One of the most common issues people around me have raised is –
“Why do we have to treat them special in the month of June? What even is the purpose of pride month? Isn’t it just another way for corporations and clubs to increase their profits/appeal?”
Okay, so first- pride month is celebrated to commemorate the Stonewall riots, which took place in the June of 1969.
Second, yes! It sure is a way for corporations to appear more ‘woke’ and youth-friendly.
Now, the most important question-
“Why do we have to treat them special in the month of June?”
Well, pride isn’t about treating the people from the community in a special manner. It is more about treating them with respect (like we would treat other humans with), acknowledging their struggle and making them feel part of society instead of an outcast.
In this piece we shall look at how it would be if every month were to be pride month.
Now, with every month being pride month, the significance of pride month would obviously reduce.
“Ohh, how angry it would have all the gays with the spotlight off them for good.”
Ironically, this would instead make the community even happier as it would make more people aware and sympathetic of their struggle.
It would also normalize their existence in the society.
What would this mean?
People would stare less at them, make them feel less uncomfortable. Companies and organizations would stop using them as a prop like they do in the month of June just to be discarded once the month is over.
Violence and crime against them would reduce in numbers, the members of the community would feel more empowered which would lead to them being more accepted in society, having better healthcare which would cater to their needs.
Mr. Martin died a peaceful death they said. There were no signs of pain or agony. His wife gave her condolences and came down to sit beside her son. When almost everyone was about to go, a man went up to the podium and called attention to him. It was as if they knew him from somewhere. All of them had seen him some time, somewhere.
When that man read out Martin’s note, everyone was moved. They somewhat understood where this was going. He knew the actual Martin. For everyone, Martin was the ideal male role model. He led the ideal life as social norms defined it.
Nobody really believed it when the letter claimed he never truly loved his wife. Everyone thought they were the ideal couple. But his wife didn’t seem surprised. She appeared to have known bout this all along. His kids appeared to be experiencing a life-changing shock. The scenario goes back to the 1960s.
He told it all in his letter. Martin had his first crush in his college days. “I realized I was unique after I lived in the men’s dorm. I still wasn’t able to speak it aloud.”Being gay in those years was not considered natural. He felt loneliness creeping over him as he thought he could never find love.
He never felt attracted to girls, when everybody around him was. For the longest time, he believed something was wrong with him. There was no representation for somebody like him, there was no validation.
In front of his parents and friends, he explained how he was able to act normally. What would one do if you were unable to communicate but were confined within your body with your brain still functioning? How can you maintain your sanity when everyone you know and love cannot see you? He claims that as a young boy, he had a weird coma. As his mind started to work again, he was left with nothing but his own thoughts. He was confined and had nothing to do except think. Additionally, they weren’t exactly pleasant ideas.
“Nobody will ever be kind to me. I’ll never be loved by anyone.”
And of course, there was no way out. You are doomed, he believed.
He concluded that leaving his ideas behind was his only choice. According to conventional conventions, he continued acting normally. Even though he had a crush on a boy in college, he nevertheless made friends with a girl, She fell in love with him and the two of them eventually got together. Even though he had no idea why he was deceiving himself, he was aware that something was wrong. He continued living in his cocoon, He didn’t know that coming out was really an option. He married the girl and had two children, but he always felt incomplete. When he told his wife one day, she didn’t really believe him.” You can’t be gay”, she said in response. It was a challenge rather than a command. She implied that he was definitely not gay.
But by expressing that, he felt better. He didn’t care if she believed him or not. He got to hope when he saw advertisements for a gay Bar. He started going out and meeting new people, people like him. He met different people, He met a man who was very different. He was quite older but Martin’s world slid when he was around him. Martin began to have feelings toward him. He could sense movement all around him. He felt like himself for the first time. The man reading the letter wiped his eyes and said, “yes, that was me.”
He realized what it was like to be joyful and in love for the first time. He was too delighted to give it much thought, even though he knew what he was doing was wrong for his family. He then began the relationship in private. His family could never know about this. Alongside his daily responsibilities, he did enjoy this. Later, he was promoted to manager at work.
He was really skilled at living a double life – but still, he knew something was missing.
All he wanted to do was live freely, and come out. But he knew in his heart that he was powerless to do so. He lived his life, took care of his obligations, and retired early. He remained faithful to his partner and carried out his marriage vows till the very end. But he had split apart somewhere between social pressure and love. He led a normal life for so many years, but what others didn’t realize was what was going on inside his head. Others watched in surprise as Mr. Martin’s true love wiped his tears stepping down from the podium. All were wondering how a seemingly flawless man could be so sad for years and realize that true happiness was found elsewhere and still couldn’t enjoy it to the fullest.
The feeling of love is one of the most beautiful feelings in the world. It’s a powerful emotion that can make us feel both happy and sad at the same time. The term “love” refers to an overwhelming emotion of heartfelt affection. But does it exactly define the true essence of Love?
I was about 15 or 16 years old at the time, and I was trying to figure out a lot of things in life. I was running late, especially for an Indian kid from a middle-class family who was expected to have figured out their life by this point. It was difficult for me to find significance in many things, but one day I came across something that made perfect sense to me. It was probably insignificant to most others, but it meant everything to me at the time. My life was turned upside down, and everything that didn’t make sense before began to make sense. I met a girl. She wasn’t perfect, but she seemed to be able to complete me.
My friends thought I was crazy and that I wasn’t making any sense, but at the time, their opinions didn’t matter to me. This girl was all that mattered to me. She was in my class, so I made it a point to speak with her daily and get to know her. She was incredibly sweet to me, and I always felt “PERFECT” when I was in her company. I was so delighted that I used to look forward to going to school, and when school finished, I was upset, but the anticipation of seeing her again kept me awake all night. I was genuinely happy and everything was just “PERFECT”, but I suppose nothing is supposed to be perfect in this universe.
I went up to the girl and confessed my feelings for her with a lot of courage. Her smile had vanished, and I couldn’t think of anything else at the time. I’d exhausted all other options and was simply hoping to God that she’d say yes. But it appears that the universe had other plans for me. She said “no”, and I didn’t know how to react to it. Everything just went blank for a moment and I didn’t have anything to say.
Everything that previously made sense to me began to disintegrate, and nothing appeared to make sense to me. Going to school was a burden, sitting in class was excruciating, and seeing the same beautiful face every day was depressing. I had blamed everyone up until this moment, and then I started blaming myself. Was it, however, entirely my fault? I’d only done one thing: I’d fallen in love. I had no idea how to communicate my feelings, and all I could think about was being rejected. My sorrow had turned to rage, and I couldn’t seem to settle down. The tension and restlessness were unbearable.
At this moment, all I could think about was blaming the girl, and my rage seemed to know no bounds. I simply wanted to express my rage, and I had painted her as the villain in this situation. I couldn’t accept the fact that she had rejected me, and seeing her made me feel horrible. Was she, however, the “terrible” person I painted her to be? She made a decision that she had every right to make.
At this point, I realised the issue was with myself and with society, which believes that if a person makes a decision for their own good, we label them as “bad” people if their choices do not coincide with our own. Every individual has the right to make their own choices, and we, as individuals in society, must respect those choices and learn to accept differing viewpoints. I felt it convenient to blame the girl because I had to learn it the hard way. “Consent” is something that transcends people’s and society’s opinions, so maybe I was supposed to be blamed at this point?
“Time is the finest healer,” as someone once said. I believe in my case, I just analyzed the situation and realised that sometimes not everything is in my control. That’s when I realised that not everything is supposed to make sense and that some things just “happen.” I believe that at this moment, I had made peace with all of my sadness, anger, and restlessness and that this helped me to escape from the situation.
The weather was pretty awesome, so I went for a walk in the sandalwood forest. This was my first time visiting it. The sandalwood forest in my city has a walking track and citizens are allowed to visit it, but there are guards 24/7 to make sure that no one steals the sandalwood. By the time I entered the forest, it was almost sunset. People normally never go into the forest for a walk after the sunset. But who cares about it when the view is so fabulous. After walking for half an hour, I realized that thinking so was a big mistake. I suddenly started to feel an ominous vibe as if something bad was going to happen. I chose not to go back to the entrance because the entrance was farther than the exit. Anyhow, I continued going forward towards the exit.
The forest was huge, so there was more to it other than just the walking track. As I was walking, I suddenly heard a faint voice. I was not that scared now as I was a few minutes ago. I wasn’t even sure what the sound was, even then I went to check where the sound was coming from. This was such a stupid act of mine. Who the hell goes into an unknown forest just to check some unknown sound!! As I was going forward, the voice became fainter. Yes, you guessed it correctly. I was going in the complete opposite direction to where the sound was coming from. I turned back and started to walk towards the sound. I could finally hear the sound clearly, but I still couldn’t recognize what the sound was. Now, at this point, any person with a sane mind would go back and call someone for help, but I didn’t do that, because I was insane. Instead, I gathered up all my courage and went to see what the sound was.
I saw a person lying on the ground with a gunshot wound. He was bleeding heavily. I was in shock for a few seconds and didn’t know what to do. I then remembered seeing in a movie that I should first stop the bleeding so that he can still be alive by the time we reach the hospital. I immediately tried to stop the bleeding by applying pressure to the wound and then I called the ambulance. The ambulance arrived sooner than I expected. The person was taken to the hospital and he was treated. Thankfully he survived and was out of danger. The police arrived and took my statement. They also wanted to take the victim’s statement and ask who shot him. But he was unconscious, so they had to come back after he regained his consciousness.
The police sent me out of the room when they were taking Mr Harry’s statement. But I kept the door open a little so that I could eavesdrop on their conversation. Again, who in their sane mind would do such stupid things that might make them fall into trouble. When the police asked him about his details and who shot him, he said that his name was Harry and he was shot by the men of Mr Jacob. He added to it that he knew about all the illegal activities done by Mr Jacob and even had the evidence to prove it. Mr Jacob tried to kill him when he refused to hand over the evidence to him. I was shocked to hear that Mr Jacob was behind all this. Mr Jacob was the richest man in our city and he was known to be a good man. To my amusement, the police didn’t seem to be surprised to hear that. It was as if they already knew about it. Then, they threatened Mr Harry to keep his mouth shut and never reveal the truth, or else his entire family would be killed. And they also asked him to tell where he hid the evidence. This time Mr Harry seemed to be scared by their threats because he knew that Mr Jacob would go to any lengths to destroy the evidence. I didn’t listen to the rest of the conversation because I was scared that I might fall in trouble if I knew any more details about it.
Mr Harry’s family was present in the hospital, so I went back home. I never visited Mr Harry again. But I was still troubled by the truth. After a few months, I got to know from a friend who is a prosecutor that his fellow prosecutor named Linda was investigating Mr Jacob. She filed a case against Mr Jacob and was strong-willed to put Mr Jacob behind the bars. The very next day I went to meet Ms Linda. I told her about the entire incident. She thanked me for giving her useful information and asked me to give her the details of Mr Harry.
She reached out to Mr Harry and asked him if he could file a case of attempt to murder against Mr Jacob. At first, he said that he couldn’t help her in any way. But when she persuaded him, he mentioned that he secretly kept a copy of the evidence of all the illegal activities done by Mr Jacob. He told her that he would give it to her if she guaranteed the safety of his family. She promised that she would protect both him and his family. He gave her the evidence.
In the next court trial, she presented the court with the evidence. The evidence that she obtained was enough to prove Mr Jacob guilty and put him behind bars for his remaining life. As expected, the judge ruled that he was guilty.
Many officials knew about the tyranny of Mr Jacob, but they did not dare to either file a case against him or investigate him. Only Ms Linda dared to do so. This could have threatened her life, even then she did not care. I would like to conclude by “Countries who don’t have brave prosecutors and fearless judges will instead have plenty of thieves, many killers and even stupid dictators!”
I know I cannot change things; hence I am penning this down in the hope to overcome the disdain and try never to look back.
A gush of happiness and enthusiasm gilded within me and I woke up more energetically than I ever did. It was my sixteenth birthday. I waited for this day more than Dido waited for Aeneas ever. I had planned all about it since the age of 6. From my shoes to the list of friends, from my hair to my clothing. Everything. The only missing piece was the absence of my father. Although working for an acclaimed multi-national has its perks, yet it separated my father from me. After all these years, how could he have done this to me? I was never a demanding or a high-maintenance child. It was the only day I asked my father to be with me, to hold my hand, to blow out the candles with me, but all he did was let me down.
They say that people who are close to you hurt you the hardest. My father was my role model, my ray of hope, my sense-talker, the go-to person in any dismay, and the only relation that I clung to. His absence was like a hard whack on my torso, sucking out all the air out of me. I was planning to cancel my party when suddenly my phone started ringing and the words “Dad Calling” appeared on the screen. It enlightened my messy manner to an extent. I picked up the call and blasted off like a spurting volcano.I became livid as I poured off all the emotions which resonated in my head and heart to make him realize the trauma his absence had caused. I did not pay any heed to the language I was using. I even went to the extent of ordering him and threatening him by saying I would stop talking to him if he does not show up on my birthday. In my gut, I knew I was a little harsh on him. But I thought maybe strong rooted trees could only be uprooted by a storm and not a light breeze.
A few hours later, when I went to have lunch, I noticed that my house was in complete disarray. I felt like it was struck by a heavy tornado, dismantling all the preparations made by my mother. Well, that was the exact feeling churning around in my mother’s heart. Why though? Apparently, after my call, he felt remorseful and decided to surprise me by coming back.
The flight that my father took to get home crashed at the Calicut Airport. The most broken part was that some passengers, including my dad, were missing. It came as a shock to me. The Directorate General of Civil Aviation had already declared it as a “critical airfield” which is too risky during the monsoons. But the Airport Authority of India was adamant that it was safe, provided the pilot was experienced and had a certain minimum number of flying hours under dangerous conditions. Captain Mohan Ranganathan, a member of a safety advisory committee of the Ministry of Civil Aviation, said in 2011 that Calicut Airport is “unsafe”, and that more caution needs to be paid during the wet weather. Apart from being a lethal table-top runway with a down slope and inadequate buffer zones, it was also small and unsafe, half of what a model runway for an international flight requires. It was a mesmerizingly horrendous airport. Furthermore, the working body and airport functionality lacked the engineered materials arrestor system, a security lapse that could cause a lot of casualties in management and communication of signals during hazardous weather conditions.
I could not comprehend what was going on. I could not understand what just happened, or maybe I did not want to understand. I cannot describe the feeling. I do not want to relive that part of my memory. I hope no one in the world ever faces the excruciating and hollow feeling that I just did. The last time I spoke to my father was over the phone, yelling at him, and then he just vanished into thin air. Well, my tears are my ink and my heavy heart is my story. The regret that I could not hold him for one last time and say I love you will haunt me forever. Like a blazing fire, my story will burn corruption..
“Ravi” “Present ma’am” “Ashna” “Present ma’am” “Yash” There was no response. “Yash?” “Yash!” No one responded. Ma’am shook her head in disappointment and continued with the roll call. It looked peculiar. Yash had not come to class for the whole of the past two weeks after the results had been announced. Ma’am was visibly annoyed until yesterday but today she looked borderline furious. She had already told us that not attending her classes would not go down well with her. Surprisingly I didn’t even remember seeing a certain Yash in class distinctly. In fact, none of my friends did too. One guy said he had spoken to Yash once when Yash had asked him for some help in an assignment but he did not pay much heed to him, after all, Yash was one of the lowest rankers of our class and he did not want to waste his time in a lost cause. A few boys giggled as he said that. What was this mystery? We were all left wondering whether he even existed. We dubbed him as “The Ghost”. From that day onwards whenever his name was called and no one answered, we giggled among ourselves as ma’am became all the more furious. One such day Ravi went ahead and shouted “the ghost” when ma’am called his name during roll call. A week went by and yet there was no sign of ‘The Ghost’. Did he vanish? More importantly, was he fine? But these thoughts went away as quickly as they popped in. I had a whole load of work to do and quickly stopped thinking about it. Oh and yes at this point ma’am had exhausted her full range of fury at Yash’s absence and had transcended to plain and simple indifference. She still called his name during roll call, mostly for comic relief since the whole class responded to her calling Yash’s name with a loud “ABSENT”, that too in perfect unison. We had had a whole month of practice after all. I felt a tad bit bad while doing so. God knew how Yash was after all but as I said these thoughts were transient. They did not stick and quickly vanished. However this one time, I felt like I must at least try to do something. So I went to ma’am after class hours and asked her if she had any contact information on Yash. I almost said “The Ghost” by mistake. She dismissed me and said she does not have the time to look and she was too disappointed with his absence to care anymore about him. So I retreated empty-handed. I tried to ask people if they knew him but no one seemed interested and rushed to their next class. Sadly, indifference was the only thing that I saw people reeking of that day. Funnily enough, we did not know what was coming. The next day in class, ma’am started the roll call again but she did not take Yash’s name. We were all surprised, some even tried to remind ma’am but she ignored them. There was a strange awkwardness in her face at that moment. But as usual, no one cared. Indifference had consumed all of us. The day rolled into the night and we were up again the next morning for class. We were about to take the stairs to the classroom but were dumbstruck to see a big hoarding with an unknown face but a very known name under it. It said “Yash Gupta” “2001-2021”.I froze in my tracks. I felt numb and could not move. I felt a few people pushing me to get to the staircase. I was angry that they did not even care. Below the poster there was a line that said “ Do not hesitate to ask for help.” and I immediately knew how he had passed away. But still, no one cared. Is this what our generation will be known for? Indifference and Insensitivity? I could not attend classes that day. Later I got to know that Yash was a victim of clinical depression and bipolar syndrome because of which his social life and academics suffered badly. No one would help or talk to him, he was left to fight his demons alone and he lost that fight. No one helped him. No one wondered why he would not come to class. We simply called him ‘The Ghost’ until he became one. But the worst part was that we could have saved him. Kindness would have saved him. But we lost him and with him our kindness and humanity too.
Everyone knows the story of the Tortoise and the Hare. A tortoise challenges a hare to a race and ends up winning because the overconfident hare decides to have a mid-race siesta. [Moral(s) of the story: 1. Slow and steady wins the race, 2. Never underestimate a weak opponent.]
There are lesser popular parts two, three and four of this story. In part two, the hare does not take a nap, is not overconfident, and therefore wins the race, unsurprisingly. [Moral of the story: Fast and steady wins the race.] In part three, the tortoise says that the track for the course is unfair (Some versions of this story have a turtle instead of a tortoise, which is when this part makes more sense. But I wouldn’t recommend looking for logical accuracy in a moral story. ), and says that he should be allowed to choose the track. He decides to have the race in a lake, and wins, as the hare cannot swim. [Moral of the story: Smart and steady wins the race.] In part four, the hare and tortoise/turtle decide to join forces in a combined land-water race. The hare carries the tortoise/turtle on land, and the tortoise/turtle carries the hare on his back when they’re in the water. [Moral of the story: Not sure, but probably ‘Teamwork wins races.’]
Now moving to the fifth part, which I’ve created today. This is different from the other parts because it is set in today’s world, not in some far off magical land. It’s slightly more relatable. So here goes:
Thousands of years after the original events of the ‘Tortoise v Hare’ race, two animals are born. On the same day, in the same city. A hare and a tortoise. The hare is born in a posh part of the city, in a private hospital, and has all possible amenities right from birth. Whereas the tortoise is born to a family that stays in a slum. He’s born in the waiting room of a crowded public hospital. His father passed away a few months ago. He was shot while serving his nation at war.
Two minutes after their birth, both the tortoise and the hare are given their life’s purpose. 10 years later, they have to race each other, as part of an age-old tradition. So naturally, both of them start their individual preparations.
The hare trains in an air-conditioned gymnasium. He has a coach for technique, a coach for fitness, a coach for speed and a personal dietician. A personal chef that makes what the dietician orders, a masseuse for post-training rehab – you get the picture. He has all the facilities that one could possibly think of.
The tortoise, on the other hand, has to work two jobs to support his family. He trains early in the morning, before going to work. He does not train in a gym, he simply runs rounds in the area that he stays, and runs up and down the stairs that lead to his house. He barely manages to eat two meals a day.
Cut to, one month before the big race. Preparations are at an all-time high, so is the hype and publicity for the event. The hare would enter the race as the obvious favourite to win, and also as the fans’ hero. The tortoise would enter as the underdog, possibly a dark horse.
Cut to, an hour before the race starts. The hare pops some vitamins and some ‘magic tablets’ that would help him run faster. The tortoise, in turn, is shot. In the foot. So that the competition is fair.
That’s it. That’s the end of the story. Sorry for such an abrupt ending to the story, but that’s how it is. I’ll let you decide who won the race.
Fifth Pillar - VIT 