My mother told me how much I hurt her by what I was doing. My crime? Loving another woman. My father told me I needed a medical examination. As a physician himself, I asked him how many diagnoses of “homosexual” he had given patients in his career. He did not find that amusing but couldn’t comprehend that his statement was as equally ridiculous as mine. This was my coming out experience in my twenties. As much as I longed for my parents’ acceptance, they could not get over what they deemed a shameful betrayal.
I never imagined that my liberation day would come at the cost of walking away from every community I found my identity in. I left my Indian community, said goodbye to friends, left the temple I worshipped at for fear of tarnishing my family’s reputation, and even left the country I was raised in. It’s a queer feeling to not be anchored to anything you’ve previously found security in. What I didn’t understand back then was my community wasn’t defined by my ethnicity, religion, nor nationality. My community was made up of the people that celebrate who I am, Whose I am, and whom I love.
Nearly twenty years later, I can honestly say, it gets better. I have a phenomenal wife that supports all of my ambitions … and puts up with my special blend of nerdy masala. We found community within each other, and raised a wonderful blended family together. As for my parents? Well, time heals many wounds, and they have embraced my family – just ask my wife how many special meals my mother cooks for her!
For those of you that have experienced a loss of community, it’s time to redefine what that means. It’s not where you come from, it’s where you belong, and I’m so blessed to be right where I belong.
Author: Mita Bhavsar
The Jamz 
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