CHENNAI: I feel free ma…like a burden is off my chest. Indha naal kaga evalo varsham kathutrunden, theriyuma? (I was waiting for this day for so long). I grew up in a religious setting and there were hardly any conversations about alternative identities and sexualities in our household. When I was 25, I was exposed to global films; some, despite their negative portrayal of queer lives, made me cognisant of such a world. But I didn’t identify myself as gay until I was in my 40s. I’m surprised that I lived in denial for so long, especially when there were hints throughout my life.
In school, I was more drawn to the boys and while in college, I grew fond of a classmate…we used to hold hands and walk around the campus. But being conditioned to believe that there is nothing beyond the binary, we didn’t think of it as anything but friendship and never discussed it further. I met my late wife when I was preparing for my CA exams. We shared many common interests — in art, music and politics. We married and had a child. She was my best friend, my soulmate. But I never felt complete. Sex was not a big part of our relationship either.
Despite all the unconventional routes our marriage took, it was a happy one. My wife never questioned me…maybe she knew? I remember having a brief discussion about non-binary identities with her when we were in our 30s. She said, ‘People can be whatever they choose to be. No one should stop them’. Had I been aware of what I was feeling, I could have confided in her. She would have understood me in a world that never did. But by the time I came to accept my own identity, I lost her to a chronic illness.
Without having my best friend, I felt lost. I focused on raising my son. I had no time to think about myself…I brushed away my feelings. I was scared to discuss it with anyone. My biggest fear was, what if my parents and in-laws decided to take my son away from me? What if I lost everyone and broke the relationships in my life? I took every day as it came; celebrated my son’s victories, lent him an ear and my shoulders whenever he had a problem, never belittled his insecurities or disrespected his space, I answered all his questions. I was being (or at least trying to be) the parent I wished I had.
About a decade back, during an official trip to Mumbai, I met a business associate…a charming man in his early 40s. He had invited me over to his house for dinner. There, I was in for a surprise. He was living with his partner of 20 years — a man! I felt like it was the universe’s way of guiding me, introducing me to people who will help me in my journey. As the night progressed, I broke down in front of them. I confided in them, shared my ‘secret’. It felt wonderful when I wasn’t judged. Today, they continue to be my best friends.
Since that night, for over a decade, I continued living with the realisation that I wasn’t straight. I also learned that I was asexual. They became my confidants; they introduced to me a lovely network of queer people, who welcomed me as their own. I had an extended family, a support group. But in Chennai, I lived an alternate life…not the authentic one. My parents even suggested I remarry! It was a struggle.
It’s hard to come out after you’ve crossed a certain age or so I thought. But I was happy that at least conversations were happening. I witnessed many youngsters come out. I followed all the LGBTQIA+-related news, cheered when article 377 was annulled. ‘Appa, you are such a cool guy!’, my son used to say whenever he saw me discuss LGBTQIA+ issues and call out relatives when they passed a homophobic comment. But I never dared to tell him.
Amid the pandemic and lockdown, my son and I became closer than ever. On my 60th birthday, my son asked me what I wished for and I quickly said, ‘to live life on my terms’. He was puzzled. ‘What do you mean? And who is stopping you, pa? I look up to you every day and learn how to live life with zeal, kindness, love and empathy. Neenge enna solreenge?’ he asked. I smiled and we never spoke about it. But the entire year, I thought a lot about my life and everything that I had missed because I feared society and its gaze.
A few weeks ago, before I turned 61, I decided to come out. If not to the entire world, at least to my son, who means the world to me. He bought a cake for me…this time, a diabetic-friendly one (laughs). I cut it and made a wish. He asked me the question again. ‘What did you wish this year, appa?’. I gave him the same answer but this time, before he could ask me anything, I told him that I was gay. I could feel my heart race, I was embracing the unknown. I had so many thoughts in my mind. While I expected him to be angry, and maybe storm out, I was in for a surprise when he smiled and hugged me. Perhaps he sensed my anxiousness. I broke down…he held me in his arms for at least 20 minutes. We then settled down and before he could ask me anything, I asked him how he was so welcoming and understanding. He told me about a show, Grace and Frankie, and credited it for making him aware and accepting of other identities, one that people might go on to explore even in their senior years.
Now, my son and I watch the show together. He asks me questions, about my life, what I want to do from now on. He is like his mother…he tells me, ‘Appa, shouldn’t people be able to do whatever they choose for themselves? Why do we have to hide from the world? Ellaru kitayum solalam pa, naan iruken (Let’s tell everyone, I am there)’. But I don’t think I am ready for it yet. But now that my son knows, I have never felt more peaceful.
I have lived my life behind a facade for so long. It has affected my mental health in multiple ways, stopped me from finding companionship. But now, in my twilight years, I want to live life the way I want to. I want to find love. Find my Sol (a character from the show). For anyone who is a senior, who might be reading this, if you have lived your life in hiding like me, I hope you draw the courage to come out. To live your life with joy is a right. Don't let anyone take that from you. I have started feeling a new joy and I hope you do too.
(As told to Roshne Balasubramanian)
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