Queer parenting in India is more common—and transformative—than you think

In 2023, Kerala’s Ziya and Zahad—a trans4trans couple—welcomed a baby into their lives. Newsrooms across the country carried photographs of them cradling their child, headlines heralding “India’s first transgender parents, they became the most visible faces of queer parenthood in India. Earlier this year, the Kerala High Court allowed them to use the gender-neutral term “parent” on their child’s birth certificate; a small but monumental recognition in a country where family law is still largely built around the heteronormative husband-wife dyad.

Their story was treated as exceptional, almost unimaginable. But Ziya and Zahad are not alone. Across India, queer individuals have been raising children for years. Some through biological routes, others through adoption, surrogacy, co-parenting arrangements, or chosen family structures. What is different now is visibility: more parents are willing to speak openly, demand rights for themselves and their children, and to remind society that queer families are not an aberration but an extension of love.

Surrogacy laws that hinder queer parenthood in India

India’s surrogacy laws tell a harsher story. The Surrogacy (Regulation) Act, passed in 2021, permits only “altruistic” surrogacy and restricts it to heterosexual married couples who have been together for five years. Single parents, same-sex couples, and queer or trans individuals are explicitly excluded. As Gaysi Family’s commentary notes, the Act reinforces a narrow definition of “family,” erasing queer parents from the legal imagination.

Advocate Harikrishnan R. (he/him), a litigator at the Alternative Law Forum in Bengaluru, calls the Act “a complete and explicit barrier.” He explains: “The Act defines an ‘intending couple’ exclusively as a legally married Indian man and woman. Since our law does not recognise same-sex marriage, queer couples are automatically disqualified from accessing surrogacy. The law also provides no pathway for single persons—whether heterosexual or queer—to become parents via surrogacy.”

Harikrishnan adds that this framework “legally restricts the formation of family through surrogacy to married, heterosexual Indian couples only,” calling it “a violation of the right to form a family and reproductive autonomy.”

And yet, parents like 39-year-old Sougata Basu (he/him) and his partner, Mayank Kalra, who live in Bengaluru, find ways to build their families. In 2020, after affirming their finances, legal feasibility, and emotional readiness, the couple pursued surrogacy. “It wasn’t just about ‘getting a baby,’” recalls Sougata. “It was about giving a baby the right upbringing. We were sure, we were ready, and with our families’ support, we took the plunge.”

By June 2021, they were fathers to twins. “Two men who had never held infants suddenly learned about feeding, burping, and spent sleepless nights over it. Our respect for each other grew manifold, cementing our love further,” says Sougata. “Even relatives who had once been distant began to see us simply as parents, and no different from other fathers and mothers they had known.”

If legal systems are rigid, everyday life can be surprisingly fluid. At their children’s school, Sougata and Mayank introduced themselves as a two-father household. On Family Day, they stood on stage before a hall of 99 other ‘regular’ families. “The reception was beautiful. There’s not been any discrimination from the school or other parents.”

The couple’s philosophy is simple: if their presence is normalised, their children’s sense of belonging follows. “When parents in the play area ask, ‘What does your wife do?’ we reply, ‘We don’t have a wife, we have a husband.’ People are often kind. They see in us what they already know: love and family—only shaped differently.”

For queer parents, visibility is not just about public declaration; it’s also about preparing children to navigate a world that still sees them as exceptions. “From very early on, we’ve been giving our kids age-appropriate information,” explains Sougata. This could mean, for example, talking about how some families have two moms or two dads, or using picture books that reflect diverse families, so children grow up seeing their home as ordinary, not exceptional.

“At no point do we intend to hide anything. That’s also why we’re so vocal on social media—our children should see that their parents are proud of the lives they’ve built.”

Can queer couples in India adopt a child?

While some queer families navigate foreign surrogacy, others turn to adoption or shared caregiving. But the lack of joint legal recognition remains a profound source of insecurity. Veena, 45, (they/them), an entrepreneur and filmmaker in Bengaluru, is one of four queer parents raising four-year-old twins. Together with their co-parents, Veena has  built a parenting constellation that is messy, joyful, and deeply intentional.

The children were adopted through CARA (Central Adoption Resource Authority), which, to Veena’s surprise, did not pose barriers. “Despite our initial fears, [our experience with] CARA was wonderful. They did not insist on a ‘father’ or a ‘couple.’ They also encourage single-parent adoptions,” says Veena. When the four adults went to bring the twins home, “we were bawling our eyes out. Someone there told me in Tamizh: ‘This is the strangest family I’ve ever seen. You’re going to be fine.’”

Yet, the bureaucracy of documents remains unforgiving. Only “Mamma” is listed on papers, which means Veena can’t legally travel with the children without affidavits. “In some countries, that doesn’t work either. Schools have been more inclusive, acknowledging that these kids have four parents. But with bigger institutions [pertaining to healthcare or foreign travel], it’s harder.”

Harikrishnan explains, “When one parent is not legally recognised, it creates a very difficult situation for both the parent and the child. The non-legal parent has no custody or guardianship rights and cannot make crucial decisions about education, healthcare, or travel. In the event of the legal parent’s death or separation, they have no automatic right to custody.” For children, this can translate to lifelong precarity: “They may be denied inheritance rights, financial support, or even access to a primary caregiver. Every axis of documentation—school forms, ID cards, medical records—becomes a site of exclusion.”

Early childhood educator and parent Sumanya Raman (she/her), who runs the Freefoot programme at Quest Learning Community in Chennai, contextualises this, adding: “Inclusion cannot be tokenistic—it needs real effort and support systems, not just labels. If schools or institutions don’t have mechanisms to back their words, families are left carrying the extra weight.”

Currently, India has no statutory pathway for same-sex couples to secure joint legal parenthood. A few workarounds exist; for example, a queer individual can adopt as a single parent under the Juvenile Justice Act, but Harikrishnan points out its limits: “Disclosing one’s sexual identity can create hurdles, and their partner will not be recognised as a co-parent. If one partner is the biological mother, she remains the sole legal parent; there’s no route to second-parent adoption. Since adoption guidelines permit it only for married couples or single individuals, same-sex couples are automatically disqualified.” He also notes that the Supreme Court of India’s recent Supriyo judgment declined to extend the right to adopt to queer couples, further entrenching this legal invisibility.

Despite these hurdles, everyday parenting is where the heart lies. “Instinct plays a big part, and when there are four parents, there are lots of instincts,” laughs Veena. Their biggest challenge (and joy) is raising two very different children. “We want to give them enough space to grow without encroaching on each other’s space. That balance is constant work.”

How children embrace inclusivity early on

Veena’s household is a living classroom of gender diversity. “One parent is a gentle-masculine psychotherapist. Another is a trans-man. My kids often ask me, ‘Are you a boy or a girl?’ I ask them back, ‘What do you think?’ Sometimes they say boy, sometimes girl. They’re growing up around our queer friends, seeing men in sarees at Maya Bazaar. They don’t question. They just see the world as it is.”

This intuitive acceptance echoes what Raman (she/her) observes in her work. “Children mirror adults. If adults don’t judge a child for smashing blocks or for sitting quietly, other children don’t either. They learn there’s no one ‘right’ way to be. For kids from queer families, that message is life-affirming. The difference is not something to hide, but something natural.”

Raman emphasises the role of collective caregiving, a trait that both Sougata’s joint family and Veena’s co-parenting unit embody. “When children grow up around multiple adults, they broaden their social spectrum. They learn that not everyone enjoys the same things, and they become more resilient in navigating differences. It prepares them not just for friendships, but for a more compassionate way of living.”

The idea of a family in India is slowly evolving

For both Sougata and Veena, queer parenting is not only about raising children but also about reshaping the very idea of what a family is. Sougata credits his own parents as the “real inspiration.” Raised in small towns steeped in conservative norms, they embraced their son’s marriage and their grandchildren wholeheartedly. “For any parent struggling with acceptance, we say: once you take that step, acceptance comes easier. Life becomes richer not just for your child, but for you too,” says Sougata. 

Veena, meanwhile, carries the weight of personal history. “I lost both my parents as a teenager and often felt like a burden to my caregivers. ‘Family’ was a tricky word for me. But parenting these kids with three other adults has felt meaningful—it is a choice we return to again and again.”

Yet, insecurities linger, about not being listed on documents, about being an older parent who will be 60 years old when the twins turn 20. That’s a real fear many queer couples face, as they often figure out family planning later in life, owing to laws or systemic blockages. 

If the law is still lagging behind, lived reality is already moving ahead, via queer collectives where children grow up watching diversity unfold as ordinary life, and where queer parenting is not an exception but a quiet revolution.

“Many of us have faced trauma,” says Sougata, “but joy deserves visibility too. Legal systems will change faster if society changes first. And society changes when people see difference not as a threat but as the most natural form of diversity. That’s our hope: that love, in all its forms, becomes ordinary.”

Raman adds: “Our children just don’t see enough of it—the representation of different families, different bodies, different backgrounds is so low. The more they see it, the more sensitised they become. If we expose them early on, then the idea of diversity isn’t a shock for them later; it’s just life.”

Curated by Gaysi Family