Confused Desi. Not In The Way You Think.
“I’m confused. That’s what I’d like to respond with if I’m asked what my gender identity is. Confused. Filled with self-doubt and the insecurities that come with that. A person’s gender identity is often one of the few things they can have security on. But as a ‘not-cis’ person I don’t have that stability. Especially since my gender identity is even hard for people in the LGBTQ+ community to understand. Why? Because the best word for what I am is genderfluid. I yearn to be seen as a woman. I yearn to be seen as a man. I yearn to be seen as neither. I would love to just ‘pick a team’ but I simply can’t. It’s not in my programming. I am all. I am nothing. This confusion has given me a disdain for labels. But people demand that I pick an identity and pronouns to go with it so I have. Genderfluid. They/He. Even that makes me uncomfortable. Society’s love of labels has created a person — actually I’m sure I’m not the only one — that despises them.
As an Indian-American, I’m heavily familiar with labels. Just like every cultural group, ours likes to look at an individual and put them in a box. If they act outside of that box, they are wrong because it makes everyone else uncomfortable. Forget the person’s discomfort. Think of the others. There are a few boxes in our culture that everyone is probably familiar with. A man is someone that will support the family financially, looking after his own family and his parents when they are old. Emotional labor is not something he has to do. A woman is someone that does… everything else. A man that is sensitive or becomes a house-husband or does anything ‘meant for women’ is ridiculed. Same fate for a woman that wants to do the things men normally do. I’m not so blind as to not see that those boxes are successfully being challenged. Indian culture is changing and becoming more progressive. The fact is, though, that it has not always been like that. The damage these expectations have on children — no matter the gender identity — has already been done. And we live with it, hoping every day that we’re more healed than the day before.
I think you can imagine what it must be like for a person like me that was assigned male at birth to grow up feeling like they didn’t belong anywhere. Even in such overarching labels like Man or Woman, I didn’t fit. I wanted to be a part of everything and not be cut off from something just because of what was between my legs. I remember, for example, watching a commercial for Indian jewelry when I was younger. It featured beautiful women wearing make-up, dressed up in silk saris, and covered in necklaces and earrings and nose piercings. Gorgeous shots made me want to run up to my mom and ask her if I could try on her stuff. I didn’t notice that the commercial was targeted at women and only featured women. Why? Well, would a woman specifically notice that the commercial was targeted at her since she’s a woman? No. She’d take it as obvious. That’s what I thought as a kid. Obviously, this commercial is for me. But wait… I don’t look like that. I look more like my dad. What does that mean?
This isn’t to say that men who like wearing jewelry, make-up, etc secretly want to be women. What I am trying to say is that these things have been gendered and in my soul, I feel a connection to that gender so I want to do what I can to be a part of it. This is something that I really struggle to explain and have yet to find a way to do it. Instead, I humbly ask that you take my word for it that I feel a connection to ‘womanhood’ and ‘manhood’. Deep in the core of my being, I feel that I belong in both. But I’m told repeatedly by our culture that I cannot. That I can’t even pick. That what is between my legs must obviously determine my identity. Anyone who doesn’t comply is subject to ridicule and ostracization.
We’ve all seen the transphobic and homophobic ‘jokes’ that are prevalent in Indian media even now. In many Tamil movies, a man dressing up in a sari and acting like a woman is the whole bit. There’s no nuance or satire or commentary. Here’s a man dressing and acting like a woman. That’s the whole joke. Point and laugh at him. Let me backtrack a few sentences. There is implied commentary in those jokes: When you see this in real life, you must laugh. Don’t wonder about their identity or the journey of self-discovery they’re going on. Just laugh. I internalized that lesson and it was reinforced whenever I ‘acted like a woman’ and the people around me laughed. I would play it up for the attention it got me and betrayed my own LGBTQ+ community in the process. I have since stopped but the damage is done. I can’t even take myself seriously. I wonder if I’m actually genderfluid or have I taken the joke too far? Do I really want to sometimes wear a skirt and be perceived as a woman or am I a sick pervert? How can I fight against gender norms yet actively want to partake in them?
As bitter and resentful as this experience has made me, I am still hopeful. Like I said before, change is happening. Many of my friends are Indian American and they are all aware of my confused identity. They don’t deadname me, they respect my pronouns, and haven’t changed in the way they treat me. They are incredibly patient with me and have been encouraging me to explore feminine things. All that without a single bit of resistance. And I have also been given this platform to speak on by people that don’t know me. They understand the need for voices like mine and gave me a chance. If that isn’t a sign that our culture is changing for the better, I don’t know what is.
I’ll leave you with a Tamil phrase that I love: Anbe Sivam. Love is God. It gives me comfort because no matter the ridicule I have faced, and will face, I am always surrounded by the love and compassion of others. With this, I know the coming generations don’t have to be as confused as I am.”
~ Anonymous
