Delhi Pride

In my first couple days in Delhi, I’ve seen two very different sides of the city. I’m staying, for the first part of my time in Delhi, with my adviser’s son Tariq and his girlfriend Piyali. They’ve been very nice about taking me in and such a luxury to arrive in a new city to ready-made friends.

My first full day here, we camped out in this super posh mall, stealing wifi, taking advantage of India’s capitalist impulse– as wily graduate students will. It was far from an unfamiliar face of a “third world” nation as Jakarta is similarly chock-full of malls that house Gucci, Prada, and Hermes (not to be confused with the street markets which deal in Pucci, Pradda, Hermmes). While convenient, cheap and gloriously air conditioned, the mega mall scene isn’t exactly one I trekked halfway around the world for.

My second day in Delhi proved far more interesting as the three of us went and marched in the first ever Delhi Queer Pride Parade.

Honestly, we had no idea what to expect and thus went with low expectations– as in, we thought we might have been the sum total of the parade. The “Times of India” newspaper estimated that between 600-700 marched and there was no apparent hostility from the people who lined the streets to watch. That being said, I’m not sure the rainbow flags and placards in English registered with most of the people going by but in BJP (ultra-conservative Hindu Nationalist) Party dominated India, it was a blessing to have been ignored. Pride in Delhi was a whole different animal than the parades in New York, London or most metro cities in the world– in large part because this was as much about celebrating sexual diversity as it was about demanding recognition and protection from the state and nation. The closet looms large in India and that was apparent from the some of the marchers who, despite the air of celebration, wore masks so as not to be recognized. It’s sometimes easy to forget in our age of queer liberalism and the American queer rights movement’s mainstream focus on gay marriage that sodomy laws remain on the books and enforced in countries all over the world and that the very option of coming out of the closet remains a social, familial and political impossibility for many. Pride parade’s are largely about the party but it’s hard not to feel sobered and saddened by signs like this one:

Despite those who could not openly march, the Parade was a fairly exuberant affair– a hodge podge of Indians, expats, queers, hijras, allies, families, and people who, given Indian’s culture of political protest, grabbed a flag and hopped on the bandwagon without being quite sure what they were marching for. In some ways, Pride Parades are fairly generic affairs but Delhi pride felt– at least to me, neophyte as I am to the city– distinctly Indian. Instead of DJs on floats, there were dholwallas banging away and hijras bringing the procession to a halt every 100 yards or so to dance.

The hijras also interestingly complicated the gender and sexuality identity politics of the parade, though no one explicitly called attention to it. Referred to as the third sex in India, hijras are women who were either born men or intersex and live as women. They have been a visible community in South Asia for centuries and with established customs and social hierarchies. They are referred to in the Kama Sutra (the original, not the Skinmaxed version) and were far more visible on the sub-continent until the British, in their attempt to eradicate all deemed indecent, heathenous and a general blight on the otherwise surely spit-shined jewel in the crown of the Empire, established anti-hijra legislation. (Incidently, Section 377 of the Indian Penal code which criminalizes sodomy is another colonial legacy– there was many a chant of “British Law Quit India” yesterday, against 377) Since the end of British rule, most of these laws have been repealed and hijras continue to be a part of visible part of Indian society. For example, when a baby is born it is customary to pay hijras to come and dance with the infant, as they are believed to have the power to bless the child, and as an act of empathy towards these women who cannot have biological children (I got a little hijra dance action as a kid too). There are also several prominent hijra politicians in office in India, and a prominent socio-political movement for hijra rights and protection. Unlike those who identify as trans in the West, hijras do not necessarily undergo any hormonal gender reassignment, though some believe that to become a true hijra, one must be completely castrated. During the parade, they seemed to serve as place-holders for a visible trans community in India. I find myself a little troubled by this because the idea of an unproblematic conflation of hijra and trans relies upon Western constructions of gender and sexual identification that hijras do not necessarily abide by. It also assumes a commensurability between the social and cultural structures which produce, define and often fail to contain non-heteronormative identities. This became blatantly obvious when two hijras were overtaken during the parade by a foreign journalist who, having clearly done no homework, asked them if they had known they were transgendered from birth. The desire to intervene was almost overpowering but also, I realize, futile.

Ok, back from my rant. All in all, Delhi Pride was the perfect way to kick off my time in Delhi as it’s incubated in me a deep affection for this city. Tariq, Piyali and I even made the front page of the “Times of India” for all our queer pride. Nothing like a little media attention to hone love for the motherland. I’ll surely need it as I battle the muggy, hazy, congested streets of the city in rickety three-wheeled autorickshaws. I have a feeling I’ll need all the love I can get. Today was largely lost to international bureaucracy as I shuffled between the National Archives and US Embassy trying to be legitimized by the powers that be so I can access documents. Maybe tomorrow I’ll even get to go into the research room at the Archives but don’t hold your breath.

Farewell London, Hello Delhi.

I’ve arrived safely in Delhi. I admit that after the Great Kidnapping ‘05, I was a little nervous about taking a cab by myself from the airport at midnight but the most eventful thing that happened was that we were briefly waylaid by a cow which decided the middle of the road was a good place to hunker down for a nap. Just another day in Delhi. More on Delhi to come but I thought I would at least mention, and share a couple photos from, my days in London.

The rather shocking lack of wifi in London shot to hell my good intentions of updating daily so this will have to suffice as a brief, incomplete recap of the highlights.

I was successful in my search for a full English breakfast though I found it in an unexpected place. It was delicious—greasy, heavy and very very bad for me. It must be some lingering colonial specter lodged in me that makes me think that tinned beans, unseasoned mushrooms, salty salty bacon and runny eggs are the most delicious things on earth when crammed onto a plate. Some atavistic taste bud that’s survived lifetimes of fire-hot chilies, pungent curries and eye-watering sauces. It would explain so much.

I wish I could say that I did lots of fun touristy things while in London but in fact I spent most of my time looking at manuscripts at the British Library and Freud House. I did happen by Covent Gardens in time to catch what I’d like to think is a slice of real Britain. I mean, if this isn’t the face/body of the empire, I don’t know what is:

More on Delhi to follow soon but I’d be remiss if didn’t admit that I was posting from a Coffee Bean inside a megamall. Apparently Indian owned stores aren’t allowed on the first floor of the mall– not the image they want, so walking in was like being in any mall in suburban America. Except the guards here keep out vagrants and stray livestock.

Where’d all the Brits go?

Granted I haven’t been in London in the last two years or so but never before have I noticed how many Americans there are here. The streets are teeming with faux blonde teeny boppers from middle America– or worse, Jersey. They’re everywhere, smacking their gum, regaling each other with stories of last night’s underaged pub crawl…. It’s too much. I realize that it may be in part where I’m staying– in Bloomsbury, not far from the University of London– and that these charming representations of true Americana are probably doing a summer study abroad but it makes me no less bitter that they seem to have taken over the streets of London. You are more likely to hear a Long Island accent around these parts than a North London accent. Where all my Queen’s English speaking peeps at?

I napped for a solid 5 hours yesterday after I got in so I’m up early and off now in search of a proper fry-up. Pictures and gory descriptions of deliciousness surely to follow…

Onward, ho.

There are (perhaps apocryphal) accounts that upon arriving in Hawaii for the first time, Captain James Cook flung out his arms, dropped to his knees in relief and exclaimed, “My! the natives look friendly.” Knowing as we do now what eventually happened to the good Captain and those friendly natives (they ate him), I’m setting off on my journey with a tiny bit more caution. I won’t hop into any inviting looking pots hanging over the fire, I promise. And while I’m sure that the natives will be plenty friendly in the land of my fore-mothers, I’ll try and avoid the hungry looking ones with sharp teeth. You can never be too sure with those heathen Hindoos, I know.

I leave tonight for the glorious mother country tonight, for a few days of civilized R & R before tracing the route (albeit by air and not sea) of so many brave and surely completely altruistic men and woman who went to Hindoostan to save the savages from their many-armed demon-gods, wipe the land of its pestilence, and bring general order and civilization. At least that’s what I wrote in my grant proposals. In addition to inconsequential and brief tasks like parsing through obscure archives, preparing to “write my dissertation,” doing oral history interviews and getting lost in the maze that is Delhi, of course. But who knows what those wily natives might enchant me to do once I arrive? I could be charming snakes and walking across hot coals by the time I arrive Friday. You’ll just have to keep reading to find out. I’ll try as much as possible to update every day and will go to great links to encourage you to comment on posts.