Fusion is totally the new Tradition
By Yuvraj Joshi

“I am gay” – the three special words most parents hope to never hear from their child. And in the case of South Asian queer youth, many of them never do. Recently, and out of the blue, I received an e-mail from a former schoolmate from India. This confident, articulate seventeen-year-old has come to terms with the truth of his queer sexuality. Another truth, he writes, is that he has not yet come out to anyone else, and he “probably never will.”

Such reality, it seems, regards no boundaries. The coming out experience appears universally, and so does the adversity surrounding a queer existence. The boy caught in New Delhi deems his friend in Toronto privileged for his freedoms. And, indeed, there is something to be gained by the seemingly advanced gay rights of the West. Yet, in embracing a Western model of homosexuality, something gets lost in translation: a sense of Eastern ethnic identity.

Parents of South Asian youth, mine included, tend to define “alternative lifestyle” in terms of Western social and consumer cultures. The clothing; the music; the lifestyles; everything is a product of socialization, peer pressure – an imprint of “their” culture. Then, seeing as admiration for Britney Spears is already a stretch, does acceptance of a non-heterosexual sexual orientation stand a chance?

“But you’re Indian!” has been a popular, and somewhat positive, response to my coming out chronicles. It is surely slim pickings when the prospective reactions to “gayness” include extreme taboo, outward phobia or complete denial. Enlightening mom and dad becomes tricky when they either do not know what “gay” means or have warned you to stay away from “that” all your life. Perhaps, they are convinced that “that” does not actually exist, and if it does, certainly not in you.

	Besharam Website
	Lesbian, Gay, Bi and Transgender Students of the University of Toronto

“Such has been my experience with my parents, telling who has not yet emerged as an option. And I know that I am not alone. I could envision my mother conveniently blaming my Western upbringing, oblivious to the thought that I may have been attracted to boys back home. I could also see my father blaming himself, a reflection of his own insecurities surrounding his role as the breadwinner. Yet, I never could comprehend why anyone was to blame. Perhaps it is because according to South Asian mentality, homosexuality is quite literally a crime and its perpetrators, the criminals.

When all is said and done, traditionally ethnic values tend to only accommodate identities that are devoid of a queer sexual being. Even within the liberal grounds of the Diaspora, the norm equates a heterosexual monogamous, two-income home in the suburbs. Homosexuality is still foreign, perverse, sometimes a “phase,” and often an AIDS-related fatality just waiting to happen. The supposed desi code-of-behaviour does not prescribe actions of this sort. In such conditions, the racial youth steps out of his kurta, steps into H&M, and heads to Toronto’s gay village in search of a less demanding, truer identification. The scene in the village, though, with its dense network of crowded bath houses and edgy dance clubs, does not always tend to one’s needs, either.

“That’s why you’re a fetish,” I was once explained, on confessing to never having met another young, gay desi. “They’ll want you because you’re young and tan.” The Toronto gay scene can be guilty of objectifying infancy and ethnicity, although it does so in a seemingly empowering manner. Certainly, gay youth are village royalty. The 21-and-under club: many a men either want a part of it or, better yet, want someone who is. The stakes are raised even higher when your hot young partner has exotic coloured skin.

I initially witnessed this pattern when I came into the village at seventeen-years-old. Although I was familiar with feeling different, being gay was no longer the reason. And now that I am with a Caucasian bloke, the idea seems to be reinforced each day. In a culture where pink feathered boas and buttless leather chaps are ordinary attire, an interracial couple still attracts a second glimpse. The village ranks coloured youth highly within the hierarchy of queer desires.

Yet, the socially constructed appraisal as a “fetish” does affect one’s perception of oneself. The preoccupation with visibly racial traits restricts the realm of ethnic identity to coloured skin. It demands one to “be Indian, but not too Indian.” So, those deviant youth who dare to be queer but not white, come to be labeled “coconuts” and “bananas” – coloured on the outside, white on the inside. Here lies the identity crisis, and the consequential alienation from ethnic and racial communities.

In retrospect, the young queer being detached from their ethnic roots is barely a surprise. Yet, what continues to astonish and concern me is our treatment within the village and, more so, our acceptance of such treatment. Of course, blatant prejudice against a certain race takes its toll. But the aesthetic admiration that creates “eye candy” out of South Asian kids is not without cost either. It too, is a form of prejudice. For those unconcerned with being objectified, it just seems easier to be minimally gay than it is to be young, gay and coloured. Once again, from within the village, gay traditions fail to be of service to the other ethnic beliefs.

How does such youth escape alienation, when one’s homeland rejects their nature and the queer community rejects their nurture? Having to produce a sexual identification at the expense of ethnic and racial identities, and vice versa, seems unjust and, as it now appears, often unnecessary. Nowadays, fusion is totally the new tradition. The creation of new, merged spaces is now becoming the backdrop to the ethnic queer fairy tale. And the queer, ethnic youth are the architects.

“Mohammed Khan, 29, is the founder of Besharam (meaning shameless in hindi/urdu), a “melting pot of music, cultures and sexualities.” Alongside his other queer-identified peers, Khan helps organize this vibrant party for the South Asian populace in the Toronto. While Toronto, one of the most multicultural metropolitans in the world, plays host to a gamut of ethnic events, Besharam stands out through aptly achieving something other light-hearted festivities seldom dare to seek. Devoid of shame, it wholly embraces a fusion of Eastern ethnicity and Western sexual discourse.

Being a queer-identified desi himself, Khan observes the critical necessity for Besharam, not just for queer culture, but for South Asian culture as a whole. He points out, “If you come from a small town and you are queer, most people you will meet are white.” In such conditions, the South Asian youth, queer and counterparts alike, come to associate white representation and imagery as normative. But it is well-known that blonde hair and blue eyes come rare on brown skin.

The authenticity of Besharam’s representation is in the absence of a “queer” label. Rather, it is a “queer-positive and heterosexual friendly” affair. Yet, neither is the Besharam of purely South Asian roots: The attire is desi, the music is bhangra, but the lifestyles meet somewhere between New Delhi and New York. Segregating queers and South Asians from the dominant culture, it seems, only creates a deluded sense of security. Khan aims to “[build] a space where so-called alternative sexuality and lifestyles are not just deviant, but something individuals can confront.”

The ethnic and queer experience of Diasporic artists is now refashioning culture. South Asians such as Khan and author Shyam Selvaduria are the emerging pioneers in recognition of queer lived experience. It is comforting to realize that they were once just like us – young, coloured and confused about the “right way.” Still, they eventually discovered a balance between where they come from and where they belong. Through cultural tools such as Besharam and Selvaduria’s Lambada Literary Award winner Funny Boy, they pave the path for us to find a balance of our own.

Fusion has the power to dismantle traditional archetypes, be it the white gay man or the straight brown couple. It empowers me to walk through the gay village as well as little India, perhaps vigilant, but never afraid of the consequences. However, it seems obvious to protest and mourn what is lost by being queer. My brother, for instance, will never have the sister-in-law he would desire. But, he will always have hip fashion advice, the latest from Kelly Clarkson, and eventually an adorable brother-in-law. More so, he will have a gay Indian brother who remembers his roots. And that does not sound like much of a loss to me.

Photographs
[middle]The author with a friend. Courtsey Yuvraj Joshi.
[top and bottom] Pictures from Besharam events. Courtsey Besharam website.

You can reach Yuvraj Joshi at yuvraj.joshi@gmail.com