Hoshang Merchant’s poetry is a fusion of faith, exile, and longing, blending devotion with defiance. Born a Parsi, yet deeply influenced by multiple spiritual traditions, Merchant’s life and work defy categorization.
His latest collection, My Sunset Marriage (Navayana), brings together 101 poems that reflect his unique perspective. The book is modernist yet deeply rooted in Indian voices, global in its outlook yet intensely personal.
A Poet of Many Worlds
Born in 1947 in Bombay, Merchant has often called himself an exile—both geographically and culturally. As a Parsi, an openly gay man in a society that long denied queer identities, and an academic who has lived in India, Iran, Palestine, and the United States, his poetry carries the weight of displacement.
My Sunset Marriage moves effortlessly through different settings—from the sensuality of his Bombay childhood to the upheavals of the Iranian Revolution, from Hindu mythology to the devastation of Gaza. His work refuses to be confined by borders or labels.
When asked whether he considers himself a poet of exile, Merchant’s response was layered: “My exile was for 14 years, as predicted in my horoscope, like Lord Rama’s. When I became a tax-paying citizen of India in 1995, my exile should have ended. But queers weren’t legally recognized until 2016. I felt my contribution wasn’t acknowledged. Now it is—but only as queer poetry. Why should only one aspect be singled out if a gay man writes poetry?”
Mythology and Queer Longing
This resistance to categorization defines My Sunset Marriage. Merchant often intertwines mythology with personal longing, as seen in these lines:
“Krishna and Sudama embraced on the beach,
But only one returned to a palace,
The other walked back into rain.”
Here, he reimagines the classical story of Krishna and his childhood friend Sudama, infusing it with the ache of queer desire, the imbalance of power, and the loneliness that follows love. His poetry humanizes gods, making them companions in longing.
“Mythology allows the poet to live a self-created heightened reality,” Merchant explains. “If we humanize the gods, then we humans walk with gods. There’s no shame in invoking a god who loves his childhood companions.”
Poetry of Survival
Merchant’s poetry is modernist in style yet deeply influenced by Hindustani rhythms, Parsi traditions, and Persian echoes. The title My Sunset Marriage itself is filled with irony—suggesting a union at its twilight, perhaps a metaphor for Merchant’s complex relationship with a world that rarely embraced him fully.
A recurring theme in his work is the intersection of queerness and exile. His verses alternate between defiance and grief:
“In Iran, they hanged us in squares,
In Gaza, our bodies lay in dust,
In Bombay, they silenced our names,
Still, we kissed under the neem tree.”
His poetry is not just an elegy; it is a testament to survival. It is a collection of letters to cities, people, and idols, capturing stolen moments of joy and the endurance of a life lived on the margins.
A Reprint with Purpose
Originally published in 2016, My Sunset Marriage has been reprinted by Navayana, a publishing house known for its focus on caste and marginality. This decision places Merchant’s work within a broader conversation about resistance and identity.
While he acknowledges the impact of caste in Indian society, Merchant distances himself from it in his own work. “The pansexuality of queer love doesn’t ask the caste of the lover before engagement in love. Parsis don’t have caste. But we are class-conscious,” he says.
The reprint signals a wider recognition of poetry that exists outside mainstream literary circles. In a world increasingly divided by identity and ideology, Merchant’s work serves as a poetic bridge between cultures, queerness, and exile.
The book’s cover, designed by Akila Seshasayee, features an Indie matchbox-style illustration of two male parakeets—a whimsical yet fitting representation of Merchant’s poetry.
Poetry as Witness
Merchant’s words remind us that poetry is not just about beauty—it is about bearing witness to love, loss, and the search for belonging.
When asked about the most beautiful and painful aspects of love, he replies: “The worst aspect of love is its egotism, which reaches its apogee in the heterosexual unitary family. The glory of love is that by learning sacrifice—which is to say, learning to give up—we humanize ourselves and glimpse spirituality denied us in our profane world.”
His poetry captures this duality. In one of his closing lines, he writes:
“The moon rises for all,
But some of us still walk in shadow.”
In My Sunset Marriage, those shadows come alive—haunting, defiant, and unforgettable.
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