Only Connect

I start this post by letting my faithful followers know that I am going to be away for the next few days. This should not normally pose a problem as there is usually access to an internet connection and, therefore, the possibility of a blog update. However, the country I am going to has just opened its first internet cafe a few months ago, so I'm fairly unsure about my connectivity. I haven't received my passport from the Embassy involved, so I'm not so sure about travel plans. In brief: if you don't see an update here for about ten or twelve days: DO NOT PANIC!

Back to more important things. At the risk of sounding as though I've been blogging since birth, I once wrote a piece here about how being gay in Pakistan had certain inbuilt advantages. One of these lies in being able to cut through the cliques and groups which constitute Pakistani social life. Married people are usually the biggest defaulters here preferring to cling to school friends and work colleagues. Being gay doesn't mean having to write off the considerable luggage that comes with being Pakistani (third cousins twice removed) but it does allow you to peek outside the confines of The Rules. If you're truly brave, you can even step out.

This line of thinking has its roots in the intermingling that has recently taken place between many of my straight and gay friends. Like many around me, I have compartmentalised my life into "gay" and "straight" boxes out of fear of causing offence. I have tried to shield my gay friends from never ending monologues on the importance of the right school or the best family holiday destination. Likewise, I have tried to protect my straight friends from an off-colour conversation on oral sex or the best crusing joints in town. Sometimes, I have had to protect some of my gay friends from other gay friends. At one dinner, I hosted there was outrage when an outspoken friend went up to a straight woman and said "What does it feel like to be married to the only heterosexual man in this room." The hostility generated by that one remark produced enough energy to light up a large town.

So, given this background, I was practicing some kind of apartheid. And, apartheid, we now know is terrible. I have, therefore, decided to tear down as many barriers as I can. My experiment has been a resounding success. "Who is this guy?" "He's amazing!" "How come you've kept him away from us so long." And so on. I guess the best policy is just to lie back and let people figure things out for themselves. People have to discover their own abilities to connect. If they fail that is their problem. I simply have to stop being quite as protective as I have been in the past.

Back to "connections." E. M. Forster used "only connect" as the tagline (sorry EM, you'd never have used that word) to many of his novels. A theme based around people and cultures struggling to meet against the odds. This cuts against the grain when it comes to the complacency of Pakistani social life with people meeting within rapidly diminishing circles-within-circles. You must remember that there are no bars here or similar meeting places where people can drop their reserves and connect with complete strangers. I often challenge my Pakistani to friends to ask when they last spoke to a complete stranger in a social setting. Heck, when did you last flash a smile to a complete stranger ?

As with all urges, the urge to connect needs to be tempered with patience. One of the most endearing moments this week came from a friend with whom I've been talking, but we've never actually met as yet. In connect-mode, I rushed to make some hasty plan which involved my dashing to see him in between connecting flights. I was politely reassured that we would meet, but that not connecting at all was better than connecting in those circumstances. That he was not running away and that we would meet, when we were both comfortable with it. Deep Breath. He's right.