May 16th, 2024 – Thursday 

When travelling, it is extremely tempting to fill every moment of the day with something exciting. A city holds so much to explore, so many small alleyways and street corners and hidden neighbourhoods – each different, with their own character. I want to spend every moment wandering and walking and watching, but, as expected, this is simply undoable.  

Which is why, although the day dawns early and the usual chatter of the city is in full swing by the time I come to breakfast, I spend the majority of the day in the living room, curled up on the couch armrest with my laptop open and a tall glass of watermelon juice. I appreciate the rest, and it allows me to catch up on some readings I’ve bookmarked for my project. Though these three weeks are dedicated to collecting interviews and oral histories, I don’t want to fall behind on my source-based work, so I start my usual process of reading, highlighting, annotating, reading, highlighting, annotating, reading – cycles upon cycles. 

As I read, I keep noticing one thing – that, despite the fact that the articles and reviews I’ve selected are mostly academic papers and articles from peer-reviewed journals, the information they contain and even the styles of writing seem somewhat simple. And don’t mistake me – complexity isn’t always a good thing in writing, a lesson I’m still learning myself, but these papers aren’t simple in a way that makes them easy to understand. Sometimes, they’re just basic. 

Thinking about it, though, this makes sense. Although gender studies and sexuality studies are now growing areas of academic and university spheres in the US and the UK, they aren’t established here in the same way. Conversations around gender and sexuality only fully publicly began six years ago, with the repeal of Section 377 and the consequent decriminalisation of homosexuality. There still has been little research done on the history of queer communities beyond the recent Supreme Court cases which have defined the current legal atmosphere for LGBTQ+ people. Awareness, and even the use of terminologies beyond homosexual and transgender, is still in early stages. 

I break for a quick lunch, but it’s immediately back to work; I have a pre-interview session with someone I’m meeting later down the week – one of the lead members of an LGBTQ+ organisation based in Mumbai. I hop on a WhatsApp call with her, and I’m immediately struck by how friendly she is. We’ve only spoken once briefly prior to this, but she’s extremely kind and helpful. I am learning that in a project like this, asking for help is almost a learned skill. By nature, I like to figure things out on my own, but I would not be able to be here and complete my work without the help of so many people: family, friends, and strangers alike. 

We speak quickly about plans for the weekend. We’re meeting at a queer festival, where she’s bringing me to a panel her organisation is hosting featuring what they call “Rainbow Parents” - parents of queer kids. Queer advocacy in Mumbai is strikingly parent-led, which is different from what I’m familiar with. In the US, and even in the UK in my experience, activism tends to stem from my generation, and it tends to be driven by emotion and a frustration with the status quo – which results in movements that are organised, intellectually powerful and complex, but also sometimes imbalanced. Here, the queer movement is conducted by parents – and it actually works incredibly well. Parents are able to bridge the gap between two generations: the extended family, who are often less accepting immediately and require more conversation and education, and the kids themselves. These rainbow parents often end up having hard conversations – however, as my interviewee shares proudly – the conversations often end positively. 

After our conversation, I walk back to the main room to a slightly dimmer setting – the sun is finally beginning to set – and with it, the heat - marking our signal to finally leave the house. My appa and I are determined to finally try a Mumbai staple, the likes of which cannot be found outside of the city: proper, traditional chaat. Thankfully, our destination isn’t far: Punjab Chaat House is just around the corner from the house, and we reach within a few moments. We head first to the upstairs restaurant and devour dahi mirchi, sev puri, and behl puri, alongside a massive jug of hot masala milk. Once again, I’m convinced that this blog might be better off as a food blog rather than a research blog – I could spend weeks just exploring the restaurants in Bandra!  

The chaat is delicate and delicious, but the best is yet to come. After we finish our main meal, we walk back downstairs to the open-air stall, where two men are serving pani puri. Pani puri is a dish I find hard to explain, although it’s actually quite simple – it's essentially a deep-fried hollow shell filled with diced potato, onion, peas, and chickpea, spiced with chutneys and chili powder, and topped with the actual pani, a blend of water and spices. We hand them a coupon for two people, and a plate is set before each of us. We’re asked whether we want ours sweet, medium, or spicy – of course, I ask for spicy – and without another word, the first pieces are placed on the plates. 

Now I’ll admit – I was not familiar with this system, and I thought what we had purchased was literally two pieces of pani puri – one per coupon, one per person. When the piece was set in front of me, I placed it in my mouth whole, as is customary, broke the shell and swallowed the pani with the rest of the fillings – and then I moved to put my plate away. I was stopped quickly by the man making the pani puri, who laughed kindly at my confusion before telling me that we had six pieces each, not one.  

I’m quite sure, though, that the actual number was closer to eight each. At some point, I lost count. It’s difficult to stay focused when you’re standing at a chaat stall, arms resting on the high counter, tongue tingling with spices and shirt sticky with sweat. It’s dark outside, but still hot beyond measure – and yet, I think I could spend several more moments here, eating pani puri with my appa and watching the chefs at work. One piece, six, even eight – what's one more?