How India’s queer performers are reclaiming a past erased by colonialism

India’s queer community is using performance art to carve a space for itself, and, in the process, challenge present-day cultural narratives

Imagine stepping into the shadowed depths of an ancient temple, where the scent of incense lingers and stone carvings whisper tales of a time when the  masculine and feminine were not rigid opposites but fluid, intertwined forces. Consider the intricate sculptures of Khajuraho in Madhya Pradesh—witness to a period when diverse sexualities were not only acknowledged, but celebrated. It harks back to a time when gender was fluid, a spectrum rather than a binary.

In the many years to come, these echoes of ancient acceptance were abruptly silenced by  colonial laws, particularly Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code. Victorian morality was imposed, and consensual same-sex relationships were criminalised. Yet it was in the friction between erased histories and imposed silences that India’s queer community found its defiant spirit—transforming artistic expression into an instrument of survival, identity, and social change. Through performance, the marginalised found a voice, a stage, and a platform to demand visibility and justice.

How Indian history is gender-fluid

India's queer history is woven through its ancient texts and traditions. Deities like Ardhanareshwara, the composite of Shiva and Parvati, embody the fluidity of gender, blending masculine and feminine energies into a singular, powerful form. 

The erotic sculptures of temples at Khajuraho and Konark aren’t mere expressions of sensuality. They depict same-sex intimacy—two women in embrace, men affectionate with each other—offering clear evidence that heteronormativity was not the assumed norm. These acts were carved in public spaces, not hidden away. Traditional forms of performance like Kathakali, Theyyam, and Yakshagana comprise the spectre of cross-dressing, a subtle yet powerful subversion of gender norms. In Kathakali, male actors often portray female characters, epitomising the grace and beauty of the opposite gender. In Theyyam, deities and spirits often manifest in cross-gendered forms, blurring the lines between male and female. Yakshagana, with its elaborate costumes and make-up, allowed performers to transcend their biological sex, exploring the fluidity of identity. “The dressing room was a space free of gendered bias. The performance was what was important,” says Bengaluru-based Kathakali dancer Arpita Roy. “Looking back, I do realise how much of a space was created for dancers and fellow performers who were queer—something they could not find in a socially acceptable way outside of the stage.”

Meanwhile, the Hijra community, recognised for centuries as a third gender, wove their unique identity into the fabric of Indian culture through rituals—their performance both a celebration and an assertion of existence. Often marked by elaborate costumes and expressive dance, it served as a constant reminder of the existence of gender diversity. Their rituals, often associated with fertility and auspicious occasions, were deeply ingrained in the cultural landscape.

Modern performance art that allows for queer representation

The late 20th century witnessed a slow, seismic shift. Underground magazines, such as the pioneering Bombay Dost, offered rare spaces for queer voices, circulated in secrecy but carrying urgent messages of visibility and resistance. Queer performances evolved into a spectacle of rebellion. Contemporary queer performance art, drawing upon these historical threads, boldly confronted the realities of the present, merging global influences with local struggles. The rise of queer theatre groups; festivals like Desi LGBTQ+ International Queer Theatre and Film Festival (DIQTFF), and KASHISH Pride Film Festival (KPFF) stitched together activism and art. “In 2009, the Delhi High Court read down Section 377,” says Sridhar Rangayan, filmmaker and founder of the KASHISH Pride Film Festival, “and we realised we must have a public event to take queer films out of the shadows.”

Previously, queer media was consumed clandestinely, much like pornography. “With the film festival, we wanted to create a space where people from within and outside the community could come and witness a dialogue.” Fashion  became a language of protest too. Elaborate drag costumes—sequinned sarees, feathered turbans—rewrote gender scripts at Pride parades and underground balls, transforming streets into runways of dissent. “A lot of queer people, including me, had a problem with how Pride Parades were reported in mainstream media,” says author and journalist Sharif Rangnekar, “Nobody questioned why people who walked the parades wore masks, or why celebrating through non-binary fashion was an important mode of protest that dated back to the dress codes from Stonewall.”

Art as a means of making India queer-friendly

Queer individuals and groups wielded performance art as a weapon against societal norms, challenging the rigid structures of heteronormativity and cisnormativity. Theatrical productions, like Mahesh Dattani’s  On a Muggy Night in Mumbai or the gender-bending Akshayambara by Sharanya Ramprakash, sparked crucial conversations about identity and representation. Dattani's plays explored the complexities of queer relationships and the challenges faced by LGBTQ+ individuals in Indian society. Meanwhile, Ramprakash's play, a retelling of the story of Draupadi, challenged traditional gender roles and explored the fluidity of identity.

Contemporary performers including Basish Paul and theatre creators like Dattani and Ramprakash continued this legacy, taking risks and attaining something groundbreaking. Drag performances like Patruni Sastry (Sas) fused Bharatnatyam with drag aesthetics, while Sushant Divgikar's vocals and stage presence challenged traditional notions of gender and performance. Other drag artists including Maya the Drag Queen, Durga Gawde, Glorious Luna, and Lush Monsoon pushed the boundaries further—turning entertainment into a force for activism. 

Visual artists like painter Bhupen Khakhar and photographer Sunil Gupta, pioneers in their respective fields, dared to portray queer lives in India long before it was safe or acceptable to do so. In well-known works like Yayati (1987) and Two Men in Benares (1985), Khakhar painted male nudes in close embrace, something that was considered taboo at the time. In 1992, Dibyendu Ganguly wrote about it in his article for The Indian Express Sunday Magazine: “Bhupen’s sexuality has had a dominating role to play in his lifestyle and his psyche, and thus in his work. It is impossible to ignore it. Growing up gay in the ’40s and ’50s in a joint-family household in the Khetwadi area of Bombay could not have been easy.”

One of India's best-known photographers, Gupta is also a well-known artist, curator, and writer. For decades, he has explored narratives of contemporary gay life in India and other parts of the world, tackled issues of gender and sexuality, and documented his own experiences living with AIDS. His work created a chance for conversation that was previously non-existent.

Moreover, ventures like the Aravani Art Project have played a crucial role in transforming public spaces across India into canvases of transgender narratives, reclaiming territory often marked by exclusion. These performances resonated, leaving echoes of change in their wake.

Organisations like QAM(I), Gaysi Family, and the Humsafar Trust built the scaffolding for queer activism, providing community, resources, resilience, and, most importantly, a platform for queer individuals in the country to showcase their work.

The road ahead, however, is still fraught. Societal stigma, censorship, and a lack of resources still persist. Yet, the decriminalisation of homosexuality in India in 2018, as well as the rising visibility and the merging of global queer discourses and indigenous queer narratives hint at a future that feels less precarious and more possible. 

Art continues to be both the mirror and the catalyst—reflecting queer realities and reshaping what India imagines itself to be.

Curated by Gaysi Family

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