For queer Indians in small towns, marriage is the road to survival

From getting married in temples to even considering gender-affirmation surgeries, marriage forms the centre stage on which many queer relationships in the country rest

Only a few days ago, the Supreme Court of India acknowledged the need to widen the definition of ‘family’ to include queer and live-in relationships. While this formed the non-implementation part of the judgement, it was a refreshing step forward, regardless. 

When Morni, a 32-year-old house help who works in Chennai, first heard the news she thought the apex court had legalised queer marriages. For the past eleven years, Morni has been living with her partner in their one-room “servant’s quarter” assigned to them, attached to a Chennai socialite’s home in the upscale locality of Kotturpuram. 

“We got married in a temple last year on the outskirts of the city so that we didn’t attract any dangerous crowds,” she tells The Established. “It was for us and only us. We had to know for ourselves that each belonged to one another.” While the Supreme Court read down Section 377 of the Indian Constitution and decriminalised same sex in September 2018, in multiple affidavits filed before courts, both the state and central governments have legally opposed queer marriages. In April earlier this year, the Uttar Pradesh government had opposed such recognition on the grounds that “such marriages are against Indian culture and Indic religions and shall be invalid according to Indian laws, which have been designed keeping in mind the concept/existence of a man and a woman.” But are queer couples necessarily waiting for the law of the land to recognise them? 

Union of love

Much like cishet relationships, love and its expression are a privilege in India, too. While glossy images of rich, queer couples getting married in the Scottish highlands grace Indian magazines every second day, queer Indians in our small towns don’t necessarily have the privilege of accessing such safe spaces. 

Varsha, a 26-year-old programme coordinator at Nazariya Foundation, who primarily deals with cases of crisis intervention, tells us that in her experience, marriage is not the first thought that comes to the minds of queer couples facing conflict. “First, they come to us seeking protection from their own parents or relatives who keep them prisoned in their own homes after they find out that they are queer,” she says. “We work with the cops to help them with legal protection and only once they feel safe do they express their desire to marry each other.”

According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), “socioeconomic and cultural conditions negatively impact the mental health conditions” of queer people. Often, when they escape traumatic conditions at home, marriage gives them solace and a safe space to channel their emotions. For Vikram and his partner Shiv, getting married in a quiet ceremony at home with just their best friends and a queer Hindu priest present was all they wanted. The actual ceremony lasted for ten minutes without any religious incantations—the couple came up with their vows. This was followed by drinks, dinner and dance. Towards the wee hours of the morning, all of them were bingeing on Netflix’s Schitt’s Creek. 

“As humans, all of us derive strength from rituals and having our own, personalised moments of joy,” says Vikram. “They give you the strength to carry on against all odds because no one can take them away from you. There are no rulebooks to be followed and anyone can be anything.”

Towards survival 

The way Varsha sees it, many queer couples hope against hope that if they get married in private ceremonies, their families will eventually validate and acknowledge their love. Unfortunately, she says, this is rarely the case. 

“For many queer couples from small towns and villages, marriage is the way they feel alive because they have grown up watching all the cishet people basking in its glory,” she says. “Only recently, we had the case of a trans man and their partner who wanted to get married; the trans man even offered to undergo gender change if that would make their marriage legal and valid. Unfortunately, we don’t have the answers.” Varsha adds that all that they can do is console them so that at least they can live together as a couple in a live-in arrangement with legal protection from the cops—living with dignity is a right that no one can take away from anyone. 

For Vikram and his partner, moving out of the toxicity of their respective homes was not a decision either of them wanted to make. After all, both of them had dreams to attain their doctorates, study abroad and find new opportunities with their respective talents. Both sets of parents supported their dreams, and made them dream even until the rug was pulled mercilessly from under their feet when their identities were leaked online. 

“We had to build our life from scratch because for all practical purposes, we were homeless,” says Vikram. “For almost a year, we were living out of suitcases and borrowed time. In this sense, marriage goes beyond love and comes to represent every single ounce of struggle one goes through for a dignified life.”

In the face of strong legislative opposition to the recognition of same-sex marriages, little corners of hope spring in different parts of the country once in a while. In 2019, the Madurai Bench of the Madras High Court held that the marriage solemnised between a man and a transwoman was valid and ordered its registration. Additionally, the court directed the government to launch an awareness campaign in this regard. 

In one of the most moving excerpts from the judgement, the court stated: “By holding so, this court is not breaking any new ground. It is merely stating the obvious. Sometimes, to see the obvious, one needs not only physical vision in the eye but also love in the heart.”

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