The first time I was distinctly aware of being part of a \u201cfandom\u201d, I was 12 and writing Sherlock Holmes fanfiction.<\/p>\n
It didn\u2019t happen immediately, and certainly not overnight. To begin with, I was always writing, and had been, as long as I could remember. I started with my old school notebooks, stories scribbled in margins and in stolen hours during school. At that time, I wasn\u2019t aware of anyone else doing this \u2013 in my head, it was just little old me, and my notebook, and my stories.<\/p>\n
Of course, I knew I wasn\u2019t the only person in the world writing about Sherlock Holmes. I, however, thought I was the only one in the world writing about them like that<\/em>. You know.<\/p>\n Romantically.<\/p>\n Yes, the most clich\u00e9 introduction to the world of fandom: the queer one.<\/p>\n I got to the Internet late; by the time I did, most of the kids my age already had MySpace and Orkut and I completely missed that particular wave of social media. What I slipped into instead, were spaces that rewarded anonymity, but also something else: art. Writing, for example.<\/p>\n Richard Seymour writes in The Twittering Machine<\/em>: \u201cNever before in human history have people written so much, so frantically: texting, tweeting, thumb-typing on public transport\u2026\u201d I\u2019m inclined to agree with him. Writing, the very art of text, is the bedrock of the Internet, or so I believe. It definitely was the bedrock of how I <\/em>began. Because my story of being a part of the fandom is intrinsically tied with my story of being part of a<\/em> fandom.<\/p>\n It started with Livejournal and Fanfiction.net. In 2021, it has shifted to whole new spaces, of course: Archive of Our Own (AO3), Tumblr, even spaces like Twitter and YouTube. But when I wrote and posted my very first fanfic, I was 14 and browsing through Fanfiction.net.<\/p>\n FF.net might seem dated now, but back in 2004, it was what most of the fandom had access to. I still remember squinting beady-eyed at the screen and blearily scrolling through pages and pages of blue links on white, early in the morning, as I checked to see if my favourite authors had updated their stories or if there were any new comments on mine.<\/p>\n When I began, it seemed like I was sending my writing into a void \u2013 after all, I was just a random teenager writing on the Internet \u2013 but that was soon proved untrue. I became part of a small collection of writers who wrote stories, tagged each other, responded to each other\u2019s stories. It never occurred to me then to wonder how old they were; many years later I realised how much younger I was than them. But reading their stories was an eye-opener: stories about deep friendship, about love, about things and places and actions I hadn\u2019t even imagined. Couldn\u2019t <\/em>even imagine.<\/p>\n And that was my first taste of a fandom.<\/p>\n I diversified, of course. Often through my newfound friends. I began to read more widely, and through that, entered different fandoms. I began to read manga (japanese comics) and immediately found a genre that has now become common parlance in fandoms over the world: BL (Boys\u2019 Love) or yaoi<\/em>. And here\u2019s where things got, dare I say, interesting<\/em>.<\/p>\n The stereotypical image of any fandom is probably a bunch of fangirls feverishly writing about their favourite gay romances. \u201cShipping\u201d is the common term. I contest this idea, but only on the grounds that I discovered fandoms to be spaces with a great deal of diversity of thought (and infighting!). While \u201cshipping\u201d is hugely popular in fandoms, there were also spaces for character.<\/p>\n But what I won\u2019t do is contest fandom\u2019s association with sex and sexuality: it is <\/em>true that, at least for me, for a long time the very idea of fandoms themselves were intricately tied up with not only the Internet (the space where I accessed \u2018it\u2019) but also the idea of sex, sexuality and being a sexuality<\/em>.<\/p>\n To be clear: fandoms are a great deal more than that. They have to be, simply because of the extremely wide spectrum of people who inhabit them. They are worlds alive with possibilities: of genders, sexualities, relationships, families and so much more. And that\u2019s just scratching the surface.<\/p>\n For me, in the beginning at least, my journey in fandoms was tied up in sex and sexuality. I could see myself as a sexual being, devoid (as much as is possible) of a great deal of the trappings of my life and expectations. I wrote a great deal during this time and also received a great deal back. I\u2019m not going to pretend all of it was brilliant, but there was an exchange happening, which helped me begin to know myself: who I was and what I <\/em>wanted.<\/p>\n It\u2019s funny that a country like India, with the world\u2019s largest youth population, somehow does not have space for young people to be, simply put, young<\/em>. The \u2018loitering\u2019 of young people, especially young women, in public spaces like parks is increasingly frowned upon, bolstered by the increasing numbers of patriarchal gatekeepers like the \u2018anti-Romeo squads\u2019. There’s little space for young people to explore, to learn about each other, the world, about themselves. Is it any wonder that I fled and found all of these things in fandoms?<\/p>\n Also have to note, I have a lot of privilege here \u2013 after a certain point, I had a great deal of unfettered access to the Internet where (sadly) a large amount of such fandoms existed. And in my case, the fandoms I interacted with were almost wholly English-speaking. Just by dint of this, they become inaccessible spaces for many.<\/p>\n I can\u2019t escape that. But my experience of being a part of a fandom has been exciting. For the first time in my life, I found myself in a limitless world, seemingly able to throw any question out there and receive answers from people as interested and excited about the same things as I was. As willing to stay up late in the night to passionately debate details and stories and intricacies of things I would have thought nobody else but I cared about.<\/p>\n And so much of this work, this art<\/em>, was available so widely and willingly! So much of what we get in the world is a contract \u2013 I pay you, you give me this. I pay for a ticket, I watch a movie. I work all day, I get a salary. This contract seems to be non-existent when it comes to fandoms. I read gorgeous, novel-length stories for hours, freely available. I wrote too, simply for the joy of writing, of putting out stories about the things I and these other people cared about, unbothered about anything other than what the stories had to say. I marvel at this, even now.<\/p>\n Fandoms are defined by this: the joy of the sharing of art and storytelling among communities. This is not to say fandoms are perfect: just like people, they can be toxic or problematic or any number of things. But, at their core, they are created out of a sense of shared love and passion and this shows.<\/p>\n Fandoms nurtured my love of art and writing, lent me the space and people to explore who I was and could be, let me ask the questions I was too afraid to ask the adults around me, and just simply let me be who I was. And as cheesy as it\u2019s going to sound, fandoms really are about love \u2013 and that simple thing, by itself, is remarkable.<\/p>\n