Aniruddh

People stop to listen when he begins to speak. He is one of only four scholars doing his research on queer culture and literature in India. The elite Indian academia has opened its doors to embrace his intelligence and ideologies. His hands move gracefully during conversation, testimony to two decades of Bharatnatyam practice and performance. His voice booms loud and clear, even in a bustling Chinese restaurant. He learnt voice inflection while training for the theatre.

“Monogamy is violence to human nature,” Aniruddhan Vasudevan declares, banging the dark polished wooden table. The china trembles, the glass of water wobbles on its leather coaster. “Monogamy is just a functional asylum, but monoamoury is too much to expect.” Another bang. A girl at the adjacent table jumps and clutches her lover’s hands. The petite Asian waitress discreetly shakes her head. Aniruddh grins impishly; he is used to being disapproved. His actions have evoked the similar reactions throughout his life.

Aniruddh was on the threshold of adolescence when he realized that he was different from the other boys. When his teacher asked the students to define ‘peculiar’, a kid pointed towards Aniruddh and said, “Something like him”.

The damage was done. “It did not occur to me as a problem with sexuality. There was the undeniable attraction towards boys but I could not understand it then.”

When he was six, his parents decided that he should learn to play Mridangam, a classical musical instrument. On his way to his first class, he saw a male Bharatnatyam teacher in class with his students. He stopped in his tracks, mesmerised.

“This is what I want to learn,” he said.

His parents saw the resolution in his eyes. His mother stooped and looked into his eyes. “You can learn to dance but remember this is not a hobby, it is serious business.” In the following years, Aniruddh danced in professional art circuits not just in Kumbakonam, his hometown, but all over
Tamilnadu.

His last Bharatnatyam performance was in Bhartiyar Illam in December 2006. “I am looking for more experimental work. I don’t fit into the cultural circuit anymore,” he says. “Dance is traditionally not macho. There is a fluidity about the male dancer’s androgynous moves which disrupts the classification of identities. People are constantly trying to map me and demand that male dancers be macho.”

Aniruddh shifted to Chennai to do his undergraduate degree in chemistry. “Chemistry begged me to leave,” he says with a burst of laughter. He shifted gears to pursue English literature and is now in the middle of his Ph.D.

At the age of 24, Aniruddh is known as the rising star in the world of queer academia. At the historical queer conference held in Pune in February this year, the media as well as senior scholars like Ruth Vanita, Shani Mootooand Hoshang Merchant were swept off their feet by Aniruddh’s charm, intelligent interventions and presentation on queerness in Tamil cinema.

Aniruddh came out of the closet two years ago. Since then, his life has been geared towards fusing academics with politics. “I am not cut out for the academic ivory tower. I don’t believe in solipsistic academic work because it remains unproductive unless it has political resonance.”

When a famous Spanish poet, Tomas Gayton (“Not gay,” says Aniruddh with a wink), was denied the permission to read his poetry at the Madras University because of his anti-US federal government stance, Aniruddh told the administration that politics does not come from a supra-ideological space. He mobilized a group of friends and poetry lovers and organized a poetry-reading session at his own house.

His friend, Vikram Doctor talks about the time when he invited Aniruddh for a Gaybombay party recently. Aniruddh was dancing to the regular disco music, but with his own regular Bharatanayam derived moves. And he soon had a group of guys gathered around him fascinated by his footwork. “That is my image of Anirudh, not opposed to the music, but doing his own moves.”

A white sheet of paper is tacked haphazardly on the soft board in his room, fighting for space with newspaper clippings and memos. ‘It makes no difference at all what anyone thinks of you ? Rumi’

The quote defines Aniruddh’s social, academic, political and activist life. “I like Gayton for the same reason as I love Rumi and Cullel Tibron. I like excesses in people,” he says.

There are hundreds of books in his small room. Books stacked on the tall bookshelf, books piled on his study table, books stashed into large cartons and books on the window-sill. Aniruddh excitedly pulls out a bulging suitcase from under the bedstead. “I bought so many books on my recent trip to Mumbai that I had to buy this suitcase,” he exclaims proudly displaying his brand new copies of Dostoevsky, Renault, Atwood and Ugra.

“These books seemed to say to me, ‘Take me home with you. Read me, please.’ I couldn’t not have bought them,” he laughs gaily. Zimboska, the Polish Nobel Prize winning poet, is Aniruddh’s latest literary love. He speaks of her in the same breath as Eliot and Yates. And Asha Bhosle.

For a Tamil Brahmin with Karnataka classical music lilting through his veins, it is unusual to listen to old Bollywood music. Aniruddh never fails to surprise though. A tiny grey cassette-player rests on a small bedside table. ‘*Lag jaa gale, ki dil abhi?*’ lingers in the momentary
silence of the night.

Aniruddh sings along as he points out a shelf full of neatly stacked cassettes. “I occasionally take a sabbatical from my hyper social life and devote myself to books and music.” Like arts, reading has always been a serious engagement for the entire family.

“As a child, I used to share my sister’s excitement about Malory Towers. Sports? *No-o *way. I was a delicate darling.”

The family was not very surprised when he came out to them. “They must have known. Haven’t they met me ever?” he giggles, pointing out that it is a line from *Will & Grace*.

It was only when he joined a Chennai-based queer group two years ago that he “owned up to his own queer identity”. The group, he says, gave him a sense of camaraderie and the confidence to come out to his family. “Though I belong to an upper middle-class, progressive and liberal family, it is just NOT easy being an out queer.”

Despite the burden of TamBrahm conservatism, Aniruddh’s parents have been extremely supportive of his personal, social and activist life. Few of his friends have altered their attitude towards him since he came out of the closet. “Yet, I have to start from scratch with some people everyday. Their homophobia can affect my interactions and relationships with them,” he sighs.

People now know that it is politically incorrect to articulate homophobia. In fact, to be associated with queer politics is way of being recognized as a progressive intellectual. “I don’t want to fall into the folly of accusing everyone of homophobia,” says Aniruddh, “but it is most difficult to fight
covert homophobics ? those who adopt a convenient, ambivalent attitude.”

Homophobics view the act of coming out as “flaunting one’s folly”. It is a continuing struggle to preserve a space of dignity for the queer community. Aniruddh quotes Amartya Sen ? ‘Silence is the most important enemy to social justice. Silence, at crucial moments, amounts to complicity.’

Aniruddh. Indisputably, one of the most brilliant men I have come across – his company never f
ails to jolt, his humor is infectious. Brilliance is his middle name, his smile sparkles the night sky, dimples that beg to be kissed.