India, June 29 -- Like the song that goes, "If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair," I often tell my friends, half-jokingly, "If you are coming to New York, do three things: Meet Hasan Mujtaba, visit the Strand Book Store - the legendary bookstore of new, used, and rare books - and see the Stonewall Inn." For me, the Stonewall Inn is a pilgrimage, a rainbow of history, and the Mecca of the gay liberation movement, where even straight people are warmly welcomed. It is where it all happened. Many historians of the LGBTQIA+ movement recount that during the uprising at the Stonewall Inn, a defiant act by the legendary drag queen Marsha P Johnson became a symbol of resistance. The police raid on the bar on Christopher Street in Greenwich Village ignited a movement that changed not only the days and nights of New York's LGBTQIA+ community but transformed the struggle for gay rights across the world. It was June 28, 1969, around 1:20 am. The police stormed both the front premises and the back room. What followed on Christopher Street and the adjoining streets and sidewalks became one of the most significant uprisings of modern times. Yet I knew very little about Stonewall's history before I set foot in Chicago. There, I first met my friend Ifti Nasim - poet, short-story writer, and celebrated member of the Chicago LGBT Hall of Fame - on the evening of April 30, 1999, at his apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, which he fondly called "the mirror of God". He took me to the balcony of his apartment on the 40th floor. Gazing at the vast expanse of the lake, he said, "You have come to America. If, while being in America, you shut your mouth and don't live free, then there is no point in coming to America." Meeting Ifti that evening was a culture shock. Though I had already read and reviewed his Urdu poetry collection, Narman, in my magazine, Newsline, meeting him in person was an altogether different experience. His poetry had shocked many literary circles in Pakistan and among Pakistanis abroad because of its boldness, honesty, and fearless celebration of identity. One of his poems remains etched in my memory: The first stone came from him Who slept beside me last night. The second came from one like me, But afraid of people. The third came from one I had refused to sleep with. Another came from a mosque, Whose Imam's fourth wife Was younger than his daughter. One came from a church Whose priest had no sexuality. A passerby threw one Because it was his habit. A priest of a temple threw one too, Accepting gifts from every side. After that I lost consciousness. And afterward, No stone had anyone's name written on it. Such was the bold, fearless, and searing poetry of Ifti Nasim. Ifti was blessed with the wit and charm typical of the people of Lyallpur - now Faisalabad. Men like him are born only once in centuries in societies like Pakistan's, and, indeed, in conservative societies across the world. It was Ifti who first showed me around the Stonewall Inn, Greenwich Village, and the East and West Villages. He introduced me to LGBTQIA+ culture, lifestyle, and lingo. He took me to places such as The Monster and other gay and lesbian bars, opening for me an entirely new world of freedom, identity, and community. He enlightened me about mainstream American as well as South Asian gay liberation movements. He founded Sangat, a South Asian LGBTQ support network that became a source of strength and solidarity for many immigrants who had fled persecution in their homelands. Ifti had come to America in 1973, escaping the suffocating social expectations imposed upon him. He met the great American poet, Allen Ginsberg, who himself had drawn inspiration from Walt Whitman, whose spirit still seems to linger through the streets of Greenwich Village. Years later, I dedicated my own poem, Fifth Avenue, to Ginsberg. Along with my friends, exiled journalists Zafaryab Ahmed and Haider Rizvi, I spent countless evenings in bars and cafes in Manhattan, discussing poetry, politics, exile, and freedom. Every November, Ifti would come to New York, where his beloved "girlies," as he affectionately called them, would throw grand parties in his honour. There would be music, laughter, drag performances, and joyous celebrations of life itself. Those gatherings were not merely parties; they were affirmations of love, friendship, courage, and camaraderie. Poetry, dance, humour, and music blended into nights that stretched toward Christmas. Ifti passed away in July 2011, but his spirit, his poetry, and his unwavering commitment to love and liberation continue to inspire generations. Since then, the Stonewall Inn has become my pilgrimage and my favorite place to linger. A walk through Christopher Street and along the Hudson is, for me, not merely a walk to freedom; it is the birthplace of much of my poetry. What an extraordinary coincidence that, in Fifth Avenue, I used the word "grapevine", only to discover later that the jukebox inside the Stonewall Inn was playing Marvin Gaye's famous song, I Heard It Through the Grapevine, on the night the police raided the bar. At the entrance of the Stonewall Inn hangs a sign that reads: "This is a raided premises by the New York Police Department," a stark reminder of the police raid that sparked the modern day LGBTQIA+ rights movement. That is what my friend and I remembered when we witnessed the most grim and somber atmosphere outside and inside the Stonewall Inn after the attack on the gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, in June 2016. Tears flowed freely as flowers, notes, and candles were placed in vigil for the victims. Yet grief soon transformed into resilience and solidarity. Within days, nearly two million people joined the New York LGBTQIA+ Pride March 2016, walking from Fifth Avenue through Christopher Street and culminating at the Hudson River Piers - a powerful affirmation that love and freedom would endure despite hatred and violence....