The truth in my universe

I knew it all along. Looking back, I recall the attractive arms of the boy who sat on the bench across me; or the bulge of the class stud hailed as the playboy. I remember stealing furtive glances at attractive men anywhere at all.

Not only was I in a state of astute self-denial; I was also largely unaware of how sexuality was constructed, let alone the alternatives within it. My journey from childhood to young adulthood continued like any other ‘conventional’ schoolboy’s: girls were glanced at, pursued and romantic inclinations expressed. But consummation never played a part.

‘Queer’ changes occurred at post-graduation. The university department comprised a mix of several people, and it was in the close proximity of homosexual folk that my sexuality registered itself. They were out and proud, were gladly accepted for whatever they were.

I was dating a woman when a guy my age showed interest in me for the first time. We talked, met up, and he would visit me at my hostel each weekend. I was not in love with him, though I tried. But this clash of the three worlds sent me into a contemplation of choices. And this liberal environment enabled the sorted choice: that of traversing the acid test of sexuality and coming out first to myself.

I led the double life of a bisexual until I figured where I wanted to be. Since then, there has been no looking back. Doubts dispelled, I knew where I wanted to be in terms of sexual preference, and I was already there. I identified as gay in the clearest terms.

Having conquered the first step of self-acceptance, the second logical step was to enlighten my circle of close friends. I was lucky that it was easy for me.

I now had to bring my parents into the light. Ma and I were rather close; I had to tell her. I shamelessly made lewd comments about models on billboards, just to make her pop the question. And she did.

To minimise the damage, I lied and said I was bisexual. She was stunned. She had suspected this, but had never believed it. She was very upset, and a lot of emotional turmoil followed. I have never discussed this with Baba, though he knows I’m told, and is more upset than Ma.

So in the spring of 2015, there was a huge sense of relief to me but devastation for my parents. Professionally, I would certainly seek a queer-friendly space, but that remains a dream even now. In terms of family, I see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

Two years later, I’m able to tell Ma about the guys I’ve met on Grindr and she also asks me of her own accord. I’m able to discuss my personal life with her to a certain extent, which was unimaginable in the recent past.

Nevertheless, she emphasises on the need to remain discreet within the family. I know which vantage point this is coming from: the heteronormative, unaccommodating universe and the fear of being the odd one out. It really doesn’t matter. My universe extends this far and no further. My parents, the friends who matter, all know of my truths... and that shall suffice for a lifetime of existence.

Tell us how you came out of the closet at sexualitydna@gmail.com