Opinion | ‘My love will not destroy the fabric of society’

I am a middle-aged mother of adult twins, an entrepreneur, an author, a host of several shows, a public speaker and oh, also a lesbian. And, I am legally married to my same-sex partner in the UK.

When I am asked to introduce myself and I add ‘also a lesbian’, the typical reaction I get is, “What, no way! You are a mother of kids; you cannot be a lesbian.”

“You are not a lesbian, you just haven’t met the right man yet.”

“You are just trying to blend in with the firangs [foreigners].”

“Don’t say it out aloud, what will people say?”

“How did you ‘come out’ to your children? What did they say when they learnt of your sexual orientation?”

“How do you do it?”

These are some of the endless questions I’ve come across on an almost daily basis. I often shrug them off and, depending upon my mood and the weather, I respond with wit or disdain.

Being a lesbian is exhausting. Being a gay woman of colour is even more exhausting. Being an activist fighting for LGBTQIA+ rights as a middle-aged Indian lesbian is a story in itself.

It is not because I lack energy; it is because I often wonder where I should start, who will listen to me, who will hear me, and who will understand.

“Why do you want to marry? Marriage is such a boring, archaic institution.” I am often told this. This is exactly my point. Only an entitled, privileged person will ever say this. Because they have exercised their choice and have decided that it is old fashioned.

I am tired of telling entitled humans that what they take for granted is not even an option for same-sex/same gender people. We love, and we love deeply. But do we have the rights that come with that love? No.

Not in my India, my country of birth.

Why I hide my relationship in India

I was once married to a man and have lived life as a ‘straight’ woman. Marriage brings a certain amount of respectability and dignity to a relationship — I still remember the excitement of wearing a mangalsutra and sindoor, and walking around ‘proud’ to be married.

I have twins from that marriage, and we did all the ‘regular’ things that a heterosexual couple aspires to. We opened a joint bank account, we bought a house together — which meant a joint mortgage — we nominated each other on our insurances, we put down our names as parents on our children’s school application forms, we put each other’s names on our wills, and we added each other as emergency contacts in case of life threatening medical decisions. It was our right as a married couple, and we made those simple decisions.

The scenario changed when I married my same-sex partner in the U.K. When we board a flight to India, guess what happens? We lose our rights as a legally married couple.

I would love to build a house in India and have other assets, but I know my partner will have no right to them if something were to happen to me. We cannot open a joint account nor can we nominate each other as emergency contacts. I still hide my relationship out of fear of ‘ log kya kahengay’ (what will people say), out of fear of abuse, or being shamed.

Often, I have heard people I know say “see that person there, he is a gay” (sic) and mock him. I have seen people ridicule and bully effeminate men or butch women. I have stood up for them, but the reality is that such instances are endless and they happen every day in every society, including the educated and the elitist. When will this change?

So, even people like me, who have finally lived our truth, hide in India.

‘Will you hold my hand?’

My twins were raised over the last 16 years alongside my same-sex partner. They are as functional or dysfunctional as any other kids. I ask, why should my parenting come under the lens just because I am a lesbian? I am the same mum who raised them when I was married to a man.

I do not want to plead for what is rightfully ours. It is our country; we love it as much as anybody else. We add value to this ecosystem and are an integral part of it. I want people to accept us and our relationships, and our right to live with dignity and equality.

My question to you all is simple: ‘Why should my partner’s gender determine the rights we are owed?’ I was the same person when I was married to a man, and I am the same person now that I am married to a woman.

I am still a mother with two kids. I still have the same needs to build a home, to provide protection for my partner when I pass on, and hold my head high in society as a married woman. I still need to eat, feed my family, pay for a house, hospital bills, groceries.

I am not going to take your heterosexuality away, I promise. I am not going to ‘convert’ you. My love will not create havoc in your life nor will it destroy the fabric of society.

We will together create a world where we are all equal, and all can hold their heads high with love, respect and dignity.

Will you hold my hand?

The writer is the Chair of the London LGBT+ Community Centre and Founder of OUTspoken Voices.