When I came out in my final year of university I had been living in Canada for four years and was unknowingly already surrounded by queer and trans people. I was involved in post-9/11 anti-racism activism on and off campus, and had accumulated pockets of friends who indentified as queer. I rarely went out but when I did it was to parties for queers of colour; not because I felt I belonged there but because I knew the men wouldn’t grab my ass or hit on me.
When I started telling friends that I was dating a woman the most common response was, “I always wondered why you weren’t dating women before.” My artsy, activisty community and the social groups I ran with in Toronto provided plenty of reassurance and support and for this reason my transition into queerness was fairly smooth. I was dating someone new my first serious relationship as an adult. It wasn’t about the gender of the person. But with family far away – in New Zealand, New York and India – it was harder to show them what my life as a queer woman looked like, and harder to be that woman around them.
"My challenges with coming out have revolved around my family."
I come from one of those liberal Indian families where an undertone of conservative values is overshadowed by open-minded and politically engaged breeding. At the age of twelve, amidst my parents’ divorce my mother told me it was more natural for women to be with women. But appearances matter, and it’s always different when it’s one of your own, so I continued with trepidation. My cousins who I share a great bond with were my saving grace.
When I was 23 I met someone who forced me to confront myself; my feelings for her forced me to look inside and stop pretending. Looking back I had been grappling with my sexuality for more than ten years. I had only dated boys and ignored my girl crushes. A dream about one of my classmates when I was 11 haunted me for years. I had a scrapbook full of Julia Stiles, but no connection to the feelings which motivated me to cut and paste.
When I was 21 I visited India to celebrate my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary. My mother and both her sisters chose their husbands and married for love. My grandfather proposed to my grandmother. The ‘arranged marriage’ is not common in my family. Yet I found myself talking to my grandparents about finding a boy for me. I felt that if I wasn’t soon married off I would bring home someone who was not acceptable, but I wasn’t yet able to articulate that this would have been someone of the same sex. My mother laughed at me, my grandparents said it was too early, extended aunts and uncles were shocked (the Western niece?) and my uncle told me to secure my economic independence before I think about marriage. My family knew that marriage was not the right thing for me but at the time I was confused about why. I left India feeling lost and a little let down.
"When I came out and things started falling into place I was able to look back and see why dating men had not felt natural or right for me."
I told my mother immediately, who laughed, passed it off as my latest and most extreme attempt at seeking attention. I slowly started telling my female cousins who responded without shock or judgment, only love and support. I told a family friend who had come out a few years before me, a childhood friend who said something like, ‘wow that explains why you never checked out the boys with me,’ and friends from high school in New Zealand where gay culture is much more mainstream than in North America. At Thanksgiving that year one of my male cousins asked if was dating a girl or boy, opening the door for me. And so it continued, acceptance followed by support.
My grandmother figured out when I was visiting her later that year that the person calling me everyday was more than my ‘roommate.’ My Nani (maternal grandmother) had also told me that the intimate relationship which developed between the two wives in the movie Fire has always been a part of our history as Indians.
For a brief period my mother dated a white, Republican Christian who said that being gay was unnatural. I made it clear to her that she would never know her grandchildren and that our relationship would suffer if she were to become serious with someone who did not accept me. Around that time I found the courage (and it required a lot of courage) while driving from Vermont to New York to come out to aunt whose response was shocking and felt like a set back. She was unsure of why or how, comparing me to stereotypes of queers she knew and suggested a ‘gay test.’ She followed up by saying that I would always be welcome in her home, she loved me no matter what, and I would always be part of the family.
"Over the course of the next year I realized that even if my mother, aunt or other relatives did not accept or support me, my cousins would always stand up for me."
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If a partner was not welcome at Thanksgiving or a family function, I know one of my partners would refuse to go in solidarity. In Toronto I continued to be surrounded by queers in social and professional environments. I worked on a project to build systemic capacity for queer and trans immigrants and refugees. I had always been out at work, and in all aspects of my Toronto life. But there was one more person I needed to tell and my cousins conspired to make it happen during National Coming Out Week in 2007. My mother’s older sister is the matriarch of our family but her husband, the more sensitive one, a bit of a father figure to me had started bugging me about marriage – I think he either knew or sensed something and was forcing me to talk to him. He brought it up on the long drive from Newark to Westchester, with my mum and aunt in the car. He was suggesting that I attend a cousin’s wedding in California because there would be lots of eligible bachelors there. I told him that I wasn’t interested in a husband as my mum and aunt laughed nervously. He said, “then what?” and I said “women”. Without hesitating he said “Ok, then I’ll hunt for a good Punjabi wife for you!” |
Photo by Vivek Shraya
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Since then I have stopped hiding or avoiding conversations and always feel comfortable to bring my date to family functions. A few years ago my mother got re-married in Delhi and I took my girlfriend at the time. She met the extended family and to those whose support is significant, was introduced as my girlfriend. At one point my grandfather’s sister from Sydney asked me, “Do you have anyone special in your life right now?” I said no, not wanting to make either of us feel awkward in the moment, but secretly I know she knows.
Acting on my attraction to women, trans and gender queer people has allowed me to live as a more connected person; to my self, my family and my community. I am living honestly, with love and more importantly with vulnerability. As I came out my sense of self started adjusting, my style, my andro-femininity and the ideas for how I want to live my life. My queerness means that I’m not bound by hetero-normative rules. I look inside for validation rather than outside. I may or may not get married, I may or may not have one life partner, I may or may not have children. I may or may not live monogamously. Some days I wear dresses and lipstick, my most feminine self. Other days I wear a button-down with a sharp collar and cardigan. Some days I will throw on a tie and when I’m my feistiest self, lipstick too. The truth about queerness for me, is that who I am does not change as my exterior may. I do not have to conform to any image or lifestyle that society expects of me.
Acting on my attraction to women, trans and gender queer people has allowed me to live as a more connected person; to my self, my family and my community. I am living honestly, with love and more importantly with vulnerability. As I came out my sense of self started adjusting, my style, my andro-femininity and the ideas for how I want to live my life. My queerness means that I’m not bound by hetero-normative rules. I look inside for validation rather than outside. I may or may not get married, I may or may not have one life partner, I may or may not have children. I may or may not live monogamously. Some days I wear dresses and lipstick, my most feminine self. Other days I wear a button-down with a sharp collar and cardigan. Some days I will throw on a tie and when I’m my feistiest self, lipstick too. The truth about queerness for me, is that who I am does not change as my exterior may. I do not have to conform to any image or lifestyle that society expects of me.
"Coming out, learning about my queerness, what turns me on and drives me has given me strength to be me, in all my multi-faceted glory."
I continue to experience moments of invisibility when I meet new people. I’m a cis-gendered woman, more on the feminine end of the spectrum which means that I am read as straight. The invisibility is isolating at times, especially in queer-specific spaces but Toronto is an increasingly queer city and by this I mean that queers are everywhere not restricted to the gay village. My west-end neighbourhood café is visited by a range of people; immigrants, yuppie mom,-dad,-two-kid families and homos in love. My story and all its complexities has ways of fitting in and being visible is not always vital, especially when I see people who live a similar life to mine everywhere.
It took me more than a decade to face my queerness and several more years to figure out how to live comfortably in my queerness.
"But coming out is more about a journey than a destination; it’s about learning how to love myself and others on my terms, because life is all about love."
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