“Okay, let me get this straight. You said you have sensual dreams of women and nightmares of men?” “Not figuratively — I mean at night. Y-you know, you must have had the ‘getting raped by Man’ nightmares, too: the one in the suburbs, the one of the train, the one with the firing squad, the one with the hefty man you logically should have been capable of out-running.” “Hmm.” Yet perhaps more frightening are the good dreams; under the cover of unconsciousness, the heavy blanket of night, brain spinning warm stories of kissing a girl, your chests touching.
part 1: scene setting
ok. You know, let me tell you something interesting about myself. I can remember the first time someone told me what the word ‘gay’ meant. I was in middle school, and my algebra teacher had made it clear in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t tolerate her students using the word ‘gay’ as a slur. She said that she had friends who were such, that no student of hers was allowed to use the word derogatorily. I accepted this at face value, because I listened to my teachers.
Later that week, I believe, I asked my dad his opinion in the car. I was 12. I asked, like, why is it even an issue for some people, dad? How is it any different from girls who say they ‘like’ a boy or boys who say they ‘like’ a girl…it’s crushing and dating, how is it any different? Obviously, dating is forbidden for us in Islam, but I don’t understand why it’s a societal problem in the first place? like the concept.
To be honest, I don’t remember my father’s response. What I can remember with startling clarity is sitting in the front passenger seat of the car, angling my face towards the streetlamp as I spoke. I’ve come to understand, however, children are like this. They understand feelings. They read the emotions of a situation with depth and scrutiny, even when they don’t understand the words being spoken. Little Me concluded my father had progressive and tolerant values. He didn’t really feel comfortable talking about the topic, and didn’t exactly show enthusiastic support, but he spoke in a circumspect manner, carefully.
Perhaps my memory had failed me; it’s been just little under a decade since that conversation. Nonetheless, this incident sank its way into my subconsciousness.
What do you think about all this? Ever since you told me what you did, I’ve been thinking. I guess our generation, with the advent of the internet, has had greater democracy in voice, storytelling and expression. We’ve grown up with much more exposure to communities that would have been otherwise marginalised, stigmatised, silenced. How else could we have known about these rare, unicorn-like people, huh?
Since that incident, young me went on to cautiously browse through books of the LGBTQ+ section of the public library. Older me read countless threads, articles and posts designed to explain. Today’s me sees a post from our literary club’s Instagram expanding ‘LGBTQQIAAP’.
That’s a lot of letters. Ok, but seriously, though? Bloody alphabet mafia isn’t it? You can’t help but think it. All these letters and new terminology; you know what they say about every new generation. How young kids are merely obsessed with being unique and complicated. I can’t help it. As much as the internet exposed me to advocates of this apparently underground movement, it showed me opposition. Arguments, pushback. Worded in all these assertive and seemingly logical ways, in ways you wouldn’t know how to fight against.
And as progressive and tolerant as I think of myself, I look at these labels and I look at my parents who were raised in small villages. I wonder whether these ideal pictures presented on the internet could ever have meaning in our society that doesn’t seem to even have the language for it, let alone customs and practices embracing such. This is no America or Canada. As someone had told us just last week, “that’s enough freedom for you”. People won’t coo over you coming out here; you’ll terrify your parents. What will your extended family say? How would your loving, dear grandparents even understand what it is you’re talking about?
You look up the the meaning of the word “demi-boy” on Gender wiki and scoff. Close the incognito tab. That’s enough for today. Admit it, there’s no practical use for any of those bloody letters and labels in our society, is there? Not now.
And, like, why do you need to label it?
part 2: misgivings
I understand what you are saying, believe me. I know you’re confused, being exposed to fairly new ideas. However, since you came to me with your doubts, I pondered deeply before arriving at the conviction that you simply don’t need to label your dilemma.
Argument 1: These labels are so extreme. No one else will understand what you’re talking about. Okay, fine, yes, I get that homosexuality and the like have been well documented as part of Ancient India. I know it’s in our culture. I too have read The Ministry of Utmost Happiness. But our immediate society, in our state, our culture is crafted around certain ideals and religious beliefs. Yes, yes, okay, I’ve heard of Queerhythm. It is extremely courageous of them. Yet you cannot deny they are a fringe group. That’s what I’m asking you. Do you want to permanently mark yourself out? No, of course, wait, I understand that you’re uncomfortable in your own skin, that you are uncomfortable with the gap between yourself and society’s expectations for you. I understand and that’s why I’m asking if you want to cement this chronic friction with such extreme labels and letters. Think about it. A happy heterosexual couple is a win in our society. Marriage serves a communal function. You are a girl. You would be so lucky to decide your own marriage. That’s what I’m saying. It’s extreme, and possibly pointless.
Argument 2: I did some research of my own, you know, while you’re here being uppity about this growing list of letters. Sometimes it is important to learn from primary sources. These labels are just another classification to get caught up on, another division. It’s trendy, almost. But these terms are liable to change. Older queers that still call themselves bisexual when they mean ‘a bit man and a bit woman’ or non-binary. You yourself might change, have you thought of that! Moreover, labels are often reduced to another binary that follows heteronormative standards. Why the need to constrain yourself? Being in the closet is freedom, you can just be.
Argument 3: Because you’re so far deep in the closet, you’re peeking out the other end like an actual tapeworm! You don’t know yourself, how can you expect others to know you? There is also no practical way you could figure any of it out. Maybe the thoughts were planted into you by the West like they all say. You’re alone, can’t you just be normal, but you are. This is not all you are, and that is the most important element to note; you have more to you than this! And you, you’ve carefully cultivated this picture of normality but you’re pretty sure all your friends see through it anyway and don’t your parents know already? No, yes, I know you didn’t tell them, but you told me yesterday “if anyone still thinks I’m straight, that’s on them”, didn’t you? That was a joke? No, I’m not saying you should hope this is a phase — I care about you, okay. As your closest friend. I’m always here to lend an ear and support you. You’re a good person. I just don’t want to see you hurt, but there really is nothing to be ashamed of. I just — last week, you said you’re so proud of yourself for hiding your ugly thoughts this well this far. And I was the one to ask you what the heck you meant by that.
“Stop it. Let-let me breath. That’s all fine, you know, until you find yourself sobbing into the pillow remembering how you read that one of the wives (PBUH) of the Prophet Muhammed (PBUH) was asexual, and she was still respected and she still had a fulfilling marriage and — ”
“okay, hush, hush. I — you’re very brave. But don’t forget that you deserve happiness, okay”
part 3: coming back around
“I don’t like this whole concept of ‘coming out of the closet’ anyways, like what? If I’m in this big closet with a bunch of other gay men…then… why would I want to come out?” We sit on the floor, you and me. Pride month rolls around and there are obnoxious corporate rainbows and it all feels online and not real especially this year thanks to the pandemic.
I also get to see real people and their stories.
I would have never have done this much research if it wasn’t for you. I have been thinking about your bravery a bit. In regards to our first argument, I realize that fringe groups only become human to us through their voice. Their courage to speak up develops empathy among us all, doesn’t it? This fast-paced globalized world we live in, the annals of cultural exchange, our convoluted Indian cultural context — it’s fascinating how you wouldn’t have learnt so much about our history without these people brave enough to speak, steadfast enough to gather these stories and share, even thanks to the internet! I’ve been reading about hijras, the riots of the 60s, and more, and I have been thinking.
Not to mention, how, as a medical student, I’ve heard the phrase “diagnosis is half the cure”. I know too well how important classification is. I remember hearing the story of a student who thought their sphygmomanometer was broken until their professor explained the little lever on the reservoir with the words ‘you will never see what you haven’t learnt’ . So maybe I’ve reconsidered argument 2; the existence of the labels and framework helps. Awareness doesn’t only help combat stigma. It helps our floundering human brains compartmentalize where necessary. If you want to use half the english alphabet to explain the world around you, all the more power to you.
I’m being stupid. Most importantly, I have realized that I must apologize. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know, if you’re scared — none of us know ourselves. Furthermore, we all have hundreds of thousands of pieces to ourselves, and I now see how money and material wealth, fear and dissonance and revolution, intersectional feminism, radical and conservative ideals all interact with these pieces. If pride can teach me a bit more about accepting differences, being okay with being “abnormal” and possibly hating myself less? I feel very passionate about this name: Pride. Where nuanced and riotous debates surrounding sexuality, power, normalcy and sex ferociously embrace an entire 30 days of the year. A reminder that knowing yourself and loving yourself go hand-in-hand. You cannot know yourself without the act of loving yourself, you cannot love yourself without the act of knowing yourself, and you can take your time, but loving yourself is essential in perpetuating acts of love to others.
In conclusion, I’m happy to be able to celebrate Pride this year. I’m thankful for what my 7th grade algebra teacher told me, I’m grateful for the LGBT sections of libraries and I apologize that it took me a journey to say: use the labels you find comfort in. It has taught me a lot. To you, my dear friend, to those out and proud, to those confused/scared/otherwise-in-the-closet, Happy Pride Month!
