Gains, losses, glosses

“My anger narrative is white hot” – headline of an article I wrote around last Christmas. I’d resolved then to have a dialogue with my “haughty little friend”, the anger genie, and practice assertiveness. I’ll leave the scorecard to Santa, but I did manage to deal with some of the founts of anger and resentment in 2024.

So, what was it that I was missing that was generating the anger? New home? Check (quite settled in). New physical environment? Check (nothing like an open sky, feathered friends, and some green peace to counter the white hot, but the increasing global hotness and the thought of disaster tourism in the Arctic and elsewhere frightens me) . . .

New book? Check (in the works after moving mental mountains, which I’m learning is often about body not keeping pace with a mind already racing to the next writing). So, new physical fitness regimen? Just about managing the older exercise routine and struggling to find a substitute for Dhakuria Lake near my new home . . .

New (formal) education? Not yet given up. Both excited and overwhelmed at the thought, but still procrastinating (and there’s been no shortage of new knowledge, a lot of it gained through the process of researching and writing about queer histories, loitering in the lanes and bylanes near my new home, and watching birds) . . .

New boyfriend? Relegated to ‘optional bonus’, but not new friendships. A happy check for this one in 2024, and new and old friendships that lead to new somethings are very welcome. Also, even if there’s no romance, there’s always a book to write and a cake to bake (note that cakes and fitness need not be mutually exclusive) . . .

New political dispensation in the country? Just a tad happy with the slightly greater level playing field, no great expectations, but curious to see how the signs of queer participation in Indian politics are going to shape up . . .

I count these as big gains in the year gone by, but the losses were immense. My mother died around midway through the year, and home has never been emptier. A new home has also meant leaving behind the old home where I lived for nearly three decades, one of the many lives they say we live in a lifetime. These losses have led to a new gain though – the new experience of living alone, which is also a new feeling, a new sensation that I can’t and don’t want to put down in words.

This brings me to the glosses. I’ve always been one for the matt finish. Glossy doesn’t work for me. I am a minimalist and I’m going to be very assertive about it, especially with well-meaning folks who want to see my walls, clothes and hair awash in a rainbow.

There’s gloss in so many places. I often get into semi-serious banter with my new domestic workers about the state of the kitchen – utensils not in place, my washing them sometimes or cleaning the halud stains in the kitchen, and so on. I’m rather queer in their eyes – why should I as a “purush manush” enter the kitchen and do all this? This raises my hackles, but they take my comments about work being genderless lightly. Probably what I say and do doesn’t change the reality around them. The ‘disorder’ in the kitchen triggers my desire for ‘order’ even more. At the end of the day, a comment made by the cook calms me down: “Why get so worked up about these imperfections? You’re running a sansaar alone and these hassles will be there. Just take it easy.” Then, I remember the cook telling me that her bicycle got stolen and it would cost at least Rs.3000/- to get a new one. When the theft happened, she was shaken and sad, but bore it stoically and shows up to work every morning. The little green haven (urban gloss?) that I live in hides many such realities.

There’s also the repeat binge watching of all the seasons of the series Mom on my phone. The series is hilarious but not frivolous, well-acted and ticks many boxes. The story is centred around addiction and recovery from addiction, but behind the humour lies a larger question. While the series shows the importance of support systems like Alcoholics Anonymous, the storyline has too much emphasis on individual failure and heroism. The impact of an individual’s addiction on themselves and their close ones is presented well, but what about the impact of social structures and norms that make individuals vulnerable to addiction? There’s not much on that front in the series. The underlying message always seems to be that the individual must get things right, as if the society’s job is only to trick individuals into living on the edge, and if they fail or fall off, further slap them with stigma, distrust, and laws. The humour in the series ultimately begins to seem somewhat like gloss.

In 2025 and later, the old rootedness of my parents is what I want – to be able to appreciate better what’s a gain, what’s a loss, and what’s just gloss.

About the main graphic: A stylistic representation of a view from the author’s room in his new home. Photo credit: Pawan Dhall