A Group Workshop for Gay Men in India: Breaking From Tradition
James Fishman, LCSW, CGP

I recently returned from a two-year sabbatical in India where I was studying spiritual philosophy and exploring many Eastern spiritual practices. Upon finishing my sabbatical, I traveled for several weeks through India and visited several large, cosmopolitan cities. In the course of my travels, I met with a circle of gay-identified Indian men. Because of my background as an openly gay man from the West with experience as a psychotherapist within the gay community, several of these men opened up to me about the challenges of being gay-identified, in their 30s, in India at this time in history.

We talked quite openly about the conditions of gay men in contemporary India. I had known, for example, that the recent Indian film with an openly lesbian theme (Fire) had been banned in Bombay (Mumbai). I had heard that the police of Bombay had cracked down on private gay parties and had made arrests. I also knew that the AIDS epidemic was spreading unchecked throughout India and that the Indian government was making half-hearted attempts to educate the public without uttering the word “homosexual.”

What I had not known, however, was the subjective experience of the urban, younger, well-educated class of self-identified gay men (say, 20–40 years of age)—many of whom traveled to the West and got a glimpse of a much more open, gay-affirmative culture. In India, in a culture where men and women are socialized separately and sex before marriage is frequently taboo, much sexual experimentation occurs between men. This experience is not, per se, considered homosexual. In fact, sex between men, I was told, is not even construed as sex; rather, it is called “mischief.”

However, an increasing number of younger men are now gay-identified, and a gay subculture is beginning to flourish. Most gay urban centers in India now are connected by a gay hotline, and may even have a newsletter and perhaps even a self-led rap group. However, psychotherapy and the “language of feelings” are far more Western concepts.

While I did meet several long-term gay male couples in their 40s and 50s, a frequent issue facing young urban Indian gay men is the plethora of opportunities to have sex with men, but the dearth of opportunities to create deeper, more honest, enduring, and intimate relationships. It is into this milieu that I walked and was handed an unusual opportunity—to create a workshop for gay men to explore the themes of intimacy, feelings about being gay, and the whole cluster of issues surrounding relationships.

Through word of mouth, the meeting was pulled together in less than five days. Seven men, plus myself, participated. One of the men—the only one to have had experience with therapy and group dynamics while living in America—was quite interested in group processes and was hoping to learn some group skills to utilize among the gay community. He was an informal host of the event; the group met in his apartment. He will be called Manish.

I explained the ground rules: honesty, the concept of here-and-now, confidentiality, responding to others with “I” statements. We did an opening exercise and introductions. I self-identified as a gay therapist from San Francisco. Given our time constraints, we had just under two hours.

Members trickled in from their work-a-day world, so personal introductions occurred gradually. Several of the men knew each other previously. During this awkward “pre-group” period, one member, whom I will call Ashok, filled the silences with his accounts of travels abroad. The anxiety in the room was palpable, including my own discomfort from suddenly resuming a therapist role, in a foreign country, no less, after a two-year sabbatical.

Finally, when all the expected members had arrived, we did an opening exercise involving identifying goals for the evening. People shared their goals, as well as their feelings about being together, in a “check-in” fashion. Many expressed nervousness about talking on a deeper level, and how risky this felt, especially being with a group of gay men unaccustomed to social chat or politics. Most people focused on the lack of relationship, the hardships of living at home with parents, and the immense pressures to get married and have a family. Once the group officially started, Ashok grew noticeably silent.

The last person to arrive came 15 minutes late, and he was a beloved and familiar figure to people in the group—somewhat effeminate and perhaps more stereotypically gay-appearing than the others. In his quiet and unassuming way, this man, called Hari, dropped a bombshell in check-in. Hari announced to the group that he was about to get married to a woman in an “arranged marriage” and that he no longer planned to embrace a gay lifestyle. He also asked the group whether or not he should stay for the remainder of the workshop.

Many questions cropped up in my mind. Why was he choosing to come to a gay men’s workshop the week before his wedding? Was this an expression of his ambivalence? Did he wish to be talked out of the marriage? Would the group now get derailed into spending the entire workshop focusing on Hari’s identity conflicts? How were other members in the group reacting to this? How should I intervene? Should I intervene at all?

The group was silent, a kind of silence that felt painful, deep, and wounded. Several factual questions were asked. Hari looked uncomfortable. In a split-second judgment call, I finally spoke: “Hari, we’re in a dilemma here. Regardless of whether or not you choose to get married, you are welcome to stay and participate. However, it is a workshop for gay men. If you feel okay about identifying yourself as a gay man, you are welcome to stay. If that does not feel okay, then I would ask you to leave.”

He wrapped his scarf around his neck, got up from the sofa, and headed out the door. One member of the group, Sandeep, went with him, obviously concerned. When Sandeep returned to the room, Manish could contain his feelings no longer. He began to weep. “This is what I can hardly bear. This is so hurtful. I’m so tired of each of us struggling alone, isolated and lonely. I need other people. I need to connect. I’m so tired of us dropping away, one by one, giving in to this family pressure. It’s so lonely keeping all this inside. As gay men, all we seem to be able to do is to have sex.”

Sandeep seemed eager to reassure Manish, to soften the wounds, to make him feel better. I stopped Sandeep from doing this because I sensed his compassion sprang partly from his own discomfort with seeing/feeling another’s pain. “Sandeep, can you look at your own experience right now? You seem to be trying to ‘fix’ Manish, but what’s going on for you?” Sandeep was taken aback by this intervention, but he quickly recognized that was his pattern, that he found it almost unbearable to see someone else in pain without “helping.” I suggested he was helping Manish, just by allowing Manish to have his feelings.

At this point, Ashok broke his long silence and expressed the urge to run out of the room right away. “I don’t know why, but I can hardly sit in the room.” I told him that he certainly could leave if he chose to, but I recommended he try to stay in the room and to identify the source of his anxiety. I suggested he take a few deep breaths. He then identified what was so scary: “I’m not used to sitting in a room with a group of gay men talking like this. We usually chit-chat, or talk about gossip or fun things. This is so unfamiliar. I usually am the one to keep conversations moving. In fact, I did it tonight, before the group officially started. I always feel I have to do that.”

The group began to hone in on the underlying pain, isolation, and pressures of being a gay man in urban India. What lay at the heart of all the hardship was the impossible bind, the no-win situation of loving one’s family and honoring immense ties to tradition versus honoring one’s authentic erotic nature. It sometimes even boiled down to sheer economics in a country where familial support is crucial—needing the family’s financial support to cope with, set up in life, getting positioned into a comfortable niche, with a home, with security, with blessings. India is a country embedded in tradition, and strong family ties are at the core of this tradition. Yet, all this collided with the undeniable need to live a life as a gay man. It was too late to turn back the clock. They knew too much about themselves and their needs to pretend to hide in a hollow marriage.

To counter all the despair being aired in the room, one young man in his mid-twenties revealed his own solution to this dilemma. “I’m married, but I’m married to a lesbian. And we each go our own separate ways. I bring boyfriends home; she has a girlfriend. It works perfectly for us.” He did mention that his parents had both died long ago, but he was raised by an aunt and the pressures were still there.

Ashok expressed amazement at this solution. “It’s never occurred to me that this could be a solution. This is incredible!” It was almost time to wrap up; we had only one-half hour remaining. Once again, I led the group into an exercise of checking in with their feelings to see what each could take away from this workshop.

The youngest member of the group, aged 22, said, “Tonight has helped me realize how truly luck I am. I do have close gay men friends. We can hug, we can cry, we can tell each other our problems. I never realized how fortunate I am. I want to go to each of them and given them a big hug.”

Sandeep took away the realization that he always tries to “fix” uncomfortable situations, and that he was learning that he wasn’t quite at ease with his own feelings as he thought. Manish said he was “blown away” by the evening. He was happy that people shared so freely and felt a sense of profound relief and even exhilaration.

Ashok said that he no longer felt like running out of the room, that he felt oddly peaceful and at ease. He was glad he stayed.

The man married to the lesbian said, “I hadn’t realized I had that much to contribute. But I’m seeing that my solution could be something others might try.”

As the facilitator, I shared how moved I felt at the level of feeling expressed and how touched I was by their honesty; it seemed people were so ripe for this kind of connection. I also shared my dilemma about how to react to Hari’s marriage announcement. I didn’t want him to feel unwelcome, but that I also feared that the group might have spent two hours on one person’s situation at the expense of the whole group’s needs.

The workshop ended exactly at 9:00 p.m., even though people lingered in the apartment and mingled. There was energy and excitement in the air. I had to get to the airport by 10:00 p.m. to pick up a friend arriving from America. People said goodbye to me individually. The youngest member said, “What the heck,” and gave me a hug.

Finally Ashok came up to me, giving me the highest compliment of all. He said, “You know, I don’t usually like white guys. But—for a white guy—you’re all right.”

This article was reprinted with permission from the Spring 2000 issue of the NCGPS Newsletter. It was published in the October/November 2000 issue of The Group Circle.