It’s always difficult to be different. Being gay is simply about being different. People believe they have a God given right to mock you. Movies, TV shows and empty friendly chatter are laden with references to us as if we are some disgusting species of amoeba. You cannot ever feel happy about yourself. There is always an almost constant reminder that is hammered into your face in the form of seemingly harmless jokes, cuss words and other horrid references. You never get to feel at peace with the world, because it always appears like a tiger in hiding, waiting to tear up your entrails and lavish them with pride. Kurukshetra takes it a step further. It is a constant battle in this land of Mahabharata. If anyone were to know I am gay, I’d be ousted from their friend circle if I ever were in it, or worse, I’d be publically humiliated and have myself cast out from the rag tag mellowed down version of society we have in this college. I am always vulnerable. I have to constantly monitor my words and actions. I have no hope of being understood and appreciated. What hope exists for me when my parents have been the first people to bully me over my sexuality? The world is a place devoid of any hope.
I always knew it’d be this way for someone different. Then why did I choose being gay? Simple, I DIDN’T! Nobody consciously chooses having to live in constant fear of being cast out, ridiculed or in worst cases, be assaulted! Unless someone wants it as a penance, and believe me, I am no saint! I have my own longings. I have my own desires. I wish I could find a nice company and talk to them about my life, my troubles and my crushes, just like any other young adult does in college life. I wish I had a romantic partner in college with whom I could walk around the beautiful Brahmsarover and watch the glorious sunset. I wish I didn’t have to monitor my actions. I wish I could just be who I am! Why must I crave for the small joys of life that everybody takes for granted? What grave sin did I ever commit to get this harsh fate in return?
I am not the sinner. In fact, I have been sinned against. Repeatedly at that, too often for me to keep count. Nobody gets how deeply friendly cusses like ‘gandoo’ or ‘lesbo’ scare me. Nobody understands why my eyes look drained. Nobody understands why I am so detached and aloof. Nobody will ever understand why I cry myself to sleep many a nights. Nobody will ever understand the source of the righteous anger inside me. Perhaps I am destined to be alone. Perhaps I am destined to crave for the small pleasures in life and the small tokens of understanding and affection. I long to be hugged affectionately, to be consoled without having to cry first. I want to be reassured, that even though my mental Mahabharata looks an uphill and biased battle right now, the good shall triumph at last! I want to be able to laugh freely, cry freely, love freely, exist freely! Free of self-doubt, sef-disgust, self-denial, fear, hate, depression, desperation!
It is highly unlikely my fate will change in college. I am out to a few friends who appeared tolerant, and so far I have been wrong only once. To expect love is laughable. Who will I ever find in this small obscure town?
Every morning, I say a small prayer to the Goddess. I ask for the nectar of peace. Often my anger erupts in a fiery blaze and threatens to burn down my pretense. The nectar of peace has eluded me, but I need it now, because pretense can save me from a lot of possible bad experiences. I pray for a coward’s peace because I already have a warrior’s fire inside my heart. A fire that’ll burn down anything or anyone that obstructs its glare. A fire I fear will find a way out one day!
(This post was originally published in the college magazine ‘ECHO’ of NIT Kurukshetra)
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