Lazy

Last night, I was speaking to a friend (let’s call him Dan) and he was talking to me about his ex and their breakup. In all the turmoil and the revelations, he also let on that his ex believed that Dan would hook up with me. I admit this is not the first time I have heard shit spoken about me, and it certainly won’t be the last. Through the years, I should be used to it all. I mean I have gone through it all – the browbeating, the bullying, the dad trauma, the laughter, the taunting and the trolling of late. People around me usually state that it should get better – I should have a toughened skin now. Sticks and stones and all that shit.

Lately, a sixteen-year old boy ended his life because of online trolling. I can imagine what he must have gone through, where faceless entities rail at you to die because of who you are. Some of my friends even wrote in privately when I shared some of his posts calling out his bullies. They basically said that it was sad, but he should have understood what social media was all about. He was setting himself as bait to be trolled. I found myself looking at myself in the mirror. What had actually changed since the thirty-three years of my coming out?

Basically, people are shit. Narrow-minded and petty. They just generally cannot understand anyone who is different. If a gay friend comes to my home, and we have conversations, we must be having sex to the outside world. If I walk with a swish and a swirl, I must be the bottom in bed. If I call out religious bigotry, I should not have an opinion because I am an atheist. I cannot tell someone older than I am that they are wrong, even when they are infringing the mental peace of someone else. So very seldom, when I have no energy to explain the depth of who I am – I just say what comes the easiest by means of an explanation.

I write, sketch, photograph, blog, and can hold a conversation and an opinion. I used to be an exponent of Kathak. Furthermore, I am liked by a lot of people. I have a large following on social media. It is because of who I am. But many people do not understand how do I not wish to earn money out of the various talents that I possess. People do not understand why I do not wish to showcase these talents and do what most people would do: exhibit and earn from them.

Sigh.

So today, when a guy asked me why I didn’t put up my art and my talent out there, I say what I have learnt to say by my elders. I am lazy. I take the negative connotation and I let it rest. But then, one of my partners, who has known me now for nearly four years, says that I am lazy. Dan said something to me, because he owes me no allegiance. His ex knows nothing about me. So they can assume what they will. I told Dan last night, it doesn’t matter what the world thinks about me, it matters when the people I love do not understand me. It is terrible.

One of the reasons I left dance it was because I did not want the limelight. I was and am a brilliant dancer. There is no ego in this statement. My Guru saw that in me right at the get-go. In six months of my training, I was put up on stage. I joined dance because since my childhood I always wanted to dance. But I was never allowed to, being a boy from a Sikh household. I gave up the idea of it in my teens. But then I fell in love with a Kathak dancer and when he left he broke my heart. So I plucked up the courage and walked into my guru’s home, one evening, and asked if I could start dancing. I was just turning 22.

When I spoke to her, I told her clearly, that I just wanted to dance, and I wanted to learn it. I had no desire to perform or to be put up on stage. She didn’t understand that. If I had talent, I was meant to show it to the world. I never understood that. I still don’t. The world did not matter. I was dancing because I wanted to be close to someone I loved. So after a decade of trying to make everyone happy, I realized it mattered more to be true to myself. I gave up dancing.

I could have taken up another teacher. But I just could not.

I love sketching portraits. I had a devastating heartbreak in 2020. A month later, I struggled with anxiety and panic attacks. I tried to divert my mind with art. I began sketching a portrait of Galadriel. It’s a beautiful frame. It is when she looks upon Frodo and tells him to go on a quest and find the strength from within. I can be quite allegorical. But I could not complete it. Depression set in hard. I struggled with it…still am. It has been over three years. Whenever I get back to it, I think of the time that induced me to begin it. But when I begin something, I always finish it. So I made my very first new year resolution, in 2023. That I would complete it before the year ended.

This year however has had its own twists and turns. In comparison to the last two, this one is dulcet. But it has been a calm one, comparatively. And the problem with me is that the time I have to myself seems to be less. Especially because of the first years of a relationship. The last time I opened the sketch to complete it, I found myself holding my mechanical pencil in my hand, staring at the circlet around Galadriel’s head. The man who I loved loved The Lord of the Rings, too. But I had found love again. I finally found closure as I stared at the unfinished piece of work in front of me. I closed it and returned to daily life.

“Lazy” is such an easy word. Depression and recovery, anxiety and self-doubt, love and loss, are such difficult ones. I understand some, I try to understand others. I wish the world was not so quick to label and blame and troll. There are hearts out there, who just want to be free to live and find their own version of happiness.

But December is my favourite month. So hopefully, it helps me in my quest to fulfil a resolution.

Home Away From Home

When my buas were alive, I had homes outside of my own to go to. My bedroom just got painted over and the last time that happened, I had stayed in Munni Pua’s (my elder bua) house for a fortnight. She took care of me like the parent she was to everyone she knew – I shall admit that I was beloved by both my aunts. They replaced the need of a father figure, which I never had.

I would just have to tell them I need a place to stay and they would open up the doors to their homes and let me stay for however long I wanted to. If I needed a piece of furniture stored temporarily, Goodie Pua (my younger bua, who was really the man of the family as I grew up) would tell me, “send it over to mine, I have ample place to keep it.” And when I would visit her home, the same piece of furniture would be placed in her home as if it belonged there beautifully.

I miss them. Not only because I feel like a great part of my life was shaped by their presence, but because I miss their love and affection. I could joke with them, be chastised by them, love them and be loved by them. I had family! I had someone, in my extended family, I could count upon to help me at any given time. Right about now, I feel quite alone and secluded. That is the price of age and death, I suppose.

All mentors and guides have to fall away sometime, in order for one to find strength and solutions from one’s own self. But I am human, after all, and when I see my best friend having two homes, my lovers having two homes, it sometimes hits me that I now just have one, and my whole world resides in it. It is not a very great comfort and at times, of late, I miss having a larger family.

My greatest fear, let me tell you, is dying alone. With no familial support or person who cares sitting by my bed as I breathe my last. It’s not death that scares me then, it is just the thought of having no one saying they love me in my last moments. I was there as the older generation grew older and needed help in their final moments. I wonder who will be around when it is time for me to get help.

I have seen my family contract – with people falling away to death or distance. The people I loved the most have passed on and now I am left with a handful of people that I can truly count upon.

Life has shown me that I need to be aware of mortality and it is the greatest leveller in this world. I do not regret anything – I am merely sitting here, thinking, of the losses that I have garnered since the age of 19 and wondering upon the pros and cons of having a large extended family. Perhaps this is why the human race wants to procreate and see their offspring procreate some more. But that would seem to be a selfish reason to have children.

Of course, I am also a believer of bonds that are not linked by blood. It is not necessary that I have to be born into a family to call it mine. I can create my own family… and over the years, I tried to assimilate a tribe of my own. Mostly through the route of friendship, I have developed a kinship with many – but as I look back on the most recent experience of mine, no one really called me to their home and said, “stay here until your house gets painted.” That makes me think more and miss my aunts most.

I am not a believer in an after life, but I shall safely say, they have left an indelible impact on my life on this earth, and they are terribly missed, and remembered every day through the calls of my heart.

Albus Dumbledore and Michael Gambon

The decade of 1997-2007 was a lovely one. Predominantly, because two of my favourite fantasy book series came into dazzling light. The Lord of the Rings that I had loved since childhood became the spectacular movie trilogy and the Harry Potter series breathed life into the fantasy genre and brought a whole generation back to reading. They took the world by storm.

As I read the series, with intermittent gaps of years at a time, every book release became a phenomenon. There were two characters that I adored and fell in love with. Hermione Granger and Albus Dumbledore. I am gay and was considered a bookworm by all of my peers. Two things that didn’t sit well with them and so my schooling years were filled with – you can guess it. So these two characters seemed to call out to all of those insecurities and experiences.

Hermione, being who she was, got accepted within the first year itself…and her angst was related more to being a regular teen girl whose feelings were misunderstood often by the men she loved. So over the progression of the books, Dumbledore became a favourite. In The Order of the Phoenix, he rejects capture and disappears with Fawkes. “Dumbledore’s got style,” says Shacklebolt.

I smiled. I knew then that this wonderful man was gay. By the last book, it all became quite clear what Grindelwald and he shared was not just “bromance”. They had been lovers. The character took on added significance as he was not all light and twinkles. His character became human, rife with flaws and mistakes. It spoke of the promise of betterment.

In the movies, Richard Harris didn’t quite sit well with me as Dumbledore. No offence to any fans of Harris out there, but that is just my personal opinion. He was too classy, and too proper for Albus Dumbledore whom I always pictured as quirky but brilliant. So when Michael Gambon stepped into Albus Dumbledore’s shoes, I was overwhelmed. He was brought in, what also happened to be my favourite book of the series, The Prisoner of Azkaban, which also happened to be directed by one of my favourite directors, Alfonso Cuarón.

Michael Gambon brought to Albus Dumbledore’s character all that it was missing. The beaded beard, the lopsided hat, the flowing robes, the wink in the eye and the absent-minded whimsicality of the principal I had become so very fond of. It is no great surprise then that apart from Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna – he was the only other adult character from the Potter series that I chose to sketch. It also became a seminal work because I finished it, when I lay awake during the terror attacks on my city that lasted for three whole nights.

It stands as a testimony to the sacrifices of those many who were and are innocent in the schematics of world politics and blind faith. Dumbledore stands as that man who believed in something and who loved, and then had his beliefs corrected and resurrected. He loved once and loved wholly. He never killed Grindelwald in the epic battle that we shall never see on the big screen or read about other than a few lines in passing in the series. But I understand what the character himself must have gone through. Because cataclysmic heartbreaks with a revolution in faith form a hard road to walk upon.

I am not surprised he had all the three Deathly Hallows in his possession and never used them – he just passed them on. Willingly. He lived a life, which may not necessarily have been complete or even satisfactory – but he made his peace with it and more is to the point, he lived it with a new purpose. And when it was time to let it all go, he did so, on his own terms. Just such a brilliant example to learn from.