How small town India fails its queer citizens

Growing up in the slums of Nagpur as a gay man, came with its own set of riders. Touching and fondling and experimenting with friends was fine, but I could never be seen as a baila (an effeminate man). I was acutely conscious of being seen as an effeminate person. I knew how flamboyant queer people were seen in our community, how people derided them. I knew I would never be accepted. There was one such effeminate man in our slum, who would be bullied and taunted by everyone. I would freeze every time I saw him. I would join others in catcalling him. I feel so ashamed of that now. But I was too scared then. Too afraid of being found out. I left Nagpur after completing my engineering. I moved to Mumbai and realised that you can live your truth. There is no shame in it. But when I moved back home during the pandemic, it was painful going back to the closet. My parents want me to get married now, but I don’t know how to come out to them. I did come out to my best friend, who was also my next door neighbour, but he started avoiding me after that. I felt trapped.

That guy from our locality who we still call ‘baila’, he is married and has a child now. I wonder if he feels as trapped.

K*, media professional, 27, Valsad, Gujarat

I remember the first time I felt ashamed of being gay. It was during a family outing at an amusement park in my hometown Valsad. I was quite sassy as a child and I tended to be sassier on days I would be happy. That day I was walking with a spring on my steps. I suddenly saw my father walking away from me. My mother came to me and chided me for walking like a woman. She said my father was ashamed of me. That day I decided that I won’t bring more shame to my parents. That day I knew I can’t ever be myself around them. I decided I will never bring shame to my parents and started this performance of being a very masculine man. I deepened my voice and was constantly vigilant of my body language. I started dating women, too. Until I met a man and fell in love. I knew I wouldn’t be able to live this lie anymore. But I did not have the support system. Most small towns in India don’t have support systems for queer people. Which is why, I think, legal acceptance is so important.

S*, student, 20, Burdwan, West Bengal

It was not an easy task coming out as a lesbian woman in a town like Burdwan. It is a one-horse town. It barely has a few decent schools. Here, we hold on to tradition like our lives depended on it. I realised pretty early in my life that as a lesbian woman, it won’t be easy here. When I was in my Class VIII, a senior, who was also one of the most celebrated students of our school, came out as bisexual on social media. Our class teacher called a special meeting to warn us about her. He specifically mentioned that she has gone wayward and we should ensure we don’t end up like her. Even then I knew that he was not doing something right, but I had neither the vocabulary or the strength to call him out. I feel it is integral we change this attitude of the society. Here casual queer phobia is rampant and we need institutional changes to ensure that it doesn’t poison the lives of future queer people in our country.

* Names have been withheld on request