Chapter 20
Criminals no more
ADITYA
“Addy, what's on your mind?”
Jatin and I are on a video call.
He sits on the recliner in his study room while I am stationed at my dining table. I rang him when the nerves got too much to handle.
“What do you think will happen today at the court?” I fidget with the edge of my teacup.
“Umm, I can't say, but I hope the bench sees things through the eyes of the twenty-first century. The world has changed so much.” Jatin rests his hand below his head. “How are your new friends coping today?”
“The gang has been walking on eggshells this past week, anxious and worried over the Supreme Court hearing.”
“I can understand,” Jatin says.
Can he? Can anyone in a straight relationship even fathom what living as an outcast is like? Even I did not care for so long, being too comfortable in my straight-passing marriage.
“Jatin, many in the queer community have struggled all their life. Ostracised, harassed, beaten, thrown out of their homes, and denied a human life. People who have not experienced such fears cannot understand the importance of this case.”
After watching the queer spaces for the past two years, I am only now visualising the reality. “Life with friends in Almora is a steep learning curve. Each day brings forth their struggles – past and present. A positive verdict would kindle some hope for a future.
Will the pendulum swing again to our side, reversing the setback of 2013 and returning us the desperately needed reprieve from Article 377 the Delhi High Court granted in 2009?”
“Jatin, this is more than the law,” I continue. “Is the love between Kiron and Sudhanshu different from your love for Jasmeet? Should such love be considered less and sinful to deny a dignified life to a fellow human?” I take a deep breath to calm the heaviness building in my chest.
“Addy, I am as guilty as any other straight person. Never bothered before. No one around me belonged to the queer community.” Jatin straightens and stays silent for a few seconds, measuring his words.
“You are the first queer person in my circle, and, I will confess, your coming out confused me. I took a few days to come to terms with this and for the facts to sink in. I Googled and tried to find out how I should behave. How should I support you? And I still worry. Something I say or do will hurt you. After you relocated to Almora, I blamed myself for not giving you the support you needed. Now, I am glad you found friends in Almora.”
“Yeah, they are a crazy but genuine bunch.” I smile at the memory of our expedition, which turned into a picnic at Lakhudriya last week.
“Are you planning to meet today?” Jatin asks.
“Yup. We are having dinner at Sudhanshu and Kiron's place.” This reminds me. I should make the pulao. “Got to go, buddy. Need to prepare a dish.”
“What are you cooking? No. Don't say a word; otherwise, I will be left drooling. Gosh, I miss your cooking.” He licks his lips.
“Hmm. So you miss only my cooking?” I tease him.
“Yeah, what can I do? You are so lovely.” He gives a flying kiss across the screen and switches off.
I remain seated for a while, brooding over my life.
What did I have with Shalini? Was I living on borrowed sentiments?
Indebted to her, weighed down by the safety marriage provided, and too scared to accept the embers burning inside me.
Lying. Faking. To her and to others around us.
Our hugs were genuine, but lacked connection.
Our touches lacked warmth. The bodies embraced, but my heart remained aloof. I was the best actor in my life.
The intimacy with Jimmy makes me question those kisses after having tasted the excitement and anticipation of being with someone I love, someone with whom I am not boxed in by society's paradigms, a partner whom my body and heart desire.
The reminder on my phone for dinner prep goes off, breaking the silence in the room. Good. At least the next hour will fly.
***
“What is on fire?” I grab my phone as a series of alerts diverts my attention from packing the pulao in the casserole.
'377 gone' is at the top notification when I swipe to open the phone, followed by 'SC decriminalises homosexuality'.
There are congratulations from Jatin. But the message I open to read is in the group chat.
Kiron: Celebrations. Come for an early dinner. Waiting.
The message from Kiron is followed by heart and kiss emojis.
Jimmy: Yippee, I can't wait to meet you guys for a group hug.
Kenny: I am so getting wasted. Once we finish distributing the cakes and pastries, we will be there by seven.
Sudhanshu: Save a cake for us too.
Brian: No worries, dear. A special, delicious rainbow wonder is baking in the oven.
Sahil: Happy for my best friends. Love you guys.
I clasp the phone to my chest and gather the bag with the dinner, locking my door as I step out into the fresh mountain breeze.
Tears trickle down despite the spring in my step towards the bus stand.
A new ray of hope has filtered in. The bright sunlight of equality is still a distant dream, but at least a splinter has broken off from the iron door.
Thirty minutes later, I step into a group hug, squeezed tight by Kiron, Sudhanshu, Jimmy, and Sahil.
The house is decorated with festoons. Jimmy and Sahil are still working on the balloons.
Jimmy and Sudhanshu keep hugging each other in between putting the finishing touches on the decorations.
Kiron is dazzling in their red sleeveless knee-length dress, worn over high heels and matching danglers in both ears.
A beaming face in full makeup. Kiron hums as they lead me to the kitchen to ready the food.
We are all so happy. The court verdict is the first step. At least a same-sex couple can't be arrested for holding hands. Any deeper PDA would still go too far in Indian circumstances, where even heterosexual couples don't kiss in public places.
This is a start, but a more challenging climb lies ahead. Years of prejudice cannot go away with one court verdict. Normalisation and acceptance could take decades. A whole generation must understand. Only then will tangible, sustainable change occur.
My journey, though, is at a nascent stage. This group has accepted me, perhaps due to Jimmy. Will the wider community accept me? One only needs to go on social media to see the type of rhetoric, divisions, and gatekeeping that exists within the queer community.
“Where is your brain skinny dipping?” Kiron shrugs me into the present.
“Nothing. Today is so overwhelming. I am new, but this is a momentous day for all of you.”
“No, dear. Today is a celebration for all of us, irrespective of where we are on our journeys.” Kiron puts a hand on my shoulder and gathers me in a hug. “You are our baby, but you are ours.”
I snort. “A thirty-seven-year-old baby who does not know his shit.”
Kiron wipes a tear from my eyes. “Everyone is on their personal trajectory. There is no first or last here. The best part is, wherever we are on the road, our paths have crossed.”
The duality of my existence is so apparent today.
For almost twenty years, I struggled to find my space.
Lonely among friends, family, and colleagues.
While I longed for the queer spaces, I only managed an occasional watch from a distance.
In both places, straight and LGBTQ, I did not belong.
I had the vocabulary in the former, but I told only lies.
In the latter, I wanted to tell the truth, but did not have the dictionary to stitch a decent sentence together.
“Kiron, do I have the credentials to call myself queer?”
“Oh dear, there is no exam you need to pass.” Kiron's kind eyes search my face.
“Yeah, but I have lived most of my life in a straight relationship. How do I meld into the culture? You all are kind and took me in. But, unfortunately, not every queer space is accepting and friendly.”
Kiron takes a deep breath. “You are right.
The queer culture is not passed down in families.
We are not taught in schools, and most of us don't have access to queer literature. We learn as we stumble through life, first when we realise we are different and then when we come out. No one queer person has an easier road than the other. The experiences are a spectrum like our sexualities. How did life treat you?”
I study the dish placement while I measure my words.
“I lived in a walled city with a moat and no exits. The circles I moved in, my acquaintances, and my relations, all lived in this city. Unaware, ignorant, or in denial of the queerness in this world. The mocking and sneering did not help. Casual degrading of queer or trans people. Sniggering at gay or lesbian jokes. The words pushed me back. I wanted to fight my way out, but my protests were weak, like my efforts to live my reality.”
“Hmm, friends and family are so frustrating. You want to tell them, pour your heart out, and yet they are the ones who hurt you the most.” Kiron helps me place the plates and cutlery.
“The fear pushes us so deep inside. I had access to avenues for reading in college and the maturity to understand. The day I accepted loving another man is not a sin, my mind and heart were liberated from their cage. There were others like me, and if I tried, I could be free.”
“Then why did you continue?” Kiron asks as they place the soup bowls.
“Life is a set of choices. Sometimes, when you are at a fork in the road, you are scared, tired, desperate, and tied down. The well-trodden path is easier to take. Ma’s sickness.
My fear of queer spaces. Reluctance to accept my label.
All daunted me like a climb to Mount Everest. Shalini gave me an easy way out.
I hid behind my worries over my sexuality, unwilling to give my ailing mother a death blow.
Shalini took care of Ma, and, indebted to her kindness, I did everything to bring happiness to her life. I buried my true self.”
“How did you live such a life?” Jimmy's voice startles me.
How much of this conversation did he hear?
“Have you ever travelled on a passenger train?” I study Kiron and Jimmy's faces.
When they stay silent, I continue, “Our life had turned into a meandering train laden with pieces of baggage — parental pressures, social nit-picking, and our own expectations.
Whenever moving forward became tiresome, we would stop.
Halts that never seemed to end. A stasis in life.
No feelings, no emotions. Not even arguments.
Only two celestial bodies caught in each other's orbits.”
“What changed?” Kiron enquires.
I am sure they will not question me if I stay mum, but this is one truth I am free to share.
“Have you seen the movie Andhi?” I question them. While Kiron nods, Jimmy is perplexed. Highlighting again the difference in our ages.
“Old movie starring Sanjeev Kumar and Suchitra Sen. Controversial. Banned once. The movie is about a married couple who separate,” I clarify for Jimmy’s sake.
“Anyways, we were watching a re-run of it in a cinema hall near our house. There is a song which became the highlight of the film. Tere bina zindagi se koi.” I hum the lyrics for reference.
Shalini and I had fought for a few days, and the matinee night was my way of making up for letting my frustrations take over.
“At one point in the song, the characters talk about an eclipse that lasts for nine years, and then the lyrics follow again. Hearing those lyrics and the scene made me question my life decisions. Whom was I fooling? Why was I hiding the sunshine from Shalini’s life?
What about the darkness in mine? A switch went off in my head, and I blurted out to her. I want a divorce.”
“How did she react?” Jimmy looks on in concern.
“Oh, the cinemagoers got to watch two dramas for the price of one.” A wry smile breaks on my face, recalling the commotion. “Shalini is not prone to anger, but I guess her cup of woes had filled to the brim.”
Saying those words, however, was cathartic. By the time we reached our house, the vitriol of years had flushed out. The next day, we talked like adults. There was no going back. At least on our separate paths, we had a chance to find joy.
“You did tell her why you wanted a divorce, right?” Kiron enquires.
I nod. Remembering the day, I rub my left cheek. “Shalini has a mean arm.”
“Ouch.” Jimmy flinches.
“Shalini is kind. I deserved more than a slap for leading her on and denying her the all-encompassing love she deserves.”