Over three decades of discovering layer after layer of what we call life, I've realised that most people aren't equipped to raise children. My parents included.
I've gotten, for as long as I've lived, a roof over my head, food on the table, sound clothes on my back, parents that were there for me (as circumscribed as that is) and privileges so much of the world doesn't have access to. To that, I am sincerely and deeply grateful; basic humanity dictates I be. Qualified or not, yes, this is my fervent attempt to offer consolation to myself that I am not the ingrate I often berate myself to be.
One single difference my parents could have made that would have changed the entire course of my life for the better was to enroll me into dance classes, bharatanatyam classes to be precise.
And even up to a few months ago I always assumed that the ONLY reason being a dancer wasn't a facet of my life (not until my 20s at least) was because my parents never really imagined how much of an impact dance would have on me. Not contempt for the arts as a lesser form of expression for "boys". I assumed so because they had no problems with me travelling to a foreign land to perform.
I have no shame in admitting that an app catered to Gen Z was what helped me unlearn misogyny, homophobia, both explicit and internalised, and so much more. What I also happened to learn was parenting, especially how it relates to marginalised, specifically the LGBTQIA++ community.
There is also the context of where we live in to consider. And to further fuel this proverbial fire, my ill-informed impenetrable parents are no better than any other ignorant cis-het individual (regardless of the policies in their respective countries, societies or localities)!
There is more to this. As a child I was extremely effeminate. Something that was abhorrent in a family that values patriarchy above all. My parents have called me slurs. I have been verbally abused, MANY times for doing something that came naturally to me; being myself. I walked with a prominent hip sway, I tilted my head and was animated, more than a "boy" should be, when I conversed, I loved dancing (yes, even as a toddler it was apparent since Salangai Oli was my absolute favourite movie) and so much more.
I was closer to my cousin sister, I always wanted her toys.
Because a filter wasn't created as a child, I didn't, at first, hide my love of jewellery and clothing (clothing largely meant for women in these parts of the world).
I was often inclined to mouth the female parts of duets than the male's, in a female voice, noticeably at first and discreetly later as opinions and being reproached killed my spirit for singing.
I was and am apathetic towards sports and played none (my dad landed his job, in part, due to being a talented football player).
Like every queer assigned male at birth I played with my mom's makeup and tried on her tragically chunky, barely 2 inch tall heels.
Putting two and two together, there is only a single plausible explanation as to why I wasn't sent for Indian classical dance classes. My parents saw a faggot and told themselves, this faggot will only grow up to be an even bigger faggot if we enroll him into dance classes. We need to toughen him up. Sure, here's an idea, martial arts!
This is not just what I believe happened. This is the absolute truth! Whether or not I was granted access to it. THIS-IS-WHAT-HAPPENED!
And at the tender age when I should have been sent to dance classes, my parents, like every ignorant cis-het parents would do, sent me to martial arts classes. Which I HATED!
In the cusp of adulthood, I convinced myself they did the right thing because I'd grow out of being too effeminate. I could to a certain extend, blend in.
Now, I hate it.
Because sending me to dance classes would have changed my life.
My body would have been strong.
My soul would have been strong.
I would've continued this pursuit well into adulthood and fell into odissi very naturally.
I would've actually learned discipline and self-control. Martial arts didn't teach me that because I hated it so much.
Had my body and soul be strong, I would have gone on to do things I actually wanted with my life.
And my life would not be the mess it is now.
My parents essentially ruined my life.
Which is why the preface that I appreciate the shelter, food, protection and education they provided was necessary.
You can do all that and still raise a broken human being.
I don't always address the reader, but...
If you're a parent reading this, listen to your child.
You should do what they want sometimes.
Deny them the late night, deny them the extra TV time, deny them the over-indulgence in sweets and toys, deny them the gadget until they earn the merit to own one.
But when they come to you with a passion, nurture it.
My parents saw the signs.
I even performed incongruously, butchering bharatanatyam in my babysitter's home as a child (with photo evidence). It was nevertheless a triumph. I performed as a kindergarten student doing "the twist", and did it so well that I was placed front and middle.
My parents robbed me of dance.
If I was in a war-torn country, begging for food, or in a poor family trying to make ends meet I'd gladly accept my fate.
My parents paid for my martial arts class which lead me to believe dance classes were deliberately culled.
They apparently took me to the dance class and was discouraged by the teacher because I was too young to be enrolled. Why wasn't I then enrolled a year or two later?
Why martial arts which has been abandoned?
Why am not now an accomplished dancer?
