Why Brown Men Should Never Come Out to Their Parents

(wait up... hear me out)

Growing up, I had seen enough. The disapproving glances when a gay character popped up on TV. The whispers among aunties about "that one relative" who never married. The unspoken but ever-present expectation that I would follow the script: get a good job, marry a nice girl, and have kids. Coming out? Ha! That was a luxury for people who didn’t grow up in a brown household.

Let’s be real,why should brown men never come out? Well, first off, we brown folks thrive on secrecy. It’s practically a family heirloom. Your uncle could have an entire second family in another country, and everyone would pretend they didn’t see the obvious signs. Your cousin could mysteriously go from "studying abroad" to "married with twins" in the span of a weekend. But you? You decide to be honest about who you are? Suddenly, the whole family turns into investigative journalists, demanding explanations, evidence, and probably a PowerPoint presentation.

Then there’s the issue of parental expectations. You could cure cancer, build a spaceship to Mars, and personally bring Amitabh Bachchan a cup of tea, but if you’re not married to a nice girl by 30, you have failed. And don't get me started on the aunties. If a brown man comes out, it's like they’ve been personally insulted. "But what will people say?!" Because clearly, Mrs. Patel from two streets over gets the final say on your life choices.

But here’s the twist: I did it anyway.

Scene: The Great Brotherly Verdict – A Bollywood-Worthy Revelation

(Interior: Family Home – A Dramatic Setup)

I had decided to test the waters with my brother first. It felt like one of those over-the-top Bollywood courtroom scenes where the accused (me) stands before the skeptical judge (my brother) and a jury of imaginary, judgmental aunties in my head.

Me: "I have something to tell you. It's serious."

(My brother leans in, expecting me to confess to something truly scandalous,like failing an exam or, worse, saying no to an extra serving of biryani.)

Me: "I'm gay."

(A beat. Dramatic pause. Cue thunder rumbling in the background that only I can hear. My brother bursts out laughing, fully believing this is some kind of joke.)

Brother: "Haha, good one, Motabhai**! Wait... you’re serious?"

(Suddenly, the world slows down. Camera zooms in on my face as beads of sweat trickle down my forehead. I nod. The music swells. A single tear? No, but emotionally, it was there.)

And then, just like that, the grand twist,my brother looks at me, eyes filled with what I could only describe as brotherly indifference, and says:

Brother: "Motabhai, you’re my brother. Nothing changes."

(The jury of aunties in my head gasped. The imaginary courtroom erupted into chaos. But in reality, nothing exploded. No dramatic rejection. No disownment. Just... love?)

That moment gave me hope. Maybe, just maybe, my parents wouldn’t react as badly as I feared.

*"Motabhai" means older brother for all you Hindi-speaking folks, not fat brother!!

The Car Ride of Doom

Fast forward to a car ride with my dad. Out of nowhere, he asked, "Son, are you gay?"

I swear, in that moment, every ounce of moisture in my body migrated to my palms. My throat dried up like I’d just swallowed a fistful of cinnamon powder. Was there a way to jump out of the moving car without causing a scene? Probably not.

I panicked. "No, dad! Of course not! Hahaha...ha." (Yes, I actually laughed nervously like some villain in a bad Bollywood movie.)

But we still had five more minutes of this hellish journey, and the air in the car was thick with suspicion. I could feel sweat trickling down my back, and suddenly, my seatbelt felt like a noose. My dad wasn’t even looking at me. He just kept driving, waiting.

And then, just before we pulled into the shop, I exhaled and said, "Yes, dad. I am."

Silence. My stomach did a full Olympic gymnastics routine.

Then, finally, he spoke. "You're still my son, but society and your mother... that's what worries me."

Not perfect, but not the disownment I had braced for. Classic brown dad, always more concerned with what the neighbors will think than their own feelings. I mentally noted to send a thank-you card to the universe for small mercies.

The Aftermath: A Slow Burn of Acceptance

My mom took it the hardest. She cried, blamed herself, and searched for reasons why this had happened. "Was it something I ate when I was pregnant?" "Did I let you watch too much Bollywood?" I had to stop her spiral real quick. I reminded her that she was one of millions of mothers with gay sons. That this wasn’t a mistake, but simply nature at work.

The conversations weren’t easy. They happened over months, not minutes. Every time I thought the dust had settled, another round of questioning would begin. It felt less like coming out and more like a never-ending dramatic serial on Star Plus, with new plot twists every week.

One day, my mum would be silent, avoiding eye contact as she stirred the daal with a little too much aggression. The next day, she’d sit me down and ask, "Beta, maybe you just haven’t met the right girl yet? What about Priya aunty’s** daughter? She’s very modern!" And I’d sigh, knowing we were about to go through another emotional rollercoaster.

**Priya aunty is a made-up name because, let’s be honest, if the real one ever found out, I’d be getting disowned at the next family wedding.

There were moments I truly believed she might throw the velan at me, especially the time I casually mentioned a gay couple on TV and she responded with a dramatic gasp that would have made any Bollywood actress proud.

But over time, slowly but surely, the resistance softened. The interrogations turned into curious questions, and eventually, quiet acceptance. And then,one day, I saw the impossible: my ultra-traditional parents walking beside me at London Pride. If teenage me had seen that, he would have fainted on the spot. My mother, the same woman who once blamed Bollywood for corrupting my mind, was now waving a tiny rainbow flag. My dad, always the stoic one, muttered, "Just don’t tell Mrs. Patel." (This last sentence was fictional just to add some bollywood flair)

Progress, my friends. Progress.

As an Gay mindset coach, I now see how common this experience is. The battle between cultural identity and personal truth is something many brown men go through. And let’s be real, our parents' initial reactions aren’t entirely their fault. They were raised in a world that didn’t teach them acceptance. But they can learn. Mine did.

Why Brown Men Should Still Come Out

Because no matter what we do, we will be judged. So why not be judged for being real? Authenticity is scary, yes, but suffocating in secrecy is worse.

Because the burden of hiding who you are is heavier than the fear of rejection. And when we stand in our truth, we make it easier for those who come after us.

Because sometimes, the people we fear will never accept us... surprise us in ways we never imagined.

And because freedom tastes better than the best biryani you've ever had. Trust me on this one.

As a mindset coach, I work with clients to break free from these cultural and societal chains. Coming out isn’t just about telling others, it’s about accepting yourself first. That shift in mindset changes everything.

Wish I Knew Sooner:

1. You are not responsible for your parents' feelings. Their disappointment, confusion, or worry is not your burden to carry. I’ve worked with so many clients who have spent years trying to manage their parents' emotions, walking on eggshells just to avoid "rocking the boat." But here’s the truth, it's not your job to be their emotional punching bag. Your identity is not a problem to be fixed; it’s a truth to be embraced.

   
   

2. Your existence is not up for debate. People will argue about your identity like it’s a political topic. Don’t waste your breath; you don’t need approval to be yourself. One of my clients once told me that he spent years debating with family members about why being gay wasn’t "a phase." And you know what happened? He just exhausted himself while they kept clinging to their outdated beliefs. You are not a TED Talk on queer identity, live your life and let people catch up at their own pace (or don’t, that’s their problem!).

   
   

3. Love will find you. Yes, even when you think you’re doomed to be the ‘shameful family secret,’ you’ll find your people – and maybe, just maybe, your family will become one of them. One client shared how he thought he would never find a partner because his own family barely accepted him. Flash forward two years, and not only did he find love, but his parents also attended his wedding (begrudgingly at first, but now they act like they single-handedly legalized gay marriage just by showing up at the wedding).

   
   

4. Cultural identity is complex, but it doesn’t have to be suffocating. You don’t have to pick between being brown and being queer. You are both, and that is powerful. I remember feeling like I had to "choose", was I going to be the obedient Indian son or the out-and-proud gay man? Turns out, I didn’t have to choose. I could be both, and so can you. And if people tell you otherwise? Just give them the polite head tilt and say, "Arre yaar, times have changed."

   
   

5. A good coach can help you navigate this. I wish I had one when I was younger. Knowing your worth makes facing rejection (or fear of rejection) a lot easier. I work with clients all the time who tell me they feel "stuck", trapped between their family's expectations and their own happiness. But with the right mindset shifts and support, they go from hiding in the shadows to living boldly and unapologetically. And honestly? Watching that transformation is like watching a Bollywood hero finally defeat the villain, utterly satisfying.

   
   

I wish you all the best on your journey. And if you ever want to reach out, you’re always welcome!