23. Januar 2006. Analysen: Wirtschaft & Soziales - Indien The letter to my cousin

Dear Abudi,

You had asked me to tell you if and when someone else makes me burn as you did. I still carry your scars and I had never known whether you wished that I would or wouldn't feel that way with anyone else. It took me a long time, 20 years, to emerge out of my ashes. But today as I lie on this rooftop in Oakland, the sun pouring down on my back, I am writing to tell you that I have.

Something happened yesterday afternoon that made me realize that she has got me. When I came home late last night - I quietly let myself in I found my lover asleep. Maybe my sounds had woken her up as she stirred and seeing me said, "What took you so long? I have been waiting for you. I needed you". It was almost like a dejavu. Suddenly a shiver went through my body, as I flooded with mixed feelings of love, desire, possessiveness and an urge to take care of her, cradle her in my arms and protect her from the rest of the world and not ever lose her. And my mind drifted back to that day 20 years ago.

It was a hot autumn afternoon, during the festival season, and like every year, all the members of the extended "Chaudhuri" family had gathered at Amadpur, the ancestral village, in Bengal, 2 hours by train, then an hour on bullock carts, from Calcutta. The festival was at it's peak, when the goddess has come back to visit earth, where she is from. The next day is the last day of the festival and no one has started thinking of that yet. That morning the animal sacrifices had taken place and the images of goat heads with their eyes shining, and blood all over the floor in the temple were sharp in our memories. After a full morning of new dresses, worship of the goddess with fire and flowers and blood, and hours of running around and swimming in the pond we were all exhausted and hungry and had ran back home to dry up, eat and maybe sleep a bit before meeting again. All the young ones in our age group were meeting for rehearsal the play being that very night. And I had hoped to see you there even though you were not acting but singing solo.

I only saw you for 5 days a year, you lived in Bombay, and came to the village once a year, and there was something strange about you, something that made me uncomfortable, something that stopped me bantering with you as I did with the other cousins. But with each year, I became aware of a tension between us, a tension that stopped me from getting too close to you physically. I still remember the shock that had passed through my body that day you had asked me to put back on you a necklace that had come off and standing there so close that I could smell your sandalwood skin, see the little brown hairs on your skin, the curls at the nape of your neck. And I stood there holding my breath, my hands almost shaking.

You were beyond my imagination. You were the most beautiful woman I had seen so far (and even till now) and every time you would enter my space I will miss a beat of my heart as you would turn to me and smile. Your oval sharp face, eyes that carried the sadness of a lost soul, lips that curved into a smile so sarcastic that I wanted to bite and straighten them up, hair that curled down till your waist, specially when wet – dripping water drop by drop as you would sit there in the sun - your long fingers playing with the curls. But more than anything else - when in the evening you would sit in front of the goddess and begin a song, I would almost cry from the beauty and my desire. I found myself wanting you so badly by then that I had to go away and hearing your voice from a distance I would find tears rolling down my cheeks not knowing what to do – how to act, how to go on hiding. You were so cold, so well mannered, so composed, and I thought you didn't feel a thing.

Till that year when I turned 14 and you – you were 21. That year things were different, things were stranger because I felt closer to you – I burnt in hell deeper and deeper because sometimes I would see your naked eyes, watching me, when my fingers touched yours during the garland making in the morning, I saw you quickly remove them and during the fireworks in the darkness beside the pond, you were standing in front of me and suddenly I found your fingers close to mine, as I playfully touched them – you held on to me and didn't let go and even though I didn't see your face, I could feel the fever. God help me I said to myself – not knowing what the fuck we were doing.

So that afternoon – I couldn't find you and I was sick with my want of having you somewhere close – somewhere I could see you. I told the others that I felt ill and to go ahead without me – I knew my part – and I ran out desperate to find you. I went to your house, all the rooms were full – the doors closed – all the elders were taking their afternoon nap and I damned you – I hated you then – I tried pushing in a few doors and trying to locate you – to no avail and finally I gave up and left. I was so angry that I ran – I ran and ran till I reached the old broken temple that has been my hiding place for years – no one goes there, they say there are snakes, and the kali idol is all broken, and it is right by the pond, and this was my sanctuary mostly for smoking and day dreaming. I sat there – lighted my first cigarette and started crying silently. Suddenly there was a noise within the temple doors and I jumped up thinking it was a snake and I opened the door slightly to find someone sitting in the dark corner. And before I gathered who it was you said "Damn it Anchu – what took you so long? I have been waiting for you". I closed the temple door behind me, and in my hunger I picked you up in my arms, took you to the place were sacrifices are made, laid you down and fucked you till you screamed and tears started pouring out of your eyes. But you never asked me to stop as your sweat and cum and tears and moans and thirst and hunger were consumed and tasted and you were left almost numb at the feet of the goddess. The color from your bindi and feet had stained the old white marble of the temple, your white sari with the red border lay spread all around the floor and your skin now dark and hot wanted to hold on to the whiteness and coolness as you lay with your black hair all tumbled against my shoulder. I could hear the birds outside preparing to go home as evening was drawing close, the smell of trees and rust and hundreds of years were around us and my lips tasted her so much that at times I didn't know the difference between your body and mine. I was empty and void and a white light filled my entirety.

And then you crawled up close to me and cried – your nails digging deep in to my skin. When you stopped you slept like a child cuddled in my arms and when you woke up – you looked at me with your dark black eyes and said – "I have wanted you so intensely for the last 5 years or so – that it hurt me to see you and not be able to touch you." Why didn't you express it before I said – it was the same for me. You laughed and said – "What for? This is all wrong. Girls are not supposed to fuck girls. I want to have a normal life. You are bad for me. I need to get away from you and what this is" I said "No – there are others – trust me" You said "And we are cousins" I didn't say anything yet, but when you added "oh I am getting married next month – anyway" I couldn't refrain from saying "your father is my uncle. It didn't stop him from fucking me when I was a child". You looked at me – stood up and slapped me and with a glance so full of hate that you could have turned me to ashes – left. You have never talked to me ever since. You did get married and after 5 years I had got a letter with 2 lines. "Let me know when someone makes you burn as I did. I will too". That line made me start breathing again.

So, here's to you, my dear cousin, for the beginning of a feeling I finally am celebrating with my entirety. Yes, it took me a while to get here - I can now open the doors, look at you with a smile instead of nerve racking pain, and say hello and goodbye at the same time.


Dieser Beitrag gehört zum Schwerpunkt: Queer South Asia .


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