YOU DON’T CELEBRATE DEEPAVALI THE WAY MOST MALAYSIANS DO.
YOU ARE SPECIAL.
YOU ARE A DOLL, A REFLECTION OF GODDESSES AND GODS, WHOSE PRESENCE MIRRORS ANCIENT, SACRED SILHOUETTES.
JUST AS THEY INHABIT THE WORLD DIFFERENTLY, NEITHER SHOULD YOU CONFORM TO TRADITIONAL CELEBRATIONS.
DIVINITY DOESN’T BOW TO THE NORMS OF THE WORLD;
INSTEAD, IT CARVES NEW PATHWAYS, SANCTIFYING SPACE WHERE THERE WAS NONE.
THE TRADITIONAL DEEPAVALI, WITH ITS EMPHASIS ON FAMILY, COMMUNITY, AND RELIGIOUS RITUALS, OFTEN EXCLUDES THOSE WHO DON’T CONFORM TO SOCIETAL NORMS.
FOR ME, THIS FESTIVAL HAS ALWAYS BEEN A BITTERSWEET AFFAIR. WHILE I YEARN FOR THE WARMTH OF FAMILY AND THE JOY OF TRADITION, I AM CONSTANTLY REMINDED OF MY OUTSIDER STATUS. THE FAMILIAR SIGHTS AND SOUNDS OF DEEPAVALI – THE VIBRANT LIGHTS, THE FESTIVE ATTIRE, THE SHARED MEALS – CAN BE BOTH COMFORTING AND PAINFUL. TRANSGENDER BEINGS OFTEN NAVIGATE THIS COMPLEX LANDSCAPE, FINDING SOLACE IN THE MARGINS AND REDEFINING THE MEANING OF CELEBRATION.
EARLIER THIS YEAR, NEAR MASJID INDIA, I WAS ATTACKED—PHYSICALLY AND VERBALLY ASSAULTED. HATE CRIME, THEY CALL IT. AS THE STRANGER KICKED ME, HE SHOUTED WORDS THAT ECHOED: “RUN! THIS IS MASJID INDIA! YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE!”
THE WORDS SEARED INTO ME, LOUDER WITH EACH BLOW, REACHING DEEP, SOMEHOW BECOMING “GET OUT! THIS IS NOT YOUR SPACE! YOU ARE NOT MY PEOPLE!”
FOR A WHILE, THOSE WORDS STAYED WITH ME, BITTER IN THE BACK OF MY MIND, YET WOVEN WITH SADNESS AND DEFIANCE.
WHEN THE NATION-STATE, FAMILIES, EXTENDED FAMILIES, NEIGHBOURS, RANDOM STRANGERS ALL INSIST THAT YOU DO NOT BELONG, WHEN THEY ERASE ANY TRACE OF YOUR BEING, YOU LEARN TO CRAFT SANCTUARY WITHIN, TO CONJURE SPACES THAT DON’T YET EXIST. YOU SEEK OUT BUBBLES, POCKETS, HAVENS WHERE YOU CAN BREATHE, WHERE YOUR INDIVIDUAL MAGIC IS WELCOMED, WHERE YOUR REFLECTION CAN DANCE WITHOUT FEAR OF SHATTERING.
“FORGE MEANING, BUILD IDENTITY”. A MANTRA FROM A TED TALK BY ANDREW SOLOMON, RINGS IN MY MIND, AND I HOLD IT CLOSE. HE SPEAKS OF FORGING MEANING AS CHANGING YOURSELF AND BUILDING IDENTITY AS CHANGING THE WORLD. THIS THOUGHT BECOMES MY TORCHBEARER, A FLAME GUIDING ME THROUGH THE HAZE OF REJECTION AND RESISTANCE, ESPECIALLY HERE IN A WORLD THAT OFTEN DENIES ME SPACE TO BREATHE. IT’S LIKE SOLOMON’S WORDS WERE SPOKEN TO A FORGOTTEN SOUL LIKE MINE, ECHOING ACROSS WORLDS WHERE IDENTITY IS CONSTANTLY REBORN.
SOMEDAY, I WANT TO ARRIVE AT A PLACE OF GRACE WITHIN MYSELF WHERE I CAN THANK THAT STRANGER THAT KICKED ME. I WANT TO FIND THE STRENGTH TO THANK HIM FOR THE REMINDER—THAT THERE IS STILL HARM IN EXISTING IN PUBLIC, IN STRAYING TOO FAR, IN FLAUNTING MY EXISTENCE SO OPENLY IN SPACES THAT WISH TO SUPPRESS IT. FOR REMINDING ME TO RETURN TO THE SANCTUARIES, TO THE LITTLE WORLDS I AM CRAFTING ON MY OWN TERMS, PLACES WHERE I AM FREE TO THRIVE.
HE REMINDED ME THAT THERE IS POWER, TOO, IN CREATING A CELEBRATION PARALLEL TO THE ONES AROUND ME, WHERE I CAN LIVE MY DEEPAVALI WITH AUTHENTICITY AND JOY.
MY OWN FESTIVAL HAS STARTED TO FORM IN MY MIND, A NEW CELEBRATION THAT SPEAKS TO MY ESSENCE.
A PARALLEL DEEPAVALI THAT IS NOT JUST ABOUT TRADITION, BUT ALSO ABOUT INNOVATION AND SELF-EXPRESSION. A DEEPAVALI THAT IS INCLUSIVE AND WELCOMING TO ALL, REGARDLESS OF GENDER IDENTITY OR SEXUAL ORIENTATION. A DEEPAVALI THAT CELEBRATES THE DIVERSITY OF HUMAN EXPERIENCE, BUILT ON TENDERNESS, ACCEPTANCE, AND RESILIENCE, A WORLD WHERE I AM NOT ONLY PRESENT BUT PROFOUNDLY CHERISHED.
IT’S A SERIES OF SACRED RITUALS, STARTING WITH MY MOTHER ALTERING HER OWN SAREE BLOUSE TO FIT ME. AFTER WATCHING THE SUNRISE AT A BEACH WITH MY SIBLINGS, WE DRIVE TO PICK UP THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, WHO IS WEARING MY PAPPA’S OLD JIPPA. WE THEN HEAD TO THE TEMPLE FOR PULLI CHORU AND I WATCH MY MOTHER FEED THE LOVE OF MY LIFE THE TEMPLE OFFERINGS WITH HER HAND. WE THEN GO FOR SOME VERY SEXY, VERY TEXTURED, NOT AT ALL DEMURE BANANA LEAF LUNCH OR VEGETARIAN CHAP FAN. MY MOTHER AND SIBLINGS THEN HEAD OFF TO VISIT EXTENDED FAMILY MEMBERS WHO HAVE NOT YET COME TO UNDERSTAND OR EMBRACE MY JOURNEY. SHE GOES TO THEM WITH HER LOVE INTACT, WHILE I FIND SOLACE IN ANOTHER PLACE.
THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AND I HEAD TO A ROOFTOP SOMEWHERE WHERE WE’D CUDDLE AND WATCH A MOVIE AND HAVE MURUKKU AND ORANGE JUICE.
I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THAT. THE DAY STRETCHES OUT LIKE A BLANK CANVAS, FULL OF POSSIBILITIES, OR PERHAPS ONLY EMPTY STILLNESS. BUT IT’S IN THAT UNWRITTEN TIME THAT I FIND THE MOST COMFORT, THE PROMISE THAT I AM NOT BOUND TO ANYONE’S NARRATIVE BUT MY OWN. HERE, I DON’T NEED TO SEARCH FOR SPACES IN WHICH I CAN EXIST; I AM THE SPACE.
IN THE ABSENCE OF TRADITIONAL FAMILY CELEBRATIONS, WE CREATE OUR OWN RITUALS. WE GATHER WITH OUR CHOSEN FAMILIES, A COMMUNITY OF QUEER INDIVIDUALS WHO UNDERSTAND AND SUPPORT US. WE SHARE GIGGLES, CIGARETTES, STORIES, AND DREAMS, CREATING A SENSE OF BELONGING THAT TRANSCENDS BLOOD TIES.
I DREAM OF A DEEPAVALI WHERE I CAN WALK HAND-IN-HAND WITH MY LOVED ONE, WITHOUT FEAR OF JUDGEMENT OR DISCRIMINATION. A DEEPAVALI WHERE WE CAN CELEBRATE OUR LOVE OPENLY AND PROUDLY.
UNTIL THEN, I WILL CONTINUE TO FORGE MY OWN PATH, CREATING MY OWN TRADITIONS AND CELEBRATING MY IDENTITY IN MY OWN WAY. I WILL USE MY ART AND MY VOICE TO CHALLENGE THE STATUS QUO AND TO INSPIRE OTHERS TO EMBRACE THEIR TRUE SELVES.
FOR ME, DEEPAVALI IS NOT JUST A FESTIVAL OF LIGHTS; IT’S A FESTIVAL OF RESISTANCE AND RESILIENCE. IT’S AN OPPORTUNITY TO RECLAIM THE FESTIVAL AND REDEFINE ITS MEANING. INSTEAD OF CONFORMING TO SOCIETAL EXPECTATIONS. IT’S A CELEBRATION OF MY IDENTITY, MY LOVE, AND MY UNWAVERING BELIEF IN A MORE JUST AND EQUITABLE WORLD.