Chapter Twenty-Nine

What do I want?

BRENDON

 

The host asks Saaransh, “There were hints in the past about your sexual orientation. Incidents at the Olympics. What changed?” Saaransh runs his fingers through his hair; after a few seconds, he straightens. The camera zooms to his face.

“The closet is a scary place. Dark, stifling, and suffocating. The desolation of our queerness is not a place anyone of us loves. There is no choice for many LGBTQ persons but to lock ourselves inside and live a double life. A life filled with lies. Fearful of the people who surround us. The people who should protect and support us. People who should care. Our family, our friends, and colleagues. Despite being around people who love us, we remain alone. Afraid and unsure about what they will say, how they will react. Will they accept us?

“The fear of judgment is more terrifying in conservative societies. Being a public figure makes living your true self tough. I hid inside, hoping to gain acceptance from my family and society. A colossal mistake. Despite conforming to their wishes, my father abandoned me, and I almost lost badminton buckling under pressure. Instead of fighting for my rights, I switched off the light and locked myself again inside the closet.”

The interviewer interrupts him, “Wasn’t there someone who you trust and ask for help?”

“Yes, and I am ever grateful to them to be sitting here today alive and speaking to you.” Saaransh stops, choking on the emotions clogging his chest. The interviewer encourages him. “Who helped you to put your life together again?”

Saaransh’s eyes shine as he speaks. “My ma, my dadi, cousin Babita, and friend Karan are the rocks anchoring my life. Mr. Pedersen is a godsend. But the strongest support came from the man whom I pushed out of my life. My heart shattered and crunched like glass with his every step, the day I let him walk away from me, convinced I was not enough. In doing so, I hurt him.”

Saaransh’s mouth quivers. The host hands him a glass of water, Saaransh takes a sip. With the other hand, he wipes his eyes. Saaransh places the glass on the table. The closeup shots give a glimpse of sadness playing out on his face. “He is an awesome person. I gave up on us, but he did not give up on me. Despite him shining the light, I allowed my ship to sink. Only when I stopped focusing on myself did I see his true worth. From an ocean across, he showed me the way.”

The pause makes me glance at Saaransh’s face on the screen. His lips are pursed as he attempts to subdue the sob before he continues. “From now on, things will change. I may not be enough, but I will be the person he can be proud of. Acceptance of who I am and living as my real self is my commitment to him, to my friends, and to all those who are struggling inside their closets.” He closes his eyes for a second. “I only hope I am not late. If I must spend the rest of my life making up to each of them, especially him, I will.”

I can no longer listen. Despite Rob’s protest, I hit the pause button. “Those are some genuine words.” Rob pats my thigh. We are watching the interview together.

“Yeah. Good for Shy.”

“You got to be kidding me, Bree.” Rob rubs his forehead in frustration. “Is this all you got to say? What about you? Should you not call him? At least congratulate him on crossing this threshold?”

“No, we are over that bridge. I am not going down that path.” If some other sports person had given this interview, I would call and congratulate, but this is Saaransh, the man I gave my heart to. The man who rejected it. Can a trampled heart be mended with apology messages and a birthday card? Even if the photos were cute as fuck, and I keep the stack in my bedside drawer for some nighttime mooning.

“Are you sure, Bree? Saaransh is an honest guy. You share so much in common.” When I don’t respond, Rob smacks his hand on my head. “Geez, you are a nitwit, aren’t you!”

I glare at him, but he is not done. “Have another go, you mug! Why this double standard? Look at your own life, even with years of gay rights movements. Are things easy for you in Straya?”

I need a diversion, or Rob will keep at it. “How about you knock it off, and we hit the pub?” I stand and prod Rob to join me. A few drinks at a bar will take my mind off a specific badminton player. I take a last glimpse at the still of Saaransh at the interview and walk away, running a finger below my lower lid to clear the eyes. Nope, it’s only some dirt.

“You should not walk away from him. How long will you hide inside a beer mug?” Rob gets the keys and opens the door to the garage.

I follow him in silence, recollecting my time, growing up scared of my reality. Afraid the masculinity associated with the sport would chew me out of the game. Worried about the reaction of teams, coaches, and the crowd. Would they accept me? Only one other professional player had travelled on this road in the rugby, but they came out after retirement. The handbook for a gay active player had no pages. Saaransh’s story is similar to mine, yet I am holding how he treated me against him. Yeah, Rob is right. I am a hypocrite.

My family and college coach helped me tell my story to the world. Their acceptance gave me strength. I still remember my Dad’s words. ‘Bree, you can help others by sharing your story with the world. You built a reputation in rugby which no team can ignore.’ His words spur me on till today. Things are better but not perfect. There is an occasional slur shouted at me from the stands during the games when I mess up. A few hate mails still arrive.

The worst are episodes when public figures go off the handle using insensitive words. They do not recognize how much harm they cause. A hateful word from them morphs into a knife through the body of a queer person. Their followers take their actions and words as a justification to threaten folks from the community. If only everyone would act more responsibly.

Now Saaransh is officially out to the world. He will have to pay the dues for being the trailblazer. The road ahead for Saaransh will not be easy. Hate and discrimination never end. Life is a daily struggle against judgment and labels. People don’t hide their scorn. In the grocery stores, at the restaurants, and on the street. It is a daily battle in some way or the other. Does he have the strength and will for a long, drawn-out battle? I wish to support him, but not at the cost of my heart. I can’t take another rejection.

“Bree, Saaransh is good for you.” Rob joins me in the ute, taking the wheel.

“Believe me, I would be more than pleased to be the person for him.”

“What is the ‘but’ you’re trying to bullshit yourself with?” Rob is a stubborn ass.

“Drop it. What’s got into you?”

Rob glares, not ready to back off. I wave my hands in exasperation. “Shy should travel the world. Hook up. Explore. Fool around. Meet someone great who makes him happy.” A man who does not bring fires into his life.

“Keep bullshitting, mate.” Rob shakes his head, “You heard him. The lad is hurting for you. Still, you give me this.”

“Rob, you’re not helping.” The racket-yielding cock-smasher is difficult to drive out of my head. The itch to call or text Saaransh often becomes intense, but I shove my hands in my pockets. Let Saaransh be sure of himself. I can wait. The risk of his never returning is high. If so, it is best for both of us, even though my heart sinks at the prospect of Saaransh never returning. I am not hoping for much, only the sight of Saaransh standing in front of me—a sign to tell me he is mine. With my seat belt fastened, I turn to Rob. “I don’t want Shy’s gratitude. I want his love.”