Open letter to Karan Johar on the subject of homosexuality in his films

Dear Karan,

I'm a big fan. And I have a lot of gay friends.

While these two statements may seem unrelated, by the end of this letter you will realise that they are anything but.

I've been a fan since I was 12 years old, the year that Kuch Kuch Hota Hai came out. It was the year that all the girls took up basketball and started wearing their hair short. But I went a step ahead, jabbing my male classmates in the ribs, asking if they wanted to be "my best friend yaar!"

Also read: Also read: My name is Malhotra and I'm not a homosexual

A few years later, K3G released and I donned my mini skirt and ramp-walked in front of the mirror till I was dizzy, asking my reflection just how I dare look so "khoobsurat".

When Diwali came that year and people offered me mithai, I didn't just accept politely. Instead, I twisted my lips into a Kareena-esque pout, added a husky timbre to my voice and gushed, "I love laddoo." Much to my mother's horror.

I spent most of my teens - who am I kidding, I still do this - playing Bollywood games with my friends. While the answer to the question "Which celebrity would you like to procreate with?" kept changing over the years, the answer to "Which celebrity would you like to be best friends with?" was always constant.

You.

I didn't choose a glamorous heroine or a hot hero or a tattooed cricketer. I picked you. Always you.

Also read: Why it's not Bharat Mata ki jai in Kapoor & Sons

The first test in our "friendship" came with the release of Dostana. I was cornered by friends who questioned my choice of celebrity BFF. They frowned upon the movie's representation of gay love and expressed outrage at the homophobic jokes.

The truth is - Desi Girl notwithstanding - the movie did make me just a tad bit uncomfortable. But I rose to your defence, like a best friend should.

"Have a sense of humour, guys," I tried to reason with my friends. "Karan didn't direct it," I explained, even though the excuse sounded weak to my own ears.

And then came the tipping point in our friendship. The movie that I hold responsible for causing the rift between us: Student of the Year.

Rishi Kapoor's portrayal of a gay man - flamboyant, effeminate and without respect for the personal space of others - pissed me off. Perhaps my anger could be attributed to the fact that in my mid-20s, I was a little older and a little wiser. But the whole truth is that at 26, unlike at 12, I had gay friends. Or, more accurately, I had gay friends who were out to me.

I wasn't just mildly disappointed in you, Karan. I was downright livid. Because as a celebrated filmmaker with the clout and capability to influence millions of Indians, you chose to write a caricatured version of a homosexual man, and then directed a brilliant actor to play the exaggerated - almost cartoonish - part with his characteristic aplomb.

Here I was, surrounded by gay friends, and only a small minority of them were out to their families. A few of them swallowed their "pride" due to the diktats of their religion or socio-economic set-up and got married to people of the opposite sex. Two of them even fled the country to "more accepting" terrain.

But most of them were closeted, suffocated, dying a little inside every day. And yet, with your unlimited resources, your unparalleled knowledge of film-making, and your unrivalled passion for cinema, you chose to feed the stereotypes cultivated by my middle-class world. A world where anything other than heterosexual is considered "abnormal".

Also read: Homosexuality is normal, kudos to Kapoor & Sons for showing this

With great power comes great responsibility, Karan. And when the sole motive of a choice is to draw a few cackles from ignorant moviegoers, it is an irresponsible choice. Also one that let me down and convinced me that our friendship was over.

And then last month, I watched Kapoor & Sons.

I watched the poignant, realistic struggle of a closeted gay person. His fear of acceptance wrestling with his love for his family. His need to be himself muffled by his duty to do the "right" thing.

Because in our country - very much like my middle-class world - being gay is something you do to your family. It is something you choose to be, something you can just as easily choose not to be. But Kapoor & Sons challenges that notion, taking the stand that one cannot- should not - apologise for being gay.

The beauty of this film is that it does not confuse the gay character's sexuality for his identity - he is not effeminate or flamboyant, or any other stereotypical trait commonly associated with homosexual men. He is just an ordinary, sports-loving, guitar-playing, soft-spoken guy - exactly the type of man a woman could and does fall for in the movie.

The "coming out" scene in the film is incredibly similar to one I have witnessed first-hand with a friend and his mother. It tugged at my heartstrings and I bawled like a baby when I watched it. More than when Anjali let go of Rahul's hand at the train station, even more than when Yash asked Rahul to leave Raichand Mansion.

We need more movies like Kapoor & Sons, Karan. Movies that tell us that it's okay, even normal, to be gay. Movies that comfort gay people and assure them that the choice of who they love is theirs alone. Movies that educate homophobes - the unfortunate default setting of Indians - that homosexual people are just people.

Kapoor & Sons is a film that attempts to do exactly that, with unprecedented maturity and profound sensitivity. It is a film that made me laugh a lot and cry a little. But more importantly, it is a film that gives me hope - hope that someday we will become a society that will offer unconditional support to our gay friends and family.

Kapoor & Sons is a film that made me incredibly proud. Of you.

"But Karan didn't direct it," my friends argue. And I continue to defend you.

Because that's what best friends do.

Love

Sakshama.