The night air was warm and heavy. Shiv sat on the rusty park-bench, a pair of inquisitive eyes exploring his face, searching for answers. Ahana was his best friend. They met while in college and have been inseparable ever since. So much that it prompted his 'kaminay' friends to distribute their mock wedding cards among their classmates. The way it made Ahana blush - Shiv was afraid things had already gone too far.
"Ahana," he finally uttered, "It can't happen."
"What can't happen?" she asked, growing more anxious.
"We."
There was a long, numb pause, before she could get herself to reply. "So...you love someone else?"
"No."
"Then?"
He let out a deep sigh. "I cannot love a woman. I-uh...I'm not...straight."
All of a sudden, the words seemed too forced, too harsh. For once, he wished he could change the truth. He could sense resentment in Ahana's silence; it somehow intimidated him more than the angry words he had anticipated. He quietly watched as she walked away, without a protest, aware that things would never be the same again.
* * *
Almost midday. Sulagna was busy in the kitchen. She must be - her son had bagged his dream job, her daughter would be home again in a few hours - it was celebration time.
In a while, the whole place was filled with the aroma of Paneer Butter Masala. As she was just beginning to smile with satisfaction, a hand crept up from behind and lifted a piece of paneer straight of the pan. She gasped and turned to find Shiv licking his fingertips, his characteristic mischievous grin plastered on his face. He's been doing this for the last seventeen years and yet she's always caught off-guard.
"Shiv!" she seemed to be trying too hard to sound stern.
"Mom!" He chuckled and disappeared into his room.
An eerie, nostalgic laughter escaped her. She'd always been vocal about the sheer injustice that the Section 377 embodied. Homosexuality was NOTHING unnatural, she kept telling her rather prudish friends. But that was from a distance. Somehow, things seem much more blurry and complicated when they are happening to you.
She was not quite sure what disturbed her more - her son's coming out, or the fact that her own hidden expectations were steeped in the same clichés that she accused others of bearing.
Deep inside, she knew that the talk wouldn't end simply at love. Shiv would be marked out, discriminated against and harassed. But most importantly: will things ever be the same again?
* * *
Shiv tossed and turned in his bed. The sound of constant typing was annoying him. "Titli, stop it now. Go to sleep!"
"I'm home after months, okay?" Titli snapped back, not bothering to look away from the computer screen, "I always write at night."
Ever since Titli moved to Bangalore for college, Shiv had the room to himself. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to share. "I can't sleep with this sound..."
"Why don't you call up that gf of yours and stop pestering me?"
Titli evidently envied Ahana. She'd stolen her dearest confidante. Shiv knew it pretty well all along, but for the first time, he could sense the gulf that had grown between them.
"Ahana and I...we don't talk anymore."
Titli stared back in disbelief. "What?"
"I...ummm...told her that..." he kept hesitating.
She moved closer, slightly worried. "Speak up!"
"I'm gay. And she was hurt. Never called back. It's been months. She won't."
Titli was dumbstruck. After a few minutes, she leaned in to hold him in a tight embrace. "You bitch! Why wouldn't you tell me? I know she was important. But...we used to be best friends too right? And then she came...and you just...you know..." she sobbed.
"I know..." he hugged her back.
Tears came pretty easy to Titli. Still the drama queen, Shiv thought and swallowed a snigger. But he was glad. Glad to have her back.
"HEY...", she jumped up suddenly, "What if we fall in love with the same guy now?"
"Won't happen, you dope. My taste in guys isn't as crappy as yours!"
Titli threw a pillow at him. To hell with sleep. The night demanded trash-talk. His world was spinning too fast to keep balance. But despite the dizzying uncertainty, there was still one comfort he could lean back on: the realisation that some things will always be the same.
