On Love Or Something Like That
You see, the thing about love is, it’s so easy to give up on. Maybe we’ve seen too many rom-coms. You know, the ones that make you chuckle with their series of pathetically preordained moments? The ones with the kind of love that doesn’t look like real life, but you secretly wish it would. Well, maybe not the whole musical numbers and sappy dialogue fest, but perhaps the butterflies in your stomach-type scenes, as you create your own moments of mutually approved mush. Potentially less scripted, of course. Yes, love in the real world, in my world, is not easy to come by.
I must say I’ve always, in the nicest way, been a bit envious of my straight counterparts. Finding love for them has always seemed easy. A road well traveled, with few bumps here and there, a detour or two perhaps, but in all, a familiar journey with many fellow travelers who are either already there or also on their way. As their roads seemed like well-lit highways with clear signs every few miles, for those like me, ours felt like navigating back alleys. Literally and figuratively. It was dark and confusing and since we didn’t really have anyone to tell us what our road to love should look like, we decided to go with what was there. And what was there, was straight love.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love straight love. I’ve grown up on it. A crazy-in-love Julia Roberts beaming down at a besotted Richard Gere as he fumbles his way up the fire escape to give her that happily-ever-after kiss, after just brutally convincing us they could never be together — I mean what’s not to love! Was it queer love? No. But this isn’t about straight love vs queer love. This is about the influence of straight love.
My heart expanded, as I watched countless movies and television shows, where scores of unassuming heteronormative men and women simply found each other through the throes of their narrated lives and walked off into the sunset. Instinctively, certain questions also budded. Was I to imitate what I saw? You know, just like my heterosexual friends. In which case, was I going to be the Julia Roberts or the Richard Gere in the relationship? Did I need to be a woman to be Julia Roberts? Did being Richard Gere mean I was more of a man in some way? Did we always have to be just one or the other?
Eventually, I concluded that one didn’t need to be the Julia Roberts in this situation. But instead, we could just be two Richards. What an exciting thought! But that in turn begat other questions. Do the two Richards have to look the same? Do they need to talk and walk the same? Do they need to dress the same? What if one of them didn’t act and feel like the Richard Geres of the world? What if he felt more like a Julia? What if, indeed.
Unable to produce all the answers, I set out to find love anyway. Social interactions failing to breathe much hope my wide-eyed quest led me into the dimly lit backrooms of the internet, where I found many queer men looking for answers as well. There I found, love and lust often intertwined. What also resided within these blurred lines were very clear lines of bias, spoken or unspoken. Lust seemed to overtake love and the men weren’t particularly patient, charming or charismatic. Whether it was lust or love, the men, gay or bisexual, closeted or not, were religiously on the lookout for “straight acting” partners. Meaning, someone who could pass for heteronormative in society. Someone who isn’t too effeminate, or doesn’t draw too much attention to themselves. Quickly I realized, that tended to exclude me. Such contradictory feelings. But curiously, I adapted. It was what it was for many reasons.
I reside in India where it has been legal to be gay since merely 2018. Though we’ve graduated from poor websites and chatrooms to swift swipes and DMs, the lessons haven’t changed much. Maybe it was even a bit easier back then. We didn’t know much, hence we expected very little. But now we do. Not all of us, but a lot of us. We know we can be whoever we like, however we like, and be loved— an inspiring notion. But unfortunately, even if we’re out of the closet, our minds remain shut.
It’s funny, how we worked our way to not needing to mirror our heterosexual counterparts, yet we subconsciously continue to do so. The gay community in India is deeply defined by its dating culture. A culture that was born out of desperation. A culture that almost prides itself in being discreet, shady, and secretive. Because that’s all we’ve known for several years. A culture that thrives on lust. Where getting laid is mostly the endgame. A culture, so focused on labels — top, bottom, side, versatile, bears, twinks, daddies, otters, etc. — that we seem to have lost the ability to think outside of these carefully coloured boxes. Let alone act.
Every term comes with certain clichés that have been popularized through media and culture over the years. Tops should be more masculine and bottoms should appear more feminine. If you’re any other way, you’re hard to digest. Like you’re maida. Even the “versatile” ones face the pressure to appear in a way that is widely accepted. And that way is traditionally masculine. Anything outside this so-called norm is either criticized or now, fetishized. It’s fine to have a preference. Some men like big, beefy daddies who appear more masculine than others, and some like softer, more dainty twinks.
But I often ask myself, do our preferences need to be so defined and rigid all the time? Do they need to always match the same stereotypes we’ve been brainwashed to believe are the standard? Is preference more important or experience? If love can come in all forms, shapes, and sizes, why can’t people?
Yes, it’s so easy to give up on love, isn’t it? Maybe we’ve sat through one too many bad dates, chin-upped our way through too many rejections, and heartaches. Maybe we’re tired in search of a world where we’re not burdened to live under labels or struggle to be someone’s type on a dating app. Maybe we’re tired of having to repeatedly explain ourselves and just want people to get it. The list of cons is long. Yet we keep searching for love, navigating through this world that has such a finite understanding of it. How do we find it? Do we ever find it? Well, unlike the movies, our stories are not written. They’re simply lived.