In the years I have known, deep inside, who I am, I have lived on that very lip which Rumi talks about. Except, "why" was not the only question. "What" was also a question. As was "how?"
It dared not speak its own name and defied my naming it. Growing up in southern India, it was common to worry about societal perceptions. The question one often hears, even now, is "what will four people say?" These "four people" have been the bane of our culture. They have far too much influence on who we are and what we may do or not do. I often tell my friends, "Just you wait till I get my hands on those four people!! There's hell to pay for." I read somewhere: "You are not one person, but three: the one you think you are, the one others think you are, and the one you really are." These four people made sure that the three persons remained quite separate and apart. When these three met, there invariably was conflict.
A conflict which had to be avoided at all costs. Avoiding it was possible only to an extent. I easily went beyond that avoidance to confronting it -- no choice there. What was going on inside had to be dealt with. Religious ritual became a convenient route. The results were unfortunate. One of the three persons became very prominent indeed. The other two guys had the dickens of a time dealing with this power differential.
How they wrung their hands!
Going to the U.S. for higher studies was the ultimate 'flying the coop.' Ah, but were it so simple!! The trio were still at loggerheads with each other until a watershed event [details for another time] in the late 1980s, brought them to a three-way _kurukShetra_ battle. _There_ was arjuna, without benefit of a clear, real krShNa, wanting to know -- the reason why, the person(s) who, the consequences, ...
1990. A summer in India, at home, doing field work. The tension of going back home after seven long years -- some of them post-kurukShetra -- was immense. What seven years THEY were!!! On the heels of decreasing tensions from the famous battles. Actually, in retrospect, most of those battles appear more like skirmishes.
The questions!!!! So many of them. "Do they know?" "Should I tell them?" "How will they handle it?" "What if ..." "No." "Yes." "May be." ...
I didn't.
1994. Dad's health is declining. He wants to see me. Badly. He says, "I am not going to last long, but I will hold on until I have seen him once more." I go.
The heart-strings tug like they have never tugged before. I see the look in his eyes. How little I have known him. And he, me. I WANT him to know -- so MUCH and so badly -- I still don't quite know _why_ I wanted him to know!! I see the look -- it's that of someone who sees the end approaching. I couldn't tell him. "I am here for a few weeks, I can't drop this on him and go away." During a conversation, the likes of which I had never had with him, he says, "Look, I held on to see you once more. I am content now. I am ready to go. Next time you come home, I won't be around."
Tears were fighting in my eyes. I kept silent. Volumes to be conveyed, and not a million words could do justice.
That was my most difficult silence.
He went. He did not know. Or did he? I don't know.
1995. I am home to attend the half-yearly ceremonies, to visit my widowed mother, and just connect with that space where he was and no longer is. At least physically.
Should I? My friend's advice comes back: "This is mom's time. Don't intrude on it."
We are very close. I guess she guesses. But, I don't know.
I tell her about my meetings with "the group" in Bangalore. I tell her about who they are, what some of their issues are, and why I meet with them -- all from the son who is now an academic and is intensely interested in some set of human issues. Not from a member of the community whom he wishes to understand better, and thus find _himself_ there too.
I dance around the edge. The veil is getting thinner. Does she see?
I tell my niece the same. Does SHE see?
1996. Last weekend, I spoke to my youngest older brother. He's very interested in all sorts of things, you know. I frequently tell him and my niece that I wish I could have students who are as curious about the world as he is -- forever trying to learn new and exciting things. He asked me if I would come home again soon, as he wanted to hear a lot about the many things I seem to be doing. What is this research project I keep talking about undertaking in India anyway? I told him it is to do with gay men ... I gave him a brief run down on the why's and what's and so on. He was duly impressed and, of course, curious to hear more. Can he help in any way? I said I'll keep him posted and yes, if I need his help, I will not hesitate to ask.
Has HE guessed yet? Is that enthusiasm to help, an implicit offer of support?
I approach the door. Daring to get a little closer to it this time.
Next spring, mom comes to visit her youngest in the U.S. Perhaps. Perhaps then, I shall knock.
You know, I don't mind telling you, I have this growing suspicion that I [will] have been knocking from the inside.
-- Chandra.
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