Pride: Careful, It’s Contagious

Sunday November 28th could have been just a free day. But over breakfast at the New Delhi YWCA, Jonathan turned to me and pointed at the newspaper, I leaned over and my face lit up. New Delhi Pride. Today. I now had something to do that day, and because of Jonathan’s simple act, Sunday November 28th became the best day in recent memory.

By 2:30, set-up was under way. We showed up, Julio, Jericho, Megan, Jericho, JP, and I, with our new French friends, Bee and Morgan, and no idea what we were getting ourselves into. A small group of people milled around as we approached  an enormous pile of rainbow: flags, masks, bigger flags, signs, the works. A nice lady got us outfitted in all the finery we could handle. Then we sat back, made small talk with the inspiring activists on all sides, and watched the momentum build. Fast.

The initial crowd numbered about 40. In an hour we had 2,000 easy. And that didn’t include the press. Never, anywhere, have I seen so many press-members, swarming over the amassed marchers like the most welcome of hornets. Cameras were in our faces every second, but the faces on the other side were smiling. Gone was the atmosphere of years past, when belonging to any sexual minority was unconstitutional in India. With the repeal last year, people were celebrating. Certainly we were there to make a statement, but damnit we were going to have fun doing it. I don’t think I managed to wipe the idiotic grin off my face for the rest of the day.

We marched at 4. As the drum groups rolled out a beat, the energy flared into a joyous inferno. Whoops, hollers, singing, dancing, and beaming faces abounded as we began to move. Any unfinished interviews went on the road, words of hope being archived against the best of all backgrounds.

The next hour is a blur. The heartbeat drumming flexed through the swell of the crowd. We made our way eventually to the very front of the column, picking up a contact-pride along the way. In slow-motion I grabbed a loose corner at the front of our 100 foot-long flag, and in that moment my life was complete. Being there, then, spreading the love, and seeing it infect the faces frozen along the sidewalk, looking out from behind windshields or over their parent’s shoulder. The connections that I made in those moments of locked eyes validated everything, and I was proud. Proud to be showing my support, proud to be taking it to the streets, proud to be at the front of that glorious river of flag and hope, proud to be.

I got on the train to Varanasi later that night. I tossed my bags into my birth, took my seat, and smiled.