I recently read The Tree, The Well and the Drag Queen by Salini Vineeth. I picked it up with absolutely no clue about the story. What drew me in was the promise of magical realism and folklore, and before I knew it, I was immersed in a world that felt both enchanting and deeply human.
What I did not expect was the realisation that I may not understand gender diversity as well as I thought I did.
Without divulging much information, I would say that, through the protagonist’s journey, I encountered concepts such as gender fluidity in a way I never had before. I found myself walking alongside a character trying to make sense of who they were while navigating ridicule, confusion, exclusion, and the weight of societal expectations.
A haunting feeling lingered with me throughout the story.
The feeling of loneliness. The pain of not being understood. The exhaustion of constantly having to explain yourself. And above all, the deeply human desire to be accepted as you are.
As I sat with these thoughts after finishing the book, I found myself revisiting some spiritual ideas I had encountered while growing up—particularly the idea of the soul.
Across religions, and especially in many Hindu schools of thought, the soul (atman) is often described as something beyond the physical body, beyond gender, and beyond worldly distinctions. Other traditions speak of the divine as a balance of masculine and feminine energies. Interpretations may differ, but a common thread seems to emerge: there is often more to existence than what is immediately visible.
That thought lingered with me.
The fact that we do not yet have a complete explanation for something does not automatically make it unreal. Sometimes it simply means our understanding is still evolving.
We accept that the universe holds mysteries. We acknowledge that there are dimensions of existence we may never fully comprehend. If we can leave room for mystery in spirituality and faith, perhaps we can also leave room for experiences that are different from our own.
It made me wonder: if we can acknowledge complexity in the cosmos, in consciousness, and in spirituality, why do we so often insist that every human experience must fit neatly into a limited set of categories?
The reason I thought of these spiritual ideas is not because they explain everything. They don’t. But they remind me that life is often more complex than our definitions. We continue to learn, question, and revise our understanding of the world around us. Perhaps we owe the same openness to people’s lived experiences, too.
If I am being honest, I still do not fully understand every experience that falls under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella. Reading definitions is one thing; understanding lived experiences is another. Sometimes I worry that my understanding is limited by my own assumptions, yet asking questions can feel awkward, too, because I never want curiosity to come across as insensitivity.
Perhaps that is why stories matter so much. Books, films, and personal narratives allow us to step into others’ lives. They do not provide all the answers, but they help us replace assumptions with understanding and judgment with empathy.
When I read about the protagonist’s childhood and growing-up years, my heart ached for them. Imagine never quite belonging anywhere. Being constantly judged, ridiculed, or dismissed for simply being yourself. Having little support from the people whose acceptance matters most. Carrying confusion, self-doubt, and guilt while trying to understand your own identity.
It felt exhausting even to read about it. I could only imagine what it must be like to live through it.
What kind of world are we creating if some people wake up every day feeling unseen, unwelcome, or afraid to be themselves?
And yet, when I met the drag queen—the powerful, unapologetic persona the protagonist eventually embraced—the story transformed. There was strength where there had once been fear, confidence where there had once been uncertainty, and hope where there had once been loneliness.
What stayed with me was not the transformation itself, but the fresh air of freedom that came with it.
For the first time, it felt as though the protagonist was no longer trying to fit into someone else’s idea of who they should be.
Reading those chapters made me wonder how much easier life would be if people were not constantly asked to justify who they are. If only, acceptance came instead of judgment, and understanding instead of assumptions.
The book reminded me that behind every label is a person carrying hopes, fears, insecurities, dreams, and a desire to be accepted. In that sense, perhaps we are not as different from one another as we sometimes think.
Maybe that is all most people really want—a place where they can be themselves without fear, without explanations, and without feeling that they need to earn the right to exist.
PS: This post is part of #BlogchatterBlogHop.
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