Review
of Maya Sharma's book Loving Women: Being Lesbian amid Poverty in India
In
her book Loving Women: Being Lesbian in Underprivileged India, Maya Sharma
compiles ten personal narratives of Indian women who come from some of the most
underprivileged socioeconomic groups. The narratives deal with their close
relationships with other women and their difficulties to balance their desires
and their love with the heteronomous family structures, economic inequalities,
and stifling patriarchy.
Sharma
significantly advances queer studies in India by using the lenses of both class
and sexuality to document the real-life experiences of same-sex love among
disadvantaged women. By focusing solely on pride parades, gay queer
collectives, and gay bars, she successfully challenges the stereotype of the
homosexual subject in India as an urbane, westernised, college-educated, and
English-speaking middle class.
More
significantly, she challenges the notion that queer behaviour is uncommon and
only exhibits in a "minuscule" minority. Sharma claims that despite
her fears of being unable to locate and identify subjects, she found that
almost everywhere she asked, people were aware of women who loved other women.
Thus, despite the pervasive presence of patriarchal control over sexuality in
women's lives, which only acknowledges their sexuality in relation to men, the
queer affinities described in this book suggest how women can easily develop
intimacy with other women as a coping mechanism and as a way to rebel against
the patriarchal control, both subtly and overtly.
The
numerous difficulties of same-sex love: secrecy, denial, conspiracies,
falsehoods said and unspoken, heard and unheard.
However,
Maya Sharma paints a very realistic image; the presence of opposition should
not be interpreted as romanticising the sufferings of these women. Aged 15 and
16, respectively, Maneka and Payal fled their house together before being
subsequently apprehended and returned. In addition to upsetting traditional
conventions and expectations, Payal's open admission of her love for her
partner and desire to be together irritated Maneka, who charged her with
tarnishing her reputation. This eventually caused them to part ways. It's
impossible to avoid feeling a sense of frustrating defeat at the hands of
"family, secret, denial, conspiracy, lies spoken and unsaid, heard and
unheard," which, in addition to blatant criticism and violence, aim to
keep women in their places.
The
narrative of Hasina and Fatima is another example. Hasina refers to Fatima
variously as a man and a woman, providing a glimpse into the lived experiences
of gender fluidity that coexist alongside and occasionally serve as a mechanism
for these women to come to grips with fluid sexual experiences. However, it is
also a heartbreaking tale in which a woman's determination to find happiness
and friendship with another woman is put to the test by society's opposition,
even that of her own children.
Fighting
against "norms and pressures of marriage, traditional family structures,
and daily struggles of material survival," Hasina and Fatima's story is an
example of the love depicted in the book as a whole. They discover in each
other a relationship of love, mutual support, and interdependence that blurs
the boundaries between sex relationships and emotional ties.
A
lesson in political lesbianism through friendship, closeness, and resistance?
The
story of Sabo and Razia illustrates the dual nature of same-sex love by weaving
together tales of adversity, conflict, and rejection with tales of bravery and
optimism. Working with Maya, Sabo was a strong, independent lady. According to
Sharma, her relationship with another woman was a "mysteriously enticing
crack in Sabo's otherwise arid armour" that needed to be investigated, so
the writer went to Razia's village.
Through
a protracted time during which they experienced forced marriage, domestic
abuse, many pregnancies, and severe mental anguish, Razia and Sabo's bond
developed—indeed, it strengthened. These two ladies anticipated getting married
and having children together, which would cement their relationship and give
them the social legitimacy they currently lacked, allowing them to live
together more easily.
Despite
the fact that Sabo and Razia were married to other people, their relationship
continued, but it lacked the feeling of being extra-marital. The novel
consistently displays a lack of entitled possession, which is inescapably
required in heterosexual unions.
This
observation is illustrated by Mary's narrative. Mary remained in an extremely
abusive love marriage for almost 20 years. She eventually managed to get away
and began working for a female-run organisation. She made a close friend with a
woman at this place. Mary couldn't help but sense a sad loss as they grew apart
and her friend started seeing someone else. She also understood that their
connection did not allow for the violent possessiveness that characterises most
relationships.
She
discovers that love is an unstoppable river that flows despite her "strong
emotions of envy and cynicism." Mary admitted that she has come to grips
with this knowledge and that she wants to take care of herself and become
independent through her employment.
Several
of the women in the stories have acknowledged the freedom of being themselves
and on equal terms while being in a close relationship with another.
"This
is a good thing between two women, I mean a relationship like that between
husband and wife," writes Shobha, a friend of Manjula and Meeta. Two women
can help each other out emotionally, financially, and physically. Men would be
at a loss if there were more of these relationships! As opposed to
relationships between men and women, partnerships between women do not involve
eating after the other has eaten, getting up early to complete duties and going
to bed late after accomplishing them or meekly obeying the other without
inquiry.
Of
course, there are situations where female relationships rely on heterosexual
imagery. "miyan-bibi Jodi" was a term that was frequently used to
describe Manjula and Meeta. Clearly the dominating miyan in the relationship,
Meeta was seen riding a bike while carrying Manjula and keeping an eye on her
like "a jealous lover." According to reports, Manjula never visited
her village without first talking to Meeta. Even so, there was a mutuality in
this relationship that was uncommon between men and women.
Although
it might not seem like it, the author wrote, "[I]t was evident that of the
two, Manjula was the one who decided what, when and how much of their private
life could be discussed with an outsider."
Maya
Sharma's book provides a lesson in political lesbianism through such insights,
experienced and taught beyond the realm of academic arguments, at the locations
of intersecting dis-privilege.
This
lesson can be found not only in stories about personal sexual relationships but
also in tales about the brave love and support that women have shown for one
another in unforeseen circumstances. The narrative of Guddi and Aasu describes
how women's groups made fun of their relationship because it went against the
laws of nature, society, etc.
Although
Guddi's mother did not go against her daughter's wishes even though she tried
to "contain" the situation through the route of "practical
kinship," several other members of the women's organisation were willing
to stoop to their level best to help. Pushpa supported the idea of their
independent existence outside of heterosexual marriage and was willing to
contribute material resources for the same.
In
the story of Juhi, the narrative of political lesbianism is presented in a
direct manner. Juhi had introduced her daughters to the sexual alternative of
being a lesbian and not only supported but actively promoted it after
experiencing an abusive marriage. All of my children are lesbians, in her own
words, and it is actually "better and far smarter to be this way than to
marry males," according to her. If they choose to date guys, she will
support them, although she "does not enjoy the prospect much."
She
makes the comment while sharing her life experiences, "You know what? I
believe that deep down, every woman is a lesbian. When women say, "This is
my best friend," what does it mean? They are subtly showing their
affection for women. This is just what I think. Women care for one another.
Queer
interactions with inter-sectionality
The
book by Maya Sharma expands on her observations regarding gender and sexuality.
She continues to document several additional aspects of women's lives that
become crucial parts of their lived experiences. The narrative of Vimalesh
offers a startling realisation. The binary divide of male and female imposed on
various bodies was continually contested by Vimalesh throughout his life. He
also refused to feminise his appearance and get married.
However,
empathy for other marginalised groups was not part of this fight against
dominant ideologies. Being a Brahmin, Vimalesh chooses to maintain her
authority in one area while fighting her helplessness in the other by acting
with the "suspicion, scrutiny, and phobia" that is commonplace in her
community towards the lower caste Harijans and chamars.
The
confluence of sexuality and class presented yet another set of challenges.
Sharma describes the profound ethical conflict she faced as a result of the
stark class divide between her and her students, a situation in which her class
status gave her a presumption of entitlement. The company of working-class
women who helped her realise that her class position is precisely what allowed
her to take on the job of politicising and clarifying the intimacies of
working-class women made her feel obligated to continue the research,
nevertheless.
Second,
any implicit sense of entitlement she may have had was really eliminated by the
class-based discrepancy in discourse. The ladies interviewed didn't have
sufficient access to the terminology and vocabulary of the queer movement
because they were persons from the lowest material positions. Since many of
them didn't use the term for themselves, the use of the term
"lesbian" was also contentious.
Juhi
was the only woman to openly refer to herself as a lesbian. Many chose to refer
to their relationships as "miyan-bibi Jodi," "lived like husband
and wife," and frequently, friendships, refusing to even accept that they
were sexually intimate. When questioned by her coworkers about why she kept her
same-sex relationship a secret, Sabo shot out angrily, "This was never a
matter for conversation; no one made it an issue. How was I able to mention it
on my own? No one had a place to discuss women who loved other women. I had
never heard the term "lesbian" before joining the single women's club
and going to the Tirupati conference on women's rights.
The
word "lesbian" was included in the title despite the respondents not
acknowledging it; this was done with the intention of politicising the
identification, which is frequently "laden with dread, embarrassment, and
prejudice...shrouded in silence." However, it also contains a significant
and illuminating qualification. It demonstrates how same-sex intimate
relationships frequently encounter difficulties when compared to the one
overarching myth of what it means to be queer.
The
binaries of secrecy/disclosure; closet/coming out; and passing/queering follow
the heterosexual/homosexual division, which, in Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick's view,
breaks up the western ontology. As Neville Hoad points out, this merely
perpetuates the notion of a westernised queer person whose sexual orientation
serves as her primary identity. The truth is more complicated, especially in
some structural areas.
According
to Steve Seidman's book Beyond the Closet, queer people who are members of
racial, social, and/or gender minority groups perceive their sexuality in a
more complex manner and far less independently from their other forms of
identity. The struggle to live one's sexuality takes on an even more
challenging form since it must take place as an inter-subjective process,
involving both the various subjectivities that the subject herself embodies as
well as those of the various subjects we are related to, such as family.
This
complexity in her respondents' "lives, goals, pathologies, and conflicts,
their visions, their coping mechanisms, their compromises, and modes of
resistance" is attempted to be captured in Maya Sharma's account. They
must therefore be repeated because of this. However, no retelling of the
narrative is the same, exactly as is customary to do. Every time they are
related or received, it takes on different importance depending on the reader's
and the narrator's social and personal context.
The
reviewer believes that the use of the lenses of class and sexuality to document
the "life stories" of same-sex love forces us to critically examine
how we conduct queer studies in India, who is seen as an ideal queer subject,
and, more importantly, how we comprehend the context-specific limits of
queerness.