After 14 years of my school life scattered here and there in Kerala, I decided to travel some 1,200 km to the ‘City of Pearls’ – Hyderabad – for college. I wanted to do something different, do the independent thing, and of course, yes, I wanted to be away from home. So, I prepared for an entrance examination, got into a national university, and moved to Hyderabad.
Moving into college, I thought I’d become a whole new person, explore my queerness and find space for everything I couldn’t find back home. From a national university in a tier one city, I expected a space which was at least not toxic. But my expectations about the college proved to be wrong almost every day. My right to come out publicly and be okay with my queerness on my own terms and timeline was violated multiple times. I was scared, overwhelmed and disoriented throughout my first year. I broke down countless times and even contemplated quitting and running back home more times than I can even remember.
Somehow, I made it through the year and then came my first ever internship. We were supposed to find an NGO to work with and I was sure that it had to be a queer rights NGO. Despite people telling me that it wouldn’t add value to my CV as a Bachelor of Business Administration student, I was determined that I’d find and work in one. I applied to a lot of places and got rejected and just when I was about to give up, I applied to a Kerala-based NGO and got selected. From the first ever email I wrote to them to the interview call, I had a trembling hand. Yet, my desire to feel like I was part of the queer community and to find a space where my queerness could breathe was apparently stronger than my fear.
I remember the first time I knocked on the door of the NGO’s office. ‘Y’ opened the door and I stepped in, and it still feels like a miracle that I didn’t pass out. I talked with two people that day and I left before anyone else could see me. I was so scared that on my way back I started crying on the bus. I somehow went to the office the next day and I had to make a few calls which I couldn’t do. That convinced me that this was not going to work. I told my friend ‘J’ that I’m quitting and that I can’t do this. If it wasn’t for their assurance, I probably would’ve quit, given my track record. But I decided to give it a try and little did I know that this would become one of the best times of my life. I did things I’d never done before. I found myself, I found love, and most of all, I found people.
The first few days of working there were really overwhelming, not because I didn’t like the place but because it was new. It was everything I wanted but it also scared me. Everyone was welcoming but I didn’t know how to accept it. I found myself in situations where I felt I shouldn’t speak up. It made me realise how unaware I was about my own land and its landscape. Gradually in their conversations, in their honesty, and most importantly their politics, I found myself learning, unlearning and relearning.
I barely talked to anyone for most of the two months, but they understood without me having to say it. I found my queer joy and it lives in these people I found. Be it the times when someone asked for my opinions, or the times when they just invited me for a smoke, the times ‘H’ made sure I was okay, the times when they told me stories and made sure I wasn’t alone and all the times when they didn’t judge me for not being ready for something, the times ‘E’ stayed on calls for me, every time ‘J’ checked in on me, and every word of validation I got from ‘P’ felt liberating for me. I saw love in these people and I found love in ‘Y’, through all the times we laughed together, all the times we drank together, all the times they made me coffee, and all the times they were there for me and where we just existed together.
The two months at the NGO made me realise that being queer is just a part of me, not all of me, and that it comes down to being as natural as existing truly to myself. I broke down in front of my colleagues at the NGO, I said things which I never thought I would or I could, and yet they didn’t disappear.
These people don’t need to be named. I believe each of them knows the place they hold in this story. Many of them may not even realise what they bring into my life, what I found in them, but my joy exists even in that quiet stillness of their existence, the small conversations and portraits we share. And all of them have held me in ways I didn’t know how to ask for. Just knowing that there is someone out there, makes all the difference.
It’s been a while since I left the NGO, but I still have the people who gave me a space and taught me it’s okay to seek help. It isn’t always pretty, not always sunshine and rainbows, and sometimes it gets ugly and tangled. At the end though, the feeling of belonging to that tangle of hearts – that’s my queer joy. When surviving becomes difficult, this joy helps me breathe, it helps me live my politics.
Main quote photo credit: Jonny Gios on Unsplash
“It was everything I wanted but it also scared me. Everyone was welcoming but I didn’t know how to accept it.”….true. The years of struggling alone and then finding people who understand you can be so overwhelming.