“How do you feel about being homosexual?” I broke my silence — “I’m happy about being gay.” He flinched. “So you’re saying you’re fine with being gay.”
Author's name withheld on request
As I was ushered into the good doctor’s room, I took a quick second to take in his array of medals and certificates plastered across the walls. My parents positioned themselves on either side, Dr Doctor surveyed me wordlessly for a few seconds, and leaned forward. “Do you know why you’re here?” Of course I did, but I wasn’t going to give him that. I stared at him blankly. “You’re here … because you’re homosexual.” Spotted. “How do you feel about being homosexual?” I broke my silence — “I’m happy about being gay.” He flinched. “So you’re saying you’re fine with being gay.”
He looks right at my mother, then back at me, and asks, “So basically if your mother commits suicide because of you, that’s all right to you?” Now its my turn to flinch. “Well, what if I commit suicide because she’s unable to accept me for who I am?”
His tactic having failed, he gets down to brass tacks. “So there are three ways in which we can approach this condition. One, this might be caused by hormonal imbalances. Two, it could be a result of a tumour. Third, it could be caused by some other mental disorder.” Wow. At this point I take out my phone, place it on the table, and tell him – “I’ve recorded this conversation. And you look confused, so let me tell you why: I’m going to be using this as evidence in the FIR I file against you.” “What what,” he blubbers, “what would you do that for?”
“I’m going to have you booked for medical malpractice and causing emotional distress. You don’t seem to know that the American Psychiatric Association declassified homosexuality from its list of mental disorders in 1973. And that the World Health Organization had it removed from its lnternational Classification of Diseases as well in 1990.”
He panics and looks at my parents, but they are unable to meet his eye. One final attempt — “He — he could be suffering from paranoid schizophrenia, that’s why he’s talking like this!” I get up and start to walk out of the room. Before I leave, I turn around and say - “You know, even if that were the case, and I did suffer from schizophrenia, I’ll have to get some other doctor to treat me. Because you’re going to be in prison.”
I walked out into the stifling summer air. I’d heard of the alarming insensitive of so-called mental health professionals in many instances when it came to being confronted with a gay patient. I’d read horror stories of unwitting young men being subject to electroshock treatment. I’d spoken to activists working on the cause — I suppose in some ways, I was one of those activists myself.
And now, I’d faced it. As I turned to look back at the hospital I’d never step back into, I couldn’t help wondering how many before me had been fed the same spiel by this man. I’d managed to come out it unscathed, but that was purely on the basis of the knowledge and acceptance by a loving circle of friends. But what about someone who didn’t have that knowledge? What about someone who hadn’t reached that degree of acceptance? Who was going to save them from such blithe ignorance?
The author is a Bangalore based lawyer.
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