Should i go on?

I heaved a tired sigh and rubbing my eyes, put my pen down. After a total of 30 days, I had successfully completed the story that I had started. Still at a young age, one would question how I had been able to write something so complex yet simple and my answer would be, "I don't know? My mind works in the most uncertain ways."

I had always found a certain sense of peace in writing. Starting with poetry, two lines turned into seven and I found what was missing in my life. Starting was easy, being consistent easy as well, but I had an apprehension if I was good enough to be doing this. I was nervous when it came to showing someone my work. I had never thought that I would be able to write short stories, but here I was, with my short story typed out in front of me.

To simply put it, I had written a beautiful story of two men, one whose life had been ruined because the society did not accept those who were gay, those who liked the person of the same gender in the 19th century and another who was a vagabond, devoid of a home or a family. I had formed this in my head one day when I had just woken up. Disgruntled, Tired and feeling of loneliness seeping in because I was away from home. The thought of who would ever love me poked at my mind, but I had swatted it away.

Then in a flash, something crossed my mind. Last night, how I had spent time with a genuine guy, made friends with him and something in me made him trust me, trust me so much that he blurted out, " I am GAY.", before he could stop himself. I was rendered speechless and void of the ever present smile on my face. Seeing my expression, he had ran away as fast as he could.

I wondered how alone did he feel? Liking a person of the same gender even in 2018 was supposedly unacceptable in India. How had he coped after finding out, after realizing he was gay? Had he told his parents or was I the first person he blurted it out to because he was tired of keeping it a secret? Millions of thoughts had swirled in my brain and along with that an upcoming story as well.

It had taken a lot of imagination and time, effort to say the least to write an extraordinary story, that elders questioned my 18 year old brain and maturity. Why did they do that though? I was capable of writing exams that would decide my higher education and career, but i wasn't mature enough to write about love?

Love came in all forms and shapes, in colors and ethnicity. But we disregard love many a times in our lives without even knowing. We deny our emotions when it's not according to society's norms. But it is supposed to be individual choice.

This somehow strikes a question in my mind which easily wanders and loses track, that, "When did one become mature enough to understand love?"

It was a complex emotion, but not alien to any human on the planet. One loved the woman who gave birth to them, their mother loved them back. A father loved his daughter and his daughter loved her husband and children. When humans were capable of fostering such love, then why was love between two men or two women, an unacceptable notion?

This complex question on the complexities of love inspired me to write my first short story, " Love Behind Closed Doors". I had set my narrative in 19th century American town of "HOMER".

Starting in the year 1861 when gay love was completely unheard of. I had also wanted to write something unique and luckily, it was PRIDE MONTH.

I traced the journey of the two lovers, Jason and Ranger, who started as strangers but became each other's life support as time passed by.I had a choice on how i wanted to end my story as every other writer has the power to create a turn of events.

I could have had tragically killed both the lovebirds in the hands of the people of the town for doing the unthinkable, for loving each other even if they were of the same gender. Or, I could have had them out of the town and be together for the rest of their lives, acting as nothing more than good friends in front of the society's scrutinizing gaze but have the freedom to love each other behind closed doors.

I couldn't help but get attracted towards towards giving my story a positive ending. I thought," Shouldn't all be given a chance at love, they are human after all?"

My mother disagreed with my notion of love. She found the concept of homosexuality absurd and unacceptable. Thus, I somehow, along the way, portrayed her as the people of the town who were mean and who couldn't see love beyond it's outer shell.

One of the paragraphs in my short story where I defined love is:

"Love by definition means an intense feeling of affection. If you read it again, you will find that love isn't defined with respect with respect to a particular gender, age, religion or status.

In very simple words, love knows no bounds, it is irrespective of any social or biological boundaries, and is just an emotion shared between humans and animals alike."

I see no wrong in the concept and some people are unable to see the normality of it. So everyone had something to say. I got many feed backs, some exponentially good, some bad and some just simply crude.

I take writing as a passion, not a profession, but there's no doubt that I have been writing poems for a long time. Quite frankly, compliments for a written piece, even if simple, is a big thing, makes me giddy inside, but the criticisms always make me question my skills. But I realized, the problem was not there in my work, but people found the concept of homosexuality as unnerving and problematic in their oh-so perfect society.

At the end though, I see my work as a successive step towards acceptance, flexibility and a more open-minded society all scrambled in one.

I patted myself on the back because every person has a pen but only a writer has the power and access to emotion and depth, to create extra-ordinary pieces that will be imprinted in minds of people even after they are gone.

_ by Debanjali Sarkar