Avasa (Part I)

"Who's the man-girl you're always hanging out with these days?" asks Alka. We're both doing some studying in the room.

I'm a bit miffed at the label. "She's a friend. She's Arjun's sister."

"Well, nice hair," says Alka, "but I honestly couldn't tell if she was a guy or a girl for a second. Maybe she's a lesbian."

I make a "pffft" sound. "I don't know. Why should it bother you, anyway?"

"'Cos it's gross," she says, wrinkling her nose.

"It's okay to think homosexuality is gross for you," I say. "It's not okay to think that homosexuals are." What did I ever see in her? I mean, yeah, she's kind of cute and vulnerable, and I guess I always wanted to take care of her. But she is so...conventional.

"Oh, you empathize with them, don't you?" she says mockingly.

"Yeah, I do," I say. "And I don't understand why you're being so 'us versus them'. What have they ever done to you?"

"I just don't understand homosexuality," she says. "I mean, how can you even consider someone of the same sex?"

"Well, maybe you should do some homework," I retort. "And stop throwing around stupid, mindless rhetoric."

"Why do you care so much?" she sneers. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think *you're* lesbian." She means it as an insult.

"Well, *I'm* not." The words come out sounding more defensive than I had intended. I want to kick myself. "But I don't care if anyone else is."

"Does she like dressing up all macho?"

I'm getting more and more annoyed by her dumb questions. "I don't know. Probably, if that's how she dresses up."

"What's her point?" asks Alka. "I mean, if you're a girl, act like one."

"And play with Barbies and wear makeup and have babies." I look at her scornfully. "Gender roles are a social construct. It has nothing to do with your biological sex. God, why can't you open your mind up just a teensy bit?"

"Oh, stop it," she waves her hand. "It's not my fault they're freaks."

"People like you are the reason why it's taken transgendered people so long to win the right to vote here," I answer quietly. I think I've hit a chord.

"Okay, okay, Naaadya." She comes over and puts her arms around me from behind. "Don't be mad at me."

I can't help a smile. She is cute. And innocent. It's just ignorance, I tell myself. That's why she says these things. She's a victim of society.

I wonder how long I can keep blaming society for the way individuals behave.

******

"Did you ever stop to think about Lycra?" Mohan is asking me, as we eat lunch in the cafeteria.

"I'm hoping that's a rhetorical question." I take a drag of my cigarette.

"I'm serious," he says. "I mean, who's the guy that thought, here, let me make clothes out of sling-shots?"

"You need to quit thinking so much." I roll my eyes at him, taking another long drag.

"I think it's an evil scheme," he insists. "My last girlfriend..."

"Your *only* girlfriend," I remind him.

"Whatever," he says, annoyed at being interrupted. "She used Lycra as a weapon. Anytime I was foolish enough to try and give her a hickey on her shoulder, it was like whiplash."

"Are you aware that you are still talking about Lycra?" I look at him with an incredulous smile.

"I wish you would take me more seriously."

"I would if you weren't talking about inane conspiracy theories all the time," I say.

"Someone's a little high-strung today," he says. "Are you PMS-ing?"

"I don't PMS."

"That's what they all say."

"Ugh."

"Hey, given that you're getting some these days, I should think you'd be happier," he teases.

I give him a look. "I haven't gotten any yet."

"Maybe that's the problem," he says, grinning. "When can I hang out with her, though? You know, check her out for you." He's like my big, protective teddy bear.

"Soon," I say, laughing. "But trust me...she's great...she's amazing, in fact...that's not what's bothering me." I light up a fresh cigarette.

"You're going to die," he says, eyeing the cigarette.

I shrug. "So will you."

"You're likely to die sooner."

I sigh. "I'm likely to die sooner in any event, now that I'm gay."

"Hey, relax," he says. "What's this about?"

"Come on, you know the religious right is capable of anything," I say. "If this gets out, my parents will die of shame, the family will be disgraced and I'll get shot before you know it."

"Sv-veethaart," he says, putting a hand on mine. "That's never going to happen. We're going to keep it a secret. And you're not alone...you know that."

"Thanks," I say, allowing myself a smile.

"So, what will you wear to bed when the big night comes?" he asks, and I'm pretty sure he's getting a mental picture.

I get up, picking my tray. "Almost definitely Lycra."

******

She kisses like the devil.

It's late and Alka's spending the night at a relative's, so we have snuck into my dorm room and locked the door. Her lips burn into mine, with her hands moving savagely over my back, one of her legs between mine. I've slipped my hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Our breasts rub together rhythmically, sensuously. She is gentle, yet firm, letting me know who's in charge. I never had a chance. I am powerless in her arms.

When she finally stops, I try to hide my disappointment.

"How many of your friends know you're out?" she asks me.

"Uhhh, the short answer is, *none* of them," I say. "Well, except Mohan. And my sister...she's cool with it, although she worries about me all the time. And my homophobic roommate, I *really* can't tell her...I used to have a crush on her, and I'm sure she'll figure it out if she knows I'm gay." I look around, as if to make sure Alka isn't watching. "Thank God she's not around right now."

"Why do you care so much about her?"

"She's my roommate, Avi. I have become a bit attached to her, you know."

"How can you be friends with people who won't see you the same way if you came out to them?"

"Avi, it's not that simple," I say. "I mean, they're conditioned by society...there isn't much freedom of thought around here...breaking out of the vicious cycle is hard."

"You did it."

"Yeah, but I can't *judge* people for not being able to," I say.

"But they're judging *you*." Avi is facing me, with her arms crossing her chest. "Do you really want to hide for the rest of your life?"

"It's a catch-22," I say. "I don't want to leave my country because, well, I have work to do here. But if I stay, I have to stay closeted. Especially if I want people to listen to me about human rights."

"And what about *your* right to live the way you want?" Avi was adamant.

"Listen to me," I say, just as tenacious. "I'm a human being first, woman second and lesbian third. Those are my priorities. Okay?"

"'And lesbian third'," she mimics me. "Real cute. I hope you know that putting that part of you in the third slot doesn't just affect you."

"I know that," I say, getting peeved. "That's why I'm making it clear to you. You're free to walk away any time you want. No-one's tying you down...least of all me."

Avi looks at me with a mixture of admiration and frustration. Then she laughs, with a twinkle in her eyes. "Boy, you really are hard-headed," she says. "Did it not occur to you, though, that there are probably others like you in India? If you care so much, you should do something about it."

"It's a little more complicated than that," I say. "It's my parents and family."

"Do you really give a damn about what they think?"

"They're my parents, Avi. I can't go around flaunting my sexuality. They will never, ever get that we're just like straight people."

"But you're missing the point! We *aren't* like straight people. It's our *difference* that makes us real."

"It could also potentially make me very, very dead." I lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. "Now look who's being idealistic."

"I'm not being idealistic," Avi asserts, sitting down next to me. "If I were you, I would get the fuck out of here as soon as possible. I'm just pointing out how your decisions contradict your *own* ideals."

I move away from her and sit down on my bed. "You know, I can't have it all," I say. "Besides, we can't ask for our rights as lesbians when we don't even have our rights as women and as human beings." I lie back on the bed, looking disturbed.

She sits down beside me, and rests a hand on my stomach. I close my eyes. She brushes the other hand against my cheek. "Hey," she whispers. "Sorry I'm being so hard on you. It's not my place. I don't want to stress you out, okay?" She bends down and brushes her lips lightly against mine. My breathing becomes ragged. She's about to get up, but I hold her arms and pull her down.

"Will you make love to me?" I ask coyly, shocked at my own confidence.

"What, right now?" she stammers. Is that a glimmer of insecurity I see in her hazel eyes?

"Well, I'm ready," I say, sure of myself. "And you?" She avoids my gaze. "Well?" I ask, somewhat impatiently. I try to turn her face toward me, but she doesn't comply.

And right then, I know. "You've never done this before, have you?" I ask, half-smiling, half-incredulous. She doesn't answer me.

"Well," she murmurs. "Just my luck, never met the right girl."

I get off the bed, staring at her tauntingly as she sits with her head down, hands folded in her lap. "Oh, man, you are a big talker!" I laugh. "All that sexual savoir-faire...you had me totally fooled! I'll bet you aren't even half as aggressive in bed."

She allows herself to break into an embarrassed smile. I bend down and look up at her face. "Butch in the streets, femme in the sheets!" I chant teasingly. "Butch in the streets, femme in the sheets!"

She leaps up, grabs me by my waist, swings me around, hauls me onto the bed, and looks at me contemptuously. "I'll show you who's femme in the sheets!" She starts tickling me, and before I know it, we are rolling on the bed, and I am laughing so hard that tears are coming out of my eyes.

And then we're kissing. I don't know who started it, or when. All I know is that Avi is kissing me and her hands are in my hair and her fingertips are caressing my body through my clothes.

She breaks the kiss and strokes my cheek slowly. She gets off the bed and turns off the lights. The moonlight streams in through the window. A cool breeze is coming in, lifting the curtains and enveloping our bodies.

She comes back and pulls me up into a sitting position. For the longest time, we are just gazing into each other's eyes. She tips my head backwards slightly and starts kissing my neck, my soft gasps filling the room. She gradually moves her lips back up to mine, and kisses them ferociously, sucking, nibbling, our tongues alternately meeting and retreating.

She is slowly unbuttoning my blouse, never taking her eyes off my face, listening to my short breaths. Her hands are moving urgently. She wants to see me in all my naked wonder, now. She has my shirt off, and she leans in and unhooks my bra from the back, her lips grazing my shoulder. My body pulses as she moves closer to me. She takes off my bra, and pulls off my skirt, leaving me in only my panty, which is getting increasingly soaked with my juices.

For a second, she stares at my mound in anticipation. Gently, she lays me back down on the bed.

She loses no time in pulling her own T-shirt over her head, and taking off her own bra, so that she is facing me only in her jeans. I can see her lean upper body, her erect nipples on her smooth breasts, her beautiful well-toned belly.

She approaches me, her body looming above mine. I can see her positioning herself on top, I can see her face coming closer to mine, I can see her eyes feasting on my body. She kisses my mouth slowly. She brings up a finger and offers it to my mouth enticingly. She traces the outline of my lips with her finger, before finally slipping it into my mouth. I suck at it hungrily. She teases me, withdrawing her finger and inserting it into my mouth again...withdrawing and then inserting again... I grab her hand and take each one of her fingers into my mouth one by one, brushing them with my tongue. I run a finger over the outline of her hand, finally tracing circles over her palm.

She grabs both my hands, intertwining her fingers with mine, and pins my arms back down. She kisses my eyes, my nose, my chin, my cheeks and my forehead. She sucks my earlobes.

I sigh silently.

I wrap my legs around her. Her hands are moving here, there, every-fucking-where. In my hair, on my arms, the base of my neck, encircling my thighs. Her belt buckle rubs against my smooth crotch, creating delicious ripples of pleasure through my lower body. Her nipples are hard and pressed against my chest.

She stops kissing, and sits up. Still positioned between my legs, she takes off her jeans, and slips off my panty, so that we are now completely naked. We both stare, like little children having eaten strawberries for the first time, wanting more, unashamed of our nudity. Her body is milky white against my olive-coloured skin. She strokes my thighs with her arms for a second, and then she lowers herself, rubbing her body against mine for the longest time.