In a crooked little hill town, the topic of sexuality was something we could not explicitly discuss. We were ignorant little fifteen-year-old teenagers, obsessing about boys from the enemy school. For us homosexuals were all men, trans-genders were ‘chakkas’ and bisexuals were indecisive.
“You are so gay” was supposed to be an insult until someone in a P.T class retorted “Yeah, I am. So what?” Of course that someone was sent to Sister Principal and her parents were called.
How My Bisexual Tales Started
We did not have a Professor Trelawney who asked us to “broaden your horizon”.
‘All about Boys’ stage became ‘All about Men’ stage. A significant amount of time was spent in secretly making talk about men who wore pink shirts and girls who walked in a “funny way”. Maybe she likes girls, maybe she likes boys. Maybe she likes both. “Funny way” implied being more comfortable in shirt and trousers rather than a skirt and a fancy top. The word “boyish” was used too often. And wonderfully enough, I was attracted to them in a manner that I did not think was sexual.
As it is, I had deemed the bisexuals as indecisive, horny people who wanted to have it all.
Bisexuality was something of an offensive term to me
I had an over-attachment to one of my best friends in school but I thought it was friendly. We would play out parts where she would be the boy and I would be the girl.
It is only in retrospection that I realised there might have been something more-than-friendly feelings for her. I got jealous when people hung out with her too often or she would sit beside someone else until I got to the classroom.
All these feelings were inside me while I had a thing going on with a boy who went to the same tuition class.
Do you know how some homosexuals are homophobic? I was one of them. It would be too far to say I was homophobic but even though I understood the validity of man loving a man or a woman loving a woman, I could not wrap my head around the fact that someone could be attracted to both men and women.
Times changed. Fast forward a few straight school years after, I met a gay person who offered me a cigarette. He was a senior in college. Speculations had been that he was gay. He was not wearing a pink top, he did not talk with theatrical hand gestures and he did not change his shoes every day. He was a regular Karan or Arjun, so unlike what Mr Johar had so vibrantly projected in the movies all these years. This senior of mine who I had a crush on was gay. Simply fascinating. I got remarks like “Oh my God. He is gay. Why do you have a crush on him?” Weird enough I was flabbergasted. It was only months after I could muster a reply, “So I am supposed to check a guy’s sexuality before crushing on him?” to which I got a few raised brows as an answer.
Within the next year, I had successfully dated one of my crush’s friends. Then came the whole fiesta of dating men. Some were passionate in their affairs, some wanted to cop a feel only. Needless to say, my romantic endeavours ended with me losing feelings for them and being termed as a “bitch”.
It was in the university days that I fell for a woman
Here goes my bisexual tales. Though from a different department, we met through mutual friends and after a while, she started giving me hints about liking me. I went with the flow and I spent a starry night sipping wine and making out with a woman for the first time. I liked it. I have heard men say that women have the softest lips but I thought it was something they said to get laid. That day I learnt the softness of a woman’s lips.
When I told my best friend about my hanky-panky with a woman, she exclaimed that I had always been bisexual. Not once had she mentioned that to me but I did not mind being called one. Things proceeded with my girl-friend quite well. Some of my ex-boyfriends (who stayed in touch with me) told me it was “just a phase”.
When I finally came out to my friend about being a bisexual, she rolled her eyes, pointing out my relationship was based on sexual urges and that I cannot be a bisexual and that the fate of this relationship would not exceed more than six months.
Fast forward again, one and a half years later, I am still in a monogamous relationship with a woman – no indecision there and love knows no gender. The sex is so much better than the ones I had with men and there is no unnecessary jealousy or the occasional outbreak of testosterone.
I check out men and women too, on special occasions. I have come a long way from a girl who used gay as an insult to someone who is bisexual and proud.