I sat next to her, we were communicating in Marathi. Despite coming out almost a decade earlier, I was feeling a lack of confidence. This wasn’t the first time we were having the conversation but I was worried about her reaction anyway. Although she had stepped out on the streets for her ‘gay son’, and demanded equal rights for him — just like any Indian soap opera — it had all vanished from her memory, and in the moment I saw the long struggle of my identity vanishing too.
I came out to my parents around 17 or 18 and a big Indian drama followed in our house for the next five years. We stayed under one roof but were miles away from each other emotionally. That moment divided my life in two parts — ‘maa da laadla’ and ‘bigad gaya’. I had been the ideal son, until that moment. And they were ideal parents. Maybe we had been taking each other for granted, just like any other Indian family.
Things began falling into place later. At 21, I made my coming out public with a national newspaper and it was a grand one. My confidence was multiplying with each passing day and my parents were aware of that. They were stepping up for me while relatives started gunfire from their end. I was never the sacrificial kind, like a character out of an Indian saas-bahu’ opera. The fact was, I am gay with or without them. I never offered anyone a loose moment to dominate me, or make me feel ashamed for ‘who I am’. It’s not like they had any other option but to just accept me. They did consult our family doctor secretly, to thankfully learn that ‘it’s all natural’.
Things were different after that. I could openly talk about my crushes and dates with my mother and she spoke to them warmly on the phone. My dad still keeps out a newspaper with any LGBTQIA+ related content on my bed before I wake up. My dream was complete when my mother and sister, Samiksha, walked for gay rights in the Mumbai and Pune pride parades. I was living the ideal life of an Indian gay guy even in the time of section 377.
That was until mid-2016...
Towards the end of 2015, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. By the time her treatment ended, the medication had begun to show major side effects which included short-term memory loss. She has regressed 12 to 15 years back in the memory lane, and all that happened in between stays unregistered. So, I sat next to her and told her “I am gay.” She replied fiercely, “Don’t talk rubbish.”
It was the worst moment. All my struggles over the last five years, of converting a homophobic mother into a supporting one, were fading. I showed her our interviews and photographs from the pride parades. She started remembering highlights from our journey but yet, we have a long way to return before we can walk with ‘pride’ once again. I am waiting for that day...
(Nakshatra Bagwe is a 26-year-old actor, film-maker and runs a travel company that mainly caters to the LGBTQIA+ community)
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