Why being a queer traveller in India is both empowering and exhausting

From creating a supportive, safe environment to curating itineraries that encourage open communication among LGBTQIA+ individuals, queer-friendly travel experiences in India are few and far between. A handful of organisations are keen on changing that

In his thirties, Prasenjit Chaudhuri (40) felt purposeless. Though he wasn’t in a relationship, someone who “mutually reciprocated love” he had for him had left India, leaving Chaudhuri a “void” to fill. He sought what somewhat privileged queer people would resort to—socialising, partying, “trying to be cool, sexy, and desired”. 

Soon, Chaudhuri, a “gay man from a small town in West Bengal, living in Bengaluru”, realised that he didn’t fit into “any social circle, including queer spaces”. All of this changed for him with a trek to Kumara Parvatha in Coorg in 2015, which felt like a “homecoming”, making him let go of the desire to seek validation from others. 

“Soon, trekking became a weekend ritual, and within months, I formed a trekking group that eventually evolved into a travel group. I wanted to create a space where people could take a break from [being in] their closet, even for a short while, if they chose to,” he shares. 

How queer travel in India sparks self-discovery and empowerment 

While there exist organisations across the globe—like the US-based International LGBTQ+ Travel Association (IGLTA), which was founded in 1983—in India, where despite persistent efforts queer individuals are still seeking basic rights, travelling as ‘out’ queer people is challenging. 

Chaudhuri identified that gap and founded Out and About (OAA)—India’s first queer-inclusive travel community—in 2015. From treks, camping, and birdwatching safaris to “workshops like whacking, baking, and natural farming” to curating activities like “human libraries at Sadhana Forest in Auroville”, OAA has diverse offerings. 

It was during the human library expedition that Chaudhuri saw something shift in him. He recollects that among this group of inmates at the Sadhna Forest, he used to almost “subconsciously move his hands or legs to fit in better” as a straight-acting person—something which he worked on “consciously [to] break out of this pattern”. 

As the human library gathering wasn’t a queer-only space, Chaudhuri was privy to a multitude of conversations. In one, a Muslim woman spoke about her “hijab to hippiedom” story—how “she legally separated from her Hindu husband to embrace an atheist and hippie lifestyle”. Another woman noted that her “first sexual encounter was more forceful, not romantic.” It appears that each one of the members of this cohort were—perhaps for the first time—cognisant of their experiences in retrospect, and had decided to tread their lives differently with a new-found wisdom.

For Delhi-based independent journalist and documentary filmmaker Jaishree Kumar (25), the impulse to travel was along similar lines. She notes that solo travelling “definitely gives [her] more control of [her] situation, leaving room for spontaneity”. She has learnt to “appreciate all different parts and dynamics that come up” during her journeys, be it for a fellowship, fieldwork, or leisure. 

Though her cis identity gives her “a lot of privilege”, Kumar hasn’t always felt welcomed. Whenever she lets people know about her identity, for she usually stays in backpacker hostels, she is “immediately asked invasive questions about intimacy, [her] preferences, and if [she] prefers men or women. Queer and bisexual women are also looked at through the gaze of hypersexuality, so it’s extremely weird and uncomfortable for people to perceive [her] as a sex machine.”

Ensuring safety and sensitivity: the cornerstones of LGBTQIA+ travel  

London-based writer and author of A Trans Man Walks into a Gay Bar (Hachette, 2023), Harry Nicholas notes that he won’t “go to a country where I am unable to hold my partner’s hand. Although I will always put safety first, it sucks that there are places we are unable to go out of fear of being attacked or detained.”

While there’s a long tradition of same-sex individuals holding hands in public in India—which has attracted the western gaze that has attempted to ‘queerise’ the everyday phenomenon—it can’t be dismissed that safety isn’t on an Indian queer traveller’s mind. Organisers like Chaudhuri are cognisant of the same while curating their itineraries.

In his experience, Chaudhuri found the following to be the most challenging—“consent and group dynamics, as free expression [sometimes influence] blurring of boundaries”, budget disruption due to “last-minute cancellations”, and “educating hosts at homestays, [as several such] collaborations didn’t work out when [hosts] learnt” that Chaudhuri was leading a group of queer people. 

To keep a safe environment, he communicates “with trans participants to ensure they’re comfortable with the living and washroom setups, adjusting logistics whenever necessary”. He also ensures each participant “signs a [Google] form that outlines policies on consent and queerphobia”, which makes clear their firm stand on refusing to entertain bias of any kind, and “enforces a strict no-trash policy” as part of his eco-conscious travelling pursuits. This helps Chaudhuri allow “people to bond and find their ‘tribe’.” Furthermore, he observes that “many queer folks gain the confidence to come out and embrace themselves during our travels. One particularly touching moment for me was seeing OAA mentioned on a Pride flag—it meant the world to me.”  

Gurugram-based digital marketing specialist Kabir (27) founded Queer Travelogue (QT) in 2018 to “organise group trips exclusively for the LGBTQ+ community”. Like Chaudhuri, he also plans to offer international travel itineraries in 2025. However, on his travels, he has already “hosted 50-plus foreign nationals from Japan, Colombia, Canada, Mexico, Germany, Singapore, Dubai, the US, and the UK”.

According to Kabir, “finding queer-friendly accommodation” remains one of the biggest challenges. “Unlike heterosexual travellers, we can’t rely on standard booking platforms, so we have to meticulously research and vet each property, evaluating them based on our internal criteria. Our itineraries are designed to offer a blend of adventure, relaxation, and cultural immersion. We curate experiences that cater to diverse interests, from trekking and camping to yoga and meditation. Each trip includes comfortable accommodation, delicious meals, expert guides, and exciting activities”, explains Kabir. 

Moreover, he wants to bust the myth “that trips [involving queer people] are solely about casual, physical encounters.” He says, “While we understand that physical intimacy is a natural part of [building] human connection, our trips are designed to foster deeper [understanding] and celebrate our identities.” He shares encountering individuals “expecting hookups or orgies” to be “disheartening”, as he can’t compromise on QT’s core values: individual safety and respect. 

To “ensure a comfortable and supportive environment”, Kabir personally accompanies each group during their stay. He “sensitises hotel staff about LGBTQ+ inclusivity, emphasising respecting individual privacy and consent.” Despite this, often during travels to “small towns and rural areas [where people have] conservative mindsets”, he shares experiencing “judgmental stares” and braving hostile comments. However, he remains undeterred, taking such incidents as opportunities to “educate local people, depending on the situation, to foster greater acceptance”. 

“I think business owners can take steps towards inclusivity by making it clear that their properties are open to queer people”, notes Kumar. It’s “heartwarming” for her “to see business owners explicitly stating that their [properties on Airbnb] are queer-friendly”. While she remains cautious, she submits that “in an era where the so-called ‘dark humour’ is used to mock queer identities, and where queer people are fighting for political visibility and equal rights, such small acts, even if tokenistic, matter.” 

Overcoming political barriers and societal judgements 

While Kumar sees solo travelling as an opportunity to “connect with grassroots queer activists and community folks”, there are other factors—beyond one’s orientation and gender identity—that can limit one’s plans to explore the world. Thirty-four-year-old queer-rights activist Subhojit Dutta’s story is a case in point. 

Coming from Barak Valley in Assam, Dutta has travelled everywhere in India except the Lakshadweep islands and Daman and Diu. He used to travel with a “huge group” earlier. But he soon realised that he had “to listen to a particular command, which could either be uninformed or unintelligible or both, but you’ve to follow it. And I felt that I travel to learn and explore, and if I don’t seem to have this opportunity to do so, then I should go solo.” 

What Dutta also observed was that each big group “often splits into subgroups, and as a queer person, it was difficult to be part of one of those. Though there were allies, they’d often not be tolerant towards queer shenanigans. For example, cruising. A few have even stopped me from hooking up. This experience may vary from place to place, but if I am not doing anything nonsensical, then I can do what I want.”

Ever since he has travelled solo—except in Lucknow where he was questioned on wearing shorts and was yelled at for wearing a nose ring—Dutta has been made to feel welcome even in the remotest of places; for example, regions in Bengal and Meghalaya where there wasn’t even electricity. People in general are nice, he says, but his biggest learning is this: “No one is straight”, overemphasising a shared experience of a large number of queer people who’ve either managed to get intimate with heterosexuals or have been approached for a casual, no-strings-attached encounter. 

Dutta often receives DMs from people, asking him if he’d be fine if they could join him on his next travel destination. He generously creates the itinerary, especially for people “who don’t have enough confidence to travel alone in Northeast India or are unable to find a travel partner.” Some of them have become his friends and travel buddies.

Dutta now feels the next thing to do is to travel abroad. “I’m a Bengali from Assam and the Assam government does not so much even provide a permanent residential certificate (PRC) and citizenship certificate to us. So I’m running into passport issues, which is why I can’t travel internationally . Plus the national register of citizens (NRC) is also a major issue in Assam”, he says. 

For the uninitiated, the NRC exercise that concluded in August 2019 excluded more than “1.9 million people” from “the final NRC list”. According to a 2018 report, approximately “four lac [names] from the Bengali-dominated Barak Valley”, where Dutta comes from, didn’t make it to the initial list. The situation in the area—principally for Bengali Hindus—continues to be the same as per findings in another report from 2024.

Redefining adventure: queer travellers explore new frontiers 

Despite organisations like OAA and QT taking the initiative, queer-exclusive travel remains in its nascent stage in India. Without concrete documentation, it is difficult to make any projections about its future. For mountain guide and sex educator Jack Bynum (29), who divides his time between Anchorage (Alaska) and Barcelona (Spain), putting together itineraries for queer individuals entails experiences as diverse as an an 11-day “advanced backpacking course” in Talkeetna Mountains in Alaska where each participant will be taught to “competently and safely backpack wilderness anywhere in the world with or without trails” to a “genderqueer and trans intro to mountaineering”.  Such offerings are perhaps both aspirational and enviable for any queer person in India.

“I started running all-queer backpacking trips out of my frustration with outdoor culture in America, which so often feels full of bravado and toxicity”, notes Bynum. He “wanted a space that felt different” where he “didn’t have to protect parts of myself”. To ensure the same for himself and others and to explore the “wild remoteness”, he started organising trips to Alaska and founded Indigo Alpine Guides (IAG) in 2017. “Preparation begins well before the trip”, he says. “Covering gear, risk management, and wildlife safety” are all part of the process. “On the trail, we encourage open communication, where people feel seen, heard, and supported. Having an all-queer space makes a huge difference.”

Everything that participants note here commensurate with what Professor Girish Prayag, University of Canterbury, finds in his 2023 research article—co-authored with Clifford Lewis and Shah Pour—titled Travel in My Life: Queer Identity, Travel Motivation, Resilience, Life-Satisfaction and Well-Being. 

The article reveals how travelling enables queer people to become more expressive and feel at home with their orientation and gender identity. Researchers often “fail to consider how [travel] motives can be driven by individual identity”, the co-authors find, proffering a deeper connection with the “eudaimonic aspects” of travelling with experiences of queer people and “lower well-being” given their marginalised status in society. This makes one think why experiencing the joy that comes from travelling must be restricted to a select privileged. One can only hope that the realities of queer tourism in India change for good in the years to come.

Curated by Gaysi Family | Illustration: Anjali Nair

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