For Navin Noronha, everything is grist for a joke — from his mother asking his vegan boyfriend how he got his ‘protein’, to sarcastic observations on how cool things historically happened to gay people, be it Grinder or HIV. And if it’s insensitive, he isn’t sorry. His lived reality is one where queerphobic humour is pervasive. “For the longest time [and even today], jokes at the expense of the queer community have not only been accepted by the masses, but are also encouraged by them,” says the Mumbai-based comic.
A decade into his comedy career, he is one of the few openly queer comics in India. “Straight comics have long gotten away with the mockery of transgender and queer people. Yet, it’s still controversial to tell jokes about political leaders or the government, or talk about queer sex on stage, without becoming a target,” says Noronha, 33. So, in a crowd of comics who comfortably talk about their heterosexual relationships, he is not trying to be a ‘queer comic’ — just someone who can speak as freely about his life as anyone else.
Navin Noronha
In heteronormative spaces across the country, queer creatives are reclaiming their identities with flair and resilience. Despite a global resurgence of regressive policies impacting LGBTQIA+ individuals — from the U.S. administration’s DEI pullback, which is having a ripple effect in India, to the country’s denial of same-sex unions and adoption rights — a wave of queer artists, comedians, musicians, filmmakers, and authors have been telling their stories with hopes of a better tomorrow. This surge is propelled by a desire to reclaim spaces, create community, and use art as a powerful tool for activism and self-representation, especially in a post-Section 377 landscape where legal recognition for the community is still evolving.
“It is most important to tell our stories in times like these than at any other,” says filmmaker and writer Jaydeep Sarkar, 44. Outside the checkboxes of pink-washing and capitalistic ideas of queerness, he believes people need to not only look at queer stories but look at the world through a queer lens. “The more we [the world] tend to return to a heteronormative framework of living, thanks to the powers that be, the more powerful our [queer] stories have to become,” adds Sarkar, who walks the talk with his reality show Rainbow Rishta and campaigns with national dailies that aim to integrate queer identities into the mainstream.
Jaydeep Sarkar
Challenging the status quo
Society may be becoming more aware and accepting of diverse sexual orientations and gender identities, but it’s not enough. Filmmaker Kris has been frequenting the Bangalore Queer Film Festival for the last 17 years, but has never seen a lesbian love story with a happy ending. “Often, I saw gay men having a lot of fun on screen — sexually liberated and proud.” This led her to want to tell a sapphic story that celebrated afab (assigned female at birth) identities without inhibitions.
“I rallied my friend, film director Mujeer Pasha, to teach me how to write the film I wanted to see,” says Kris, 37. Her desire birthed Kris’ debut feature, Nisha, currently in post-production. The film focuses on chosen family — the only place of support and community for many queer individuals who are not accepted by their blood relatives — without a tragic conclusion in sight.
“We are seeing a lot of queer art being shown, institutionally and when it comes to collecting. Even in photography, a harder medium to explore queer themes with. For example, the Chennai Photo Biennale had Sunil Gupta’s retrospective, and Rajiv Menon showing queer work across Los Angeles and India. But gallerists still need some convincing. I remember explaining male portraiture to a gallerist for a show I curated for Goa-based artist Alok Johri, and asking her to imagine it as still life, but of human beings.”Jaiveer JohalChennai-based art curator and founder of Avtar Foundation of The Arts
Similarly, Vivek Tejuja, 43, wrote So Now You Know: Growing Up Gay in India because he did not see authentic queer stories spotlighted while growing up. The 2019 book went on to define the coming-of-age queer experience in India. “I feel like there are voices 1751187347, but the publishing world needs to look beyond Pride month and promote queer stories throughout the year,” says the Mumbaikar.
In Bengaluru, poet and musician Rumi Harish aims to do this, too. A trans man, he has found queerness adding value to his practice of Hindustani music. “Concepts of gender, caste, class and body have always been a point of exploration for me. And cis-het people have gatekept many parts of our culture that have always had space for queer identities,” says Harish, sharing how there are ragas such as Miyan ki Todi and works by Sufi musician Amir Khusro, with same-sex intimacy, that people have conveniently ignored — and he is bringing back.
Rumi Harish
“Singing my khayals [a form of Hindustani known for its melodic improvisation], alternating between the roles of Krishna and Radha, allows me to play with gender without asserting one or the other identity to the audience.” Harish is now building a small but strong community of queer people who have started exploring their own journeys with classical music.
Being different in the mainstream
As Mumbai-based trans actor and social media influencer Trinetra Haldar Gummaraju says, “The arts have always benefited from queer ideas, work and labour. But it has never been ready to welcome us in positions of power or visibility, especially in post-colonial rule.” The 28-year-old’s character Meher in the Amazon Prime series Made in Heaven has probably been the most genuine representation of a transwoman in mainstream media, yet she says it is still difficult to navigate an entertainment industry that would readily offer queer roles to straight or cisgender actors.
Trinetra Haldar Gummaraju
“I have been very fortunate to transition young, and be in the right place at the right time, but that is not the reality for most trans people in the country.” And she is pushing the narrative in her new show, Kankhajura, based on Magpie by Adam Bizanski, a rural thriller revolving around a group of childhood friends. “The idea of queerness is still depicted as this urban, elite concept. That’s just not the case,” says Gummaraju, whose roles have been widely talked about — starting a conversation on why non-tokenistic representation is so important for young queer folx growing up in uncertain times, with extreme political upheaval all around them.
Advocating in diverse fields
Move away from the arts, and one could argue the challenges grow. But it’s not without its success stories. Radio jockey Priyanka Divaakar joined the industry around 15 years ago when “nobody was talking about transgender issues, let alone a trans person”. Her show in Kannada — on CR Radio Active, a community channel for marginal groups — helped her enter the Limca Book of Records as India’s first trans radio jockey.
Priyanka Divaakar
“In the beginning, the audience criticised my show. They said I sounded like a man, and people would run away when I would try to interview them,” she recalls. Divaakar worked on her voice modulation and won over her listeners with her steadfast focus on highlighting grassroots stories that extend beyond queerness. Over her career, she has established herself as a voice for the LGBTQIA+ community. “There are more platforms today, but trans people are still denied work day in and day out. How many transgender and intersex people do you see in any given corporate space? Probably none. I want to see that change and shift,” she says. “Once people are around us for long enough, they tend to get comfortable and we become less of this scary thing that is somehow challenging your structure of man, woman, straight, gay.”
Behind the tattoo gun
Simranh Kakkar, a tattoo artist based in Bengaluru, thinks that many creative spaces can be quite encouraging of queer identities. But not her field. “Tattoo studios in India can be jarring and hostile spaces for women and queer people, not just for artists but also for clients,” she shares.
Simranh Kakkar
“If you look at history, most traditional tattoo artists were women. But this inherently female art form has been reinterpreted as this masculine art practice.” Most studios are still hesitant to hire a woman, let alone queer artists. “I am lucky to have found other queer artists now, who see the art of tattooing as this meaningful and powerful tool and not something that stands for aggression, or unchecked power,” says Kakkar, whose bold, vibrant hand-poked designs are made to flow with the body and depict strength through an intrinsic softness.
One of Kakkar’s hand-poked tattoos
In hospitality, chef Priyank Asha Sukanand, a Cordon Bleu alumnus, has faced similar challenges. “I have seen how kitchens uphold cis-het ideals of authority, success and communication. As a queer person, I have had to do more than find space — I have had to create it,” says Sukanand, 32. Today, he works at the intersection of hospitality and education, and has created a cooking space that is not toxic, but joyful. He is encouraging more trans and underprivileged people to get access to professional cooking, and is focusing on techniques that keep neurodivergence in mind. “With my work, I want to make room for complexity and contradiction, to create intersectional third spaces that put respect first,” says Sukanand.
Priyank Asha Sukanand
For all these professionals, creative or otherwise, sticking by their queer sensibilities means disrupting systems that reward only certain kinds of narratives. And the disruption has never been more important than in this age of supposed progress where the resurgence of right-wing ideologies globally is actively dehumanising queer lives.
Let’s highlight the need for Pride — beyond just the vibrant celebrations and ubiquitous rainbow flags. Queering spaces is about the community, but it is also about liberating everyone who doesn’t want to live life like it’s a rigid performance of gender and sexuality.
The Mumbai-based writer, artist and editor reports on fashion and culture.
