Context: Leyla, a Muslim British-Indian woman, is coming out to her mother, telling her “I’m gay.” Her mother reacts with horror and disgust, telling her “You’re up to your neck in sin” and going so far as to ask “Who did this to you?”
But it’s this scene that sums up the reality of LGBTQ+ desi youth. Our parents may very well love us and want the best for us, but the absolute bottom line is: our parents do not want us to be happy. They want us to be appropriate, to be respectful, to have children and well-earning careers, to fit into the mold of heteronormativity and gender roles, to be religious and pious. But no, they do not want us to be happy. Happiness doesn’t fit into it.
To them, happiness is indistinguishable as a separate characteristic because according to them, doing all of these things should already be making us happy.
The ideal created for desi children is that they shouldn’t strive to do what makes them happy, but what makes them “good.” Unfortunately, under this context, good is defined as anything that isn’t seen as immoral or out of the norm.
A woman who is not straight is rejecting her role as a wife, and to a lesser extent, her role as a mother. She is rejecting the notion of subservience to men, of obedience and inferiority. Under our current system that is hugely patriarchal, a woman who does not submit is a threat.
Now, I’m not saying desi parents are bad parents or hate their children because it’s pretty clear this happens in nearly every other culture in the world. But I am saying that desi parents do not make their children’s happiness a priority, they make their children’s success a priority: successful careers and marriages and children = successful lives. So if you ask a desi parent “do you want your kid to be happy?” they’ll immediately say “yes, of course.” But if you add on “do you want your kid to be gay if that makes them happy?” the answer will be a lot less positive.
This movie tackled Leyla’s sexuality and coming out to her parents absolutely head-on with no coyness about it. She goes straight up to her mother and admits that she’s a lesbian. But her mother’s reaction is really the thing that most “coming out” stories try to gloss over, or sugarcoat, or just in general avoid. Her mother admits with frank and brutal honesty the truth that all LGBTQ+ desi kids know: our parents would rather see us miserable and straight than queer and happy.
idk if it is just me who feels this, but watching sana and yousef’s lil … crush? (love) story? unfold …. feels so much different than the previous 3 seasons.
there hasn’t been much dialogue at all between them, its very very heavy on eye contact and lingering gazes and smiles and smirks.
and it just feels … pure? and wholesome? there’s been zero physical contact between them whatsoever, yet there’s /something/ there.
and it just looks and feels so … ours? like … how i usually see “love stories” in eastern media, in arab shows/movies and desi shows/movies, where the 2 love interests are standing far apart, having no chance of contact, but still conveying so much. being all coy and shy and sneaking looks and standing in doorways and catching them doing something, and then the both of them being so shy around each other.
it just feels so … different? and … /true to how love stories are portrayed in the east/.
Does anyone else kinda wish there was an Indian character in Fantastic Beasts 2?
I dunno, it was just a thought. Maybe it’s just me. I guess it would just be nice to have another Indian wizard or witch included in the storylines, aside from just the Patil twins, whom I cherish dearly.