My own story now assumed a new relevance.
Growing up in a predominantly homophobic Australia, I had never identified as a gay man. Family, societal and cultural factors militated against it. It took India, with its bewildering complexity and unique way of embracing ‘the guest as a god’—not to mention its abundance of extremely good-looking young men—to open this shuttered window in my life. When it did, I discovered a whole new world, albeit a largely subterranean one. I also uncovered a part of my psyche that had lain dormant for years.
In writing The Boatman, I have been pushed to articulate what this story is really about and why I feel compelled to share it with others. Was it about sexual addiction? Was it about an adolescence I’d missed growing up in Australia? Was it about living a double life? Was it about immersion in another culture and the awakening that can bring? These were all elements of my story but none could claim to be paramount. The Boatman is, as one person noted, a multi-layered love story—my love for another culture, my passion for its young men, and my immersion in the work I did. It describes an internal journey of discovering, exploring and integrating homosexuality into my life, while I literally journey through the teeming landscape of India. The two happen simultaneously, but the latter made the former possible.
Memoirs can take a long time to write. Often an extensive gestation period is required before the author is ready to tell his or her story. In my case, this was 30 years, during which time I have been in a single relationship for more than 25 years and helped raise two children. As fate would have it, I have also become the grandparent of a child who is part Indian. These experiences and the maturation they have brought have allowed me to write about my time in India from a different vantage point.
Seated before a largely young, and perhaps gay, audience at the Delhi book launch, I felt challenged to connect with them. What did they think about this middle-aged foreigner who sat talking about how India had so dramatically changed his life? How did his story relate to them and their ongoing struggle to achieve equality before the law and acceptance by society? I have no doubt that Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code will be repealed one day, but it will take a massive and persistent effort to sway public opinion sufficiently for India’s lawmakers to take the political risk needed. Telling our stories, individually and collectively, is a key step in this process. If my story can provide the impetus for others to tell theirs, publicly and proudly, then it will have been worthwhile.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My first attempt to write about my life-changing experiences in India was published without my knowledge in an Australian magazine in 1987. I accidentally discovered this when I happened to visit a London bookstore and found a copy of the magazine just as I was walking out the door. Then, fourteen years ago, encouraged by a few kind souls and with the benefit of hindsight, I tried to write a more elaborate and reflective version in the form of a memoir. This has been a long and challenging journey, which I would never have completed, had it not been for a number of people who assisted me in various ways. Among those, I would like to acknowledge the following:
Dianne Highbridge, author and friend, who encouraged me to pursue this project and cheered me along the way; Shyam Selvadurai, whose South Asian novels entranced me, and who took the trouble to respond to my questions; Suzanne Sowinska, of Richard Hugo House (Seattle), who taught me how much I still had to learn about memoir writing and provided many useful clues; David Vann, author and creative writing teacher, whose own memoir touched me deeply and who helped me sort through some thorny issues; Karyle Kramer, Taylor West and Patt Wilson of the Whidbey Island Writers Association, who provided the framework and support I needed to produce chapter after chapter, which they generously critiqued; Mary Lindberg and Barbara Sjoholm of the Author-Editor Clinic (Seattle), whose expertise helped me shape a raw manuscript into a saleable story; Tim Curnow, agent and literary consultant, who guided me through the unfamiliar waters of publishing; and to my former colleagues Duncan Holmes, Sheila Maguire and Bruce Williams, who shared parts of my journey and provided valuable feedback as I attempted to share it with others.
Most of all, I owe much to my good friend and esteemed playwright, Mahesh Dattani, who not only captivated me when we first met but has continued to put up with me ever since. Without him, this memoir would not have been published.
Australian-born John Burbidge has lived and worked in Belgium, Canada, India and the United States. For many years, he was communications director for an international NGO engaged in community and organizational development, before becoming an independent writer/editor. His articles on a variety of subjects have appeared in magazines, newspapers, periodicals and books in several countries. He has edited volumes on civil society, rural development and memoirs, and is the author of a biography of Australian writer, Gerald Glaskin. He lives with his husband in Washington State, USA.
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