Choked Desolation

 Abstract

Being in the closet is never an easy thing. It might look like turning away and avoiding the struggles of being different might be a better alternative. But to hide oneself over long periods of time is a lonely and challenging thing to do and an extremely solitary place to be in. This poem is a window towards that bleak solitude which many of us has experienced atleast once in our lives, irrespective of being queer or not.

Poem

Locked in fog,

So thick it looks painted on me

In the color of dread,

That even I can't see myself,

Trembling out of fear or frost

In that jolly-looking mask of paint,

Hiding the ME

In that pretty little cave

Actually, the leaky little cave.

The Mask? The Cave? The Fog?

All so cold and dry,

Except for the tears, bitter in torment,

I never knew,

Choking and leaking off ME,

Blanketing and stinging my fingers

Smeared in cold

Numb in the chill, 

Closing on ME,

Coloured in terror,

Dimly longing for warmth

For home...

But afraid all the same

Afraid to leave the Fog

Out of the Cave, 

Called the CLOSET.

Locked in fog painted on me

In the color of dread

Conditioned to hide in the leaky little cave,

Unbeknown of my right to venture beyond,

Of the light beyond

I stand weary and drained

From the agony

Of the rejection of ME

Chaining me to the Fog,

Remote and deserted

Obscuring ME, forsaken and despondent,

Trembling in that jovial mask of paint

Only to ask, "Why?"

With an answer as foggy

And blue as the CLOSET,

The only home for ME,

Ever...

Beyond the Obscurity

 

Abstract 

From the moment we are born, we are constitutionally given the right to freely express ourselves. But is this what is really happening? In this month of Pride, I'd like to address the superficial facets of "Freedom of Expression" which is tainted by homophobia, transphobia and much more. Being conditioned to be cisgender and heterosexual from the moment one is born forces a lot of us into a dark, painful and ugly place called the Closet. This place is so terribly excruciating that words cannot even begin to describe it. Only utter silence signified by "..." can stand representative of it for all of us to pour out our festering wounds out of simply being who we are or loving another human being. 

Poem

“Freedom of Expression,”

A right said to be inherent in all

But is it really?

That inherent right,

Isn’t it often curtailed

By the social constructions of gender?

Am I so wrong for feeling suffocated

For not being able to be who I am?

The pain pulsing in my heart,

Waiting to spew out

To dirty that “society” with its

Ugly and slimy arms

Is it really dirty?

Is it that ugly?

 

To be who I am

To love who I want

To wear what I want

To walk my way

The way my legs & hips take me

Is it really that ugly?

 

“Freedom of Expression,”

A right often said to be inherent

But is it really?

That inherent right,

When am I to feel it

Removing those chains,

Shoving my words back in my throat.

 

Those words brimming and brimming,

Waiting to overflow

And let everyone know my “ugly” secret,

Is trembling like a thin leaf

As if it’s ready to fall off

And leave the way it came from,

Silently…

 

Silence, dark as it is,

Surrounds me.

Loud as it is,

Makes me lonely,

Begging for some warmth,

Waking that pulsating pain,

Showering me in salty, salty tears,

Silently…

In the name of “Freedom of Expression.”

 

Expression…Isn’t it to be colourful and vibrant

So vibrant that it looks

Ugly but runs deep and beautiful,

Coming in different shapes and sizes

To embrace all and all

Even in those salty, salty tears,

Sharing vulnerabilities

And calling for inclusion in its warmth?

 

That “Freedom of Expression,”

Inherent in all,

Is it equal for “all”?

Is chains for some and freedom for others

What equality means?

What “Freedom of Expression” means?

Embrace of Tears

I have grown up

From that time when I thought

Those labels that brought me near-salvation

Were everything.

 

Enlightened now, I see how futile those were,

Those labels that do not exclusively incorporate me,

Weren’t everything

Even in a world,

Of labels and categories

Of eagle-eyed looks,

Staring eagerly like hawks

To make a show of my confession

Of who I really am.

 

My confession makes those eagle-eyes

Turn inwards with the question,

“What all do I have to see,

To hear in this lifetime of mine?”

As if me, my labels, categorizations…

Are all burdens,

While I am actually

Opening my hands in invitation

To share their own blood and tears

With the promise of INCLUSION.

 

My, now, longer legs and bigger eyes

Take in the beauty in Sharing Vulnerabilities,

Those vibrantly coloured vulnerabilities,

With the lessons of blood and tears,

I realize that discrimination and marginalization

Is not a game like Olympics 

Has never been one

To be won by the either team.

 

Lending a hand to those different,

Dripping the same blood as me,

Crying the same tears as me,

Doesn’t make my pain any lesser.

Rather I gain a warm hand

Enclosing mine,

Supporting mine,

Growing into a much warmer hug

And a promise of INCLUSION

Through Shared Vulnerabilities. 

 

Wondering

My little eyes keep drifting,

Tracing my mom’s shoulders,

Her curves which bore me,

Wondering if it’s okay to touch her

Wondering if it’s okay to ask for help

Wondering if I would be hated for it

Wondering… Wondering and Wondering

While cold creeps through me,

I beg voicelessly,

“Please give me some warmth.

I’m so sorry for hurting you

Even if it was unintentional.

Please give me some warmth.”

 

Is it really cold?

Or is it loneliness?

But I can see the love in her eyes

Then, why is it so cold?

Why is it so lonely?

"Please hug me

Is it even okay for me to hug you?" 

 

I wonder, wonder and wonder,

While I slowly rise

To meet my mom’s eyes.

Though taller than her,

The kid in me keeps

Tracing my mom’s shoulders,

Her curves which bore me…. As always

But now…

 

My longer legs slowly

Close the distance between us,

Tracing the smile glinting in her eyes,

Pulling up the edge of her lips.

I fall into her arms,

Still wondering, wondering and wondering.

While warmth creeps into

The cold barren me,

I realize,

“Wow! Mom is so warm.

Human warmth feels so good.”

 

Though words clog in my throat,

Atleast… Atleast,

It’s not as lonely,

It feels like home,

As if it’s a shame

To already loosen my arms embracing her.

I… I…

The kid in me

Already misses her arms around me.

 

Wondering… Wondering and Wondering

While cold creeps through me,

I beg voicelessly,

“Please give me some warmth.

I’m so sorry for hurting you

Even if it was unintentional.

Please give me some warmth, someone.”

 

I… I…

It was me, not the kid.

I miss her warmth,

That I got so little of.

Longing clouding my eyes,

I whisper,

“I love you.

I miss you.”

 

Wondering… Wondering and Wondering

While cold creeps through me,

I beg,

“Please give me some warmth.”

My Most Relatable Movie: Milk

 

Recently, I came across the first openly gay man to get awarded an Oscar, Mr. Dustin Lance Black. He was awarded the Oscar for the screenplay of a movie called ‘Milk’. This 2008 movie was written based on the life story of the first openly gay politician and activist in America, Harvey Milk. It features the difficulties faced by Mr. Milk in the 70s to become California’s first openly gay individual to get elected to public office in a society where homosexuality was prosecuted and his activities aimed at obtaining gay rights till he was assassinated.

Though it may not be embellished by high-investment-graphics like the Marvel movies, it had beautifully portrayed the raw feelings of people during the time and how the LGBTQ+ movements today are so similar to those earlier but how they could be far more effective. Lance expertly describes how Harvey’s ideology of bringing together different vulnerable groups and using the power of one to help another helped Milk win the campaign against the repealing of Proposition 6 with the aid of the worker groups. Moreover, Harvey also spreads the heartfelt message of how hope will never be silent, which in itself empowered me as a cisgender female LGBTQ+ individual.

Though almost the whole film continuously gave me goosebumps with its powerful messages, Lance’s promise of getting the court to repeal Proposition 8 while he was receiving his Oscar was the most overwhelming and empowering message. The sheer fact that people of power and those having celebrity status would take years off their career for the cause of letting people live and express themselves as who they are and love who they want to was very heartwarming. Furthermore, throughout their activities in regard to Proposition 6 and Proposition 8, both Harvey and Lance, respectively, highlighted the importance of personal stories rather than just blind marches and processions to touch the hearts of fellow human beings.

Both Lance and Harvey has motivated me to use the story of my pain and hardships to slowly influence the people near me and then expand that influence to wider circles providing relief and helping many people of the heterosexual majority to understand and relate with the LGBTQ+ community. This has helped me understand that though it may take time, I have the power to sway a lot of people and do my hand to dispose off the prejudice related to the LGBTQ+ community, so that I can help both others and myself. I could see that from the sheer fact of how my mother, at first, was in denial when I came out but now accepts who I am and over time, she is understanding me more deeply. Thus, Milk (2008) has been the most relatable movie I have ever seen and it has been my favourite since then.

First Crystals

 

Source

Abstract

This poem talks about how two close friends drift apart. Such a close and genuine friendship was the first for both of them and thus seeing each other cry was also the first. They always felt happy to see one another but now one turns their back to the other which was another first. 

Poem

So fleeting

The moments that happened so fleetingly,

The moments that I thought would last forever,

Shimmered into oblivion within seconds.

Those precious moments,

Forgotten within the blink of an eye

Even then I couldn’t do anything

And when you broke down beside me,

Tears adorned our eyes like crystals

Glinting, as if waiting to erase our memories into oblivion.

 

Even as we drift apart

I can feel your eyes getting wet.

Over time, those eyes

Those beautiful eyes still pull me into you.

 

Both of us wonder,

“Why was it us?”

While I trace your love,

Desperately chasing my eyes

Looking to comfort you

But I couldn’t see that face of yours,

Looking happy anymore

With me just listening to you.

The us, so similar but so different.

 

Slowly, you begin to ignore my stares

Even though I am waiting beside you

Missing and longing for your hand in mine

Tears adorn my eyes like crystals.

 

Even as we drift apart

I can feel your eyes getting wet.

Over time, those eyes

That pull me in

Were the first.

 

Like a kid who feels anxious

That he would finish his candy and none would be left,

I was afraid of the moment everything would go awry.

Though you ran leaps to me while I took baby steps,

You, now, turn your back towards me

And I miss you so bad.

 

Even though we peeled away the masks,

Hiding the mysterious truths in us,

Understanding each other hand in hand,

Nervous as we were,

You still keep your back turned

Without even the glint of a smile.

It was the first.

Can a Self-Learning Module substitute a Real Teacher?

 

The pandemic has made self-learning modules a necessity, if people are to get educated. And it’s undeniable that the “basic necessities club” has a new member now, i.e., the internet. So will this internet be able to replace a real teacher? Well, as much as the collaboration of self-learning modules and internet helps us educate the most remote areas of the world, self-learning modules can’t play “substitute” for interpersonal relationships since they deliver learning content in the form of discrete ‘atoms’, in the words of educator Philip Kerr, which eventually come together to create ‘learning’. Using a more familiar example, we may be able to engineer a zygote in a test tube in a lab but we still need a human female to perform surrogate. Likewise, as much as all of us can agree that education is a necessity to replace empty minds with open ones and that it is wise to use all methods possible to fulfil the purpose even if it entails not having a real teacher, we can’t deny the fact that the life experiences and knowledge a real teacher brings is irreplaceable.

This brings us to the reality that teaching is not all about itemizing facts and figures of a certain topic. Attesting to this, research has shown that teaching is not all about finding the “right answers” or teaching them to the students. Rather, it is about inquiry and learning through which both the students and the teachers ameliorate into better individuals, thus fostering social learning. Therefore, the holistic development of a student requires more than just the banter of teaching. It requires solid mentorship enriched by the happiness, pain and sufferings of learned and experienced individuals dedicated to the deed. Moreover, it can’t be denied that, often, we learn and model a personalities and outlooks and alignment with the people around us, be it our teachers, parents, friends or acquaintances. Additionally, though self-learning modules lack prejudice, bias and stereotypes, it’s not like one can share their thoughts and concerns with it and expect genuine understanding in return. This in itself indicates that real people have a strong influence on the building of the foundation of an individual.

Building the foundation of an individual does not exactly end with enriching ones intellectual quotient. This can be illustrated by the mere fact that an intelligent person may turn murderer due to the lack of emotional intelligence while the opposite is seldom true. This is where the role of a real teacher comes in. A teacher has the ‘real-time’ sensitivity to understand the emotional state of each individual student and offer an ear to listen or a shoulder to lean on, providing comfort and proper guidance. This entails breaking down the barriers of employing the conventional quantitative methods and epistemologies embedded in the academic culture operating from an outsider’s perspective and making informed decisions in regard to the student. In alignment with this argument, a teacher often uses qualitative knowledge seen through an insider’s lens through methods like journaling, direct observation, keeping field notes, conducting interviews, collecting artifacts, etc. which are more appropriate for the complex process of teaching and learning as it is not practically possible for a self-learning module lacking empathy.

2 out of 3 students say that their teachers are their role models. But have you ever heard someone say the same about a self-learning module? Probably, not. So, why is that? Well, the answer is rather simple. It’s because guiding students to become proper human beings and inspiring them to excel in their life by setting goals and achieving them are not exactly the forte of a self-learning module. Attesting to this, We Are Teachers, an online media brand for educators, have found that almost 79 percent of students say that their teachers encouraged them to follow their dreams. Furthermore, feedback can touch the heart of a fellow human being only when it is customized for each person and has the warmth of goodwill. Such personal and warm feedback can help encourage independence and increase confidence as confirmed by more than 80 percent of the students who took part in the research conducted by We Are Teachers.

Confidence stems from compassion. A compassionate teacher positively influences their student even if things may seem grim for them. This is evidently different from the mere graphics found at the end of a self-learning module congratulating a student on successfully completing their studies. Graphical appreciation, though boosts confidence, isn’t as effective as verbal and expressive appreciation from teachers which stimulates the student’s brain much more than the former by unshackling the student from toxic emotions. Thus, teachers become a support system for their students forming a bond between them founded on trust and affection which cannot be formed by a self-learning module. But this doesn’t mean that technology should be taken away from the lives of the students. It means that teachers need to make use of technology as an efficient assistant while incorporating their humour, soft-skills coaching and behavioral assessments and make memories which are sure to adorn their students’ faces with a smile. Such gifts of happiness can only be presented by a real teacher.

Book Review: The Martian by Andy Weir

 

Image source

An enigmatic look into the future plight of man!!!

The Martian, the debut novel of Andy Weir, is a realistic science-fiction that doesn’t exactly feel like fiction. It’s almost like Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe on Mars. 

It’s centered around Mark Watney, a botanist, engineer and astronaut, on the Ares 3 mission to Mars by NASA. Watney is stranded on Mars, where majority of the plot is set, by a storm which almost destroys their ship and base and leads to his crewmates assuming his death. Soon after the storm subsides, a survival game ensues. For Watney, it’s either he gets his supplies right and not err or end up dead even before help reaches him. Consequently, the book, written in the form of Watney’s journal entries, opens with a meticulously designed map of Mars.

Weir is brilliant at replacing horror with humor, tactfully, that it almost seems like the trauma of the whole array of near-death experiences and utter isolation is translated into sharp wit in Watney. This may be a bit flat for those looking for an emotional rollercoaster in the thriller. This page-turner gives a whole new dimension to the “science” in “science-fiction” that it, occasionally, seems like a work on Astrophysics, which makes Weir’s sincerity admirable. It’s a shame that there’s not much character development, except for Watney, that they often feel one-dimensional.

Still, it’s a good read, be it that you're remotely interested in space or a space maniac. Moreover, let’s be honest, a page of this is sure to let curiosity get better of you. Weir is so enigmatic that every moment is a close call for Watney. Though made into a film starring Matt Damon, the book has so much more to offer. So, I highly recommend reading the book and reading it first.

The Subaltern Backstories of The Indian Independence Movement

 If we really ponder over it, it’s clearly a given that no historical narrative can be said to be truly complete. But why? The answer is simple. History is written by the victorious or at least in favor of them and their aspirations are considered representative of the greater stratified India. These dominant narratives take precedence over the lesser or marginalized ones. But ironically, these marginalized ones are often far more in number than the, so called, “great leaders.” Therefore, there’s a need for a more comprehensive version of history opening a window to the trivials of the independence struggle. This is especially important in today’s times considering how people’s voices are gaining greater attention.

This is not to say that people’s voices have never been given “the attention.” It’s just that it has never been enough. Even then, the efforts of subaltern historians cannot be ignored. These 1970 historians like Ranajit Guha, Sumit Sarkar and many others aimed to bring out the often subsumed perspective of historical narratives sidelined by the hagiographic retellings. They made history more intersectional and brought out the tales of smaller regional struggles, which had different interests and objectives from that of the “great leaders,” within the ambit of the independence struggle.

Now, when we say, “smaller regional struggles,” this is another massive category to cover. But the major part and the most ignored of them were:

1      1. Women

Women, their issues, participation, the stakes they had, etc., haven’t been given enough attention in the hagiographic version of Independence struggle. Even if they are heard, the count is limited to a few prominent ones like Sarojini Naidu, Aruna Asif Ali, Bhikaiji Cama, etc. But there are other seemingly ordinary household names buried in the hearts of a few who share the memories of the pain and suffering of those multiple and marginalized women.

One such example is Matangini Hazra, popularly known as Gandhi Buri. She participated in both the Quit India Movement and the Non-Cooperation Movement and showcased her chivalry by leading a procession, holding an Indian flag and shouting ‘Vande Mataram,’ even after being shot thrice. Her statue has also been put up in Kolkata at the spot where she was killed in Tamluk and the Hazra road in Kolkata has also been named so in her honour.

Another woman is Kanaklatha Barua, popularly known as Birbala. She led the female volunteers in the Quit India Movement in 1942 at Barangabari. At the young age of 18, she was shot dead by the British police for her noble efforts to hoist the national flag at the British dominated Gohpur Police Station by shouting the slogans “British imperialists should go back” etc.

Other than these few examples, there were many more sacrifices made attesting to the involvement of women in the Indian freedom struggle.

2   2.   Peasants

Peasant issues are dominated by grievances due to unfair land ownership and tenancy in British India. One such movement is the Pabna Movement of the 19^th century. This riot, though supported by big names of the time like Bankim Chandra Chatterjee, Indian Association under Surendranath Banerjee, etc., was led mainly by the peasants toiling due to the exorbitant rents and taxes and the Occupancy Right under Act X of 1859. In opposition to these unjust policies, in May 1873, the peasants came together to form an Agrarian League in the Yusufshahi Pargana of Pabna district, Patna, East Bengal. The struggle, focusing less on violence and more on legal resistance, continued till 1885 when the Government enhanced the occupancy rights of the peasants by implementing the Bengal Tenancy Act of 1885.

Another movement was in the Jalpaiguri region of Bengal against the jotedari system which forced the landless peasants to pay exorbitant rents reducing them to conditions worse than that of the serfs.

3    3.   Indigenous People

Tribal struggles are a lot similar to the peasant grievances as they were forced into bonded labour under the British Raj. One such struggle was the Santhal bataidar agitation in Bihar that continued even after independence. They rose against the landed elite or the maliks, to whom they were bound. Anand Chakravarti, author of Social Power and Everyday Class Relations: Agrarian Transformation in North Bihar (2001), opines that the reason for this uprising was that the freedom movement and the Congress failed to account for their interests. Likewise, it can be noted that the interests of many other groups may have been ignored in the rat race towards popular interests.

4    4.   Trade Unions / Labour Movements

There were a number of movements in the pre-independent India even before the incidence of trade unions. Some of the less eye-catching ones were that of the plantation and mine workers who were heavily exploited by the plantation and mine owners and mangers. In contrast, the cotton and jute workers were more in the limelight receiving support from philanthropists.

Following these developments, Bombay emerged as a major city and gained importance. In this scenario, the Bombay dock workers rose up revolting against the British for their labour rights and formed the Bombay Dock Workers’ Union in 1932, at a time when forming trade unions was considered a criminal act. This was a turning point in the Indian freedom struggle showing the national leaders the importance of integrating the multiple and marginalized local movements to the “greater struggle.” 

Soon, most nationalist meetings started to take place in working class neighborhoods out of the realization that the dock workers had the potential to disrupt trade and thus, adversely impact the colonial administration. This was made true by persuading the dock workers to adopt a hands-off attitude towards foreign cargo, consequently disrupting foreign trade.

 

The aforementioned individuals and organizations constitute just the tip of the iceberg. Many more women, peasants, tribals, workers and others have been buried in the leaflets of history without due recognition. These endeavors, however negligible they may seem, need to be recognized so as to provide a much more enlightening and educated perspective of the Independence struggle to the posterity and give enough credit to those who rightly deserve it.

Are We in a Space Opera?

 

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Well, for all we know, we may be living in a Space Opera without even realizing it, hidden to normal human eyes by something like Rick Riordan’s mist. Remember all those faster-than-light spacecraft and action and the wonderful chemistry between the cute little Groot and tsundere Rocket Raccoon and the more exhilarating Star-Lord and Gamora? We may as well be living in a world like that. 

Stephen Hawking had already talked about the possibility of wormholes, why not a Space Opera, then? And this might be even more exciting for all those Star Wars fans out there than the theory of the whole Milky Way galaxy just being a playtime activity of alien kids. Then again, can’t ignore the possibility of those asteroids being just some rocks thrown our way by some naughty alien kids. Another question that pops up is, though it may have been just asteroids all this time, what if it is the whole of our resources next? It’s questionable if we would be able to defend ourselves against such an attack even after all the research and efforts or maybe, we just wouldn’t be quick enough on our feet (Ah, will it be quick enough on our “spacecrafts’’ by then?). 

Anyways, considering that the world works in alignment with the laws of Physics and that you occasionally find anomalies, can we really cross out the possibility? Moreover, we don’t even know how far this world of ours extends. Either way, aren’t we ourselves trying to conquer and colonize other planets too? What guarantee do we have that there aren’t others trying to do the same? I would say, none. 

So, what do you think? Doesn’t it seem like we may be living in one like all those fantastic melodramatic adventures we have seen to-date? And if it were, would you be excited, sad, scared, numb or feel empty? Or would you get out there in a spacecraft yourself with all sophisticated technologies available to beat up those naughty alien kids? 

Capabilities Approach

 

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Poverty is the inability to acquire the basic requirements of like food, clothing, shelter, etc. According to the Capability Approach given by Sen, poverty is the deprivation of an individual’s capability to achieve his full potential. It’s not just the absence of money, rather, it’s the presence of helplessness, voicelessness and powerlessness. Thus, GDP seldom equates to prosperity. Understanding that social poverty exacerbates material poverty, organizations like Poverty Stoplight have come forward to support families in eradicating poverty. Burt, in his book ‘Who Owns Poverty?’, introduces an approach that puts poor families in charge of defining and diagnosing their own unique, multidimensional poverty. 

According to Robeyns, a Capabilities scholar, Capabilities Approach, an anthropocentric approach, is “focused on what people can do and be and on what they are actually achieving in terms of being and doing.” For instance, a Buddhist monk and a farmer living in deprivation are at different positions because while one is doing it out of choice, the other is not. Ergo, the conversion of income into capabilities is only possible through awareness and client-centered-therapies, rarely accessible to the poor.

The government addresses issues like education, healthcare, skill development, human rights, vulnerability, access to services, social exclusion, etc, through NRHM, SSA, Skill India, Beti Bachao Beti Padhao, PMGAY, POCSO, Women’s Commission, New Education Policy 2020, etc. Payne, in his book ‘Bridges Out of Poverty’, defines poverty as the extent to which an individual does without resources like emotional resources, support systems, trust and integrity, etc, which are denied to women, caste and sexual minorities. 

Caste discrimination is rampant despite numerous constitutional provisions and legislations. In many instances, Dalits above poverty line experience poverty in matters like inability of drawing water from a well or buying land. There’s also stigmatization of alleged ‘bad jobs’. Accordingly, SC/ST Act, 1989 and FRA, 2006 were implemented to protect SC/ST(s) from atrocities and ensure their rights to forest resources. Women’s condition is worse and that of sexual minorities, overlooked. 

Gender inequality and domestic violence is prevalent in India, a patriarchal society, from historical times. In Islamic societies, men have the exclusive right to unilaterally divorce their wives putting women at constant risk of losing their basic capabilities for survival. 

Studies say, sexual minorities are more vulnerable to stress, suicide and becoming homeless. Despite transgenders given the right to change their legal gender, IPC Section 377 scrapped, etc, the society is largely homophobic with obloquy against live-in couples. 

PIL to render IPC gender-neutral should be filed. Company trips for bureaucrats and parenting jobs should be organized at local levels. Fixed salary and working-time for health workers and slut-shaming should be prohibited. Thus, one should walk alongside the poor, cultivating their gifts and talents.

Your Blisters

Hey, doesn’t it ache a lot?

Quite foolish of me to ask that 

When I was the one

Who made those brooding scars in you, 

Isn’t it?

Scared as I am of your wrath, 

Can’t blame you for being angry.

Still, I won’t apologize, 

Rather I’ll fill those holes of yours 

With my blood, sweat and tears,

So that you wouldn’t hurt anymore.

 

Why Are You Like That?

Abstract

What would you feel like if someone asked why you acted like yourself? This story delves into a facet of that question and shows how that question can let someone down and how they pick themselves up. It describes the intense and raw feelings of a lost person. It also shows how one person's lessons and efforts can pick another person up. This story is a snippet from my life.

Story

I sat up on my bed feeling dizzy from my long slumber. The clock showed 10 am, 3 hours to my interview. Still unsure, I looked at the blinding sunlight gliding through my room. I got up and went to the kitchen of my 1BK studio apartment to prepare my coffee.

Sipping my coffee, I went back to my bed and stared blankly at the dust particles floating through the sunlight which flooded my mind with memories. 

I was in the 15th year of my life when I had my first love. We had moved to Oman for my father's business and changed buses to commute to school. On my first day on the bus, since people had fixed seats and I didn’t know anyone, I had sat alone somewhere in the first few seats. 

Her stop was exactly two stops after mine. Though she hadn't made much of a first impression, I had seen her noticing a new face. Few minutes later, she was standing before me and asking, "Are you new here?" I remember whispering a broken "yes", to which she had offered, "Do you want to sit with me?" I recall that making me really glad. 

Soon, we were having the time of our lives talking and visiting each other. She seemed like my only ray light in the dark and lonely world. We were quite close when I met another senior, in the same bus, who was especially close to her. Though there was nothing between them, I could sense myself getting pretty jealous of their proximity.

Back then, I didn't realize what my feelings were. So, a confession was the last thing on my mind. But now that I have realized them, they have become good memories…

My phone’s vibration woke me up from my thoughts. I got up from my bed to go to the bathroom, removed my clothes and looked at my naked body in the mirror. I ran my fingers along my curves. Seeing the tubelight’s shine bouncing along them immersed me in my thoughts once again.

I was 19 when the bulb finally lit. Quite a late-bloomer, I started doubting my sexuality. I probably started doubting that I may be different, a year before that but never realized that it was my sexuality at the end of the day. Moreover, being in a new country and unfamiliar environment didn't help. Though I had an inkling of being gender-blind, I only became sure after moving to India. 

Besides, by the time I was 20, I was 3 years into a crush on my bestfriend. During the first year, it was very confusing and, often, anxiety and denial took over me because I thought that I was mixing up feelings of friendship with that of love. Not knowing that I'm pansexual didn't help. I didn't even know that I was gender-blind for sure. This was quite a turbulent but insightful time. But it was only once I became sure of my sexuality that I became completely sure of my feelings. 

It was during a class that I first discussed my doubts of not being straight with a friend of mine. Then, it was a tsunami of research and trying out tests on sexualities and related stuff. It was a very confusing time and the feeling that I couldn't fit in anywhere which I had all through my childhood was becoming all the more prominent. I felt isolated and since I wasn't sure of things, I couldn't even talk about it to anyone.

I remember having those "friendly conversations" with my guy friends in college regarding sex and sexualities and me being open about the fact that my partner's biological sex not mattering to me even before I had doubts that I was different. Getting weird looks during those talks were a given, though it never mattered.

Slowly, as I became sure of my sexuality, I started testing the waters with my parents. Once I became firmly sure, I came out to my best friend. He was very accepting which, for the most part, I knew he would be, was still relieving. But the sheer fact that people had no awareness about the terms 'pansexual' and 'demisexual' was harder than the process of coming out. And like most of the pansexuals out there, I did get the exasperating question of whether I liked pans.

Coming out to my parents was quite arduous as it was exhausting to get them to understand the concept of it. At first, mom was in denial but she slowly came around. Dad didn't seem to understand it and just ignored the sheer fact of it. It took a lot of attempts to get at least a question of acknowledgement - "Why are you like that?" - from my dad. And that wasn't the last time I got asked that question. But over time, dad seems to have accepted it, though, both of them still prefers my future partner to be of the opposite sex abiding to the societal norms of heteronormativity.

Then, I tried using dating apps to interact with people from the queer community since I didn't know whatelse to turn to. This was quite an eye-opening experience. I asked an individual who identified as lesbian, "Did you come out yet". She replied, "I haven't yet but I'll once I get a job". I asked, "Why do you have to wait until then?" and she replied, "I might be kicked out of my house. So, I need some sort of guarantee". That's when I understood where I might have been if my parents weren't as open-minded as they were. This interaction gave the image of 'coming out' being a gamble. 

Once she heard that my situation wasn't as bad, she said, "It's probably because you can get it on with the opposite sex too". This made me feel quite weird as it felt like just because I can go for all genders and some of my options may abide to the societal notions of heteronormativity, I belong neither to the queer community nor the heterosexual majority. It was as if my sexuality was something wrong, an anomaly. 

Even then, I wanted to proudly express who I am and what I am to the world. So, staying in the closet was never an option for me. So, I began coming out to my other friends, teachers and acquaintances. And once again, the hardest part was explaining what each term meant over and over again. Me being assumed as lesbian and being asked questions like "are you more into girls?", "can you even marry someone?" were such tedious misunderstandings to clear up that I wanted to give up a lot of times. Explaining it all over and over again was not just cumbersome, it felt like being ripped naked each time. 

Even then, I persevered through it until I stumbled upon that dreadful question once again, "Why are you like that?". Though it was just an innocent doubt my friend had, it felt like a thorn being nailed into me. It made me feel wrong, like an unrepairable mishap that happened during the manufacturing process, as if the only solution was to dispose it off.

Though I slowly gained courage to get back up again, I was again faced with questions like "why are you not hiding it if you aren't normal because if I were, I would have hid it for sure". This made me question why being different was a source of shame when I had done nothing wrong. Gradually, I started to only come out to people who belonged to the LGBTQI+ community themselves or people who worked for related purposes.

I took the freshly ironed suit from my wardrobe and propped it on. ‘I look good,’ I said to myself.

The interview lasted for about an hour. 

“Yes, sir,” I replied. 

“You have done pretty well and I think you are quite qualified for the job,” the interviewer said.

“Thank you”

“You will soon be informed of further particulars.”

I walked out of the building with confidence in my stride. 

Little did he know that he just interviewed the youngest board member in the company’s history…

“REVOLUTION IN THE CORPORATE SECTOR

'Being at home during the lockdown, I got involved in a lot of online pride events. That was when I finally felt liberated, as if I didn't have to hide anything, as if I finally belonged somewhere, somewhere I need not be ashamed of being myself. I felt like I wasn't a mistake and that I didn't need to apologize so much, in my heart, to my parents for being born. Being recognised for who I am felt like my life, a black and white picture by then, was finally being filled with vibrant colours. This gave me the courage to keep going forward,' said the youngest….."

The deafening noise of the train couldn’t disrupt the flow of her eyes from the newspaper. Sarah felt more confident in herself.