12 October 2008
My daughter is a lesbian.
Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that I’d say this.
Some two years back,I had written in my diary: ‘Neha has found a new girlfriend. An American girl, called Jenny. Good. I was getting worried she’s spending way too much time with boys at this age, and God knows what they do together – the very thought sends a shiver through my spine. She needs a close girlfriend at this age.’ Little did I realise how close they’d get.
Neha mentioned this during dinner last night. “Jenny, the one you really liked when she had come here over two years ago,” she said coolly.
My jaw dropped in horror, while Vikram looked dumbstruck. He removed his glasses and peered at his daughter, while she continued to push spoonfuls of dal in, unaware – or not wishing to admit it, perhaps – of the bombshell she had dropped on her parents’ heads. Vikram had just discussed with me a couple of nights earlier about introducing her to some Indian boys, in the hope she would like one, and get married. Vikram had also talked about retiring and was imagining himself playing with a granddaughter.
When Neha broke the news, I stared at her in shock, and then (I am embarrassed to admit), burst into tears and hurled questions at her.
Needless to say, Vikram and I had little sleep last night. I am tempted to scream and swear out loud. But I should control myself. I am a mature woman, and despite my state of extreme nervousness (and hence, dear diary, the shaky hand – pardon me), I shall not swear.
20 October 2008
It’s been a week since we got the news (‘news’ – that’s how Vikram and I refer to it). Neha has sensed our disapproval – silent though it has been. She makes sure that she never has to come face-to-face with Vikram or me. She hasn’t stayed overnight at home since last week. From a state of constant anxiety as to what she was up to with boys, I have graduated to one where I wonder what she could do with a girl. Yesterday I passed by a sex shop and my mind wandered into dangerous territories. ‘Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama…’ I had to distract myself, hoping the Lords would have some pity on me.
23 October 2008
I thought of the time two years ago when I first met Jenny. She was a pretty girl, tall, blonde-haired, but thankfully, by no means a bimbo (it’s surprising how much my vocabulary has been enhanced thanks to Neha!). She was studying to be a lawyer, and was very smart. She was engrossed in a very intelligent discussion with Vikram on immigration policies in the US, and I distinctly remember giggling about it in the kitchen with Neha – Vikram had never thought much of Neha’s few girlfriends, but we knew Jenny was a hit with him. Neha had even walked up to the door of the kitchen, and winked at Vikram, teasing him, taunting him; Vikram had begun to shift uncomfortably in his seat, while Jenny talked on and on, blissfully unaware of the little comical play unfolding in her friend’s family.
At the end of the day, we all liked Jenny. At bed, Vikram and I were talking about how Jenny would have a different influence on Neha now; Neha had always been a tom-boy with her short hair, her love for baseball, her endless male friends who had loved to hang out with her all through her school years.
But now, of course, a hurricane rages in my mind if I think of Jenny. If I had had a son and he had one evening announced Jenny was his girlfriend, I would have smiled and told him ‘It’s ok, we understand.’ (I’m sure Vikram would have gone up to him, thumped his back and said ‘Good choice, mate’).
What on earth did I do wrong with my daughter?
10 February 2009
I could find time to write only today. Three months in India – it was an absolute delight to be home for the December music kutcheries in the Madras Music Academy. I made it a point to go to one such concert everyday, and it did provide some respite from the whole issue with Neha. I had a terrible time trying to field off questions on why I wasn’t looking for a suitable boy for Neha – was there somebody, they kept asking. How could I say yes, she is with someone, just that you wouldn’t know how to respond if I told you that this someone was a strapping young woman named Jenny with whom Neha spent her nights?
Despite the tension and the constant hum that the issue was in the back of my mind, I desperately wanted to see what chatterbox-gossip-monger Paapa mami’s reaction would be if I’d told her my daughter was a lesbian. Oh, that would have been priceless! But of course, I didn’t dare do such a thing. For Vikram and I think Neha will outgrow this whole lesbian thing.
12 February 2009
I need to find out more about lesbianism. What causes this? I don’t have anything against homosexuals, don’t get me wrong, dear diary, but what just happened? Every time Neha did something different from her girly friends, I didn’t question it; if anything, I was proud that my daughter was different. I feel I left Neha unchecked, somehow instigating those tom-boy tendencies of hers (who would have thought it would somehow lead to lesbianism? But then again, is it something one is born with?)
This doubt looms large in all my waking thoughts these days. And Vikram and I are realizing that Neha wil not grow out of this. But we are still angry, upset, and not sure of what to do.
1 March 2009
This morning, when I was in the kitchen preparing Vikram’s morning coffee, Neha called me into the dining room. Vikram was at the table, his glasses perched dangerously on the edge of his nose, reading the newspaper.
Neha cleared her throat, and Vikram frowned – he hates being disturbed when he’s reading the paper. I wondered what Neha had to announce this time – maybe she wanted to move out of home. A new job, perhaps. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything shocking than the news she had announced last year, I thought.
And how wrong I was.
‘I am getting married,’ she announced pompously.
I dropped the teaspoon I was holding. Vikram’s glasses fell off its precarious perch, slid down the newspaper and dropped to the floor. (I know I am being dramatic, but I am recording events as they happened here – not that I would ever forget these moments, though).
‘But,’ I stammered, ‘married?! Isn’t that illegal here?’
I cannot believe that my first (and only!) rebuttal was that it is not legal. But you can understand; the mind doesn’t function at its best when in a state of shock.
‘Yeah,’ she replied coolly, ‘and that’s why we are doing it in Canada.’
Vikram gave me an intense glare. My only response to her new news was this and it had been shot down in a second. He tossed his newspaper and stormed out of the house, still in his pajamas and dressing gown. Neha left soon after.
As for me, I am still in a state of shock. My rasam tasted terrible because, in my tremulous state of mind, I added salt not once, not twice, but three times. I would have appreciated Vikram giving me some emotional support during these difficult times, but he chose to dump his lunch in the bin and left home again. Men. Sometimes I wish I had the option of going down Neha’s route when I was younger.
24 March 2009
Last weekend, Vikram and I took stock of our situation. As a young bride new in the United States all those years ago, I was captivated with how open-minded most mothers here were with their daughters. When Neha was born over twenty years ago, I had decided that I would be the ‘cool’ mom, taking a cue from the American mothers – bake her cookies but also tell her the Indian epics; buy her whatever music she wanted to listen to, but also develop her taste for Indian classical music; you get the drift. Most importantly, I had sworn to myself, that I would be supportive of my child if she ever brought home a non-Indian for a boyfriend.
I reminded Vikram – and myself – of these thoughts. We had a long chat, touching on how Neha would not change her decision at all – she was like her father in her steadfastness; and if as parents, we had to keep our daughter happy, the only way would be to support her in her decision.
But what about our friends? Our relatives in India? I asked him. “Isn’t it enough if you and I, as her parents, are supportive of her decision? That we understand she will be happy only if she goes ahead with this?” he said.
After a long talk, we decided we wouldn’t be the parents who would try to force their children into something they don’t like and end up ruining our happiness and their lives. Vikram and I were both confident of Neha’s decision – we knew that she wasn’t someone who would jump into conclusions and make hasty decisions. What, then, did Vikram and I have to fret about? After all, had I not decided to be the ‘cool mom’?
P.S.: Vikram is obviously taking it much better than me now. Two days ago, I saw him searching online about IVF. He doesn’t want to give up on the granddaughter dream!
13 April 2009
The wedding is scheduled for 15 May. It’s a month away, but Neha and Jenny are taking care of the arrangements – it’s only a simple registry wedding anyway. Jenny very sweetly asked if we would like to have some Indian rituals, and obviously, I declined (imagine the shastrigal’s face when he sees that the ‘groom’ is also a girl! I’m glad I have come to see humour in the situation now)
I have checked the almanac to make sure it is not an inauspicious day.
17 May 2009
Vikram and I just reached home this afternoon. We are thoroughly exhausted. Of course, I know it would have been a dozen times more exhausting if it had been a proper Indian wedding – all that running around we’d have had to do to satisfy the boy’s side. Look at the bright side, I told Vikram some days before the wedding, we have no boy’s side to speak of (he laughed).
Neha had looked beautiful. She actually did pay attention to my wishes and wore a white lehenga embroidered with gold. I had to stifle my sniffs as she marched into the registry office holding Vikram’s hand. Not the way I had wanted my daughter’s wedding to be, but it was a relief. Ten minutes and we were done. Vikram even joked ‘No kissing the bride?’ but shut up quickly after I tsk-ed. Inappropriate.
I am off to bed now. It’s 11 and I have just returned from what is an Indian mother’s biggest job – getting her daughter married to the person she loves.
Picture: AF-Photography: http://www.flickr.com/photos/archetypefotografie/
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