It was extremely breezy and he was sitting right next to me. The auto service is already a nuisance in Mumbai, but luckily enough we found one. It started raining. Heavily. And suddenly lightning struck. All at random I held on to his hand extremely tight. He was shocked for the least. But soon realized that I was really scared and he kept on holding my hand. The eyes of disgust from the auto-wala was unbearable, but he didn’t care. I felt safe in his embrace. As the streets flooded to my place, he offered me shelter in his apartment.

He callously said, “Come on Amit, it’s better than being stuck all night.

My name sounded so sweet from his mouth and I followed him to his place. The weather turned worse. And my clothes, wet. It’s such a weird sensation being helpless. I was excited but also missed home. He came close and kindly offered me a towel with a set of his clothes. I went in and changed. Although he was more heavy built than me, his clothes fit me just fine. They felt comfortable. I came out and a warm cup of coco awaited. I didn’t expect this kind of hospitality from him, but here we were. We sat down and talked. Soon I was unaware of the thunderstorm that paved way through the night. We talked, laughed and shared so much about ourselves. I finally knew what intimacy meant. The emotional kind. In that moment when he looked deep in my eyes, straight or gay didn’t matter. Neither did the storm that followed. I just wanted to be near him. In his embrace” Days later, Amit met and professed his feelings towards Jai. Jai, was shocked and disgusted by the idea of it. To him, that night was just casual. While Amit felt more, he now was the object of public amusement. Can’t go to his office anymore, can’t share with anyone what he felt. Not seeing a solution, and blaming society, government and its every resolution and then madly laughing at the achievement of 377 and that it didn’t mean shit. As the society still considers it a sin. As it’s still something looked down upon. Amit committed suicide.

His story was penned down in a diary. And his pain is up to your heart and emotions. If you feel it, or not. Depends on you. Cause love is not just love. It depends on the caste, creed, color and still “gender”.

Mansi Singh