sink into depths of my mind. It didn’t need recall even though I gained expertise in local dialects and could hold a conversation in Marathi as fluently as English, much to the amusement of my neighbours.
As a true blue member of the bollywood city, I had started my reading one summer looking at a movie ad in paper and reading it in roman Hindi with the alphabets S-H-O-L-A-Y. This biggest hit of Indian film industry may not be in my list of personal favourites, but does hold its significance just like these incoherent facts. Well let’s put things in perspective. Though I enjoyed being a witness to my friend’s life which worked in clockwork precision and produced some wonderful results for him, I never regretted not having much order in my life.
Through my college, I sang, danced, and acted on stage and off it into jobs that I fancied, while he studied to get top grades, as if he would ace in life if he topped his class. His summers ended with results of his annual run to the winning post, mine just were intervals till I returned to be my old social butterfly self.
In a summer after college, I fell in love, maybe for the first time as earlier I had loved my girl friend but wasn’t in love with her. This time it was a boy from US who found me online. My afternoons were sunny with smileys, days were filled with reading print outs of romantic emails over and over again. Maybe it was the heat or blind puppy love, but if there was a smile that mattered to me, it was his. I basked in radiance of his love. We planned gazillion things about his visit to Mumbai, our life in coming years and more like two kids, sitting idly deciding lives of their dolls in the perfect pink plastic house
I moved out of my parent’s home but he didn’t turn up online for long. I called his dorm to know that he hastened his chemotherapy as a medical student authorized to do so for a non-malignant tumour in his head and had expired due to brain hemorrhage. That summer didn’t cheer me up. The memories of it still don’t fade. Harsh brightness of the days mocked my dark life and warmth scalded my heart. His memories were coupled with a knowledge that no one else in the world probably knew his true nature. His thoughts, emotions or desires were all unknown, uncared for and died with him. I lived for the seasons to change, rain soaked my spirit and winter froze the fire of anger within.
Today, it’s been many years since and many people have come and gone in my life. My friend still awaits his arranged south Indian marriage and works 24 x 7 like a good boy. He hasn’t faced deaths except a few old relatives. That’s because he didn’t venture out much in sun listening to his mother who warned him of burns. I remain friends with him and connect as frequently or infrequently as per my work. The reason for doing so eludes me. Maybe I want to be rooted in ordinary mundane life too even if I fancy my alternative lifestyle. Security of love and family still has value for me as it has for him. But for me, summer is knocking again. Mornings are arriving earlier and twilight seems to evade me. The question remains what to expect this time. Nostalgia remains and enthusiasm for new day too. Summer strikes and I wait for its bittersweet contradictions to unfold. As I head towards an unknown destination jogging early morning, I reach a conclusion that no matter which road u take, the sun will shine bright. It’s for us either to stand in way of its light and warmth completely and bloom from bud to a flower or to stagnate with security of never reaching our true potential in shades.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Forbidden Love and the roadmap to decriminalization of homosexuality in India
They say that my smiles of the morning after are illegal
I am criminal of seeking love in the wrong eyes,
Charged with finding comfort in the wrong caress
Raised eyebrows and misconceptions await me everyday in the eyes of some unknown and many familiar faces
Not guilty I mutter within my heart but never plead
I breathe as ever before and love as well … though forbidden
I tread the path that each mortal desires, the one of smiles, truth and love; the problem is that some co-passengers in my journey of life feel my walk needs correction. They demand that my rythematic gait be changed into a mundane of steps approved by social standards, which don’t threaten to tear the fibre of their moral fabric.
Simply speaking Section 377 of Indian Penal code looms large over my head whenever I think of my sexual identity. I like men, which is no crime in India Legally though the social system and the recent luckhnow incidents have resulted in newspaper Headlines like “Those guilty of Homosexual acts should be hung to death”. A bit too harsh- maybe but yes it is a reaction that stems out of fear for unknown.
I have always pondered about this kind of intolerance in society - be it sexuality, religion, economic or geographical biases. They all smell the same, reeking of a stench that emanates from discrimination and divides. Although, the need of the hour almost always has been to know the similarities and to draw parallels and make compromises.
The only solution that I see to the existing “legalization of homosexuality” issue is through dialogue. There have to be contributions from every member who wants to get homosexuality legalized. Sounds hunky dory and very utopian- yes I agree but when it comes to modus operandi and maintaining the comforts of closets for those who chose it, we can definitely begin with one healthy conversation at a time.
An important aspect of this dialogue process is the old and clich̩d AIDA formulae used by the advertising world for eons. AIDA stands for a multiple step process that talks of attracting A-attention, evoking I-interest, generating D-desire and finally receiving A-Accrual or in this case A Рacceptance from the citizens of India.
Before we move to the key message in the first phase of attention, here is some food for thought
Amongst the various prevalent norms in the society; most people welcome any custom that accepts rather than rejecting. Any country, person who even appears receptive generally has more chances of being popular. Be it roles of politician, writer, business magnet or a parent, the most successful people have always been identified by their acceptance for new knowledge, different perspectives and for listening.
As is the case with every existent thing on this planet, what we give comes back. When we treat others with discrimination, it boomerangs back into our life almost magically. Minorities in sexual preference, religious beliefs, economically, socially backward classes or various races, all hold equal amount of grudges, layers of mistrust and thereby the resultant misfortune too.
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