Issue #10
Welcome back! Ten issues, huh!?
Ten starts to look like a smaller and smaller number as we continue to grow up, but there’s something different about it here. It feels like we’re no longer at the beginning of this journey but instead we’re steadily and decisively on it.
I’m going to keep this one short. This issue is exciting for a number of reasons: Artist, designer, writer, and general powerhouse of talent, Farshogar Vazifdar is debuting mush’s first fiction story Touch. It will run through till Issue 16, and trust me, it’s going to keep you all on the edge of your seats. Furthermore, the two essays to follow afterwards, written by Parag Chitale and Shiva Raichandani, are powerful examples of just, pure love in its most honest, truthful and queer form. I’m very, very excited for you to just ignore all of this and scroll along to the story and essays.
One last thing, mush strives to publish narratives that are meant to be sat with and absorbed over time. So slow down and take as much time as you need, we’re not going anywhere, we promise.
x
Veer Misra (@v.eird)
Touch, Chapter 1:
A silhouette of someone just climbing down onto the rock by Farshogar Vazifdar
The wall had been up for as long as our great-grandparents could remember. Going almost 200 feet high, and stretching all the way from the northernmost point of the township beyond the cemetery, to the southernmost cliff over the ‘Hillock with the bench for Mr. J’. Its smooth cream walls never seemed to chip or crack or fade over the decades it stood sans maintenance. And it seemed entirely unclimbable; not that anyone would want to. “The wall was built to keep The Mirrors out,” they told us. “We should be grateful about the wall’s existence.” And so we were. Through generations, the wall was a natural part of our lives. The town’s primary school often took their graduating class to paint a section of the wall every year, the stoners and the loafers of the generation would peacefully enjoy their evenings by another section, many young couples chose the wall as a perfect background for their wedding, and E and I would meet at the top of the ‘Hillock with the bench for Mr. J’ every week in order to keep our relationship a secret.
Not that it was a secret anymore. The town was small enough for the news to spread, and as soon as our parents found out that both their sons were seen holding hands as they walked out of the crossroads behind the theatre, we were both summoned to a joint discussion about the seriousness of our affection for each other.
“It’s not that we’re really against whatever is going on between the two of you,” they said, “but we’re just worried about how the rest of the town will react.”
“I’m sure you’re mature enough to recognise your feelings, but we just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m pretty sure this is the first time anyone in the township would see two boys together. You never know what they might say behind your back.”
“If this is what you want, then I guess we’re happy for you.”
Their forced acceptance veiled as worry was difficult enough to experience, but it was the glances from the people that hurt even more. It was difficult for the people to say anything, knowing that my father was a senior member in the town’s committee, but E would often be heckled at a distance by the rest of his classmates as he made his way home after our weekly meeting. Though that never bothered him. E had grown up to be a man with a strong soul. A resilient demeanour, shielding the child inside him that grew up with no mobility on the left side of their face and torso.
----
‘It’s amazing how he’s able to climb up this last stretch.’ I thought to myself as I eyed the steep climb to the peak of the hillock. The Wall was invisible from where I stood, and you could see the entire township behind me, all the way to the mist over the aptly named Misty Forest way into the distance. I reached out with both hands towards the rock that helped me up countless times, and pulled myself up, where I saw E sitting on the left side of the 'Bench for Mr. J', with his right arm outstretched towards me, staring straight at the beige of the wall barely 50 feet away from the edge of the cliff in front of him. I stood on the rock, admiring his sharp profile for a moment before climbing the last bit onto the top of the hill.
He heard me and turned around, smiling only how he could, with the right side of his mouth. “M, remember how in school I’d always joke about being alright? You know, like ‘all right’ because of how my left side just wouldn’t budge even if you asked it very sweetly?” E always had a warped sense of humour. “And how one day you pointed out that ‘E’ was all right as well because there was no line on the left of the staff. Do you think my parents changed my name after I met with the accident? Or was it all just a coincidence?” I smiled my widest smile and planted a large kiss on his cheek. “Ah, I missed you, E!”
I sat to his right as he lifted his left hand that had slumped off the bench and placed it on his stomach. His face was silhouetted by the sun setting behind him, but I could still see his scar charting its course down his face, splitting through his left eyebrow and eyelid, down the edge of his nose and almost perfectly between the left and right of his mouth. He leaned in and we kissed for a while.
Even after being together for 18 months, we were still not comfortable displaying affection for each other in public. It wasn’t so much about fear, but about it still feeling wrong. Internally. Of course I would be the one still avoiding it when we were both drunk enough at parties to not really care about anyone else. But E respected that about me. He would never force his affection any further. And I’d warily plant a soft one on his cheek as we left each other’s company after.
Which is what made these secret kisses even more magical. They would be long and lustful, and it literally felt as if we were transported to a different place. Heck, we could have been kissing on the other side of the wall and I wouldn’t worry.
“Do you only enjoy this because the wall’s our only audience?” Asked E, somehow reading my mind. The wall only lasted for about 8 feet or so above us, and if I climbed onto E’s shoulders, we could just about look over and see the other half of the hill that had been sliced in half to make way for the wall. Which was the next thing on our weekly agenda after making out.
“E, we have done this so many times and have never seen anything on the other side do we really have to do this again?” I complained as E huffed in disapproval and lifted me up onto his shoulders and stepped on to the bench for me to see clearly. The top of the wall was suddenly below me and...
I wasn’t really sure that I had seen him until I did. A silhouette of someone just climbing down onto the rock that had just helped me climb up to our side of the hill. There definitely was somebody. ‘Should I look away?’ But I couldn’t. I locked eyes with the silhouette on the mound. And I was certain they were looking right back at me. Of course he could see me. While the sunlight could still reach my face, the other hillock was covered in darkness. And before I knew it, the silhouette disappeared behind the climb.
“Do you see anything?” E moaned while supporting me with just his right hand.
“N-No,” I managed to blurt out.
“Ok then, my turn now!” E exclaimed as he squatted down to let me climb off him, and climbed onto the bench to get onto my shoulders.
----
“What would you do if you happen to see someone on the other side of the wall?” I asked him later, on our way back as we walked past the theatre where we were spotted holding hands so long ago.
“I don’t really know, I haven’t really thought of it. Of course I’d first come and tell you, but I think I’d maybe try and communicate with the--OH MY GOD YOU SAW SOMETHING DIDN’T YOU??” His right eye grew wider and sparkled under the theatre lights.
“Shhh. Yes I did. At least I think I did. Something definitely moved when I peaked over, but I’m sure if it was one of the Mirrors.”
“Oh my God you must be the first one in decades to have seen someone beyond the wall. I’m not even sure if that happened during our grandparent’s time!!!”
“E, you need to promise me not to tell anybody about this. I really don’t want this to be a big deal. I mean people will ask questions and--”
“--It will ruin ‘Mr. J’ evenings for us. I totally understand.” He rolled his eyes and gave me his sly smile.
I sighed. It felt nice never having to worry about sharing a secret with him. I trusted him with everything and more and I never have to think twice about it. I really don’t know where I would be right now if I did not have E in my life.
“So tell me, what did they look like? Was it a male or female Mirror? Do they really look exactly like us? With arms and legs and everything?”
“I didn’t really see much. They were climbing down the other side of the Hillock when they happened to see me. That’s ok, right? That we looked at each other. Nothing bad is going to happen if we look at each other, right?”
“No, not really. We’ve never been told anything about looking at the Mirrors. It’s just bad if they touch you.” He affirmed.
“But that’s because no one’s ever only seen them, right? Is there any evidence suggesting…”
But E stopped and pointed to the top corner of my face. “M, did you always have that black patch in the middle of your forehead? Wait, it's slowly spreading! It’s getting bigger M, what is happening?”
And I dashed towards the nearest store window to see what was happening on my face, but I couldn’t see anything. What I did see in the reflection was E laughing at me. It was another one of his stupid jokes. I tried hard to feign annoyance, but I couldn’t stop smiling at his laughter.
“How do you keep falling for my bullshit, M?” He said between another round of laughter and put his arm around my shoulder. “Come, let me take you home before I convince you that you’re turning invisible or something.”
“If you say anything else, I won’t kiss you goodbye.” I said, knowing very well I could not resist his face at all.
----
E must have reached the top of the hill as usual, but today I was running late. Mom had cooked delicious samosas for lunch and I overslept my afternoon nap. She even packed a couple just for E since she knew how much he loved them. The climb up the hill seemed longer than usual today. The sun was already halfway down the horizon when I reached the final climb, figuring where to put the bag with the samosas so I could climb the rock easily. I shoved the top of the bag into my waistband and pulled myself up onto the rock.
And that’s when I saw E on the hill standing next to… someone else?
No, there most definitely was someone else. Was the ‘someone else’ E? He did look exactly like E. Yet E stood right in front of him. I could make out the faint line of the scar across his face, from the temple all the way down to his chin, but it looked like it was on the right side of his face. No no, I’m certain it is on the right side of his face. And his left arm wasn’t the one that was slumping down. No, it was his right arm.
And that’s when it struck me that the other person there was E’s Mirror.
E stared right into the other E’s eyes. He wasn’t afraid. His eyebrows pressed against each other in curiosity. They didn’t seem to be talking to each other, but it felt like they were communicating. I was frozen in my place, unable to move or feel anything. No one had told us what to do in such situations? No one taught us how to deal with the Mirrors at all. ‘Why didn’t they teach us about them? Do we really trust the Wall that much?’
And while I stood there frozen, eyes fixated but my mind wandering in panic, I didn’t notice the Other E’s left hand reaching out towards My E’s face, hesitating out of fear, but inching closer out of curiosity until it found its position on top of E’s scar. He gently ran his fingers down the scar, mapping its position down E’s face.
E stepped back, almost tripping on something that wasn’t on the ground. He seemed weak. And dizzy. Almost powerless. The sun had set by now and their sharp profiles stood out against the purple sky. E stumbled a bit to the left, then to right. And then he tripped over his own foot and fell towards the ground. Except when he fell, there was no thud. No sound of a body hitting the ground. No cry of pain from E.
All that was left was a pile of clothes that he was wearing that evening.
And that’s when I finally let out a scream.
Two Hearts by Parag Chitale
New message. ‘Reached?’
‘Yep, almost, just a few minutes away,..’ I pause for a second before hitting send. Somehow my blushed heart finds the courage that my flushed face lacks and I add, ‘listen, not to freak you out, but I think I’m going to miss you. That alright?’ Sent.
Now we wait.
Des Ang Jaijaiwanti is trying its best to keep me in check. In usual circumstances, it would've worked, calmed me down. Tonight, it is only adding another layer to all that is happening. Intensifying all the thoughts that I am trying hard not to indulge myself in. All the voices in my head are crowding my eyes and I know that after a point all I can do is let them take control and let them drown me in my own unexplainable tears. Am I happy? Extremely. Am I sad? Absolutely. Is it possible that I am feeling everything at the same time? A hundred percent. Why? Because of you.
Sakhi ri ab tu mat kar baat
Bhayi der main sowan jaat
‘Friend, Don’t say another word now
It’s getting late, I need to go now.’What is so different about this ‘us’ than the long list of ‘us’s we have both gone through over the years? I can’t think of reasonable answer to this question. I think I might never find it, and honestly, it’s working fine for now, right? Not knowing all the answers but knowing that we don’t need them all anyway. It makes my heart flutter when I think about the time I first met you. I can’t seem to remember if it was last week or years ago. I have lost the sense of time when it comes to you. Those three days of endless chats and then meeting you in person, it has warped my sense of reality. I hate that I have to go back and leave you here. On my way to the airport, I am only thinking about not being able to see you anytime soon. And it is upsetting. ‘Why do I even have this job?’ ‘Is it absolutely stupid to leave a job for a guy (after meeting him just a few times)?’ ‘What if my flight gets so delayed that I have to stay back for another day, or like a week, or maybe a month? That’d be incredible!’ I am looking for all the possibilities to see more of you, immediately and for indefinite time. I am holding my face in my hands, going from hysterical laughing to hysterical tearing up like a hysterical madman. ‘Listen, this is so stupid. This cannot be happening. You cannot be acting like this. You are a grown-ass man. Keep it together.’ I tell myself and unsurprisingly this pep-talk isn’t helping. Overwhelmed tears are running down my red cheeks and my sniffles are out of control. I am not bothered by the cab driver looking at me in the mirror. I couldn’t care less if he knew that I was crying. Yes, I am crying because of the anticipation of missing you. What are you doing? Are you there? At all?
Sote mein ek sapna hoga
Baalam mora ghar aavega
Saari raat rang ras ke saath
‘When I sleep, there will be a dream
Where he’ll finally come home,
To a night full of love, of just me and him’Do you know what minute is the longest? Even longer than a plank-minute? It’s when you hit send on a risky text, their status goes from Online to Typing and then goes back to Online but you don’t get a notification for a new message. That is the longest uncertain moment you’ll ever have to live through. In that one eternity, sitting in the cab, as a professional overthinker, I did think of all the worst possible scenarios, I won’t lie. I thought you’d outright block me. I thought you’d say, ‘Listen, this is too fast for me.’ I thought you’d tell me that you don’t see us together together. But deep in my heart, in one of the shiniest corners, I was hoping that it won’t come to that. There was always a possibility of everything going well and you coming to visit me in Delhi, us waking up next to each other, spending our vacations somewhere in South of France. What a brilliant example of optimistic night-time daydreaming on the way to the airport not knowing when exactly would we be seeing each other. Anyway, tell me honestly, it sounds perfect, right? In that eternal moment, it was so important for me to at least have a chance to have a possibility. I wasn’t expecting a ‘I have always loved you’ well, I was, but you know, I wasn’t. It was one of those moments where your feelings are so authentically intense that you feel like you are not being real. I needed a sense of assurance that it wasn’t all a dream.
With a buzzing sound that moment brings me back to reality.
New message. ‘I think I am going to miss you too.’
Next message. ‘I am liking what all is happening right now, let’s see what happens next.’
Next message. ‘Also, do you really really have to go tonight?’ Cat emoji.
My heart skips a beat.
You did not just say that! You are saying things that are so good to be true that they couldn’t possibly be untrue. What if you really felt all that you are saying? What if you were just waiting for me to say something? What if there really was something more to us? What if, even as a distant dream, there was an us? I hope you are not joking, because this is making so much sense in my fantasy. I want to believe everything you are saying. It is what I need right now. Something to hang on to, because boy I am falling!
I keep going back to us sitting in the cafe in the evening. An iced coffee and a Macchiato. Mid-conversation, you took my hand in yours and said, ‘Parag, your hands are so rough! How? Why!?’ I cheesily replied, ‘They’ve always been that way. And you know, that way, they are harder to let go of, you’ll know soon.’ You rolled your eyes, and I saw your shy smile when you looked down and took another sip of my iced coffee. Pupils dilated, heart beating very fast, confused as to how it was so easy to be around you, I remember smiling. You looked up and asked, ‘What happened?’ I didn’t say anything then. I couldn’t tell you that at that moment I realised that this was not going to end soon. I didn’t have the courage to say it out loud. I can ask you that now, you felt it too right? Whatever I felt, you felt it too. I was not wrong, it was something really special, and most probably not only for me.
Kabse sakhi woh tarsat hai
Kab sapno ke dwar khulat hai
Kahe rokat milan saugat
‘He’s been eagerly waiting for me
To dream and open the door for him
We’re meeting tonight, Don’t stop me now’I swipe on the message and reply, ‘I like that. I like that a lot.’ With a heart at the end. I continue, ‘Okay I’ve reached. I’ll text you after check-in and security. You sleep if you want, okay?’
New message. ‘Don’t worry. I’m here. And even if I sleep, I’m sure I won’t be alone in my dreams.’ Two hearts.
Saiyan Dil Mein Aana Re by Shiva Raichandani
Saiyan Dil Mein Aana Re, Aake Phir Na Jaana Re
Beloved, come into my heart and never leave thereafterIt’s time.
Feverish whispers fill the room as lights begin to dim. Chirpy eyes scan the shadows with jittery fingers like needles in a broken compass. Honestly, no one can truly prepare for a fantastical moment like this; and yet, one can certainly count on being dazzled beyond measure. Excitement brims. Silence settles. Instantly, the spotlight finds her – and so does the audience. Gasps galore. Offering only her back, she glides her wrist across her hip, up her chest, brushes her hair, flings it into the air... and snaps. A sharp turn, chin up, stolen wink – and lo, you’re now under my nani’s spell.
She swims across the stage with unflinching magnetism. Effortless, yet calculated, grace. She gives you enough, only to leave you wanting more. Her command over the audience is palpable. No one really notices the choreography as much as they do her facial expressions. You know, the eyebrow raises, the sly smirks, the micro-expressions, the adaaien. With every thumka, she breathes life into the room. With every twirl, she breathes life into life. How could anyone not fall in love?
You see, dance has immense power; but one must dance to fully harness it. And nani? Well, she was a professional dancer in every sense of the word. She knew how to make people drown in a sea of emotions within just 3.57 minutes - the exact length of her favourite song, Saiyan Dil Mein Aana Re.
The song ends, she strikes a pose, and the cheers live on till today.
Aged 7, I wondered what awed me most: was it the ache in her yearning for love through the song, or was it her desire to be seen as an artist? Was it her ability to convey the subtlest of emotions with profound impact, or her unconditional love for dance? Aged 27, I still don’t know.
Nonetheless, since the first time I saw nani perform in public, I’ve invited dance into my heart and never let it go. Like an anchor, I hold onto it with grave care. I’m not sure what I’d be without it. In fact, I fear that the loss would be too great to fathom.
Pehle Pehle Pyaar Ki, Pehli Pehli Baat Hogi
I will speak of my first loveNani said, “Shiva, if you want to dance, don’t let anyone stop you! You must dance!”. And dance I did. But a young boy lip-syncing in an anaarkali with a full face of makeup and a head adorned with the most luscious of wigs isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. People cheered, but their cheers masked disdain. It hurts my chest wondering what immense pain burdened them to not want children to express themselves artistically. Sadly, I’d soon realise that their disdain would continue to knock at my door well into adulthood. Nani knew better though. She knew that dance went beyond appearances and that no one should be policing the creativity of a dancer,
let alone that of a child. So, I continued to dance, and I continued to speak of my love for it. She ensured it.
In retrospect, I realise that a lot of our relationship has been built on a mutual passion for dance. Most of our conversations revolve around creating new choreographies, performing together, doing riyaaz, watching music videos, and dreaming of days filled with joy from movement. The kind of joy that we inherently knew was sorely lacking. We ran to dance as an escape, as a means to make life easier. Nothing else mattered when we danced, and that’s another testament to the power of the artform; the ability to transport you into realms detached from the cries of the body. Whether as a dancer or as an audience member, what stays with you is how the dance makes you feel, and not necessarily the dancer themselves. Whether it’s happiness or grief, anger or jealousy, lust or love, we tap into these emotions as sneaky guests. And as a young, closeted queer person, such escapades were a boon; you see, at the end of the day, joy was the substratum of all those emotional experiences. Albeit a cathartic kind of joy, it was liberating, nonetheless.
It took fervent dancing to explore my queerness, and to soothe the pain from having to hide it. Dance gifted me a meditative exploration inwards and a humbling connection with the world outside. It made space for me to enquire within, to step into the shoes of different characters and personas when my own were too overwhelming to handle. Its fluidity informed my own. Its expanse informed my own. It gave me a medium to communicate the ineffable, it gave me a voice long due. And now, there’s no stopping that voice.
Tum Mere Paas Hoge, Gham Badi Dur Hoga
With you by my side, sadness couldn’t come near usNani has early onset dementia. She doesn’t remember my name, but she does remember that I’m ‘the one to dance with’ – and I am content with that. How lucky I am to have connected with someone so deeply that even labels are reduced to dust. Isn’t that the goal though? To look past labels, categorisations, identifiers and seek the being within? To shed all our layers and be accepted for our truest essence? To acknowledge that love exists beyond us... and that joy is us.
Nani was always quite rebellious, and I loved that about her. She didn’t care if people opposed to her dancing in the middle of a crowd even at the age of 75; it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and she made sure we knew it. I’d like to believe that that’s where I derive my unabashed nature from, for she serves as a constant reminder of loving oneself in spite of how the world views us. We are but mere performers in this world. We offer ourselves as we like and what the world makes of it isn’t our responsibility. Entertainment is the only thing we guarantee.
The heart still cramps though.
Now, she’s a bit aloof, a bit distracted, a bit lost in thought, a bit disengaged, and a bit of everything and nothing all at once. Sometimes she looks at me smiling, and I wonder if she remembers that I’m queer. She doesn’t. I’ve never had to come out to one person so many times as I have with her, but I don’t get tired of it simply because she has the most nonchalant response to my queerness. Nani couldn’t care less, and I wish everyone else didn’t either. That right there, in between her smiles, is the kind of love one craves.
She looks at me as though waiting for a signal. I know what she wants, and I play the song for her. She gets up from across the room, runs towards me, and extends her hand.
Laana Re Laana Tashrif Laane Re
Grace us with your presenceIt’s time. Again.
Feverish whispers fill the room as lights begin to dim. Chirpy eyes scan the shadows with jittery fingers like needles in a broken compass. Honestly, no one can truly prepare for a fantastical moment like this; and yet, one can certainly count on being dazzled beyond measure. Excitement brims. Silence settles. Instantly, the spotlight finds me – and so does the audience. Gasps galore. Offering only my back, I glide my wrist across my hip, up my chest, brush my hair, fling it into the air... and snap. A sharp turn, chin up, stolen wink – and lo, you’re now under my spell.
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