Rohit Bal was the official name of a man and a legend whose passing the world will mourn, but Gudda is what we call him. I first met him when I was 14 years old. Afraid to breathe and exist as a gay man in India, I found in Gudda solace and comfort, a sense of belonging and the ability to have lofty dreams and a voice. For 38 years he was my pillar of strength, and when poor health crippled me and I saw my life hanging on the phone, his daily calls, funny messages and naughty pictures made me feel loved and cared for.
“I love you so much you know, I’ve loved you since you were 14.” I received this message on WhatsApp at 5:04 pm, a few minutes before I left to see him at the hospital. Since we were close, this message was perfect for him. When I got to her room, she greeted me with a series of requests to bring her to her doctor. I ran to the nurse’s station and was told that the doctor had finished me in the morning and would be back later. This news did not please Gudda, but she smiled at me and invited me to sit by her bed.
I remember him staring at my brightly colored and diaphanous kurta. When I asked if he agreed with the clothes I chose, he simply said that he was upset that I wasn’t wearing one of his clothes, but I looked very beautiful. That was Gudda to you, always kind and gracious. But the next minute he was screaming as he beat his chest and complained that he was getting scared. I grabbed his attendant, a nurse came, then a doctor. He was put to sleep, soon the Doctor assured me that Gudda will be fine and I can leave and come back later.
When I got home, I asked Parabjot Bali, my friend who had visited Jammu, if he could go with me to buy flowers for the dining table. We ordered lots of Casablanca lilies, my favorite. On impulse I added 10 spears of tuberose to the order, out of my comfort zone, as tuberoses don’t usually grab my attention. Parab and I were arranging flowers in a vase similar to the one Gudda had given me when I returned to India from the United States. After that I called Gudda’s Brand Head Tasnim and told him everything that happened at the hospital, but Tasnim intervened and told me that Gudda passed away a few minutes ago. I was shocked and in total disbelief, feeling like I was in a weird movie scene.
The fact that I had left Gudda sleeping soundly and received the message of his passing within half an hour meant that I was with him in his last moments. It gave me the feeling that this was all planned and destined. Why else would I choose a flower I didn’t like and make it part of my main collection? Tuberoses were Gudda’s favorite cut flower.
I feel lucky that I was the rare person who could scold Gudda, push him to do things he didn’t want to do, and show him the light when he couldn’t see anything. I was allowed to teach him and embarrass him so that he would be kind to him. He often talked to me about his incredibly kind family—brothers who lusted after him, sisters who spoiled him with the gift of unconditional love, nephews who treated him like a star and a hero, and nephews with whom he had a special bond. relationship. Her childhood friends from Jor Bagh, where she grew up, to those she met as she danced her way into her 30s and 40s – all these loving people make Gudda shine and welcome success with open arms.
I lost my friend Gudda on Friday evening in a battle with a weak heart that could not keep up with his great will to live. He worked hard to create a fashion that was as old as India and modern. India has lost its leading and inspiring fashion designer, a pioneer who showed us what haute couture was all about, a designer who trained our minds and hearts to appreciate the details that make design an artform. The world lost a person who saw in another a link to his soul and an opportunity for communication that could change the situation, unite hearts and minds, and help heal all that was tearing our collective apart.
My heart goes out to the extended Bal family. I appreciate how well they have done so much of what Gudda has done with their support of him and his work. Gudda helped me stand on my feet as a 14-year-old living in India without any gay icon. This very son, brother, and uncle have given his family much to be proud of. I find myself not mourning his passing but celebrating a man who was rarer than rare, at the height of his legend, and a deeply generous soul and friend. The clothes I have that were designed by him, the memories he left me with, and the smells and sounds I associate with him, will always be embedded in my mind, keeping Gudda and his history alive and quickly accessible in my heart, in my mind. and the soul. I’ve never learned to dance, and now he’s not here to teach me, but I’m sure he expects me to join him when my time comes, and we’ll dance to the beat of a song we both love. a lot.
The author is a chef, writer, teacher and world traveler