Love Wins

Kelsey Rexroat | The Atavist Magazine | August 2024 | 2,291 words (8 minutes)

This is an excerpt from issue no. 154, “Love, Interrupted.”

Ashwini Naidu knew when her car was going over the Golden Gate Bridge, because the rumble of the pavement beneath her changed. She sat in the passenger seat, fully reclined, and clenched her eyes shut. From the driver’s seat, her coworker updated Ashwini on their progress—a quarter of the way across, halfway—until, finally, Ashwini was in the clear.

When they’d started out on their hour-long, southward journey from Sonoma to San Francisco earlier that day, Ashwini was driving. She had intended to follow a circuitous route that would take them over the Richmond–San Rafael Bridge into the East Bay, then west across the Bay Bridge into the city proper. Circumventing the Golden Gate would add 30 minutes to their drive, but Ashwini didn’t care about that. She didn’t realize that her GPS had rerouted them until she noticed the Marin Headlands rising above the highway. She knew what that meant: The bridge loomed ahead. Without hesitating, she pulled her car onto the shoulder of the freeway.

“You have to drive,” she explained to her bewildered coworker. “I can’t see the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Ashwini, who was in her mid-thirties, had never laid eyes on the iconic structure in person. It wasn’t for lack of opportunity—by 2023, she had been living in the Bay Area for three years. The soaring vermilion bridge is one of the first sights that most transplants tick off their must-see list, and Ashwini’s work took her all around San Francisco. Avoiding even a glimpse of it took effort. But Ashwini had made a promise to another woman 7,500 miles away: She would not see the bridge until they were finally hand in hand.

Girl Meets Girl

Before she moved to San Francisco—before she fell in love, before she even knew what being in love felt like—Ashwini lived in the vibrant metropolis of Bengaluru, more commonly known as Bangalore. She was gregarious, with a natural curiosity about everyone she met that helped her make friends easily. She was also ambitious. While attending an all-girls Catholic high school, she cofounded a company that offered arts programs for kids.

It was also in high school that Ashwini realized she was attracted to girls. Her feelings seemed natural to her, and she never questioned them until other girls at school began giggling and teasing one another about their crushes on boys. She worried what they would think if she revealed that she didn’t feel the same way, so she kept her romantic inclinations to herself. “I did not even know what being gay meant,” Ashwini said. “The idea of marrying a woman was unfathomable at that time, at least for me.”

Before British colonization, India had a history of tolerance toward diverse sexual orientations and gender identities. That ended with the 1860 passage of Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, which criminalized “carnal intercourse against the order of nature” as an “unnatural offense,” punishable with a fine and up to life in prison. Although the law didn’t specifically refer to homosexuality, it was interpreted as outlawing same-sex relations. In practice, consenting adults were rarely charged under Section 377, but it was used as a tool for harassment, discrimination, and blackmail against people who fell outside the bounds of heteronormativity.

When a female classmate confided to Ashwini that she had a crush on her, Ashwini was initially alarmed. She told the girl that being together was impossible. In time, however, the shock and bewilderment softened. Ashwini noticed how her heart fluttered when she was around the girl, and she started to crave their moments of connection—even if pursuing them meant hiding their burgeoning relationship. “I don’t know what this is,” Ashwini told her, “but can we promise each other that no matter what happens, we won’t give up on our friendship? Let’s just dive into this and see where it takes us.”

Ashwini’s father often said that if something was done in secret, there must be something wrong with it. He was a stay-at-home dad raising Ashwini and her younger sister, Shalini, while their mother worked. He always listened attentively to Ashwini when she talked about her problems, and he offered encouragement and advice. More often than not she listened. But she pursued her clandestine relationship without her dad’s knowledge. In fact, Ashwini told no one about her girlfriend.

The two girls kept their friend circles separate and were careful not to draw attention to themselves in public. In private their inhibitions fell away as they sought refuge in each other. They sat together in their bedrooms and spun dreams of a shared future: living together in a cozy home until their hair silvered and their faces became etched with wrinkles. They even chose names for their imagined children. “It was a very intense, emotional relationship,” Ashwini said.

Those conversations made Ashwini’s heart pound with both exhilaration and trepidation, because even as she allowed herself to dream, a sense of hopelessness would settle over her, a dark cloud that obscured the future. The life the two girls imagined didn’t seem possible in India. Perhaps, her girlfriend suggested, Ashwini could pursue an engineering degree in the United States. Maybe on another continent, far from the confines of home, their love could blossom freely.

Then one day their shared vision was shattered. “I think I’m straight, and I think you’re straight, too. This whole thing was a big mistake,” Ashwini’s girlfriend told her. The words landed like a blow and seemed to confirm Ashwini’s worst fear: that to feel the way she felt, something must be wrong with her. Perhaps her dad was right about what people did in secret. Perhaps, at her core, she was shameful.

Ashwini began to question her worth. She thought about how disappointed her friends and family would be if they knew the real her. Some days she wondered if she would be better off dead.

Ashwini stayed in India for college, earning her degree in industrial engineering, then began her career. She dated men and had one relationship that lasted several years. Her boyfriend declined to introduce her as his partner to his friends, and Ashwini’s friends and her sister insisted that she deserved better. Such red flags didn’t bother her, however. The relationship was just a way to ignore how she truly felt.

In high school, Ashwini had joined the drama club, and she later acted in a few plays and did voiceover work. She knew how to assume the role of a character, to adopt mannerisms and deliver lines convincingly. By dating a man, she told me, “I had the perfect script. But I didn’t feel that anything was natural. It was not coming from the bottom of my heart.”

Meanwhile, a national debate over gay rights in India was simmering. In 2009, when Ashwini was 21, LGBTQ+ activists achieved a significant victory when the Delhi High Court held that Section 377 violated the country’s constitution by depriving citizens of the rights to equal treatment under the law, to privacy, and to freedom of expression. The decision was a response to a lawsuit filed eight years earlier by an HIV/AIDS advocacy organization called the Naz Foundation, and it effectively decriminalized consensual intercourse between same-sex adults.

The ruling was a significant but short-lived step toward equal rights in India. Public attitudes toward LGBTQ+ lifestyles were still predominantly negative. Following the court decision, a poll conducted by the Hindustan Times and the CNN-IBN television network found that 73 percent of Indians thought homosexuality should be illegal. A coalition of conservative religious and political groups appealed the High Court ruling to the country’s Supreme Court on the grounds that “homosexuality was an offense against public morality and Indian cultural values.” In December 2013, the Supreme Court reinstated Section 377. A panel of judges criticized the High Court for “its anxiety to protect the so-called rights of LGBT persons,” whom it claimed made up only “a minuscule fraction” of Indians. Thousands of advocates gathered across the country to protest the decision, many wearing black arm bands and waving rainbow flags.

Ashwini prided herself on keeping up with the news, but when it came to the headlines about Section 377, she read as little as possible. That doesn’t apply to me, she told herself.

What she believed did apply to her was marriage. She wanted a life partner and all the things that came with it—the stability, the mutual support, the shared history. “I come from a household of a very good marriage,” she said. Growing up she had observed her parents’ devotion to each other in a million small ways. Her father had fixed her mother coffee each morning, and the pair would drink from steaming mugs while discussing the day ahead. Her dad bought her mom saris and helped her drape and adjust the complex garments as she got ready to go out. When Ashwini’s mom left for work, her dad stood on the balcony and waved at her until she was out of sight. At the end of the day, he’d await the first glimpse of her returning home.

Ashwini thought that the only hope of achieving something similar to what her parents had was marrying a man, so she didn’t balk when they suggested an arranged marriage. Their union had been arranged, after all, and they were progressive enough culturally that Ashwini knew she’d be able to veto anyone they presented who didn’t suit her.

Marriage would be the ultimate acting role for Ashwini, but she hoped that it would also be her salvation. She sometimes pictured herself in the ocean, swimming as far away from her true self as she could, yet never finding safe harbor. Marriage to a man could be a lifeline, connecting her to the kind of life she wanted—or thought she did. “I was feeling hopeless,” Ashwini said. “That’s when I just gave up and I said, ‘Let’s do this.’ ”

She and her parents were ready to begin the search for a husband, but first Ashwini wanted to go on a trip—a final adventure before she became a man’s wife. She wanted to go to the mountains of India, but not in order to mimic the trope she’d seen in movies: Woman retreats into nature and discovers herself. Rather, the trip would be one last chance to escape the weight of having to hide her identity. “I just wanted to get away,” Ashwini said. “I wanted to get out of my life.”

Ashwini’s sister, Shalini, had some time off before starting a new job and decided to join her. At the last minute, Ashwini’s friend Shinara decided to come along as well, but she suggested they go to Nepal instead. Ashwini’s solo trip at home was now a group expedition abroad. Still, she was eager to make the most of it.

It was morning when the trio arrived at a backpackers’ hostel in Thamel, Kathmandu’s tourist district. The streets outside were choked with honking cars, swerving mopeds, and pedestrians fanning out in every direction. Ashwini, hungover and sleep-deprived from a pre-departure get-together with friends, browsed the notices on a bulletin board while her sister and friend checked in. When the female manager asked for Ashwini’s passport, she walked over and tossed it on the counter without looking up. “Oh, hello,” the woman’s voice rang out. “It’s OK to not be rude.”

The words yanked Ashwini from her fuzzy headspace. She knew that under normal circumstances she would have greeted the manager warmly and riddled her with questions, and she quickly apologized. “Whatever,” the woman muttered. She had long, dark hair and a confident gaze. She studied Ashwini’s passport for what struck Ashwini as longer than necessary.

Their rooms wouldn’t be ready for several hours, so Ashwini, Shalini, and Shinara settled into the hostel’s adjoining restaurant. As they drank Nepal Ice beer, Shalini began sending her sister over to the front counter on various pretexts: Ask the manager to charge our phones. Ask where the good sightseeing is. Shalini had long suspected that Ashwini liked girls, even if her sister never admitted it outright. “At the time, I was just messing with Ashwini,” Shalini said.

Soon Ashwini caught the manager glancing her way from time to time. Shalini noticed, too. Then Ashwini’s cell phone, plugged in at the front desk, began blaring, “Wake up … Wake up ….” Ashwini leapt from her seat to silence it.

“Why is your alarm set to wake up at two in the afternoon?” the manager asked.

Ashwini explained that she was an account manager for an internet security company in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and she had to be at her office during the American workday. She sensed disapproval in the woman. In South Asia, people who work for American companies can have a reputation for being spoiled and entitled.

Another guest walked by and asked the manager how she was feeling. She reassured the guest that she was fine. “Is something wrong?” Ashwini asked.

“Do you need to know everyone’s stories?” the woman replied.

Ashwini figured she couldn’t make things worse at that point, so she plowed ahead. “Well, I’m on vacation. My room isn’t ready. I have nothing else to do. So if you want to offload it with me, you could just tell me what happened.”

The woman paused for a moment and then said that a confrontation with a coworker had upset her.

“What would make it better?” Ashwini asked.

“A drink,” the woman answered.

Ashwini pointed out that they served drinks at the adjoining restaurant. “I can’t drink while I’m working,” the woman said.

“What time do you get off work?” Ashwini asked. She was going to be at the hostel anyway. Maybe they could get a drink together.

The woman agreed.