RassMalaai Rites

Last night, I deliberately walked back home from the metro station. It was beyond midnight and the road was dotted only by barricades and streetlights. The decision to do so was almost impulsive, although I can't be entirely sure. There was also a desire. A desire to be looked at, called upon, and touched.  The walk back home is almost a kilometre and it usually takes ten to fifteen minutes. I had reached the market near my home and had taken a turn to get into my lane when I heard a loud whistle. I looked back; no one. I tried to strain my eyes and look, still no one. I walked ahead. When I was well near my gate, I could sense headlights flashing behind me. I looked back but couldn't see a face, the headlights glaring into my eyes. I went inside my gate but could see a car moving ahead from the corner of my eyes. I stood there, with my back towards the car, pretending to check my phone. A man emerged from the car asking for directions to get out of the colony, as there wer

It has been almost 10 years since I told my parents about Ram. Since I told my parents about the possibility of me being gay (I wasn't so sure of the term myself). Since I went up to my mother and bawled in her lap, not knowing where to start and what to tell. It has also been 10 years since my parents have asked me anything about it. 10 years since my parents have come up to me and asked if I'm okay, if I need any help with coping, or just asked me a simple question - how are you? So, I ask it to myself - how are you? The first thing that comes to mind is disappointment. Why is that even after 10 years have passed, the memory of that time continues to occupy my being, continues to rule my mood, my reactions, my conduct? Why is it that that face still doesn't escape my imagination? For some reason (maybe it's naive) I had imagined that the more distant I get from home, the better it would be for me to forget what all had happened. And honestly, I did forget it for