It’s annoying as hell, but titles or concepts can’t be copyrighted, only the “expression” of those ideas, and in each case they change it just enough so that it’s not legally plagiarism. Only I would be able to spot the “more than by chance” similarities, and this has been done before by a gay male therapist in San Francisco (with “contractees” in other cities), as well as staff writers on websites like and. They say “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery”, but I object to my competitors using my material and unique discussion topics as “inspiration” for their own without giving me credit. Recently, I discovered that a gay men’s specialist therapist in Chicago had posted a string of postings in recent months on Facebook that directly coincided with a string of topics of several of my blog articles and podcast episodes from Fall, 2018. Time to unleash this Valentine’s Day parody from the Shits Academics Say feed:Ĭonnect with us on facebook.Gay Men and Appearance Privilege: What It Is, What To Do About It
My niece informs me that those who identify as merely straight are in the minority on her college campus.
But progress is visible, at least in certain quarters. From correcting an ignorant parent who mocks an effete waiter to questioning our own prejudice when it comes to masculine-presenting women, it’s a full-time job, this sensitisation business. There’s so much work to do, both within and outside our homes. Of course, laws and cultural artefacts do not always reflect the ground situation. To see nuances of gender and orientation play out in an entertaining film meant for all desi viewers is gratifying. I can’t cheer loudly enough for Badhaai Do (2022), a real coming-of-age for the queer comedy in Bollywood, until now plagued by either coyness, dreariness, OTTness or all of the above. Deepika or KJo’s Covid-flavoured birthday bash. The queer film festival, Kashish, ended earlier this month, and I have ogled the merry attendees via pictures like they were fashionistas from Cannes’ Extreme Eye Make-up edition, feat. And boy, was there dancing to Bappi Lahiri. In my first queer party, not long after, I discovered what it feels like to be in a public space where the straight male gaze is entirely absent. India, it seemed, had reclaimed all her colours three were never enough.
That evening, the Carter Road promenade in Mumbai’s gentrified Bandra was like a hot air balloon filled with the light-headed and -hearted sweets were being distributed, tears shed, songs sung.
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Like many others, I rushed out of home, without any real sense of how to celebrate such a miraculous moment. Then, on September 6, 2018, after much effort from petitioners, lawyers and allies, consensual gay sex was legalised. But the fire and fury of the rainbow-coloured posters and apparel of the protestors instilled a sense of hope which, in judicial terms, seemed a slim possibility. It was a purposeful, silent gathering at Chowpatty in south Mumbai, with members of the community and allies joining hands. In 2016, I was part of a protest asking for a curative petition to review the 2013 ruling that upheld the regressive Section 377 of the Constitution, criminalising homosexuality. It’s a joy to see what all has been legally achieved in the realm of equal rights in India. In this regard, Vikram Seth’s Dubious, lamenting his suspect status, bears repeating in full: But at least everyone agrees that the bisexuals deserve universal contempt. Trans issues never get enough attention, even within the queer community. Who gets to host the pride party, for instance, the gay men or the lesbians? The conversation around heterosexual and cisgender privilege is always animated.
But the gender debate is equally spirited and often ugly within the LGBTQ+ community. The gender wars have, until recently, been dominated by the Johnny Depp vs Amber Heard courtroom drama, with aggrieved Depp fans usually muscling their way into 1,000-word online discussions and late-night party conversations, where passionate arguers try hard to maintain their wokeness, if not wakefulness. Two strong images to contend with during what is known as ‘Pride Month’-a celebration of queer identities-in the US and elsewhere in the world. Woolf, meanwhile, is known as the woman-loving-woman feminist author, who, among other stream-of-consciousness novels, wrote Orlando, in which the sex of the protagonist changes from century to century. “Papa” Hemingway has for decades been held up as the gold standard for fiction-writing, with millions worshipping at the altar of his staccato stories’ hypermasculinity. I’m writing this standing up, like both Ernest Hemingway and Virginia Woolf famously did, lest anyone think of writers as a somnolent species, lazily nibbling the backs of their quills while sprawled in a bed filled with cookie crumbs.