May 14th, 2024 – Tuesday 

Today is, so far, the hottest day of my time here. I wake to sun in my eyes, piercing, and roll over to shove my face back into a pillow – I am not one for early mornings, be it in Scotland winter or Mumbai summer. 

I am eventually lured out by the promise of fresh fruit and coffee, and spend the first hour of my day reading about Navtej Singh Johar v UOI – the 2018 Supreme Court Case that partially overturned Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code. Section 377 was a colonial era law, put in place by the British Raj during the English occupation of India; it criminalised homosexuality as an “unnatural offence” which is “against the order of nature.” Although India gained independence in 1947, with the Constitution coming into effect in 1950, colonial laws endured; until the 2018 Navtej case, homosexuality was still a punishable offense as per Section 377. The Navtej case partially overturned this, decriminalising same-sex relationships between consenting adults. 

The case is fascinating, and I lose myself in several summaries, opinion pieces, and recounts of the proceedings. Before I realise, it’s time for lunch – a quick lunch – because today my appa and I are heading to my grandparents’ house, south of Mumbai, to spend the evening with them. We have to leave soon, but I manage to complete some organisational work before we head out. The coming Saturday and Sunday, I’ll be attending the Kashish Film Festival, one of the city’s largest LGBTQ+ pride events. Celebrating its 15th year currently, the event celebrates and highlights the work of queer filmmakers and artists. I’m meeting the heads of two organisations there, as well as attending a panel of activists and families involved with the community. 

I will admit that my insistence on work is also a way to distract myself from thinking about the upcoming night – the visit to see my paati, grandmother, and thatha, grandfather. It’s an extremely important visit, but also one that brings up a whirlwind of thought and feeling. I haven’t been to see my grandparents in India in five and a half years, since I was thirteen, and although I’ve seen my paati once since then, I haven’t seen my thatha or his brother.  

My thatha was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease several years ago, when I was young enough that the whole process of it seems like a hazy dream sometimes. I can replay it like stills of an old film movie, grainy recollections of the initial realisation and his following decline. My clearest memories of my thatha are from my previous trip, and by then he barely recognised me. It is a unique kind of heartbreak to look at someone who you care about and have them look through you, and it is exactly that feeling which I am dreading now. And yet, I know that this visit is important, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to see him. If I close my eyes and really let myself drift back, I do remember something more than his Alzheimer’s - him teaching me chess when I could barely understand the rules, riding on the back of his motorcycle, the way he would demolish us all at rummy. I hold these in the back of my mind, almost like a secret, and it is comforting. 

I’m looking forward to seeing my paati and my thatha’s brother as well; I did get to see my paati a year ago, when she came to California for my high school graduation, but I haven’t had the chance yet to tell her about university life. After we reach and eat dinner, I show her my photos and tell her my stories from the past semesters. I’m extremely lucky to have grandparents who are understanding and accepting of my queer identity, so I’m also able to tell her about my current work. There’s a constant patter of rain outside; it’s wetter and cooler where they live, and the drizzle drones on into the night. 

Today’s entry is shorter than most, and for that I apologise, but this is also the reality of work abroad – some days, like yesterday, are full of excitement and conversation. Others are slower-paced – but the time is still necessary. I’ve been able to read several articles and organise my work, and I feel prepared heading into the next five days, which will be far busier with the film festival. 

My appa has a work call that runs late, and I lie in the bed, listening to the crackly voices drift through the computer. Outside, there’s an occasional burst of lightning that showers the room in a yellow wash, and then a few seconds later the accompanying thunder. I try and count the cycle – lightning, two, three, four, thunder – but, of course, there is no rhythm to it. I try, still, until all the voices blend into one, and I roll onto my side, watching the dull reflection of the screen until I fall asleep.