The Apple Tree What is gender to you? To me, it had lost all meaning. I never found shelter in the label’s “men” or “women”. People around me, I wondered, were much simpler towards their approach to their sexual preferences. They weren’t as confused as I was, at least. Well, I wouldn’t have had a bigger opportunity anyway, because how far could a farmer’s son leap in life? From childhood, I had seen handful lot around me- the conservative societal bigotry, like poorly cemented buildings, crumbling onto each other at several instances- more specifically at times when someone opposes to their feudal school of thought, a neighbourhood where girls were born only to get married at a tender age or wash the utensils, a battlefield of patriarchy where men were allowed to raise their hand on women, and women only had to be patient and bear the brutality and a circus where dreams and emotions were juggled. In school, I was teased, bullied and in most of the times, beaten up. School life saw a few or no friends by my side and all I could see was the popular dating lives of a few, bunking classes or playing out in the field. I never had a dating life as such, neither could I bunk classes (It was more or less forbidden, rather, because my parents were “paying for the education, not to see you having fun or rather living”) nor did anyone take me to play. I had seen so much, felt them at large, that unconsciously I gifted myself with the hobby of writing and portraying my point of view on the society. We were a lower middle-class joint family of seven, but my father and uncle earned enough from the farming business. Soon, I got to learn the actual reason as to why I couldn’t find my way amongst my classmates or why almost every member of my family was taunted or abused in their spheres of life. This lesson came not from my parents, but from those very people around me, that I was of a lower caste being one meant that you would be treated as a disease on the verge of infected the “healthy people”. Present relatable much? I often took solace in the shelter of the elderly…… apple tree, of course, near the quiet lake from where the opposite ghat could be seen. That was my writing desk, my escape from the daily chores, from reality. The tender grasses were more of a preferable cushion than the chair in my home, made with wood and surrounded with the constant taunts of me being an average student. After the usual portrayal of the society, I felt motivated to write a piece on myself and what I was, what I wanted in life but I was still confused whenever it came to men and women. I was sixteen, I could never figure that out and therefore those pages remained blank in the old diary I used for writing. After a few days, I remember, a couple of boys gathered near the tree. I feared being teased or maybe bullied because of my caste of maybe because of me being me, but to my surprise they were only interested in the apples. After plucking, gathering and tasting a few, while they were leaving, my eyes remained fixated on him. I couldn’t help but notice his curly hair that looked so like a cluster of clouds, keeping calm, letting his eyes do the talking and his crooked smile. I, somehow, did sense a fear that day after I noticed him, a fear which I could not define. He, although failed to notice me, or did so as what I thought. I returned back home that day, with a heavier heart and a confused mind but what saddened me more was that I had been careless enough to leave my diary and pen out there and I do not know whether foolishly or unconsciously, did I come back with only the apple. From the time I saw him, I made such silly mistakes which had never been a part of my life. I rushed back to that spot of mine, but that diary was no longer there. Two days had passed by and to me it felt like I had lost someone very close to me, very open to me and a place where my thoughts would find their escape. I went back to that place, sat down, with a loose body and a heavy heart. I had given up. Two days became four and the four turned into nights of me weeping, staring at the ceiling which was as blank as my mind had become after the loss of some of my most precious thoughts. As it neared to a month, I slowly started revisiting the old tree- the shadow no longer comforted me, the stagnant river water bothered me and for the first time in a while I could actually hear the commotion near the ghat, opposite to me. My perceptions had turned upside down and I lay still over there for a while trying to fall asleep. When I woke up with the thought of rushing back towards my home, as it was past lunch time, I felt I was being watched. I turned back only to make myself believe that maybe it was just a piece of my dream that made me think I was being watched. I slowly got up and started running back towards my home as I was late. While I was running, I could still feel a sense of being followed, so I ran faster and reached the slab near the front door, panting. I turned back again, only to talk to myself and say, “Am I actually turning crazy because of a diary?” But that diary was the force that held my sanity for a long time. The next day, as soon as I woke up, mother entered the room and slammed the diary on my desk as somebody had kept it on the slab, below the door, which she had discovered in the morning. I soon found myself being lectured on how books and copies are God, and that how I’m unable to realise that. I didn’t pay heed to that lecture as in my mind I had a sense of tension, nervousness and joy on seeing that diary again which I had considered lost. Every page remained intact, except the blank page; the pages of confusion, where my mind wandered around both the sex’s, where my heart was too shy to admit my preference in the sex, there were words, that made my diary complete. I had found a new person…. my diary had found a new writer. He had written in the first two of the blank pages about how he seconds my views on the society and how the society looks upon certain people of the lower caste. He also gave his opinions where he seemed to differ. I smiled. But what struck to me so much was all that he had written in the third blank page. It was a letter: ‘Dear confused and damned, This is going to be quite difficult for me to say because I have been a shy and scared man, running away from my fear and the from the constant interference of the society in my life for so long, just like you. Well, the fear had taken such a huge toll on me, so much so, that I slowly disguised myself as a straight guy in his teens and solid pyjamas, trying my best to get attracted to girls. I just couldn’t. While you were made to think so, I categorised myself, as being abnormal, a misfit in the societal puzzle, as, like yourself too, I could see that other boys of my age were only attracted to girls and either in books or gossips, that was held to be ideal. When I saw you at first, that day, under the apple tree, there was something unusual about you, like not in any bad way, but you were not like the others. I remember, you were staring at me and whilst I pretended to not care about that, because for obvious reasons, as I was with my friends. I noticed your eyes, just the eyes. I crushed on them… a little, maybe. Then by the time I would reach towards your lips, we had finished picking up the apples, although I did notice a scar just below your left eye and I kept asking myself “Could that be any more perfect for a fit in the weirdly flawed yet attractive face?” I waited for you, that entire month, when probably you would have wept, blaming yourself, for my fault, I felt. I waited, each day, by the tree, after my friends left. I had to apologise to you, but just like you had given up hope on this diary to be found, I had given up hope to see you again. Foolish of me, today, while I am writing this letter, I realised that I had started falling for you, those days, those moments when I waited for you. But today I fear neither what your reply is going to be nor of this letter landing in the hands of the two-faced society. Yes, I do not know your name, but I am glad that I had followed you back that day, when you were hurrying back home. I knew I had to return your diary, but I never knew how or where. To conclude this, I have just a few things to say. Yes, I am a coward, that is why it took me so long to realise this. I love you. You do not have to think much about this, you may even feel differently and that is absolutely fine. I’ll wait, because you’re worth it. You’re probably wondering that it is only because even you are oriented towards men and that I will not find any more of such in this town, is why I am saying all of this. But if that had been true, I had not taken time out of my life to fill the three blank pages of your diary, of your life. Maybe it is not enough. But I promise you that whatever your answer is, you’ll always be there with me, dressed in my writings…. because I, too, have a knack for writing, poetry, in general. Whenever you’re ready with your answer, be there, near the tree. Yours, Another confused and damned (P.S.- Sorry for such an informal proposal. You see, I have only been able to muster up the courage that pushed me to own up to myself. Don’t mind.) My hands were shaking, pupils dilated and I had absolutely no clue about what just happened. I did not know what I should have thought or what should I have kept in my mind but I decided to visit the apple tree quite soon. But did my affections bear the same fruit, like his did? I couldn’t figure that out, but all I knew was that I did not want to lose him. He accepted me for what I was, for the person I was, he had similar thoughts like I had and reading those three pages, it felt as if I wrote all of that for me, but in a better way. Keeping the diary to himself for so long was something I didn’t appreciate, but he found out the missing words and meaning of the blank pages, he probably gave me some strength into accepting my sexual orientation and not being afraid of what others would say. He completed my diary, he completed me. I went and stood by the tree, the next day, awaiting his presence. No one turned up. I waited sitting on the grass, with my back tilted onto the tree. I also saw that the apples were fallen on the ground and no one had come to pick them up. Soon enough I started believing, no matter how impossible it was to, that all of it was a lie, that I had been pranked upon, yet again, by the society. My eyes had gotten heavy carrying the feeling of being cheated and falsely being made to feel alike by one, whereas I resigned back to my own thought that probably I was alone and I would have to live alone by myself. Suddenly I had that feeling of being watched, again. Yeah, some of you might have predicted already, he was there. But trust me, I can’t even express how I felt. I was absorbing all the emotions one by one. He walked towards me with slow, marked steps and I could sense his shyness and fear of rejection in those steps. He came and slowly sad down beside me. I wiped down all the tears that were awaiting to slip down my cheeks. He looked at me and his eyes awaited my answer. But I decided to ask him a question before giving him my answer. “What if people around us, our parents get to know about this?” “That is a good question. Well do me a favour. Look at the reflection of the sunset on the water. Isn’t it just a pleasant sight?’ he replied. I couldn’t figure why he would change the topic, but a peculiar thing was that I used to enjoy the sunset’s reflection on the water once, but after I lost my diary, I hated that. “Now look over there, on the opposite ghat. Two men are being questioned by a local pandit. They seem to have only been swimming. But that might have been wrong, in a way, to that pandit there. I’m sorry to have taken a slight drift from the topic, but all I want to say is that five different people might have five different perceptions in no matter what you do. Today out of the five, four hold you at fault for being attracted to men. So, people are entitled to their views but that does not mean that we should stop living, stop accepting who we are, right? Long point cut short, I won’t give up on you, at least not because of the society and if someday we are separated, I’ll just be glad enough for the time I got to spend with you and for the fact that you existed, in my life.” he added. I kept staring at him while he continued to explain it to me and I was quite sure now what I had to say or do. When he finished, he asked me what I had decided. “I don’t know what to say, you know. I guess I’m just lucky that from now on I’ll be sharing my shade, my personal space with you, I’ll finally have someone with whom I can watch the sunsets kiss the river, with whom I can talk anything and everything under this tree, who shares my passion of writing and who could finally complete the blank pages of my diary.” I spoke. “So, does that mean a yes?” he asked I held an apple, took a bite and gave it to him. He smiled. An unusual proposal deserved an unusual acceptance. Yes, I did love him. The colour was red and the word was not love, it was life. At one time I was sad and heavy and the next moment I had these butterflies in my stomach when he would come each day, at time when his friends would go away and we would share an apple. “Do you know how lucky we are? People in our society, or at least in our part of the town, doubt a girl and a boy standing together and some even turn out to be not lovers but brothers and sisters.” “Besides we are two boys. Our society will probably never accept us together but two boys sitting together? Yeah that’s “normal” and accepted by the society and as far as non-acceptance goes, I’ll stick by your side even then.”, he said and we shared a laugh together. His name is not that important. I did not know his name until the day after I accepted his proposal, which is the first detail we ask someone. But even after knowing his name or little details about his life, my perception about him didn’t change, neither did my love for him. All I knew, was that he wouldn’t leave my side because as they say: “You can never really die if a writer loves you.” I guess, I was finally prepared to face this life, in a person, that I had met, under the apple tree.