One year ago, in Court Number One of the Delhi High Court, a group of people — including this writer — huddled together in a hushed courtroom, barely breathing. By the time the judgment reading down Sec 377 was read out, my palms had turned white from clutching the hands of the two crying, happy women who stood on either side of me. These were the same women in whose house I and so many others had found our first queer community — a house where protests had been planned, victories celebrated, friends mourned and wounds healed. The world seemed to have come full circle.