Chapter Fifteen

Why do you say my love is wrong?

SAARANSH

 

Darkness. Startled, I get up, gasping. Throat parched. Awake in a strange room. The stillness is interrupted by the low hum of a fan. The t-shirt clings to my back. I wipe the sweat from my head and hang my legs on the side to sit. Once the breathing steadies, I walk to the wall and search for the switches, flipping all the ones on the panel until I find the right one.

The poster of Dhoni, the Indian cricket captain, making his unique helicopter shot, greets me. Karan’s favorite cricketer. A chasm forms in my chest. I lean on the wall, wiping my face as the tears form. How do I undo this? Will my life be the same again? The walls close in. The room is suffocating. I stumble out of the room.

“Be careful, Saar.” Babita’s voice pulls me out of the well of despair. She walks me to the couch where Karan is sitting. “Here. Drink some water.”

I sit down next to Karan and take a sip. The water brings relief to a parched throat and clears my head. “I have to meet Ma and find out if she is all right.”

Karan and Babita glance at each other. “Your father is watching her like a hawk. He won’t let her out of his sight.” Babita deflates all my hope.

“I need to speak to her, even if only to hear her voice,” I plead with Babita.

Karan gets up and paces along the wall to the balcony. He stops after two rounds. “What if we get a message across to your mother and ask her to meet us somewhere?” He turns to Babita.

She shakes her head. “I am not allowed inside Saar’s house. Tau ji has forbidden anyone in the family to speak to Saaransh. He did not listen to Mummy and Papa, but I put my foot down. I will never abandon Saar.” Babita’s words bring tears. She is ready to stand against my father. “I suggest we wait for a few days, see how things pan out.”

“No, I have to speak to Ma.” I stand and ball my fists.

“Calm down, bro.” Karan holds my hands and makes me sit. “Why don’t you write a letter to Aunty? We will find someone other than family to get the message to her and ask her to write to you.”

“Yes. What an idea, sir ji. Tai ji goes to buy milk in the morning. I can persuade the milkman to hand over the letter. Tau ji won’t suspect a thing.” Babita agrees to Karan’s scheme.

Karan brings a pad of paper along with a pen and places them in front of me. For a few seconds, I am blank. I take a deep sigh and write.

Dear Ma,

I love you. I will always love you. I love Papa, but don’t ask me to apologize. Not for Brendon. He is not a mistake. He is my reality. Papa will never accept this, and despite my feelings for Brendon, I pushed him away.

Ma, I want to meet you. I want to put this medal around your neck. For the world, I won the medal, but for me, you are the gold medalist. Your love and care, the encouragement you give, and most of all your blessings helped me achieve this. My win is the culmination of all your hard work and sacrifice.

Don’t give up on me. To the world, I am a gold medalist. To you, I will always be your chubby Cheeku.

I fold the page and hand the letter to Babita. She caresses it. “Can I read it?”

“Mhm.”

After reading, Babita folds the letter and turns to me. “Are you in love?”

Love? What does the word even mean? A few hours spent together. Can they be strung together into love, or is my heart clinging to those moments in desperation? Yet the ache since the finals grows stronger by the day. My eyes water. “Even if it is, we can never be together.”

“You know what I hate about you, bro? Beyond the stupid badminton court, you have a defeatist attitude. If you fancy the guy, chin up and fight, man.” Karan takes the letter from Babita.

I wrap my arms around my chest, seeking warmth and security. “In the minutes after my win, I had everything. An Olympic gold medal. A relationship. In a blink, I lost him.” A shudder escapes at the memory of the hurt in Brendon’s eyes. “How could I have ever expected Blue to keep our relationship a secret? He is proud and out to the world, while I am stuck clinging to the closet door.”

“Aww, how sweet, you have a nickname for him.” Karan grabs my arm and sways.

His efforts to cheer me fail. I continue my lament. “There should have been a reception at the airport and home. Instead, I am left with only silence and grief. What will I do, Babita?”

She wipes the tears from my eyes. “You will go on the badminton court and win the world over. You will fight for Brendon.” She shakes me by the shoulders. “You have every right to happiness. Others don’t matter.”

“You are wrong. The world may not matter, but my family matters. Ma and Pa matter even if I am not worthy,” I protest. “And Blue? He will never speak to me again.”

Karan puts his hand on my shoulder. “You are worthy, Saaransh. Don’t sell yourself short. How many sons in India have won an Olympic gold? You have always respected your parents, been an obedient son. If at this moment they can’t value your happiness, they don’t deserve you. We all are proud of you.”

I shake my head.

Babita tries to give me hope. “Saaransh, the closet is broken. So, what is stopping you from calling Brendon? I am sure he will understand. You have got to try. You are not a quitter, Saar. Isn’t Brendon worth the trouble?”

“He is worth more than any trouble.” A flicker of joy escapes as I remember our trivia night. He pushed his friends to play the game. For me. The simple gesture ignited hope in my heart. A desire to create something more with Brendon in my life.

Babita nudges me, “Why are you smiling? You are bubbling over Brendon, aren’t you? What did you do, Saaransh?”

I can’t hide my goofy grin.

Babita’s eyes widen. “Shit, you did not?”

“Did, did not. Make up your mind, Babs. Saar is no longer our innocent virgin friend,” Karan sings and winks. The mischief monger.

“Don’t look at me with those perv eyes. I am not tattling about London. Not in front of B.” I shove him and Babita.

“Come to my room.” Karan wiggles his eyebrows.

“Karan, you are way too invested in my gay deeds than is healthy for your heterosexuality. Is this some kind of kink you are hoping to live vicariously through me?”

Babita punches me. “Tell us or else.”

No, not happening. The glass of water on the table comes in handy.

“Stop hiding.” She snatches the glass from my hands and turns it to Karan. Babita is a stubborn mule. Once an idea plants in her head, she does not waver. “I know what you did in London.” She scoffs at me.

My snort sends water spraying all around. Both Babita and Karan scamper to stand up.

“You goof, did you go all the way? You know?” Karan chimes in. “Did you jingle when you mingled?” I hate Karan’s eye waggle.

“We are so not talking about the jingles of gay mingling.” My kick on his shin catches Karan off guard.

He winces but recovers fast. “Oh, we are.” Karan tickles me. “You are tingling at the mere mention of it.”

I scramble away from both of them. Babita and Karan chase me around the sofa. We end up having a cushion fight till we land on the floor, giggling and panting. This is why I love them so much. In a flash, they relieve the tension and make me forget my troubles. At least for now. Tomorrow is scary.

*

“Ma, I missed you.” Two weeks after my arrival from London, the milkman helped set up this meeting at the Lord Krishna temple near our home. The radiance of the deity’s face, the sweet incense, and the chanting of mantras have been my sanctuary since the age of four when Ma brought me here the first time.

Ma is holding on better than I expected. Ma bottles up all her emotions. She is a gentle soul, a pious lady devoted to her family. Her high blood pressure has caused her problems for the past five years. I hate to make her go through this. The stress will make her hypertension worse.

Mom hugs me, wrapping me in the comfort of her rose scent. “How are you, Cheeku? You look so sad.”

“How can I be happy, Ma? I am lonely. No Ma and Pa. No one to love me.”

Ma caresses my head. “You are not alone, Cheeku. My blessings are always with you. Krishna’s blessings are with you. At the top level, every player is equal, but only one is a winner. Some thank kismet, but I consider the win a boon from Krishna for my son. Have faith in the Lord.” Ma wipes away my tears even as her eyes moisten.

“How can I when he has taken you away from me?”

She pats me on my cheek. “Don’t judge Krishna so fast. Everything in life happens for a reason. Come, let us sit and talk.” Ma guides us to the stairs leading to the sanctum of the temple. We sit under a banyan tree. Around noon, the August sun in Delhi is bright and hot, the air humid. The shade from the tree is a welcome respite.

“Tell me about Brendon. Is he nice?”

“Brendon is wonderful. Here let me show you some pictures.” I take out my phone and show Ma the snaps we took together during our walk in the Olympic Village.

She scrolls through them. “He is handsome. Your face is glowing in joy. Am I right? He makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, Brendon made me come alive. Safe, loved, and free. I did not need to hide around him. In a few days, he triggered needs in me—a life with someone: with him. But Ma, I ruined everything. I hurt Brendon. I pushed him away.”

“Sometimes you need to let go of the person you care about to realize their true worth.” Ma waits for the temple bells to stop ringing. “Life places these tests for us. If your love is pure and unconditional, life will lead you to Brendon again. I have faith in my son. He is dogged.” Ma has always encouraged me to face challenges. Today, she spurs me again like she did the day I trembled, dreading to jump into the swimming pool, scared after the water got into my nose and throat during my first swim class. She stood a step behind the four-year-old boy. “Take a step. The water is testing you, scared by the fighting spirit in my son.”

Her understanding does not surprise me. The words are soothing but are they enough to patch together the frayed pieces of my heart? “The world will not let me, Ma.”

“Don’t worry about the world.”

“What about Pa? How do I make him understand? The world does not matter, but he does. The threat of Pa’s reaction forced me to hide. And his actions proved me right. Why is Pa infuriated? Is my happiness worth nothing to him?”

Ma takes a deep sigh. The hurt in her eyes is discomforting. “He is in shock. I gave birth to you, and even I did not understand this first. Cheeku, you should have told me. After the news, I read about gay people.”

“I was terrified, Ma.”

“Oh, my dear child. How long have you been hiding this and suffering alone?”

I lean into Ma’s soft hands as they hold my face. “You remember Amit for my ninth class? The way other boys talked about girls. I coveted those with Amit. The attraction confused me.”

“Could you have asked someone?” Ma searches my eyes.

“Whom? Other boys?” I shake my head. “I had no choice but to keep my feelings secret.”

“Were there signs I should have picked up?”

I shake my head. I had become an award-winning actor in my life’s cinematic production accompanied by Gillu and Ele. With Brendon, those lines blurred, and I forgot my role. My two realities are now at war on a turf of prickly grass of confusion. Who is the fictional character? Who is the real me? Saaransh Mishra or Blue’s Shy? The sadness on Ma’s face makes me despise them both.

Ma lets go of my hands and turns her head away. “I have failed you, and now even if I want, I can’t do anything for you. But, Cheeku, I will learn. You should teach me.” She rubs her eyes with the edge of her saree, muffling her sniffles.

“No, Ma. Please don’t blame yourself.” I kneel before her. “I had to hide for this exact thing. Pa’s reaction and losing you. Pa has so many expectations.” I gather her in my arms. “But the two opposing personalities were killing me. The shy, perfect but scared boy outside and the real me, who I locked up inside, desperate to become free from the suffocating loneliness.”

Ma breaks my hold and views me with concern. “Is this why you went to the pub?”

Lips pursed, I admit the truth to her. “I had to meet people like me. Live the life even if only for a few hours.”

“And you met Brendon.” She teases me by scrunching her nose.

I sigh. “Yes, I met him, but I lost him.” A tear trickles its way down my cheek. Ma catches the drop on her fingertip.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? I told you to forget we ever had a son. Why are you meeting a stranger in the temple without informing me?” The loud voice scares both of us. Pa stands a few steps away, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. He takes a step toward Ma. I stand and try to block him; he pushes me away.

“Give this medal to him. It is tainted. He has brought dishonor to the entire family and us.” Pa snatches the medal and snaps it off Ma’s neck. He throws the three-inch, gold-plated disc at my feet.

I lose my control. “How did I bring dishonor? I fought every day, every match, to win this medal. How many sons in your family have won an Olympic medal? You have no right to call this medal tainted. You have no right to paint my relationship with Brendon dirty.”

Pa lands a hard slap on my face. I am stunned. “Have you heard what people are saying? They call you chakka.”

My cheek hurts. Even though his mind is set, this is my chance to force Pa to understand. “They are also humans, Pa. How do those labels matter? They do not change anything. My body and my soul are still the same.”

“Do you realize how difficult it is for me to walk on the street without being mocked? You have no idea.”

“Pa, my sexuality is nothing to be ashamed of. Let the world put any labels.”

“Do you realize how insulting it is to hear the taunts? The sneers and the effeminate jibes.”

“Pa, the mighty Kaurav army fell due to one person. Whatever labels the world put on Shikhandi before or after the war do not matter.” I remind him of the pivotal event in the greatest battle between good and evil narrated in our ancient text—the Mahabharata. Despite the taunts for being neither male nor female, Shikhandi stood with the Pandavs to defeat Bhisma, the Kauravs’ mightiest commander, thus paving the way for the Pandav victory.

“Those are stories. This is real life,” Pa counters.

“Those stories send us a message across eons from our ancestors. Pa, a person’s deeds are more than what they wear or whom they love. Who they love or what they wear does not make them less or more.”

“Your head is in the gutter. The sinful firangi has corrupted all your senses.” Pa mouths profanities against Brendon.

I am done, and my restraint breaks. “Don’t you dare accuse Brendon of anything. Don’t you dare use those words for him. If Brendon had not been present, you would be lighting the funeral pyre of your son.”

“Your death would be preferable to the humiliation you brought to my name. You are not my son. I performed the last rites of my son the day those pictures appeared in the newspapers.”

Pa grabs Ma’s hand and drags her away, leaving me standing at the doors of the temple. He stops and turns to me. “If you believe you can fight this world, try your luck. Even the demon from Australia cannot help you.” Pa stomps off, Ma following him in tears. Mute and resigned.

UURGH! The kick scatters the gravel. Seething with rage, I turn and face the deity with tears flowing down my cheeks. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? What is my crime? Is loving a man so immoral? Do twenty-four years of righteous life and devotion not matter to you? You loved Radha. You know what love is. How is my love different from yours? Why is my love dirty, but yours is pure? Only because Brendon is a man.

You are the one who gave the sermon of one supreme soul. Are me and Brendon not part of the same supreme soul? Aren’t we part of you? How can a relationship between our souls be dirty and sinful?

If you believe you have broken me, you are mistaken. You may abandon me. Take everything from me, but I will fight for what is mine, for my honor and for my Brendon. If I have no family, if my father disowns me, if the world abandons me, there is nothing to stop me.

Not even you.