Copyright by Kaitlin Althen 2011 - The University of Texas at Austin

Copyright  

by  

Kaitlin Althen  

2011  

  

 

The Thesis Committee for Kaitlin Althen  

Certifies that this is the approved version of the following thesis:  

  

  

  

  

Queer Ideology, Political Practice, and the Indian Queer Movement:   

A Discourse on the Inclusion and Exclusion of Gender Variant  

Identities Within Contemporary Indian Queer Politics  

APPROVED BY  

  

  

  

  

  

SUPERVISING COMMITTEE:  

  

      Supervisor:      ___________________________________________   

                     Kathryn Hansen   

  

                        ____________________________________________   

                     Sofian Merabet   

  

 

  




  

  

by  

Kaitlin Althen, B.A.  

  

  

Thesis  

Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of   

The University of Texas at Austin  

in Partial Fulfillment   

of the Requirements  

for the Degree of   

  

Master of Arts  

  

  

The University of Texas at Austin  

December 2011 

  

 Dedication  

  

I dedicate this thesis to my mom. 

Acknowledgements  

  

Thank  you  to  Dr.  Kathryn  Hansen  and  Dr.  Sofian  Merabet  for  all  of  your  

research guidance and editing help. It was invaluable.  

  

v

Abstract  

  




  

Kaitlin Althen, M.A.  

The University of Texas at Austin, 2011  

  

Supervisor:  Kathryn Hansen  

  

This  thesis  discusses  the  ideological  and  political  composition  of  the  

contemporary queer community in India. It is specifically concerned with the ways  

in which transgender/gender variant identities are represented within Indian queer  

scholarship  and  queer  organizations  in  the  subcontinent.  At  present,  

transgender/gender variant studies of South Asia are primarily confined to research  

on  hijra  and  other  trans  feminine  gender  communities.  While  this  research  is  

important, this thesis seeks to expand the understanding of transgenderism/gender  

variance  in  South  Asia  by  examining  other  transgender  identities,  including  trans  

masculine identities, as well as analyzing Indian discourses on gender and sexuality  

more  broadly.  By  examining  Indian  queer  scholarship  and  the  politics  of  

contemporary  queer  organizations,  I  find  that  transgender/gender  variant  

individuals  face  greater  forms  of  marginalization  within  the  contemporary  queer  

movement in India because of the silence surrounding their gender identities.  

vi

Table of Contents  

List of Figures............................................................................................................................ viii  

Chapter 1 : Introduction...........................................................................................................1  

Indian Queer Movement................................................................................................4  

Gender, Sexuality and Transgenderism..................................................................7  

Methodology and Structure ...................................................................................... 11  

Chapter 2 : Gender and Sexuality in Indian Queer Scholarship ........................... 14  

The Discourse of Sexuality in Postcolonial Feminism in India.................. 15  

Sexuality and Gender in Contemporary Indian Queer Feminism............. 25  

Queer Sexuality, Identities and Ideologies in India ........................................ 37  

Gender Variance and the Queer Struggle............................................................ 54  

Chapter 3 : Politics of the Contemporary Indian Queer Movement ................... 69  

Voices Against 377........................................................................................................ 71  

Lesbians and Bisexuals in Action (LABIA).......................................................... 83  

Sangama/LesBiT............................................................................................................ 99  

Chapter 4 : Conclusion ‐ So…where are all the FtMs?.............................................111  

Epilogue ‐ Reflections on my Research..............................................................116  

Works Cited...............................................................................................................................118  

   

vii

List of Figures  

Figure 3.1: Humjinsi Signature Campaign Document............................................... 73  

Figure 3.2: Humjinsi Signature Campaign Document ‐ English Translation... 73  

Figure 3.3: "Aaj Kal Hamare Pyaar Ke Charche…" Rally Song .............................. 89  

Figure 3.4: "Aaj Kal Hamare Pyaar Ke Charche…" ‐ English Translation ......... 90  

Figure 3.5: “Hum Queer Hain Garva Se Bolo” Rally Song........................................ 91  

FIgure 3.6: "Hum Queer Hain Garva Se Bolo" ‐ English Translation.................. 92  

  

viii

  

  

Chapter 1: Introduction  

  

The documentation of non‐hijra transgendered lives in India is yet to  

begin.…Trans  persons  are  not  finding  any  meaningful  space  within  

existing  queer/lgbt  groups.  These  have  in  fact  been  and  are  

increasingly being trans‐unfriendly; even transphobic.   

—Satya Rai Nagpaul, “Where Are All the F2Ms?: Trans  

Visibility and Organising in India”  

Transgender  studies  of  South  Asia  have  largely  focused  upon  transgender  

women  and  trans  feminine  gender  expressions  within  the  subcontinent;  namely  

those  of  hijra,  aravani 1 ,  and  kothi 2   communities.  These  gender  variant  feminine  

identities are highly visible and culturally situated within Indian society, which has  

caused  them  to  be  the  subject  of  a  number  of  scholars’  academic  curiosities. 3   But  

while  transgender  women  and  gender  variant  feminine  identities  have  become  a  

foremost  topic  of  academic  research  on  transgenderism  in  India,  the  topic  of  

transgender  men  and  trans  masculinity  in  the  subcontinent  has  hardly  been  

breeched. 4  This largely absent voice within transgender studies of India led me to  

question the extent to which these identities exist in Indian society; whether they  

are excluded from all scholarship; and, if so, why are these exclusions occurring. I  

1  Hijras and aravanis are, descriptively speaking, transgender/transsexual women’s identities in  

South Asia.  

2  Kothis are effeminate gay men who mostly come from working or lower middle classes and largely  

identify as the passive sexual partner, though not exclusively.  

3  For more on this topic, see the following works: L. Cohen 1995; Zwilling and Sweet 1996; Bradford  

1983; Hall 1995; Hall 1997; Hall 2002; Reddy 2006; Nanda 1999.  

4  Existing scholarship on transgender men and trans masculinity in India is limited to the following  

articles  found  in  my  works  cited  list:  Hall  2009;  Nagpaul  2004;  Nagpaul  2008;  Nagpaul  2009a;  

Nagpaul 2009b. 

1

wanted  to  know,  why  have  transgender  women  maintained  the  sole  transgender  

identity  in  India,  while  transgender  men,  and  other  gender  non‐conforming  

identities, are only briefly acknowledged? Satya Rai Nagpaul is a 39 year‐old, post‐ 

operative, female‐to‐male transgender Indian man living in Bangalore who started  

the  transgender  male  networking  organization  Sampoorna.  As  Satya  Rai  Nagpaul  

rightly questions in his article, “Where are all the F2Ms?” (2004, 7).  

  Before  I  chose  my  master’s  thesis  topic,  I  inquired  about  the  existence  of  

transgender men amongst graduate student colleagues and found that no one had  

heard  of  any  trans  male  communities  in  India.  Some  students  did,  however,  

personally  know  lesbians  and  gay  men  who  were  involved  in  different  queer  

communities in India. I wondered if trans male identities would be a viable topic to  

research  and,  therefore,  decided  to  inquire  within  the  Indian  queer  community  

whether they knew of transgender male communities. During a few short visits to  

Delhi while on a summer‐long abroad trip in northern India in 2010, I was able to  

get in contact with four individuals involved in five different queer organizations in  

Delhi  to  informally  ask  them  questions  about  what  they  knew  about  transgender  

men. The questions I asked were aimed at acquiring any information I could about  

transgender men in India, for at this time I did not know whether anyone knew of  

their existence at all. I asked, “Are there transgender men in India? If so, where are  

they and what organizations are they involved in? Why are they largely unknown  

within Indian society? What role do they play in the Indian queer movement?” Most  

2

individuals were quick to say, “Yes. Transgender men exist in India.” But beyond this  

response they were unsure of anything else about their identities; who they were as  

people;  what  their  experiences  were  like;  whether  or  not  they  had  established  

communities;  or  whether  or  not  they  were  given  medical  options  to  physically  

transition  (meaning,  in  this  instance,  change  their  sex  from  male  to  female).  The  

only  other  response  I  received  with  absolute  certainty  was,  “You  must  speak  to  

Satya.” Everyone I spoke to who had done significant queer political organizing in  

Mumbai, Delhi, and Bangalore was unsure of the specific details of transgender male  

identities  but  knew  of  Satya  Rai  Nagpaul  and,  on  the  matter  of  transgender  men,  

knew  that  I  should  speak  to  him  about  my  questions.  Because  Satya  lives  in  

Bangalore and I was only in northern India for a short while, email correspondence  

was  the  only  option.  After  a  few  emails  back  and  forth,  Satya  felt  comfortable  

enough with my research guidelines and questions and sent me a few articles that  

he has written for different publications, many queer, about his experiences coming  

out  as  transgender,  physically  transitioning,  and  being  transgender  in  the  Indian  

queer  community.  These  articles,  along  with  my  online  research  on  queer  

communities in India, led me to the next phase in my research.   

I  acquired  concrete  evidence  that  transgender  men  exist  in  India,  a  

previously unknown or unacknowledged fact within academic studies of South Asia;  

however,  I  returned  to  the  United  States  and  was  unable  to  do  any  ethnographic  

research  to  find  out  more  about  these  transgender  male  communities  for  my  

3

master’s thesis. “How was I going to continue my research?”, I asked myself. Faced  

with these research realities and still very interested in transgender studies of India,  

I  returned  to  my  initial  inquiries  regarding  the  inclusion  of  certain  transgender  

identities and the exclusion of others within academic scholarship. Why are some  

transgender  identities  focused  on  more  than  others  within  scholarship?  In  which  

political spaces in India are they included or excluded more than others? What types  

of  politics  comprise  the  Indian  queer  political  scene?  What  is  the  relationship  of  

queer political organizing to class? These research questions led me to establish a  

firm  grasp  of  the  queer  political  climate  through  which  I  could  further  analyze  

gender  variance  and  transgender  identities  in  the  Indian  context.  An  extension  of  

Satya’s fundamental question drives my current research: “Where are all the gender  

variant/transgender identities in the Indian queer political movement?”  

  

  

Indian Queer Movement  

The  shared  sense  of  common  identity,  and  the  mergence  of  

increasingly visible communities that openly name themselves as gay,  

lesbian, bisexual, kothi, hijra and transgendered, has in effect become  

the foundation of a young queer movement.  

—Arvind  Narrain  and  Gautam  Bhan,  Because  I  Have  A  

Voice: Queer Politics in India  

  

  

The queer movement in India is both a political movement that focuses on  

the rights of lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgendered, kothi and hijra individuals, as well  

as  an  ideological  movement  that  challenges  the  larger  structures  of  

4

heteropatriarchy 5  that dictate norms of gender and sexuality within Indian society  

(Narrain  and  Bhan  2009,  4).  As  Arvind  Narrain  and  Gautam  Bhan,  both  leading  

Indian  queer  scholar‐activists,  express,  the  term  queer,  although  borrowed  from  

English,  is  strongly  rooted  in  Indian  conceptions  of  non‐normative  gender  and  

sexual identities (4‐5); a point well documented by Ruth Vanita and Saleem Kidwai.  

For  my  research,  I  focus  on  gender‐based  identities’  representation  within  the  

Indian queer movement and the ways in which transgender/gender variant issues  

and  politics  are  incorporated  into  the  larger  movement.  Questions  that  I  examine  

include,  which  political  ideologies  drive  the  Indian  queer  movement?  Which  

scholars  and  activists  influence  these  political  ideologies?  Which  activists  and  

organizations  comprise  the  larger  political  movement?  What  are  their  main  

objectives? Whose interests are these objectives primarily serving? Which identities  

and, by extension, issues have stronger representation within the movement? Which  

identities  and  issues  face  greater  marginalization?  How  do  different  levels  of  

privilege  facilitate  the  inclusion  and  exclusion  of  different  gender  and  sexual  

minorities within the larger political movement? How do silences within scholarship  

reflect and affect the political movement’s objectives?   

5  ‘Heteropatriarchy’ is a term that recognizes and connects the dominance and privilege associated  

with heterosexuality, and heteronormativity, with that of patriarchy. By linking these two hegemonic  

structures,  one  forms  a  broader  understanding  of  larger  structural  oppression  and,  in  turn,  forms  

solidarity amongst oppressed and marginalized identities; i.e. those who are oppressed by patriarchy  

and those who are oppressed by heterosexual privilege and dominance. This term recognizes male  

dominance and privilege, heterosexual dominance and privilege, the systemic tolerance of violence  

against women, men’s access to women’s bodies, and the subordination of all marginalized identities  

in the heteropatriarchal system.  

5

As I will show, the Indian queer community is primarily an English‐speaking  

urban  movement  that  operates  within  a  particular  class,  caste  and  religious  

understanding.  These  factors  are  important  determinants  of  the  larger  queer  

community’s politics and level of minority identity inclusion and exclusion. One of  

the  major  successes  of  the  movement,  and  one  of  the  foci  of  my  research,  is  the  

queer  community’s  collective  efforts  to  overturn  Section  377  of  the  Indian  Penal  

Code.  This  law  was  first  introduced  under  colonial  British  rule  and  was  primarily  

used  by  the  Indian  government  to  criminally  punish  same‐sex  sexual  relations,  

before  it  was  overturned  in  July  of  2009.  What  I  found  surprising  during  my  

preliminary  research  was  that  a  majority  of  the  groups  organizing  to  overturn  

Section  377  used  the  term  samesex  desire,  rather  than  queer  desire,  as  the  major  

political  motivation  of  the  campaign.  Through  my  research,  I  examine,  how  these  

groups  equate  the  terms  same‐sex  desire  and  queer  desire;  the  ideological  

differences  of  these  terms;  the  application  of  same‐sex  desire  within  a  queer  

political  framework;  as  well  as  the  potential  marginalization  of  gender‐based  

identities within this framework. I want to know, how are gender‐based minorities,  

i.e. gender variant/transgender identities, treated within the broader queer political  

movement?  How  are  their  identities  and  issues  included  and  excluded  within  the  

Indian queer community?   

  

  

  

  

6

  

Gender, Sexuality and Transgenderism  

  

My  project  is  situated  within  the  emergent  and  interdisciplinary  field  of  

transgender and gender variant studies, which draws heavily from the socio‐cultural  

critiques  of  gender  and  sexuality  presented  by  feminist  and  queer  scholars.  My  

research  extends  across  a  wide  range  of  Western  and  Indian  sources  that  discuss  

sexuality, gender, feminism, queer theory, class, caste and religion. Terminology that  

I use, therefore, draws from both Western and Indian sources. For the purpose of  

my  research  I  utilize  the  term  gender  variant,  which  I  use  synonymously  with  

gender  nonconforming,  queerly  gendered,  and  the  broad  descriptive  term  

transgender,  in  order  to  describe  individuals  who  exist  outside  of  the  

heteronormative 6  gender binary system. I use these terms specifically because they  

are  more  descriptive  in  nature,  which  allows  me  to  use  the  terms  to  describe  

different  types  of  gender  non‐conforming  groups  in  the  South  Asian  context  that  

may  or  may  not  have  an  indigenous  term  to  describe  themselves.  In  situations  

where terms do exist, i.e. hijra or khush, I use those terms; otherwise, I opt for the  

more  descriptive,  rather  than  identifying,  terms.  ‘Transgender’  is  a  term  that  has  

both  specific  and  broad  meaning.  In  specific  terms  it  can  mean  an  individual  who  

decides  to  live  in  a  gender  deemed  opposite  their  birth  gender,  i.e.  a  person  born  

male who wants to live her life as a woman. This individual may or may not choose  

6  ‘Heteronormative’, or ‘heteronormativity’, is a dominant ideology in which heterosexuality and the  

privileges  of  heterosexual  couples  and  relationships,  as  well  as  traditional  gender  roles,  are  

presumed to be innate or natural within society.  

7

to physically change their birth sex to match their gender, though if they choose to  

undergo such procedures some individuals choose to identify as transsexuals. In the  

broad  sense  of  the  word,  which  I  use  frequently  throughout  my  research,  

transgender  is  nearly  synonymous  with  gender  variant.  Transgender identities,  in  

this descriptive sense, are those identities outside the heteronormative boundaries  

of  normative  gender,  which  includes,  transgender  men  and  women,  transsexuals,  

cross‐dressers, genderqueers, hijras, kothis, etc.  

In  Western  academia,  queer  feminist  theorists  like  Judith  Butler  and  Eve  

Sedgwick  pioneered  critiques  of  gender  that  deconstruct  and  transcend  the  

heteronormative  gender  binary,  thus  expanding  culturally  constructed  notions  of  

gender  to  incorporate  gender  variance  and  transgender  identities  (Butler  1990;  

Sedgwick  1990).  Feminist,  queer  and  transgender  works  that  follow  these  pivotal  

scholars,  and  some  that  emerged  before,  have  in  turn  challenged  the  hegemonic  

construction  of  normative  gender  and  sexuality,  thus  laying  the  groundwork  for  

expansive  analyses  of  gender  variant  and  transgender  identities  (Warner  1993;  

Feinberg  1996;  C.  Cohen  1997;  Devor  1997;  Feinberg  1998;  Halberstam  1998;  

Butler  2004;  Halberstam  2005;  Stryker  2008;  Stryker  and  Wittle  2006).  Based  on  

research  conducted  in  New  York  City,  the  anthropologist  David  Valentine,  in  his  

book  Imagining  Transgender:  An  Ethnography  of  a  Category  (2007),  analyzes  the  

production of transgender studies as an academic field, a form of identification, and  

a mode of activism. He writes,   

8

…“transgender”  in  activism,  identification,  and  scholarship  is  

enmeshed  in  a  complicated  set  of  contradictory  meanings.  It  can  be  

read  as  a  mode  of  revolutionary  and  utopian  action  but  also  one  

which  recognizes  the  specific  trajectories  of  certain  

identifications.…As such, transgender studies is complicated not only  

by the heterogeneity of voices and the question of embodiment and  

experience  but  also  by  how  certain  voices,  experiences,  and  

embodiments come to be understood as transgender in the first place.  

(147)  

  

A  significant  aim  of  my  research  is  to  expand  transgender  scholarship  in  India  to  

include  the  specific  socio‐political  identities  of  gender  variant/transgender  

individuals, as well as to provide an ideological and historical template with which  

to  understand  the  category  of  transgender  within  contemporary  Indian  society.  

Transgender  identities  by  their  very  existence  are  subversive  of  the  

heteronormative, hegemonic social structure, which dictates that there are only two  

genders based on birth sex, man and woman (Butler 1990, 8‐10; Sedgwick 1990, 9‐ 

10). Transgender identities defy this dominant social stricture and exist in a space of  

gender  variance,  rather  than  gender  rigidity.  Therefore,  an  important  aim  of  my  

research is locating the transgender subject within the systemic structure of Indian  

heteropatriarchy  and  heteronormativity,  as  well  as  within  the  dominant  political  

structures of Indian queer scholarship and organizing.  

Though  Western  scholarship  informs  the  framework  of  my  study  of  

transgender/gender  variant  identities  as  a  category,  feminist,  queer  and  

transgender  scholarship  emerging  from  India  structures  my  analysis  of  gender  

variance/transgenderism  within  the  subcontinent.  I  use  the  term  Indian  queer  

9

scholarship to denote scholarship by individuals who are of Indian origin and who  

also write about queer issues in the subcontinent. Some scholars may also be queer,  

but not all of them are. A majority of the scholars that I place in this category live in  

India, but some of them live and teach in other countries, such as the United States  

and  Canada.  I  use  the  term  scholar  to  describe  those  individuals  who  write  

theoretical,  critical,  and/or  socially  aware  articles,  books  or  even  blogs  that  

contribute  to  the  topic  of  queer  identities  and  politics  in  India.  The  articles  and  

books  that  I  cite  may  or  may  not  be  published  and  may  or  may  not  be  available  

outside of India, though some are available as online copies of printed publications  

or for purchase through Indian publishing companies.  

I focus upon Indian queer scholarship as a point of critical analysis for three  

important  reasons.  First,  I  am  interested  in  Indian  representations  of  and  

discussions about sexuality and queer identities. Understanding how Indians relate  

to and discuss topics of queer sexuality is paramount to my research. The second  

reason, which is related to the first, is Indian scholars who are discussing sexuality  

and queer identities are, for the most part, significantly involved in queer political  

organizing in urban centers across India. These scholar‐activists, as I have termed  

them, have a unique positionality within the realm of academia and activism. Their  

perspectives  provide  important  insights  into  queer  movements  throughout  the  

country  and  expose  unique  cultural  differences,  as  well  as  different  levels  of  

privilege,  within  and  between  queer  Indian  identities.  The  third  reason  is  more  

10

academically utilitarian. Since few scholars outside of the Indian subcontinent are  

discussing  Indian  queer  politics,  the  most  important  works  on  this  topic  are  

emerging  out  of  India  and  are  being  published  both  within  and  outside  of  the  

subcontinent.  Therefore,  I  have  chosen  to  focus  on  Indian  queer  scholars 7 ,  in  part,  

because  they  are  writing  the  most  critical  works  on  queer  politics  in  India.  Even  

though  I  primarily  cite  Indian  queer  scholars  who  reside  in  India,  I  have  also  

included  a  number  of  Non‐Resident  Indian  scholars’  work  on  queer  identity  as  it  

relates to the South Asian context and queer diasporic communities.  

  

Methodology and Structure  

  

The  main  goal  of  my  research  is  to  analyze  gender  variant  identities’  

inclusions and exclusions within contemporary Indian queer politics. In Chapter 2, I  

engage  in  Indian  scholars’  discussions  regarding  queer  politics  and  identities  in  

India,  as  well  as  situate  their  discussions  within  broader  queer  theoretical  

frameworks, in order to elucidate information about the inclusions and exclusions of  

gender  variant  individuals  within  Indian  queer  scholarship.  Because  a  majority  of  

Indian scholars who write on the topic of queer identities in India are also heavily  

involved in queer political organizing in the major urban centers, their discussions  

are heavily influential in shaping queer ideologies and movements throughout the  

7   Again,  I  use  this  term  to  denote  those  scholars  who  work  on  issues  of  queer  theorizing,  identity  

and/or politics. Although some of these scholars are queer, I do not use this term to describe their  

sexual identity, only their scholarship.  

11

country.  Their  influence  also  extends  beyond  queer  communities  to  affect  general  

socio‐cultural knowledge and understanding about queer people in Indian society;  

mainly  through  media  exposure  of  political  movements  and  as  information  about  

queer  identities  spreads  through  queer  blogs,  magazines,  meetings  and  books.  

Therefore, how Indian queer scholar‐activists discuss gender variant people within  

their scholarship will, I argue, affect the ideologies of their organizations, the foci of  

their political movements, and the socio‐cultural understandings of gender variant  

people and communities across India.  

In  Chapter  3,  I  examine  the  discourses  around  gender  variant/transgender  

identities  within  queer  political  organizations  in  India  (which  are  often  organized  

and  led  by  Indian  queer  scholar‐activists)  in  order  to  analyze  the  positionality  of  

gender variant/transgender individuals within Indian queer communities. It is Satya  

Rai  Nagpaul’s  experience  that  queer  communities  in  India  have  been  largely  

exclusionary  of  transgender  people,  generally  focusing  solely  on  same‐sex  desire  

politics,  and  are,  at  times,  transphobic  (Nagpaul  2004).  He  also  expresses  the  

invisibility of his own transgender identity as well as all non‐hijra, gender variant  

identities  within  the  queer  community  and  Indian  society  as  a  whole.  As  I  

demonstrate in Chapter 2, this unacknowledged blind spot in the queer community  

has permeated its silence throughout queer/transgender scholarship of India, giving  

the  unjust  perception  of  non‐existence  or  unimportance.  I  show  in  Chapter  3  that  

while  many  mainstream  queer  organizations  neglect  gender  variance  within  their  

12

political pursuits, a growing movement within the queer political scene is beginning  

to view gender non‐conformity as the next frontier in queer organizing, communal  

empowerment,  and  socio‐political  enlightenment.  By  embracing  the  gender  non‐ 

conforming sector of the queer community, Indian queer activists are better able to  

fight heteropatriarchy on all its fronts as well as promote the freedom of the entire  

queer  community,  rather  than  primarily  focusing  on  the  issues  and  politics  of  the  

majority.  

In summary, the main focus and methodology of my research, as I discuss in  

Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 respectively, is two‐pronged: 1) To critically engage with  

contemporary  Indian  queer  scholarship,  looking  at  the  history  and  production  of  

ideas,  agency  and  authorship,  as  well  as  links  to  contemporary  politics,  so  as  to  

begin a discussion regarding the different levels of inclusion and exclusion of gender  

non‐conforming  individuals  within  contemporary  Indian  queer  scholarship.  2)  

Analyze  the  political  goals  and  actions  of  the  leading  contemporary  queer  activist  

organizations in India, by examining their political documents, websites and online  

discussion  forums,  in  order  to  establish  the  level  of  inclusion  and/or  exclusion  of  

gender  variant/transgender  identities  and  politics  within  their  organizations.  I  

intend to show through this thesis that gender is a neglected area of critique within  

queer  ideologies  and  politics  in  India,  which  has  led  to  the  silence  and  

marginalization  of  gender  variant/transgender  issues  and  politics  within  the  

broader Indian queer political movement.  

13

  

Chapter 2: Gender and Sexuality in Indian Queer Scholarship  

In  this  chapter,  I  discuss  the  ways  in  which  gender  non‐conformity  and  

transgender  identities  are  discussed  within  contemporary  Indian  feminist  and  

queer scholarship on gender and sexuality. As mentioned earlier, many of the Indian  

queer scholars that I discuss are connected to Indian queer political organizations. I  

argue  that  there  is  an  ideological  link  between  Indian  queer  scholars,  their  

organizations,  and  the  broader  ideological  framework  of  contemporary  Indian  

queer  politics.  Therefore,  by  analyzing  Indian  scholars’  discourses  on  gender  and  

sexuality, I hope to reveal the different levels of inclusion and exclusion of gender  

and sexual minority identities within contemporary Indian queer scholarship and,  

by extension, the broader Indian queer movement.   

Queer theorizing, communal identities, and political formations in India are  

rooted  in  feminist  politics  produced  by  the  postcolonial,  Indian  women’s  

movements. Therefore, in order to theoretically and historically situate this project,  

I  begin  this  chapter  by  first  engaging  with  postcolonial  feminist  discourses  on  

sexuality  and  gender.  I  then  proceed  to  critique  these  discourses  through  Indian  

queer  feminist  scholarship.  Following  these  analyses,  I  discuss  queer  sexuality,  

identities  and  theory  as  they  are  rendered  within  Indian  queer  scholarship  and  

applied  to  discussions  of  queer  ideologies  and  political  organizing  in  the  Indian  

context. Because queer ideologies emerged from feminist discourses on gender and  

14

sexuality,  part  of  my  project  is  to  historically  connect  the  theoretical  frameworks  

and  political  motivations  of  contemporary  queer  feminism  and  broader  queer  

scholarship  in  India.  Finally,  I  finish  this  chapter  with  a  discussion  of  gender  

variance and transgender identities in India and the ways in which gender variant  

individuals  and  communities  are  represented,  and  represent  themselves,  within  

Indian queer scholarship.   

  

The Discourse of Sexuality within Postcolonial Feminism in India  

  

Sexuality in the Asian subcontinent has long been considered a taboo, yet central,  

topic  of  interest  within  public  social  discourse.  Postcolonial  feminist  scholars  of  

colonialism  in  South  Asia  began  to  raise  the  question  of  ‘gender’  and  ‘sexual  

ideologies’ in their critiques of the centrality of women’s sexuality, the production of  

an  Indian  womanhood,  and  the  bourgeois  construction  of  ‘perverse/respectable’  

sexual  moralities  within  nationalist  and  religious  discourses  in  colonial  India.  

Kumkum Sangari and Sudesh Vaid’s collection of feminist historiographies, entitled  

Recasting  Women:  Essays  in  Indian  Colonial  History  (1989),  is  one  of  the  first  

postcolonial  feminist  texts  in  India  to  firmly  establish  ‘gender’,  specifically  and  

exclusively in terms of women, as a crucial paradigm of social analysis through its  

emphasis  on  exposing  the  penetrative  effects  of  patriarchy  within  colonial  Indian  

society. Within this collection, Lata Mani, in her essay “Contentious Traditions: The  

Debate  on  Sati  in  Colonial  India”,  argues  that  women  become  ‘emblematic  of  

15

tradition’  and,  therefore,  debates  over  the  ‘rights  and  status  of  women  in  society’  

become  the  contentious  grounds  on  which  notions  of  traditional  identities  are  

reworked  (Mani  1989,  90).  In  a  similar  vein,  Partha  Chatterjee,  in  his  essay  “The  

Nationalist Resolution to the Women’s Question”, argues that the figure of the ‘ideal  

woman’, as created by the nationalist efforts of the bhadralok 8  and internalized by  

the men and women of Indian middle class society at the time, became the bearer of  

all  patriarchal,  familial  ideologies  and  the  overall  embodiment  of  tradition.  Charu  

Gupta’s  book,  Sexuality,  Obscenity,  Community:  Women,  Muslims,  and  the  Hindu  

Public in Colonial India (2001), also raises ‘the women’s question’ of colonial India  

by  engaging  in  discussions  of  the  bourgeois  process  of  sanitizing  women’s  social  

spaces, the sexual politics of the home and domestic life, ‘The Problem of Widows’  

Sexuality’, ‘Anxious Hindu Masculinity and the ‘Other’’, and the ‘Plague of Women’s  

Honour’ (Gupta 2001). Such examples of postcolonial feminist scholarship make it  

apparent  that  controlling  women’s  sexuality  and  situating  their  status  as  

subservient to men within Indian society was a deliberate strategy used to cultivate  

and protect a constructed image of traditional Indian society. In this image, women  

are  the  primary  objects  of  patriarchal  dominance  and  of  bourgeois  hegemonic  

discourses of masculinity, religious identity, and sanitization. Postcolonial feminist  

scholars have linked these critiques of gender and sexuality in colonial India to the  

formation of contemporary conservative, nationalist notions of a ‘pure’, ‘traditional’  

8  Bengali middle class.  

16

Indian  identity  that  is  unscathed  by  foreign  influence  and  which  reifies  the  

patriarchal cultural norms of contemporary society.  

While  these  scholars  provide  strong  critiques  of  women  and  sexual  

ideologies  as  preoccupations  of  nationalist  interest  and  public  surveillance  within  

colonial, national and religious discourses of patriarchy, they noticeably exclude any  

discussion  of  the  institutional  and  state  production  of  compulsory  heterosexuality 9   

within  Indian  society.  Gayatri  Gopinath,  author  of  Impossible  Desires:  Queer  

Diasporas  and  South  Asian  Public  Cultures  (2005),  discusses  the  shortcomings  of  

Indian postcolonial feminist writing within the paradigm of nationalism as lacking  

both a proper critique of the institution of heterosexuality as well as an engagement  

in the perspectives of ‘alternative sexualities’. She writes,   

…the  contributors  fail  to  adequately  articulate  how  one  of  the  most  

powerful  methods  of  disciplining  and  controlling  female  sexuality  

within  such  movements  [nationalist  movements]  has  been  the  

prescription  of  state‐sanctioned  heterosexuality  as  the  structure  

within  which  female  nationalist  subjects  are  housed.…By  failing  to  

examine the existence and workings of alternative sexualities within  

9   ‘Compulsory  heterosexuality’  is  a  term  first  coined  by  the  American  poet,  essayist,  feminist  

Adrienne Rich in her article “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence”. In this article, Rich  

evaluates four widely acknowledged and accepted feminist books that presume heterosexuality to be  

the preference of most women, rather than a prescribed hegemonic social institution. She writes,   

I have learned more from some of these books than from others; but on this I am  

clear: each one might have been more accurate, more powerful, more truly a force  

for change, had the author felt impelled to deal with lesbian existence as a reality,  

and as a source of knowledge and power available to women; or with the institution  

of heterosexuality itself as a beachhead of male dominance. In none of them is the  

question  ever  raised,  whether  in  a  different  context,  or  other  things  being  equal,  

women  would  choose  heterosexual  coupling  and  marriage;  heterosexuality  is  

presumed as a “sexual preference” of “most women,” either implicitly or explicitly.  

In  none  of  these  books,  which  concern  themselves  with  mothering,  sex  roles,  

relationships, and societal prescriptions for women, is compulsory heterosexuality  

ever  examined  as  an  institution  powerfully  affecting  all  these;  or  the  idea  of  

“preference” or “innate orientation” even indirectly questioned. (Rich 1980, 633) 

17

dominant nationalisms, such analyses leave intact the very structures  

of  gender  and  sexual  subordination  that  they  seek  to  critique  and  

dismantle. (136)  

  

Gopinath  identifies  her  text  as  the  theoretical  intersection  between  queer  and  

feminist scholarship, for the center of its analysis is the ‘impossible’ queer female  

subject, which is unthinkable to the limited, heteronormative scope of postcolonial  

feminism,  as  well  as  to  patriarchal  society  at  large  (16).  Ruth  Vanita,  author  of  

Queering India: SameSex Love and Eroticism in Indian Culture and Society (2002a)  

and co‐editor with Saleem Kidwai of SameSex Love in India: A Literary History (first  

published  in  2000),  provides  a  similar  critique  of  Indian  postcolonial  feminist  

literature, in her essay “Thinking Beyond Gender in India” (1999). In this essay, she  

critiques  Indian  feminism  as  being  so  preoccupied  with  women’s  issues  that  it  

excludes the oppression of other minority sexualities in Indian society (530‐531). 10   

Ultimately, by not acknowledging heterosexuality as a hegemonic social institution,  

postcolonial feminist scholars fail to adequately challenge the oppressive structures  

that produce the gender and sexual hierarchies they critique; and, most importantly  

for my project, they fail to address the role of non‐heterosexual sexual identities as  

destabilizing,  counter‐hegemonies  to  the  dominant  social  structure  of  Indian  

patriarchy.  These  critiques  of  Indian  postcolonial  feminist  scholarship  are  

applicable across a wide‐range of feminist scholarship in India, as well as in other  

10   She  suggests  a  radical  form  of  opposition  to  the  system  of  oppression,  which  I  include  in  later  

discussions and critiques of feminism.  

18

areas of the world, and, therefore, will continue to arise throughout this discussion  

of feminist contributions to queer ideologies.  

Feminist  scholars  analyzing  social  issues  in  postcolonial  and  contemporary  

India, like feminist scholars of colonialism, generally place women at the center of  

the  discourse  on  sexuality,  though  they  engage  more  heavily  in  controversial  

women’s  issues  of  contemporary  Indian  society;  namely,  rape  and  violence,  

regulation  of  women’s  bodies,  and  empowering  women’s  sexual  desire  (John  and  

Nair 1998; Menon 1999; Vanita 1999; Bose 2002; Chaudhuri 2005; Gangoli 2007). 11   

A major shift in the discourse of these feminist scholars is in their analysis of the  

social silence created around sexuality in contemporary Indian society, which they  

expose  in  order  to  raise  awareness  and  affect  social  change  around  issues  of  

women’s  sexuality,  sexual  violence,  and  patriarchal  dominance. 12   Postcolonial  

feminist  scholars  have  largely  attributed  the  silence  around  sexuality  to  the  strict  

social moorings of Indian patriarchy, social expectations of women in Indian society,  

and  the  structure  of  Indian  families.  In  tandem  with  these  critiques  are  the  many  

scholars  who  challenge  the  very  notion  of  silence  as  it  relates  to  sexuality  in  the  

Indian context. Mary E. John and Janaki Nair’s co‐edited book, A Question of Silence? :  

The  Sexual  Economies  of  Modern  India  (1998),  is  one  of  the  earliest  collections  of  

11   This  is  a  non‐exhaustive  list  used  to  represent  a  larger  group  of  works  that  engage  in  similar  

critiques of Indian society and patriarchy and contribute to later queer ideologies.  

12   Silence  around  issues  of  sexuality  is  often  reflected  within  Indian  languages  themselves.  

Terminology used for ‘rape’ in Hindi‐Urdu, for instance, does not directly relate to the act of violence  

itself, but rather provides a social description that eludes to the act; i.e. one way to say that someone  

is raped in Hindi‐Urdu is ‘izzat lotna’, which translates as ‘to steal (someone’s) honor’. 

19

Indian feminist writing on sexuality and is widely cited by later feminists and queer  

theorists as a founding text on the discourse of sexuality in the Indian context. In the  

introductory  essay  “A  Question  of  Silence?:  An  Introduction”,  John  and  Nair  

challenge, what they term, the ‘conspiracy of silence’,   

A  focus  on  the  conspiracy  of  silence  regarding  sexuality  in  India,  

whether  within  political  and  social  movements  or  in  scholarship,  

blinds  us  to  the  multiple  sites  where  ‘sexuality’  has  long  been  

embedded.  In  the  spheres  of  the  law,  demography  or  medicine,  for  

instance, sexuality enjoys a massive and indisputable presence that is  

far  from  prohibited.  How  then  may  we  thematise  this  crucial  but  

neglected field, in order to dislodge prevailing opinions regarding the  

irrelevance  of  sexuality  as  an  object  of  investigation,  barring,  say,  

alarmed reactions to the obscenity being so assiduously nurtured by  

commercial cinema. (1)  

  

Drawing on Foucault’s repressive hypothesis 13 , John and Nair, in their introductory  

essay,  discuss  the  ways  in  which  the  Indian  state  and  other  non‐state  patriarchal  

institutions are involved in the sexual lives of Indian citizens and how these actors  

utilize methods of surveillance and coercion to control different populations’ sexual  

relations  (9).  John  and  Nair  show  how,  far  from  being  silenced  or  repressed,  

sexuality actually becomes a fixation of the state and institutions; and the discourse  

13   In  The  History  of  Sexuality,  Volume  I:  An  Introduction,  Michel  Foucault  theorizes  the  ‘repressive  

hypothesis’ and argues that sex is not actually socially repressed, as was commonly understood, but  

is rather a major social discourse prompted by the state and institutions. He writes,  

The question I would like to pose is not, Why are we repressed? But rather, Why we  

say,  with  so  much  passion  and  so  much  resentment  against  our  most  recent  past,  

against our present, and against ourselves, that we are repressed? […] The central  

issue, then, […] is not to determine whether one says yes or not to sex, whether one  

formulates  prohibitions  or  permissions,  whether  one  asserts  its  importance  or  

denies its effects, or whether one refines the words one uses to designate it; but to  

account for the fact that it is spoken about, to discover who does the speaking, the  

positions  and  viewpoints  from  which  they  speak,  the  institutions  which  prompt  

people  to  speak  about  it  and  which  store  and  distribute  the  things  that  are  said.  

What is at issue, briefly, is the over‐all “discursive fact,” the way in which sex is “put  

into discourse”. (Foucault 1978, 7‐9; 11) 

20

of  sexuality,  rather  than  being  insignificant,  becomes  a  crucial  point  of  analysis.  

Their use of the term ‘sexual economies’ in their subtitle, rather than sexuality, is  

strategic, for they describe their book’s aim as being less interested in detailing an  

‘Indian sexuality’ than with “…the materiality of the sites where discussions of ‘sex’  

are laid out and contested…” (7). One of the major contributions of this book is that  

it  specifically  raises  the  discussion  of  sexuality  within  feminism  in  India  and  

challenges  the  ways  in  which  the  sexual  is  conceived  of  and  understood  within  

institutions,  practices,  and  forms  of  representation  in  India  (36‐37).  This  

contribution is inextricably linked with the emergence of the ‘conspiracy of silence’  

discussion, which ultimately dismissed common notions about silence as it relates  

to sexuality in the Indian public sphere. As noted before, this book is one of the first  

collections of Indian postcolonial feminist writing on the topic of sexuality and, thus,  

has laid the groundwork for later feminist scholars in India to further develop the  

discourse.  

While  John  and  Nair’s  book  raised  new  questions  around  sexuality,  one  

critique that I would make is that the application of their new claims is largely in  

relation  to  women’s  sexual  identity  and  almost  exclusively  limited  to  

heterosexuality. Within the text, non‐heterosexual discourses on sexuality are only  

addressed  in  a  small  section  at  the  very  end  of  the  introductory  essay,  entitled  

‘Alternate  Sexualities’,  in  which  John  and  Nair  state  that  heterosexuality  is  both  a  

dominant and exclusionary structure both in social movements as well as in the field  

21

of  investigating  ‘sex’  (John  and  Nair  1998,  33).  They  even  cite  Nivedita  Menon’s  

article, “Destabilising Feminism”, from the Indian publication Seminar, in which she  

argued,  “…to  consider  homosexuality  as  an  ‘alternative’  lifestyle  is  to  leave  

unquestioned  heterosexuality  as  a  norm”  (Menon  1996,  100).  They  go  on  to  raise  

the arguments of Menon’s essay regarding ‘destabilising the dominant social order’  

of  heterosexual  dominance,  but  they  almost  entirely  disregard  Menon’s  claims  

elsewhere  in  the  book  by  only  including  essays  that  discuss  sexuality  in  terms  of  

heterosexuality (John and Nair 1998, 36).   

I found their section on ‘Alternate Sexualities’ ironic for a number of reasons.  

First, while John and Nair include this very poignant quote from Nivedita Menon and  

engage in an analysis of patriarchy throughout their book, it is surprising that they  

do not address the norm of ‘unquestioned heterosexuality’ within their own work,  

as well as within Indian society. Instead of utilizing a framework of heteropatriarchy  

that  engages  in  the  oppressions  of  male  privilege,  misogyny  and  heterosexism,  

which  Menon’s  quote  entails,  they  choose  to  limit  their  discussion  of  sexuality  to  

almost exclusively heterosexual forms. A minor, but related, second point lies in the  

fact that John and Nair unreflectively include Menon’s statement about ‘considering  

homosexuality as an ‘alternative’ lifestyle’, while simultaneously titling their section  

on  non‐heterosexual  sexualities  ‘Alternative  Sexualities’.  The  title  of  the  section  

instills  an  inherent,  unquestioned  hierarchy  between  heterosexuality  and  non‐ 

heterosexual  sexualities  through  its  latent  assertion  that  heterosexuality  is  the  

22

original or main form of sexuality and non‐heterosexual forms are the alternate or  

alternative.  By  not  addressing  Menon’s  claims  it  shows  that  they,  too,  have  left  

‘unquestioned  heterosexuality  as  a  norm’  (John  and  Nair  1998,  33)  and  have  

remained  silent  as  to  how  the  dominant,  patriarchal  Indian  state  and  institutions  

have instituted compulsory heterosexuality ‘as a key disciplinary regime’ (Gopinath  

2005, 9).  

Despite  this  oversight,  John  and  Nair’s  text  enabled  feminists  in  India  to  

utilize the discourse on the conspiracy of silence to further open discussions about  

sex and sexual desire by challenging the perceived silence around sexuality within  

Indian  society.  In  the  introduction  to  her  edited  volume  Translating  Desire:  The  

Politics of Gender and Culture in India (2002), Brinda Bose situates her discussion of  

sexuality within the paradigm of John and Nair’s claims and further investigates the  

social spaces in which sexuality is discussed and contested, “where…they hide, and  

when…they  become  visible”,  and  how  these  discourses  are  ‘translated’  into  the  

everyday lives of people (Bose 2002, ix). She states that the aim of the text is, “To  

extend  the  idea  of  dialogue  –  in  the  very  wide  sense  of  the  opening  of  

communication, of breaking oppressive silences and taboos, of beginning to tell of  

ourselves to others…” (xxviii). A significant endeavor of this book is to respond to  

cultural  notions  of  sexuality  and  to  show  how  desire  and  sexuality  can  be  traced  

throughout Indian history and are not only confined to the Kamasutra (Bose 2002,  

x).   

23

While Bose expands the discourse of sexuality within feminist scholarship to  

include essays on masculinities and femininities, images of desire in different Indian  

works  of  fiction,  and  two  essays  that  discuss  samesex  love  in  India,  she  still  

primarily  limits  her  collection  of  essays  and  discussion  of  sexuality  to  women’s  

issues,  rape  and  violence,  and  heterosexual  sexuality.  In  the  introduction  to  her  

book  she  does,  however,  recognize  the  production  of  norms  by  the  hegemonic,  

heterosexual power structure of patriarchy. She writes,  

The hegemony of a markedly heterosexual society, as well as one that  

still  sees  conjugality  at  the  basis  of  all  human  sexual  relations,  is  of  

course  at  the  basis  of  all  popular  representations.  Dangerously,  the  

right‐wing  government  has  systematically  been  able  to  exploit  this  

interest in the representation of sexuality – which it sees as directly  

influenced by the decadent West – by employing state machinery to  

appeal  to  the  popular,  often  illiterate,  imagination  through  

counteractive  nationalistic  imagery.  In  particular,  the  articulation  of  

female sexual desires, in and of itself considered a site of resistance –  

remains  completely  contained  within  a  larger  patriarchal  terrain  

shared by warring political interest groups… (Bose 2002, x)  

  

Admittedly,  the  aim  of  postcolonial  feminist  literature  on  sexuality,  as  it  first  

emerged,  was  to  give  voice  and  agency  to  female/women’s  sexuality,  women’s  

issues, and sexual desire within Indian society. Focusing upon women’s issues, such  

as  rape,  violence,  and  desire,  which  were  previously  ignored  or  dismissed  as  

inappropriate  for  discussion,  was  and  continues  to  be  revolutionary  in  the  

discussion  of  sexuality  in  India.  By  mentioning  heterosexual  hegemony,  Bose  

expands the feminist discourse on sexuality to give space for the inclusion of non‐ 

heterosexual sexual identities in the struggle against hegemonic Indian patriarchy.  

24

Yet, while she frames this critique, I find that she does not create an anthology that  

adequately represents the discourse within this paradigm of analysis.  

  

Sexuality and Gender in Contemporary Indian Queer Feminism   

  

  At  this  intersection,  I  want  to  make  and  clarify  a  distinction  between  

postcolonial  feminist  scholars  and  contemporary  queer  feminists.  The  former,  as  

outlined  in  the  previous  section,  discuss  the  topic  of  sexuality  in  India  mainly  

through the lens of heterosexuality and within the confines of the normative gender  

binary;  while  the  latter  engage  in  an  expanded  discourse  of  sexuality  which  takes  

into account non‐heterosexual sexualities, heterosexual privilege, and, to an extent,  

non‐normative  gender  identities.  As  critiqued  earlier,  a  majority  of  postcolonial  

feminist  scholars  raise  discussions  of  sexuality  around  women’s  issues,  women’s  

sexuality, violence against women, and women’s sexual desire as sites of resistance  

and oppression within the hegemonic structure of Indian patriarchy. Contemporary  

queer  feminists  broaden  the  discourse  to  critique  heteronormativity  and  

heterosexism,  while  situating  non‐heterosexual  and  gender  variant  identities  as  

counterhegemonies  to  the  hegemonic  structure  of  heteropatriarchy.  Under  this  

schema  of  analysis,  feminists  acknowledge  and  critique  how  all  marginalized  

identities, including women, lesbians, hijras, gay men, and other subaltern identities,  

are negatively affected by the same hegemonic, heteropatriarchal power structure.  

Issues they critique include: same‐sex desire, transsexual identities, gender norms,  

25

women’s issues, rights of sexual minorities and women, lesbian and gay male desire  

and  rights,  and  institutional  heteronormativity,  to  name  a  few.  I  argue  that  

contemporary queer feminists queer the discourse on sexuality by broadening the  

hetero‐centric  postcolonial  feminist  discourses  and  blurring  and  merging  the  

traditionally  exclusive  categories  of  ‘feminist’  and  ‘queer’.  The  authors  and  works  

discussed in this section are representative of what I term as contemporary queer  

feminism, which engages in a combination of both feminist and queer critiques of  

heteropatriarchy in Indian society.  

Ruth  Vanita,  a  pillar  of  Indian  feminist  and  queer  scholarship,  has  

contributed  significantly  to  discourses  on  the  Indian  women’s  movement  and  

sexuality in India. At the very end of Nivedita Menon’s book Gender and Politics in  

India  (1999)  Menon  includes  a  short,  somewhat  scathing  article  by  Ruth  Vanita  

entitled “Thinking Beyond Gender in India”, in which Vanita critiques the goals and  

actions  of  the  women’s  movement  as  reifying  the  detriments  of  heterosexual  

monogamy  and  propagating  systems  of  violence  within  their  own  anti‐violence  

campaigns  (Vanita  1999,  530‐1).  She  writes  of  how  activism  in  the  women’s  

movement has fallen victim to patriarchal norms and is now working within, instead  

of against, the oppressive system. She writes,  

Women’s movements in India have, by and large, only taken the first  

direction—that of reforming marriage and the laws and social codes  

related  to  it.  Their  concentration  on  people  as  victims  rather  than  

agents  and  their  reluctance  to  question  gender  and  sexuality  

categories has fostered a stress on equity rather than liberation. Their  

self‐characterization as ‘women’s movements’ and dropping the word  

26

‘liberation’ is not fortuitous. Today, many people outside of women’s  

movements are far more advanced in thinking through and enacting  

liberatory modes of life, relationship and community. (534)  

  

Rather than liberating women and other minority groups from the oppressions of  

patriarchy,  the  women’s  movement  has  sought  equity  within  the  oppression  by  

focusing  their  attention  on  legal  equality  within  the  Indian  governmental  power  

structure.  As  Vanita  states,  people  outside  of  the  movement  have  produced  more  

successful  advances  through  liberatory  models,  rather  than  through  assimilation.  

Vanita’s  answer  to  the  problem  of  the  women’s  movement’s  assimilationist  

subscription  to  the  heterosexual  system  is  to  find  ways  of  socially  opting  out  of  

institutional structures, primarily through adopting a non‐gendered identity and/or  

by using religion to create ‘a new relationship to the universe’  (534‐9). She provides  

examples of this through personal experiences with people in her community and  

with various literary citations that detail different devotional and literary traditions’  

perspectives  on  creating  a  new  self;  including  inspirational  writings  by  Mirabai,  

Muktabai,  Sufi  Nizamuddin  Auliya,  Suniti  Namjoshi,  Vikram  Seth,  and  Mahatma  

Gandhi (535‐9). For Vanita, an essential aspect and necessity for the discourse on  

sexuality is ‘rethinking gender and sexuality to liberate both women and men into  

developing  different  kinds  of  family  or  collective  living’  structures,  whereby  

heterosexuality  and  heteronormativity  no  longer  stand  as  the  basis  of  all  social  

relationships and identities (534).   

27

Ruth  Vanita  is  also  well  known  for  co‐editing  a  groundbreaking  book  with  

Saleem Kidwai on samesex sexuality, titled SameSex Love in India: A Literary History  

(first  published  in  2000),  in  which  Vanita  and  Kidwai  collect  sixty‐one  different  

literary  narratives  from  various  time  periods  in  Indian  literary  history  that  all  

include  aspects  of  same‐sex  love. 14   This  anthology  was  created,  1)  to  show  that  

same‐sex love and attraction is not an import from the West, but found throughout  

Indian history; 2) to show that same‐sex love, while not always approved of, was not  

actively persecuted within Indian history; 3) to give same‐sex‐loving people in India  

a recorded literary history; and 4) to give social support to same‐sex‐loving people  

in their ‘homoerotically inclined’ endeavors (Vanita and Kidwai 2008, xxviii; xxxiv).  

This  book  is  a  major  contribution  to  Indian  scholarship  on  sexuality  and  is  

particularly significant for its openness and thoroughness in recording the history of  

same‐sex love through a plethora of Indian literary works; showing that same‐sex  

love is not a product of Westernization, but a part of Indian historical identity. 15   

Although this text is important for the collective identity of queer Indians and  

Indian  queer  history,  there  are  two  areas  of  this  text  that  I  wish  to  critique:  1)  

14   ‘Same‐sex’  and  ‘same‐sex  love’  are  terms  that  Ruth  Vanita  and  Saleem  Kidwai  use  to  describe  

people  who  love  people  of  their  same  sex,  but  who  may  or  may  not  identify  as  gay  or  lesbian  for  

socio‐cultural reasons. This is just one way in which some Indians choose to identify themselves.  

15   Giti  Thadani,  in  her  book  Sakhiyani:  Lesbian  Desire  in  Ancient  and  Modern  India  (1996),  raises  

awareness of lesbian invisibility within the larger framework of Indian society and lays claims to its  

existence  by  examining  and  exposing  erotic  representations  of  lesbian  sexuality  in  archaeological  

history.  She  provides  a  similar  historical  perspective  to  Ruth  Vanita  and  Saleem  Kidwai’s  literary  

history in that their works hold importance for grounding same‐sex attraction within different facets  

of  Indian  history  and  identity.  The  influence  of  the  texts,  however,  are  somewhat  separate  and  

distant  from  contemporary  queer  politics,  even  though  all  three  authors  have  had  strong  

involvements in feminist and queer struggles in India. Giti Thadani is a founding member of Sakhi,  

the lesbian archives in Delhi, as well as a lesbian community organizer in Delhi. 

28

Because it is primarily a historical account of literature its applicability remains in  

the  genres  of  history  and  literature  and  is  less  pertinent  to  contemporary  queer  

political  issues.  2)  The  term  same‐sex  is  one  that  primarily  applies  to  cisgender 16   

people,  mainly  gay  men  and  women  in  this  context,  and  appears  to  exclude  

transgender  individuals  who  may  not  fit  societal  gender/sex  norms,  or  who  may  

change  or  not  identify  with  the  sex  or  gender  they  were  assigned  at  birth.  For  

example, if a hijra falls in love with a biological male/man, would they be considered  

same‐sex  partners?  Perhaps  if  the  hijra  identifies  as  a  biological  man,  but  if  she  

identifies  as  a  woman,  as  many  of  them  do,  and/or  has  undergone  any  body‐ 

changing  procedures,  then  they  would  not  necessarily  be  considered  a  same‐sex  

couple. The term ‘same‐sex’ includes gender non‐conforming gay men and lesbians,  

i.e. kothis, butch women, etc., but in a fairly ambiguous way, for it focuses on sex as  

the biological determinant of sexuality. Judith Butler and Monique Wittig argue that  

this  reliance  on  biology  as  a  determining  factor  of  sexuality  is  a  product  of  

heteronormative distinctions between sex and gender and leaves the category of sex  

unchallenged as a social construct. 17  I find ‘same‐sex’ to be an exclusive term that  

16  Cisgender/cisgendered is a term used to describe someone whose gender and sex identities match  

one  another,  i.e.  a  male‐born  child  raised  as  a  boy/man  in  society  and  feels  as  though  he  is  a  

man/male. It was created within Western transgender communities (transgender in the overarching  

sense,  meaning  all  individuals  whose  gender  identity  is  situated  outside  of  normative/traditional  

gender/sex  roles)  to  identify  and  discuss  people  who  are  not  transgender  and  their  privilege  in  

society. It is a term that seeks to not alienate transgender people as other, but rather situate their  

identity within a gender spectrum and, often, within a discourse of societal normativity and privilege.  

17  Butler explains,   

…there is no reason to divide up human bodies into male and female sexes  except  

that such a division suits the economic needs of heterosexuality. Hence, for Wittig,  

there  is  no  distinction  between  gender  and  sex;  the  category  of  “sex”  is  itself  a  

29

does not take into consideration the ambiguity of gender and sex identities, nor does  

it  acknowledge  transgender  individuals,  transsexuals,  or  intersex  individuals.  The  

anthology, on the other hand, does include a number of stories that involve gender  

variance or the changing of a character’s sex or gender in some capacity.  

Nivedita Menon is a well‐known feminist scholar of political science in India  

who applies a contemporary feminist lens to the discourses of Indian law, politics,  

histories, and gender relations. In her anthology Sexualities: Issues In Contemporary  

Indian  Feminism  (2007),  Menon  focuses  on  transgressive  and/or  marginalized  

sexualities and critiques the pervasion of institutionalized heteronormativity within  

Indian  society  (xiv).  In  the  section  titled  ‘Counter‐hegemonies’,  Menon  queers  

feminist  discussions  of  sexuality  through  the  inclusion  of  queer  scholar‐activists’  

articles that challenge patriarchy, heterosexism, and gender normativity in India. 18   

In  the  introduction,  Menon  traces  feminists’  attention  to  sexuality,  as  a  point  of  

analysis, back to John and Nair’s work on sexuality as ‘a question of silence’, but she  

also  notes  that  while  ‘technologies  of  surveillance  and  laws  of  prohibition’  are  

essential for understanding and creating a discourse around sexuality:  

gendered category, fully politically invested, naturalized but not natural. The second  

rather counterintuitive claim that Wittig makes is the following: a lesbian is not a  

woman. A woman, she argues, only exists as a term that stabilizes and consolidates a  

binary  and  oppositional  relation  to  a  man;  that  relation,  she  argues,  is  

heterosexuality….Indeed, a lesbian, she maintains, transcends the binary opposition  

between woman and man; a lesbian is neither a woman nor a man. But further, a  

lesbian has no sex; she is beyond the categories of sex. (Butler 1990, 153)  

18   Among  those  scholar‐activists  included  in  this  section  are  Arvind  Narrain,  who  discusses  

contemporary  queer  struggles  around  the  Indian  law;  and  Ashwini  Sukthankar,  who  complicates  

gender normativity through a discussion of transsexual rights. 

30

…such  forms  of  control  and  hygiene,  including  the  ‘cleaning  up’  of  

uncontrollable  forms  of  sexuality,  come  with  modernity  and  the  

values  that  accompany  it—progress,  the  inevitability  of  historical  

forms,  the  language  of  rights.  Thus,  while  the  language  of  rights  did  

enable  many  subaltern  sections  against  indigenous  elites,  this  

language  was  not  uniformly  empowering,  and  had  devastating  

consequences  for  many  other,  equally  subaltern  groups  who  were  

drastically  marginalized  and  disciplined  by  these  new  codes,  norms  

and forms of identity. (Menon 2007, xv)  

  

Building on John and Nair’s assertions, Menon argues that ‘the values of modernity’  

are responsible for disciplining non‐normative sexualities, reifying the heterosexual,  

economic  family  arrangement,  “eradicating  spaces  of  relative  autonomy,  and  

producing  new  forms  of  subjection”;  while  the  ‘language  of  rights’  has  further  

reinforced the marginalization of subaltern groups, including sexual minorities (xv‐ 

xvi). Menon is critical of modernity’s effects on society and the proliferation of the  

language  of  rights  within  contemporary  feminist  politics;  though  the  most  

significant  contribution  of  this  work  to  the  feminist  discussion  of  sexuality  is  her  

provision of a new avenue of discourse that gives voice to transgressive sexualities,  

as  well  as  transgressive  forms  of  disciplinary  academic  feminist  writing,  as  

counterhegemonies to the heteronormative political structure (Li).  

  In  an  essay  first  appearing  in  the  Indian  ‘queer/feminist/activist/creative  

voices’ zine 19  Scripts, published by the Lesbians and Bisexuals in Action (LABIA): A  

Queer  Feminist  Collective,  entitled  “How  Natural  is  Normal?  Feminism  and  

Compulsory  Heterosexuality”  (2004),  Nivedita  Menon  discusses  the  hierarchy  of  

19  Zine is short for ‘magazine’. Zines are generally noncommercial, often homemade publications that  

focus on particular subject matters.  

31

oppressions found in patriarchal Indian society, which treat gender and sexuality as  

minor  issues  compared  to  issues  of  development  or  communal  conflict  (Menon  

2009, 33). She argues that feminism has fought hard to establish gender as an ‘axis  

of  oppression’,  but  questions  whether  feminists  have  not  learned  a  lesson  from  

patriarchy  and  are  repeating  the  same  oppressions  and  exclusions  on  

sexuality/sexual preference (34). She writes,  

…is  gender  merely  an  add  on  to  nationalism/development?  Did  we  

feminists  spend  over  half‐a‐century  of  scholarship  and  politics  

challenging  the  ‘add  gender  and  stir’  formula,  only  to  apply  it  to  

sexuality ourselves? (34)  

  

She continues her argument by critiquing feminists for their homophobia and lack  

of awareness of systemic oppressions instilled by compulsory heterosexuality, the  

patriarchal  family  structure,  and  compulsory  heterosexual  marriage;  a  critique  

similar  to  Ruth  Vanita’s  in  her  article  “Thinking  Beyond  Gender  in  India”.  Menon  

ends  her  article  with  a  challenge  for  feminists  to  remove  themselves  from  the  

cultural normativity of their theoretical and political struggles by taking up a queer  

theoretical framework:  

Maybe  we  have  not  seriously  recognized  the  subversive  potential  of  

the ‘queer’ identity. This term is, of course, untranslatable into Indian  

languages, because it comes out of a specific political appropriation of  

homophobic  discourses  by  the  non‐heterosexual  movement  in  the  

West.…The point is to use the experience of that struggle and of that  

term  ‘there’,  to  remind  ourselves  that  there  are  discontinuities  and  

fluidities  to  the  ways  in  which  sexual  desire  has  been  experienced,  

constructed  and  appropriated  ‘here’.…if  we  recognize  that  this  

‘normal’ heterosexuality is painfully constructed and kept in place by  

a  range  of  cultural,  bio‐medical  and  economic  controls,  precisely  in  

order  to  sustain  existing  hierarchies  of  class  and  caste  and  gender,  

32

then we would have to accept that all of us are—or have the potential  

to be—‘queer’. (Menon 2009, 38)  

  

Menon  takes  a  progressive  position  within  feminism  by  claiming  that  feminists  

should  recognize  the  struggles  and  subversions  of  the  queer  identity  as  their  

struggles and subversions, and argues that, in essence, all non‐normative identities,  

including feminist perspectives, are queer identities. In this manner, Menon applies  

a  broad  definition  of  queer  to  feminist  discourses,  which  includes  all  subaltern  

identities,  not  just  sexual  subalterns,  as  queer  and  connected  through  their  

oppression. At the same time she is queering feminism by suggesting that the sexual  

queer identity offers an analytical framework that is more liberal than the current  

normative  one  of  postcolonial  feminism.  Through  this  article,  Menon  makes  an  

important  argument  within  feminism,  which  causes  the  crucial  theoretical  and  

political shift into a queer feminist politics.  

Chayanika Shah is a founding member of the Bombay‐based, queer feminist  

collective  LABIA,  first  founded  in  2005  as  Stree  Sangam 20 .  Among  the  collective’s  

many accomplishments was their collaborative effort with other LGBT women’s and  

human rights groups to create the first national LGBT rights workshop in India. The  

discussions  from  this  workshop  resulted  in  Bina  Fernandez’s  groundbreaking  

project Humjinsi: A Resource Book on Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual Rights in India (first  

20  Stree, or stri, simply means ‘woman’ and sangam is a ‘meeting, joining, or union’. Therefore stree  

sangam literally means ‘a meeting of women’, but it also alludes to the sexuality of the women. The  

women  are  in  ‘union’  with  other  women,  or  ‘join’  themselves  with  other  women.  They  are  also  in  

‘union’ with their communal identity as women who are attracted to women. Ultimately, they are a  

group of women who have their sexuality in common.  

33

published in 1999). In her article “The Roads that E/Merged: Feminist Activism and  

Queer Understanding” (2009), Shah discusses the marginalization of and resistance  

towards lesbian identities in the postcolonial women’s movement, and the history of  

the  movement’s  exclusion  of  subaltern  women’s  identities  (143‐145).  She  further  

targets  male‐dominated  sexual  minority  groups  for  their  misogyny  and  lack  of  

critical reflection on male gender privilege within Indian society; a privileged status  

which renders lesbian identities invisible, even within spaces that purport to resist  

normativity  (151‐152).  Although  Shah  makes  a  point  to  distance  her  political  

ideologies  from  current  sexual  minority  groups’  activist  politics,  which  she  finds  

largely  exclude  lesbian  feminist  discourses  on  gender  and  sexuality,  she  is  

particularly  drawn  to  the  queer  critical  analysis  of  the  heteronormative  gender  

binary  for  its  expansion  of  feminist  discourses  on  gender,  which  have  raised  

important communal questions about the inclusion of gender variant identities, like  

transgender women, in lesbian, all‐women spaces:   

Patriarchy is about inequality in relations, it is about power. Looking  

at the sex and gender divide, we [feminists] did question the societal  

structures that gave rise to these unequal power relations.…For many  

years, however, we lived with the complacency of sex as a biological  

reality  and  ‘woman’  as  a  given  category.  We  lived  without  actually  

questioning whether all bodies had to necessarily fit into being male  

or female only. (Shah 2009, 152)  

  

Questioning  the  gender  binary  as  an  institutional  structure  and  a  construct  of  

heteropatriarchy is a bold move within feminist discourses, which have staked their  

most  significant  claims  around  the  solidification  of  a  gender  structure  in  which  

34

women are subservient to men. Through her positionality as a woman and a lesbian,  

Shah  queers  the  discourse  on  sexuality  by  strongly  questioning  the  

heteropatriarchal  production  of  gender  normativity  and  the  dichotomous  and  

exclusionary  categories  of  ‘woman’  and  ‘man’  within  feminist  discourses.  In  many  

ways,  Shah’s  positionality  as  a  contemporary  queer  feminist  links  the  theoretical  

paradigms of feminist and queer critiques of gender and sexuality. 21    

Chayanika Shah closes her essay with a final remark and a word of caution in  

regards to feminism’s relationship to the burgeoning Indian queer movement. She  

writes,  

The women’s movements were the first to articulate concern over the  

control over sexuality and the societal constructions of gender and are  

hence the closest link and support for the nascent ‘queer’ movements  

in  the  country.  Queer  political  movements  also  have  to  work  within  

the  feminist  frameworks  questioning  patriarchy.  We  have  to  be  

together  in  the  forefront  of  the  struggle  against  hetero‐normativity  

and  patriarchy.  We  have  to  learn  to  theorise  and  politicize  together  

but strategise in ways that shall take into account our individual and  

specific realities in this vastly unequal and lop‐sided world. (153)  

  

In this final passage, Shah relates the feminist ideologies of the women’s movements  

with  the  inchoate  politics  of  the  Indian  queer  movements  as  interconnected  

struggles  against  the  joint  systemic  oppressions  of  heteronormativity  and  

patriarchy.  At  the  same  time,  Shah  makes  a  distinction  between  her  politics  as  a  

21   In  a  similar  vein,  Gayatri  Gopinath’s  book  Impossible  Desire:  Queer  Diasporas  and  South  Asian  

Public Cultures (2005) focuses primarily on the ‘impossible desire’ of the queer female subject within  

the South Asian diaspora. Gopinath makes the argument that lesbian identities have been excluded  

from  South  Asian  nationalist,  diasporic,  feminist,  and  many  gay  male  discourses,  but  through  her  

analysis  of  queer  female  desire  in  South  Asian  films,  novels,  music,  and  culture,  she  uncovers  the  

‘impossible subject’ in the diaspora as an identity that challenges both mainstream queer politics and  

the heteropatriarchal structure; therefore, queering traditional readings of the diaspora.  

35

lesbian  feminist  and  the  politics  of  a  larger  queer  movement  across  the  country,  

which,  through  her  experiences,  has  neglected  and/or  marginalized  lesbian  

identities.  This  disconnect  between  a  universal  queer  theoretical  framework,  that  

recognizes  and  fights  for  all  subaltern  identities,  and  the  application  of  queer  

ideologies into the political practices of a queer movement is recognizable through  

various  hierarchies  and  marginalized  identities  visible  throughout  the  

contemporary Indian queer movement. This disjuncture will be discussed in greater  

detail  in  the  following  sections  and  chapter  on  the  politics  of  the  contemporary  

Indian queer movement.     

Separating contemporary queer feminist scholarship on sexuality and queer  

discourses  of  political  subjectivity  is  difficult  because  of  the  significant  theoretical  

overlap  and  understanding  between  the  two  frameworks.  Rather  than  creating  a  

strong  delineation  between  the  two  theoretical  agendas,  I  argue  that  a  

contemporary queer feminist analytical paradigm is a queer analytical paradigm, for  

both engage in a multi‐level systemic analysis of hegemonic oppressions, which they  

strongly  situate  within  heteronormative  power  structures  and  base  upon  the  

afflictions  of  subaltern  identities  characterized  by  gender,  sexuality,  class,  caste,  

and/or any other minority identity. Therefore, queer politics encompass and expand  

feminist politics, and although being a feminist does not necessarily entail that one  

is queer, having a contemporary queer feminist perspective on sexuality does entail  

that  one  apply  a  queer  lens  to  sexuality  and  gender  studies.  Conversely,  having  a  

36

feminist  politics  does  not  necessarily  entail  having  a  queer  politics,  which  is  

apparent  through  postcolonial  feminist  scholarship.  What  differentiates  

contemporary  queer  feminism  from  other  queer  critiques  is  the  specificity  of  the  

analytical  scope.  Contemporary  Indian  feminist  authors,  like  Vanita,  Menon  and  

Shah,  tend  to  position  themselves  first  as  feminists  and  women  within  their  

critiques of normative gender, sexuality, and feminism, which situates their analyses  

more  within  the  category  of  contemporary  feminism;  though  their  critiques  are  

markedly  queer  as  well.  Queer  scholars,  as  I  will  discuss  in  the  following  section,  

identify  their  struggles  more  strongly  along  non‐normative  sexual  and  gender  

identity  lines,  whereby  their  queer  sexuality  and/or  gender  identity  marks  their  

positionality  first.  Contemporary  queer  feminists  are  included  within  these  queer  

critiques.  

  

Queer Sexuality, Identities and Ideologies in India  

  

In this section I delve into the meaning of the term ‘queer’ as it is conceptualized  

within and applied to a political analysis of Indian society. ‘Queer’ has been widely  

utilized  by  Indian  scholars  and  activists  to  characterize  the  struggles  of  sexual  

minorities in India, even though its historical and cultural roots are set in Western  

theorizing  and  LGBT 22   political  struggles. 23   In  India,  a  significant  number  of  

22 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender/Transsexual (LGBT) 

23  Queer theory first emerged through the groundbreaking theoretical works of Judith Butler’s Gender  

Trouble (1990) and Eve Sedgwick’s Epistemology of the Closet (1990).  In these works, both authors  

37

mainstream  sexual  minority  advocacy  groups  define  themselves  as  queer  and,  for  

this reason, I believe the term deserves further socio‐cultural contextualization by  

Indian queer scholar‐activists.  

Indian  queer  scholars  engage  in  the  discourse  of  sexuality  in  the  Indian  

subcontinent  by  confronting  the  social  institutions  of  compulsory  heterosexuality  

and  heteronormativity,  and  exposing  the  restrictions  caused  by  their  normalizing  

effects on gender, sexuality, class, caste and religion (Narrain and Bhan 2009; Shah  

2009;  Elavarthi  2009;  Khanna  2009;  Gupta  2009;  Menon  2007;  Tarun  2007;  

Sukthankar 2007; Narrain 2007; Baudh 2007; Bhaskaran 2004). Arvind Narrain is a  

queer  scholar,  activist,  and  lawyer,  who  currently  works  with  the  Bangalore  

lawyer’s  collective  Alternative  Law  Forum  and  writes  on  the  topics  of  queer  

sexuality and Indian law. Gautam Bhan is a queer rights activist and scholar based in  

New Delhi who is heavily involved in a number of mainstream Indian queer social  

movements through the organizations People for Rights of Indian Sexual Minorities  

challenge  and  deconstruct  the  gender  binary  system  as  a  socially  constructed  system  of  binary  

oppositions that restricts and regulates gender expressions outside of ‘the compulsory order of sex,  

gender,  desire’  (Butler  1990,  8‐10;  Sedgwick  1990,  9‐11);  i.e.,  sex  =  gender  =  attraction  to  the  

‘opposite’ gender/sex, male = masculine man = attracted to feminine female/woman. By challenging,  

or queering, normative notions of gender, sex, and sexuality, Sedgwick and Butler give theoretical and  

practical space for non‐conforming, gender variant identities and expressions, and lay the essential  

groundwork for queer studies.   

A  few  of  the  notable  Western  queer  theorists  that  Indian  queer  scholars  draw  from  and  

theorize amongst are: Michael Warner, who coined the term ‘heteronormativity’ in the introduction  

to  his  edited  volume  Fear  of  a  Queer  Planet  (1993);  Adrienne  Rich,  coined  the  term  ‘compulsory  

heterosexuality’ (1980); Gayle Rubin, wrote the essay Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the  

Politics of Sexuality (1984), in which she discusses the hierarchies of a sexual caste system; Cathy J.  

Cohen,  wrote  the  article  “Punks,  Bulldaggers,  and  Welfare  Queens:  The  Radical  Potential  of  Queer  

Politics?” (1997), in which she argues that queer activism has not destabilized the normative binaries  

of  the  hegemonic  system,  but  has  instead  created  a  binary  of  ‘heterosexual’  and  ‘queer’;  and  trans  

theorist/activist/scholar Susan Stryker, who authored the book Transgender History (2008) and co‐ 

edited the anthology The Transgender Studies Reader (2006) with Stephen Wittle. 

38

(PRISM), Voices Against Section 377, and the Nigah Media Collective. In their edited  

anthology Because I Have A Voice: Queer Politics in India (2009), Narrain and Bhan  

discuss the term ‘queer’ as a questioning of ‘the inevitability of heterosexuality’, a  

rejection  of  ‘the  power  of  the  oppressor’,  ‘both  a  deeply  personal  identity  and  a  

defiant  political  perspective’,  and  a  rejection  of  ‘the  primacy  of  the  heterosexual,  

patriarchal family’ (3). They write in their introduction,  

To  speak  of  queer  politics  is,  in  some  sense,  different  from  just  

speaking  of  gay,  lesbian,  bisexual,  transgendered,  kothi,  and  hijra  

communities. Queer politics does not speak only of the issues of these  

communities  as  ‘minority  issues’,  but  instead  it  speaks  of  larger  

understandings of gender and sexuality in our society that affect all of  

us,  regardless  of  our  sexual  orientation.  It  speaks  of  sexuality  as  a  

politics  intrinsically  and  inevitably  connected  with  the  politics  of  

class,  gender,  caste,  religion  and  so  on,  thereby  both  acknowledging  

other  movements  and  also  demanding  inclusion  within  them.  

(Narrain & Bhan 2009, 4)  

  

Narrain  and  Bhan  view  ‘queer’  as  an  overarching  term  that  applies  both  to  the  

identities of sexual and/or gender queer individuals and their communities, as well  

as to a larger politics that critiques structural hegemony. The broader description of  

‘queer’,  in  which  sexual  and/or  gender  minority  status  are  not  the  only  defining  

attributes but merely two of many minority identities, facilitates a discourse around  

systemic  oppression  and,  in  many  ways,  equates  the  agenda  of  subaltern  identity  

politics with that of queer politics. In this way, Narrain and Bhan argue that queer  

politics demand sexuality and gender issues be included in other minority groups’  

struggles,  for  ‘queer’,  in  this  broad  sense,  applies  to  all  minority  groups  under  

heteropatriarchal  oppression,  including  queer  identities  in  the  sexually  specific  

39

sense. Nivedita Menon discusses this broad use of ‘queer’ at the end of her article  

“Thinking Beyond Gender in India” as a political ideology that connects the struggles  

of women with those of queers (Menon 2009, 38). 24    

  SANGRAM  (Sampada  Grameen  Mahila  Sanstha)  is  an  Indian  non‐ 

governmental organization that started working with sex workers in 1992 and later  

became VAMP (Veshya Anyaya Mukti Parishad), a collective of sex workers fighting  

against  injustice.  In  one  of  their  campaign  documents,  entitled  “A  Statement  of  

Women in Prostitution: Veshya Anyaya Mukti Parishad (VAMP) and SANGRAM”, the  

collective  challenges  the  normativity  around  ‘feminine  values’,  women  in  the  

workforce, and women’s sexuality (Menon 2007, 325‐328). They write,   

We  believe  that  the  socialization  of  the  girl‐child  to  accept  such  

occupations  [those  that  promote  normative  notions  of  ‘feminine  

values’, like sympathy and compassion] as the only alternative is also  

a  major  reason  for  the  perpetuation  of  sexual  discrimination  in  the  

female  workforce.  We  believe  that  women  in  prostitution  are  no  

different. We believe that we are more empowered than most women  

within  male‐dominated  patriarchal  structures.  For  instance,  within  

the family structure (which we know is the most oppressive), we are  

the  breadwinners  and  the  heads  of  our  households.  (Menon  2007,  

325)  

  

24  In the beginning pages of Judith (who is now known as Jack) Halberstam’s book In A Queer Time  

and  Place:  Transgender  Bodies,  Subcultural  Lives  (2005),  Halberstam  makes  a  similar  argument,  

asserting that there is such a thing as ‘queer time’ and ‘queer space’, based upon an opposition to the  

institution  of  family,  heterosexuality  and  reproduction.  He  also  removes  the  term  ‘queer’  from  a  

purely  sexual  identity  and  into  a  way  of  life.  He  defines  ‘queer’  as,  “…the  queer  ‘way  of  life’  will  

encompass subcultural practices, alternative methods of alliance, forms of transgender embodiment,  

and those forms of representation dedicated to capturing these willfully eccentric modes of being.”  

(Halberstam 2005, 1) The expansion of the term ‘queer’ is widespread throughout the contemporary  

queer movement, and is largely based upon the acceptance of non‐normative desire, heterosexual,  

queer or otherwise. I find that expanding the term too far can be detrimental to the queer movement,  

for  it  can  lose  touch  with  the  issues  of  sexual  and  gender  non‐conforming  individuals  who  first  

ignited the movement. I will discuss this issue in greater depth throughout chapter.  

40

In this document, VAMP/SANGRAM addresses the oppressions and socialization of  

prostitutes within the patriarchal Indian social system and fights for women in sex  

work to be acknowledged for their counter‐hegemonic identities as strong, sexual  

women who are the heads of their own economic family structures. In a similar vein,  

The Muslim Women’s Rights Network raises issues in a 2004 campaign document  

around  the  exoticization  of  Muslim  women,  the  state’s  involvement  in  Muslim  

women’s  sexuality,  and  the  gendered  and  religious  rebellion  of  Muslim  women  in  

contemporary Indian society (320‐324). They discuss the unique nature of Muslim  

women’s resistance to normative culture, claiming,  

…women  have  rebelled  and  questioned  not  just  male  privilege  but  

heterosexual privilege, questioned the manipulation by the powerful  

for the preservation of the status quo to further their political control  

with  the  aid  of  religion.…While  there  are  similarities  with  all  those  

movements  which  question  male‐dominated,  male‐monopolised  

interpretations  of  religion  which  promote  control  of  women’s  

sexuality, the issues of Muslim women are unique on account of the  

distinctive  nature  of  controls  employed  especially  as  regards  

sexuality. (321)  

  

While  The  Muslim  Women’s  Rights  Network  recognizes  that  Muslim  women’s  

identities  can  be  subsumed  under  the  larger  cultural  critiques  of  the  women’s  

movement, they emphatically state that Muslim women have specific issues that are  

different from other identities, and need to be recognized as such, under the larger  

counter hegemonic political movement.   

By  broad  definitions  of  the  term,  sex  workers  and  Muslim  women  are  

considered  ‘queer’  identities,  whereby  both  organizations  acknowledge  

41

heteropatriarchal  privilege  in  their  campaign  documents  and  situate  their  specific  

communal  identities  as  marginalized  under  the  normative  system.  In  the  same  

fashion,  dalits  and  other  subalterns  discuss  their  communal  identities  as  counter  

hegemonic within Indian society as well; yet, while all these subaltern identities are  

similarly oppressed under the heteropatriarchal system, many of these communities  

do  not  relate  their  struggles  with  sexual  or  gender  queer  oppression,  or  even  

acknowledge  queer  identities  within  their  communities  (Baudh  2007,  37).  Sumit  

Baudh,  a  lawyer  and  queer  dalit,  explains  his  experiences  with  the  separation  of  

dalit and queer struggles as an issue rooted in differences of class, identity fluidity  

and mobility, and political history (Baudh 2007). Therefore, while Narrain and Bhan  

claim  that  the  term  ‘queer’  is  linked  to  a  broad  ideology  that  includes  all  

marginalized  subaltern  identities,  many  of  these  communities,  in  their  political  

engagements,  do  not  necessarily  situate  themselves  within  this  broader  queer  

politics.  Applying  the  term  ‘queer’  too  broadly  also  has  the  negative  effect  of  

homogenizing all minority identities’ struggles, and while there may be a common  

ideological and structural source of oppression, it is important to remember that all  

identities  have  unique  relationships  to  the  political  structure  of  the  state  and  to  

institutional marginalization.  

  Suparna Bhaskaran is a queer scholar of the Indian diaspora who has taught  

in Women’s and Gender Studies departments at both Ohio Wesleyan University and  

Antioch College in the United States. Her work has focused mainly on transnational  

42

feminisms and sexuality, though she currently works as a healthcare policy analyst  

and activist in the US. In her book Made In India: Decolonizations, Queer Sexualities,  

Trans/National Projects (2004), Bhaskaran utilizes a multi‐level definition of ‘queer’  

to express different facets of the ‘queer’ community, politics, and identities:  

…I  use  queer  in  both  a  broad  and  narrow  sense  and  recognize  that  

giving  it  too  much  umbrella  power  (like  some  American  queer  

theorists  have  like  “that  which  is  not  normative”)  or  too  much  

specificity  (when  explicit  differences  are  overtly  recognized)  can  be  

useful  and  limiting.  Categories  like  queer  have  the  potential  for  

coalition  politics  but  many  sexual  subalterns  who  are  also  

marginalized  by  socioeconomic  class,  sex,  race,  nationality  have  

rightly questioned the monolithic and universal use of this concept. I  

use it to make sense of worlds constituted by multiple histories, about  

subjects  who  resist  and  are  outside  the  folds  of  heteronormativity,  

and who seek similar gender/sex erotics.…I therefore use queer in a  

dual  dialectic  sense  of  fluid  and  specific  because  I  believe  it  is  

important  to  recognize  differences  amongst  us  and  simultaneously  

seek  categories  that  speak  to  our  lived  experience  and  coalitions.  

(Bhaskaran 2004, 8‐9)  

  

Even though Bhaskaran states that she uses ‘queer’ in a dual dialectic sense of fluid  

and specific, her broadest use of the term extends only as far as sexual‐ and gender‐ 

based  minority  identities  and  their  forms  of  resistance;  only  acknowledging  non‐ 

sexually  identified  subalterns  as  afflicted  by  heteronormativity  in  a  minor  sense.  

This becomes particularly clear when she introduces the term khush, which simply  

means  ‘happy’  in  Hindi‐Urdu,  as  a  synonym  for  the  broad  definition  of  queer  (9).  

According to Bhaskaran and her experiences working with activists in India, khush  

is a term coined by South Asian activists ‘to make worlds out of words’ and is used,  

specifically,  as  a  term  for  both  gay  and  lesbian  identities  (9).  Making  these  

43

oundaries in the definition of ‘queer’, even while voicing the broadest sense of the  

word as all that is non‐normative, provides an important identity space for sexual  

and gender minorities and maintains a certain level of solidarity against a particular  

kind of societal oppression.  

  Suparna Bhaskaran continues to discuss khush identity against the economic  

backdrop  of  social  responsibilities,  familial  expectations,  and  the  socio‐cultural  

regulations of duty, honor and shame that negotiate normative identities within the  

heterosexual economic structure. She states that normative heterosexuality,  

…is constituted by intimate structures of duty and responsibility, via  

socio‐economic  arrangements  of  blood  and  marriage,  to  service  the  

networks  of  family,  kin  groups,  caste,  class,  government,  party,  and  

nation.  And  within  these  arrangements  “disloyalty”  to  caste,  class,  

party, nation, and family must be negotiated by khush bodies. Denial  

of  khush  reality  by  the  pressures  of  duty,  “community”  honor,  and  

personal  survival  contributes  to  the  maintenance  of  the  normative  

hetero‐patriarchal economy. (Bhaskaran 2004, 120)  

  

Khush  identity  is  therefore  not  simply  a  sexual  identity  in  and  of  itself,  but  as  an  

identity  is  an  affront  to  all  heteropatriarchal  institutions,  including  the  economic  

foundation  of  South  Asian  society,  the  heterosexual  family.  Sexuality  holds  such  a  

significant  solidifying  role  in  the  reification  of  heteronormative  society  that,  

Bhaskaran speculates, its significance explains why people disqualify it so often as  

an  individual  problem,  rather  than  a  communal  concern,  for  if  disrupted,  

widespread societal unrest would occur (120). She argues that this socio‐economic  

network  of  responsibilities  and  duties  structures  sexuality  and  is  attached  to  ‘the  

deep interiorization’ of women; which resonates with the ‘inner/outer’ discourse of  

44

Partha  Chatterjee’s  essay  “The  Nationalist  Resolution  of  the  Women’s  Question”.  

Khush  women  have  particular  difficulties  negotiating  their  identities  within  this  

socio‐economic  network  because  their  identities  fall  almost  entirely  outside  of  it  

(120). To work against the heteronormative system means exile in all aspects of life,  

leaving  the  khush  body  an  unsustainable  reality,  similar  to  widows,  

unmarried/single  women,  and  women  in  prostitution  (120).  Because  of  this  fact,  

khush identities, theoretically, exist outside the confines of the hegemonic system;  

an ideological goal voiced by many contemporary feminists, queers, and subalterns.   

Although the broader queer definition is essential for locating the systemic  

oppression  of  subaltern  identities,  the  term  ‘queer’  most  strongly  resonates  as  a  

communal  identity  for  sexual  and  gender  minority  groups.  Queer  people  connect  

through common sexual and gender non‐conformity, social struggles, and political  

ideologies.  As  Narrain  and  Bhan  note,  the  English  term  ‘queer’  is  not  a  common  

word  in  the  average  Indian’s  lexicon,  but  the  non‐normative  identities  and  

experiences  of  gender  and  sexuality  that  confront  the  ‘embedded  nature  of  

heterosexism’ are prevalent throughout contemporary and historical Indian society  

(Narrain and Bhan 2009, 4‐5). Narrain and Bhan explain,  

Key to this act of political resistance is the formation of identities that  

arise  out  of  an  understanding  of  one’s  sexuality.  The  contemporary  

movement  has  produced  a  profusion  of  identities,  be  they  lesbian,  

kothi, gay, hijra or queer. These identities have given a space to many  

same‐sex  desiring  people  to  name  their  desires,  as  well  as  putting  a  

face  to  the  queer  movement.  The  shared  sense  of  common  identity,  

and  the  emergence  of  increasingly  visible  communities  that  openly  

name  themselves  as  gay,  lesbian,  bisexual,  kothi,  hijra  and  

45

transgendered, has in effect become the foundation of a young queer  

movement. (Narrain and Bhan 2009, 13)  

  

As Narrain and Bhan describe, ‘queer’, in the specific sense, has been applied in the  

contemporary queer movement as a term that encompasses all sexual and gender  

non‐conforming identities, whereby ‘lesbian, kothi, gay, hijra’ and ‘queer’ are cited  

as identities that collectively give shape to the growing political movement. While  

positioning  all  these  diverse  identities  under  one  unified  banner  of  ‘queer  

oppression’ is in some ways problematic because it can disregard important areas of  

gender,  racial,  caste,  class,  and  religious  difference,  Indian  queer  collective  

organizing has sought to expose the general social silence around non‐heterosexual  

sexuality  and  unite  sexual  minorities  through  the  similarities  of  their  oppression.  

Naisargi Dave, in her essay “To Render Real The Imagined: An Ethnographic History  

of  Lesbian  Community  in  India”  (2010),  argues  that  contemporary  lesbian  

communities  in  India  were  only  made  possible  “through  the  advent  of  the  very  

concept  of  Indian  lesbian  community  in  the  early  1990s”,  which  was  strongly  

influenced by the lesbian politics and communal organizing of Giti Thadani in New  

Delhi. Without the social space to reflect on individual and communal lesbian sexual  

identity,  which  then  created  the  concept  of  the  Indian  lesbian  community,  Dave  

argues,  the  community  would  not  have  existed.  Similarly,  the  terms  ‘queer’  and  

‘khush’ help create communities around these particular identities.   

  Individualism  and  the  role  of  individual  identities  have  been  a  focus  of  

debate within the Indian queer movement and all identity‐based activist movements  

46

across South Asia. Bhaskaran raises the issue of India being a collective culture as  

‘orientalist logic’ that has ‘deep roots in the colonial imagination’ (Bhaskaran 2004,  

104). She further states,  

Indian activists arguing for individuality and individual freedoms not  

just  in  regards  to  sexuality  have  presented  an  alternative  vision  of  

individuality—one potentially more complex than liberal humanism’s  

atomic  individualism—such  as  that  of  “relational  individuals”.  For  

example,  community/clan/kin  loyalty  that  seek  to  dilute  “personal  

identity” or a sense of personhood have tended to value sons, fathers,  

and husbands—who in turn exist in a hierarchical relationship to one  

another via age and procreative marriage. (104)  

  

Bhaskaran  goes  on  to  describe  how  kothis  and  MSM  communities  form  their  own  

identifications,  outside  of  the  heteronormative  schema,  which  they  base  upon  

‘masculinities/femininities, caste, kinship, and place’. She then rhetorically remarks,  

“how  untouched  are  these  understandings  by  external  forces/ideas?”  (104).  This  

analysis establishes the importance of individual identity as it is conceived of within  

markedly Indian/South Asian communities, and also recognizes how different forms  

of  individualism  are  strongly  embedded  within  non‐Western  societal  contexts.  It  

further  problematizes  the  discourse  of  Western  versus  non‐Western  knowledge  

disbursement within a globalized, modern world where technology exchange is vast,  

national  boundaries  are  blurred,  and  cultural  connections  are  seemingly  infinite  

(103‐106). This argument is further situated in discourses of same‐sex desiring and  

gender non‐conforming Indians, who argue against conservative, nationalist groups,  

like the Bharatiya Janata Party or Shiv Sena, that their identities extend far beyond  

Western  concepts  of  sexuality  and  are  firmly  grounded  in  their  Indian  cultural  

47

identity;  an  argument  also  found  historically  in  feminist  discourses  of  sexuality,  

which  are  also  positioned  against  contemporary,  conservative  nationalist  groups  

(Vanita  and  Kidwai  2008;  Vanita  2002b;  Bose  2002;  John  and  Nair  1998;  Narrain  

and Bhan 2009). Contemporary queer political organizing and activism in India is  

currently  informed  by  this  type  of  Indian  individualism  and  positioned  within  a  

framework of human rights‐based identity politics, in which individuals are urged to  

form  and  acknowledge  individual  sexual  and  gender  identities  and  then  connect  

these identities to the larger political struggles of the Indian queer community. 25    

  

Although  leaders  of  the  queer  community  in  India  have  sought  to  unite  all  

sexual  and  gender  non‐conforming  identities  under  the  single  banner  of  ‘queer’,  

there  are  a  number  of  differences  and  divisions  within  the  community,  based  on  

class,  caste,  religion,  sexuality  and  gender,  that,  depending  on  the  individual’s  

position, may be perceived as the source of privilege, prejudice and/or oppression.  

Alok  Gupta,  in  his  article  “Englishpur  Ki  Kothi:  Class  Dynamics  in  the  Queer  

Movement in India” (2009), discusses the divisions within gay male social spaces,  

English‐speaking class privilege, the creation of separate kothi and hijra identities  

within LGBT‐identified movements and HIV outreach, and the intersection of class  

and gender marginalization as exemplified by the treatment of the kothi community.  

As a self‐identified gay, upper class Indian man, Alok Gupta began his research on  

25  This is clearly visible within the political rhetoric around overturning Section 377 of the Indian  

Penal Code, which will be further discussed in the following chapter on contemporary Indian queer  

political organizations.  

48

class divisions within the gay male community of India when he was identified in a  

Mumbai  park  by  a  group  of  kothis  who  called  out  to  him,  “Ye  Englishpur  ki  kothi  

kahan  se  aayee…”  (Where  did  this  kothi  of  the  English  land  come  from?)  (Gupta  

2009, 124). In that moment Gupta discusses how he became aware of his difference,  

as  an  identified  resident  of  “an  exclusive,  inaccessible‐to‐all  and  English‐speaking  

domain called ‘Englishpur’” (124). Gupta writes,  

The  problem  with  the  queer  community  starts  with  acknowledging  

that these differences exist at all. Most middle‐class or upper middle‐ 

class  activists  that  I  met  in  the  course  of  my  research  felt  that  class  

was not such a big issue, while others recognized it but did not think  

of it as a problem. Only a few felt that something should be done about  

it. On the other hand, obvious as it may sound, almost everyone that I  

spoke  to  from  lower‐class  backgrounds  felt  class  to  be  one  of  the  

major  barriers  facing  the  community  at  large.  This  was  the  most  

interesting feature: the movement from class being ‘an’ issue, to ‘the’  

issue.…Thus a distinction has been drawn between social spaces and  

political  spaces—social  spaces  allow  us  time  with  our  own  and  

political spaces bring us together on a common platform. (Gupta 2009,  

133)  

  

The final line of this quote relates to the general understanding amongst middle and  

upper  class  queers,  as  experienced  by  Gupta,  that  political  spaces  unify  the  queer  

community, but social spaces are reserved for queers to separate into their different  

class groups. Gupta writes, “There is still a strong push towards understanding gay  

as fundamentally different from hijra and kothi, where the fundamental difference  

may  actually  not  be  as  strong  as  the  superficial  ones  of  class  and  gender  have  

become”  (139).  Gupta  further  discusses  these  class  and  gender  divisions  through  

descriptions of gay male discomfort with marching and associating with hijras and  

49

kothis, as well as their lack of ‘recognition of similar struggles and aspirations’ with  

gender non‐conforming identities (139).  

The  issue  of  class  is  particularly  important  while  discussing  queer  

scholarship and the formation of queer political ideologies in contemporary Indian  

society, for the queer movement is a primarily English‐speaking movement that is  

organized,  in  large  part,  by  middle  and  upper  class  queer  Indians.  Middle  class  

cultural politics, therefore, play a significant role in forming the political framework  

of  the  queer  movement.  Ruchira  Ganguly‐Scrase  and  Timothy  J.  Scrase  discuss  

middle class politics and the cultural power of English language proficiency in India,  

in  their  book  Globalisation  and  the  Middle  Class  in  India:  The  Social  and  Cultural  

Impacts of Neoliberal Reforms (2009). They write,  

Globalising  processes  have  led  the  Indian  middle  classes  to  see  a  

distinct  social  advantage  in  maintaining  English  proficiency  by  

increasing  their  educational,  social  and  cultural  ties  between  India  

and  the  West,  raising  the  possibilities  for  immigration  and  also  for  

facilitating business in the increasingly deregulated Indian economy.  

The  struggles  over  English,  the  language  wars,  were  clearly  

established  during  the  long  period  of  colonialism,  with  the  

establishment of the British system of education and the subsequent  

employment  of  the  educated  Indian  middle  class  in  the  civil  service  

and  in  private  enterprise.  The  problem  of  the  language  divide,  as  a  

reflection and extension of broader social class and cultural division,  

is not just specific to India. (148)  

  

English  is  a  key  factor  in  the  social  and  economic  mobility  of  the  middle  class  in  

India and has facilitated the growth of this class group in urban centers across the  

country. Many middle class individuals were raised speaking English as one of the  

primary languages in their homes, as well as in their English medium schools, and  

50

continue to use English as a primary business language. It is not surprising then that  

English  is  the  main  language  of  scholarship  and  political  activism  for  the  Indian  

queer community, for middle and upper class queer scholars and activists in India  

are accustomed to using English to communicate in nearly all aspects of their lives.   

As  both  a  national  and  international  language,  English  has  facilitated  the  

effective  movement  of  ideas  between  Indian  queer  scholar‐activists,  as  well  as  

mobilized  the  national  queer  movement,  across  regions  comprised  of  multiple  

languages.  The  primacy  of  English  in  the  queer  community,  however,  has  also  

created divisions between different class groups, which has led to certain forms of  

privilege within the movement. Lower class, monolingual hijras, for instance, do not  

have the same access to materials and resources in the queer community as English‐ 

speaking middle and upper class queers. I witnessed this during a weekend trip to  

New Delhi in the summer of 2010, where I was invited to a queer open mic‐night,  

which was conducted primarily in English, and later met with queer activists in Café  

Coffee Day and other expensive restaurants and cafes. As a native English speaker, I  

was  able  to  understand  the  open‐mic  night,  but  I  was  barely  able  to  afford  the  

restaurants and cafes, which the queer activists explained were their usual meet‐up  

locations after every queer event. Acknowledging my own privilege as an English‐ 

speaking graduate student who was funded to travel to India for language studies, I  

recognized how inaccessible these spaces were for individuals who could not speak  

English  well  and/or  could  not  financially  afford  to  attend  these  meetings.  My  

51

experiences  led  me  to  further  question  the  class  dynamics  of  the  larger  queer  

movement and the ways in which language can include and exclude certain queer  

identities.  Class  issues  within  Indian  society  are  present  within  the  Indian  queer  

community and, as Alok Gupta discusses, lower‐class sexual minorities find class to  

be  “one  of  the  major  barriers  facing  the  [queer]  community  at  large”  (Gupta  

2009,133).  

Sumit  Baudh  is  a  queer  dalit  lawyer  and  scholar  in  New  Delhi  who  has  

worked with the Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative in India, the AMAN Trust  

in India, and, at present, works at the South and Southeast Asia Resource Centre on  

Sexuality  in  Delhi.  In  his  article,  “The  Bigger  Picture:  Reflections  of  a  Queer  Dalit”  

(2007),  Baudh  discusses  the  complex  and  interconnected  identities  of  individuals  

across  class,  caste,  religion,  gender  and  sexuality  in  India  and  the  ways  in  which  

claiming identity empowers people in their struggles. He writes,  

As  ideologies,  both  [queer  and  dalit]  are  responses  of  resistance  

against  marginalization  and  oppression.  Both  have  been  consciously  

and  politically  claimed  as  terms  of  empowerment  in  glorifying  

precisely that which was previously condemned or served as a basis  

for  oppression.  Dalit  literally  translated  as  downtrodden,  queer  as  

odd. There is a sense of empowerment in calling ourselves what we  

are,  recognizing  and  being  conscious  of  our  status  or  that  which  is  

ascribed to us anyway. (Baudh 2007, 35‐36)  

  

In  this  passage,  Baudh  acknowledges  both  his  connection  to  the  larger  queer  

political  struggle  as  an  oppressed  identity,  ‘victimised  in  the  hetero‐patriarchal  

order’,  as  well  as  a  member  of  two  separate  but  connected  marginalized  identity  

groups (32‐37). He finds strong similarities between casteist and heteropatriarchal  

52

oppression,  yet  he  explicitly  discusses  how  identity  politics  function  on  separate  

planes of reality, whereby individual and communal identity politics critique society  

based upon their own groups’ oppression; meaning, ‘…a dalit woman combines the  

dynamics of class and gender in her single identity. A dalit Muslim woman carries  

another  axis  of  religious  minority.…A  disabled  dalit  Muslim  lesbian  carries  yet  

another  axis,  of  [disability  and]  sexual  orientation,’  and  so  on  and  so  forth  (36).  

While Baudh hopes that in the future oppressed identity groups can acknowledge  

the  similarities  of  their  struggles  against  the  normative  hegemonic  structure,  he  

realistically states that no current alliance between dalit and queer struggles exists,  

and  significant  hierarchies  in  the  queer  movement,  based  on  class,  caste,  and  

gender, divide the present assemblage of identities (35‐36).   

  Another  significant  marginalization  within  the  queer  community,  which  I  

briefly discussed in the previous section, is the marginalization of lesbian identities  

and  the  suppression  of  women’s  voices  within  political  spaces  as  an  extension  of  

misogyny  and  patriarchy  present  in  the  largely  male‐dominated  queer  activist  

spaces. Bina Fernandez and Gomathy N.B.’s article “Voicing the Invisible: Violence  

Faced  by  Lesbian  Women  in  India”  (2009)  expresses  the  recurrent  socio‐cultural  

theme of the violence and oppression of silence as it surrounds lesbian identities in  

Indian societies; an argument raised by a number of Indian lesbian feminist scholars  

(Dave 2010; Shah 2009; Gopinath 2005; Bhaskaran 2004; Thadani 1996). Lesbian  

identities  are  rendered  invisible  on  two  fronts:  first,  by  the  impossibility  of  their  

53

sexuality by dominant society; second, through the marginalization of their gender  

identity  by  dominant  males  within  the  queer  activist  community  (Gopinath  2005;  

Shah 2009; Fernandez and Gomathy 2009). The marginalization of lesbian identities  

shows how the marginalization of gender intersects with that of sexuality, leaving  

gaps of oppression within the larger Indian queer movement. 26   

Recognizing differences and divisions amongst queer identities, Indian queer  

scholars  locate  the  ways  in  which  privileges  and  prejudices  within  their  

communities lead to cases of marginalization based on class, caste, religion, gender  

and sexuality. The dominance of certain identities’ voices within the queer political  

movement  in  India  has  subsequently  led  to  the  silence  of  others.  In  the  following  

section,  I  expand  upon  these  scholars’  arguments  and  engage  in  the  discourse  of  

identity  inclusion  and  exclusion  as  it  specifically  applies  to  gender  identity  and  

gender variance in contemporary Indian queer ideologies.  

  

Gender Variance and the Queer Struggle  

  

Indian queer scholars expose the structural fabric of heteropatriarchal Indian  

society  as  based  upon  differences  of  gender  and  sexuality.  Although  sexuality  has  

been  deconstructed,  expanded  upon  and  queered  by  scholars,  gender  has  largely  

remained  a  static,  self‐evident  category  within  both  Indian  feminism  and  queer  

scholarship.  While  many  scholars  have  remained  heteronormative  in  regards  to  

26 I will discuss the internalization of hegemonic norms and attitudes amongst queer activists in the 

following section and chapter on queer political ideologies and organizations. 

54

social critiques of gender, some scholars have recognized gender non‐conformity as  

the  apex  of  critiques  of  the  heteronormative  system,  thereby  establishing  the  

importance  of  gender  variant  identities  as  embodiments  of  counter‐hegemony.  In  

this  section  I  examine  the  discourse  around  gender  variance  and  gender  variant  

identities  within  Indian  queer  scholarship  in  order  to  analyze  the  inclusions  and  

exclusions of gender non‐conforming identities within the ideological framework of  

the Indian queer political movement.   

Gender, and its ties to discourses of sexuality, first became a central point of  

socio‐cultural  structural  analysis  in  Indian  scholarship  through  postcolonial  

feminist  discourses  critiquing  the  marginalization  of  women  and  the  regulations  

applied  to  women’s  sexuality  under  patriarchal,  colonial  Indian  society.  

Contemporary queer feminists recognized the exclusion of lesbian identities within  

these  critiques  and  therefore  questioned  postcolonial  feminists’  heteronormative  

discourse  of  sexuality,  which  excludes  lesbian  identities  from  the  Indian  women’s  

movement.  These  contemporary  feminist  scholars  challenge  the  exclusion  and  

marginalization  of  lesbian  identities  within  heteronormative  feminist  discourses,  

male‐dominated  queer  political  spaces,  and  heteropatriarchal  Indian  society  at  

large.  Queer  scholars  expand  feminist  discourses  of  sexuality  to  encompass  the  

identities  of  sexual  and  gender  non‐conforming  subalterns,  situating  sexual‐  and  

gender‐based  oppressions  within  the  societal  institutions  of  compulsory  

heterosexuality  and  heteronormativity.  Feminist  and  queer  scholars  strongly  

55

establish  both  gender  and  sexuality  as  central  paradigms  of  structural  analysis,  

queering  sexuality  beyond  the  confines  of  heteronormativity  to  include  non‐ 

heterosexual  sexual  identities,  yet  few  scholars  have  deconstructed  or  fully  

addressed  the  normativity  of  the  gender  binary  as  a  restrictive  and  oppressive  

structure  of  dominance.  Quite  the  opposite,  mainstream  queer  and  feminist  

scholarship  on  gender  and  sexuality  in  India  largely  uncritically  reifies  the  

heteronormative gender binary by focusing solely on cisgender sexuality politics of  

same‐sex  desire  and  disengaging  in  analyses  of  gender  non‐conformity,  while  still  

maintaining  the  political  identity  of  ‘queer’  (Narrain  and  Bhan  2009;  Bhan  2009;  

Narrain and Chandran 2009; Vanita and Kidwai 2008; Narrain 2007; Tarun 2007;  

Thadani 1996; Bhaskaran 2004; Fernandez 2002).   

Despite  their  many  invocations  of  ‘queer’  as  an  overarching  term  that  

includes the struggles and oppressions of all subaltern identities as well as sexual  

and  gender  minorities,  Narrain,  Bhan  and  Bhaskaran  simultaneously  include  and  

exclude gender non‐conforming identities within their analyses of ‘queer’ India. In  

the introduction to their book Because I Have A Voice (2009), Narrain and Bhan list  

the following identities, in this order, under ‘the political project of ‘queer’’: hijras;  

kothis; LGBT; regional ‘gender and sexual non‐conformity’ identities, like jogappas,  

jogtas, shivshaktsis and ganacharis (5). In definitions of ‘queer’ cited earlier in the  

text, they continue to include hijras, kothis and transgender identities as prominent  

queer  identities,  and  further  reference  the  hijra  community’s  festivals  as  counter‐ 

56

hegemonic, writing “…the many cultural practices of the hijra community…are part  

of a living culture that contest heterosexism by their very existence” (Narrain and  

Bhan 2009, 13). While they go as far as to state that hijras’ identities are resistant to  

the  heteronormative  structure,  Narrain  and  Bhan  position  them  strictly  within  a  

paradigm  of  sexual  non‐conformity,  rather  than  offering  a  critique  of  

heteronormative  gender.  And  just  as  they  are  strung  along  in  a  list  of  queer  

identities, gender variant groups’ political issues are only mentioned in relation to  

similarities with other sexual minority struggles, without any mention of the strong  

successes of the hijra social movement as related to queer politics. Made popular by  

Ruth  Vanita  and  Saleem  Kidwai  in  their  literary  histories  of  India,  ‘same‐sex’  and  

‘same‐sex desiring’ are common terms used in contemporary Indian queer political  

scholarship  in  discussions  of  ‘queer’  rights.  Narrain  and  Bhan,  along  with  other  

scholars, often use these terms synonymously with ‘queer’ without problematizing  

the  term’s  explicit  reference  to  normative  gender  identity  or  the  conflation  of  the  

two  terms  as  exclusionary  to  gender  variant  identities.  As  they  discuss  the  term  

‘queer’ in more detail, the political associations of ‘queer’ refer more specifically to  

lesbian, gay, bisexual, and ‘same‐sex desiring’ people and their struggles against the  

structures  of  normative  sexuality  rather  than  to  gender  variant/transgender  

identities  and  their  added  struggles  against  gender  normativity  and  gender  

prejudice.  

57

Bhaskaran  is  more  explicit  in  her  inclusions  and  exclusions  of  gender  non‐ 

conforming  identities.  The  subtitle  of  her  book  reads  “Decolonizations,  Queer  

Sexualities, Trans/National Projects”, yet directly after giving extensive space to her  

multi‐layered  and  nuanced  definition  of  ‘queer’  and  use  of  the  term  khush,  she  

allocates the following to a footnote,  

My  work  does  not  specifically  address  the  hijra  communities,  “third  

gender”  communities,  or  any  work  done  on  “transsexual”  

communities.  Furthermore  I  use  the  term  genderqueer  in  a  very  

broad sense to refer to folks who identify as lesbian, khush, or gay and  

also  are  non‐normative  in  their  gender  expression,  and  in  a  broad  

sense trans/gendered. (Bhaskaran 2004, 152)  

  

In some ways it is helpful to acknowledge the separation of research subjects within  

the large category of ‘queer sexualities’, but mentioning the exclusion of an entire  

sector of the queer community based upon the difference of their gender identity,  

even while including ‘genderqueer’ and ‘trans/gender’ categories (only mentioned  

in the footnote), draws particular attention to the marginalization of gender variant  

identities  within  a  large  portion  of  queer  scholarship.  Bhaskaran  maintains  the  

description  and  ideological  grounding  of  ‘queer’  for  her  book  yet  allocates  the  

exclusion of the discourse of gender variance in queer India to a short footnote in  

the  back  of  her  book.  Though  she  makes  minor  references  throughout  sections  of  

her  book  to  a  few  gender  variant  communities,  namely  hijras  and  kothis,  these  

references are short and only meant to highlight the points of her argument.  

Narrain and Bhan include hijras, kothis, transgender individuals, and regional  

gender  non‐conforming  identities  in  their  reference  to  the  larger  queer  struggle,  

58

queer violence and queer identity; but in more detailed discussions of queer politics  

and activism gender variant identities are rendered invisible and excluded from the  

ideological agendas of same‐sex desire rights and gender normativity. 27  Bhaskaran,  

similarly,  includes  hijras  and  kothis  as  communal  examples  to  solidify  her  

arguments,  but  removes  her  project  from  fully  engaging  in  a  discourse  of  

heteronormative gender structures or situating gender variant identities within the  

trans/national,  economic,  sexual  identity  formation  framework  of  her  book.  All  

three  authors’  discussions  are  positioned  within  a  queer  political  framework  in  

which they only engage in the topic of gender variance and issues faced by gender  

variant  identities  in  minor  and  shallow  ways.  Narrain,  Bhan,  and  Bhaskaran,  as  

prominent scholars and activists in the Indian queer political scene, exemplify the  

type  of  ‘“see‐for‐instance”  endnote’ 28   scholarship  that  has  left  gender  variant  

identities  further  marginalized  within  Indian  queer  scholarship  and  the  Indian  

queer  community.  In  this  way  queer  political  ideology  and  movements  have  

capitalized on the socio‐cultural references associated with certain gender variant  

27   The  politics  behind  the  silence  and  invisibility  of  gender  variant  identities  could  be  linked  to  a  

number of divisive issues in the queer community, such as class, language and education differences  

between lower status, monolingual hijra, kothi or other gender variant groups and more privileged,  

middle  to upper class, English‐speaking  ‘queer’  groups  (Gupta  2009).  There  could  also  be  regional  

differences between rural and urban communities since the queer movement is more urban‐centered  

(Chowdhury 2009), or it could be due to the cultural separation and political successes of the hijra  

social movement from the political aspirations of the queer movement. A more obvious reason is the  

lack of communal identity formation and organizing of gender variant identity groups, aside from the  

well‐known  and  culturally  specific  hijra  communities,  which  makes  it  more  difficult  to  have  their  

issues voiced. 

28   Sandra  K.  Soto  coins  the  term  ‘“see‐for‐instance”  endnote’  in  her  book  Reading  Chican@  Like  A  

Queer: The DeMastery of Desire (2010) in reference to the marginalization of racial identity within  

queer  theory.  She  explains,  “Queer  theorists’  engagement  with  queers  of  color,  or  with  racial  

formation more broadly, is still too often contained in the tiny‐font endnotes at the backs of books.  

These usually refer back to acknowledgements of ‘intersectionality’”…. (4)  

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identities, gaining political clout and visibility, and yet continue to marginalize their  

gendered identities within the larger ideological framework of the queer movement  

by rendering them largely invisible.  

While a majority of Indian queer scholars have fallen victim to the ‘“see‐for‐ 

instance” endnote’ scholarship that marginalizes gender variant identities through  

silence, feminist queer scholars have applied a queer lens to the historical feminist  

critiques  of  gender,  thus  challenging  the  hegemonic  production  of  gender  

normativity.  Chayanika  Shah  questions  the  rigidity  of  the  gender  binary  in  her  

article “The Road That E/Merged: Feminist Activism and Queer Understanding”. She  

writes,  

Gender roles have been questioned and we [feminists] have tried to  

open  the  watertight  compartments  of  male  and  female  to  some  

limited  extent.  For  many  years,  however,  we  lived  with  the  

complacency  of  sex  as  a  biological  reality  and  ‘woman’  as  a  given  

category.  We  lived  without  actually  questioning  whether  all  bodies  

had  to  necessarily  fit  into  being  male  or  female  only.  Working  with  

queer realities has, however, opened a whole new way of looking at  

sex and gender.…they raise questions for all of us. Why are there only  

two sexes? Why are there only two genders? Why is there a one‐to‐ 

one  correspondence  between  a  particular  sex  and  a  particular  

gender?…Is compulsory heterosexuality only about controlling desire  

or is it also about dictating that the world can have only two kinds of  

people—women and men?…How are we going to be able to accept the  

privilege and power of the naturally born woman over all those who  

do not fit? (Shah 2009, 152)  

  

Published in 2009, this article demands that queers and feminists look beyond the  

heteronormative  gender  binary  at  the  exclusion  of  transgender  identities  and  

confront the prejudices inherent to a binary understanding of gender that plagues  

60

queer  and  feminist  communities.  Shah  raises  such  controversial  issues  as  the  

struggle within feminist and lesbian circles to include transgender women under the  

categorical  identification  of  ‘women’  in  the  social  and  political  struggles  of  the  

women’s  movement.  As  Shah  states,  transgender  identities  are  ‘queer  realities’  

which have to be included in discussions of queer sexuality as well as queer gender,  

for their identities subvert the dynamics of power and privilege that constitute the  

heteropatriarchal  system  and  dictate  the  social,  political  and  economic  lives  of  all  

individuals under the system.   

In  a  similar  vein,  Nivedita  Menon  critiques  postcolonial  feminists,  asking,  

“Did we feminists spend over half‐a‐century of scholarship and politics challenging  

the ‘add gender and stir’ formula, only to apply it to sexuality ourselves?” (Menon  

2009,  34)  Just  as  including  queer  critiques  of  normative  sexuality  expands  the  

ideological  framework  of  feminism,  now  a  return  to  critiquing  gender  is  being  

utilized  to  reconceptualize  the  role  of  gender  normativity  and  its  oppressive  and  

exclusionary relationship to gender non‐conforming queer identities. But this is not  

an  entirely  new  discourse  in  political  and  theoretical  discussions  of  gender  and  

sexuality in India. In an article written ten years prior to Shah and Menon’s pieces,  

Ruth  Vanita  discusses  the  transformative  and  subversive  effects  of  dawning  a  

gender‐neutral  identity  that  transcends  heteropatriarchal  social  boundaries  and  

existence. Vanita writes,   

In  all  societies,  persons  who  are  dissatisfied  with  the  heterosexual  

system to the point of not wishing to gain the rewards of fitting into it,  

61

have  devised  different  ways  of  opting  out,  individually  and/or  

collectively.…Young  Indian  lesbian  friends  have  expressed  to  me  

feelings  similar  to  my  own,  to  the  effect  that  they  do  not  think  of  

themselves  as  women  or  as  men.…Unfortunately,  the  articulation  of  

such feelings has often been silenced in feminist circles, by ascribing it  

to low self‐esteem or even self‐hatred.” (Vanita 1999, 534)  

  

She continues this line of thought by claiming that it is a form of high self‐esteem to  

want to opt out of the gender system that places woman as complimentary to men;  

to  exist  on  a  gender  plain  all  one’s  own,  outside  of  the  restrictions  of  

heteropatriarchy (534‐535). Living in gender neutrality, or even liminality, thereby  

provides  a  way  out  of  the  oppressive  system.  Vanita  further  cites  Serena  Nanda’s  

book Neither Man Nor Woman: The Hijras of India (1999) as an example of a specific  

type  of  ‘opting  out’  of  the  heteronormative  system,  for  hijras  occupy  a  space  of  

gender  and  sexual  ambiguity.  As  one  of  the  first  ethnographic  accounts  of  a  hijra  

community,  Nanda’s  book  engages  in  a  discussion  of  hijras  as  a  third  gender  

category, neither man nor woman. Although this work holds value in its recognition  

of  hijra  identities,  and  third  gender  identification  more  broadly,  Nanda  

unfortunately  draws  unsubstantiated  conclusions  about  hijra  gender  identity;  

utilizing psychoanalytic theories of a lost masculinity, ‘unsatisfied erotic needs’, and  

the  effects  of  an  overbearing  mother  on  Indian  boys’  childhoods.  Rather  than  

building upon studies of gender and sexuality in India, Nanda writes, “…the mother’s  

incestuous demands on the son are too strong, they lead him to want to avoid them  

at all costs, even at the cost of his manhood” (Nanda 1999, 35), which she does not  

ground in any of her research.  

62

Gender  variant/transgender,  in  the  broad  sense  of  gender  non‐conforming,  

studies is an emergent field of scholarship in India as well as in Western academia.  

Transgender  studies  of  India,  like  queer  studies  of  India,  builds  upon  feminist  

critiques of gender, expanding the category of ‘gender’ beyond the heteronormative  

binary  and  repositions  gender  as  a  central  paradigm  of  critical  social  analysis  of  

heteronormativity.  As  I  discussed  in  the  introduction,  very  limited  research  has  

been  done  on  third  gender/transgender  communities,  and  amongst  the  work  that  

has been done, a majority of the research has focused upon gender variant feminine  

identities  and  communities.  While  transgender  and  transsexual  men  do  exist  in  

India,  they  have  largely  been  rendered  invisible  within  most  areas  of  society  and,  

except for a few short articles, generally lack representation within both Indian and  

Western  scholarship  on  India.  Also,  a  majority  of  the  research  on  transgender  

identities  in  India  lacks  both  a  social  critique  of  heteropatriarchy  as  well  as  any  

strong connection to feminist or queer studies of gender and sexuality. With Respect  

to Sex (2006) and Neither Man Nor Woman (1999) are the two most authoritative  

studies within transgender studies of India, showing the minimal representation of  

gender  variant  identities  within  Indian  (and  Western)  scholarship,  as  well  as  the  

absent authorial perspective: the voice of gender variant/transgender individuals.  

Emerging  transgender  scholarship  in  India  seeks  to  break  the  silence  

associated  with  gender  non‐conforming  identities  and  give  agency  and  voice  to  

gender  variant  individuals.  Within  current  Indian  queer  scholarship,  scholars  are  

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aising  the  topic  of  gender  variance  and  issues  faced  by  gender  variant  identities  

within the context of Indian society as well as queer political organizing. Revathi is a  

hijra  who  grew  up  in  Tamil  Nadu  and  now  works  for  the  queer  organization  

Sangama. In her article, “A Hijra’s Own Story”, which was translated from Tamil to  

English by Arul Mani for Arvind Narrain and Gautam Bhan’s book Because I Have A  

Voice, she writes about her experiences understanding her gender identity; her fight  

to  have  her  gender  identity  recognized  and  respected;  and  the  constant  threat  of  

physical  and  sexual  violence  she  faces  out  in  public.  Revathi  struggled  to  make  

money through sex work and was tortured and forced to have sex with the police  

and goondas without pay (Revathi 2009, 229). For Revathi, the issue of safety, legal  

identification cards, employment, and respect are some of the most important issues  

that  she  faces  as  a  hijra.  Which  queer  organizations  are  raising  the  issues  that  

Revathi faces? Which queer scholars are discussing her issues within the context of  

queer ideologies?  

Akshay Khanna is a queer scholar at the Institute of Development Studies in  

the  University  of  Sussex,  England  and  a  founding  member  of  the  queer  activist  

forum  PRISM  based  in  New  Delhi.  In  his  article  “Beyond  Sexuality  (?)”  (2009),  

Khanna raises an important opposing viewpoint to queer identification and identity‐ 

based politics, in which he voices his resentment towards having to name himself in  

any one specific way (Khanna 2009, 91). He discusses, in the following passage, how  

he negotiates his fluid gender identity within multiple communal spaces:   

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I have found ways of negotiating space in all of them [communities].  

Unlike  what  I  had  thought  my  life  would  be  like,  of  being  a  hetero‐ 

normative  son  in  one,  a  gainfully  employed  lawyer  in  another  and  

raving queen in a third, I now live all these lives with long hair tied in  

a  bun,  loud  clinking  bangles  and  the  occasional  nail  polish  to  match  

my  dupattas.  I  have  a  penis  that  I  love,  she’s  called  a  pussy  in  some  

circles. My Italian lover has a pussy too, sometimes. (91)  

  

Gender fluidity disrupts the neat, prescriptive categories of heteronormative gender  

and  sexuality,  thus  leaving  Khanna’s  identity  entirely  outside  of  and  against  the  

heteronormative  system.  For  Khanna,  having  to  choose  a  sexual  identity,  based  

upon fixed notions of socially constructed gender categories, does not suit his, nor  

his  partner’s,  complex  gender  identity,  and  is,  at  best,  confining  and  oppressive.  

Khanna  argues  that  the  contemporary  queer  movement  still  operates  within  this  

ideological framework of heteronormative gender identity, which excludes gender  

fluid/gender  variant  individuals  through  their  human  rights‐  and  identity‐based  

‘politics of difference’ (99).   

Khanna further articulates the identity politics of the queer movement as “a  

world  in  terms  of  ‘subjects’—it  is  a  culmination  of  a  long  colonial  history  and  the  

creation of mechanisms through which the post‐colonial world is to be regulated”  

(Khanna  2009,  99).  He  continues  his  critique  by  questioning  the  movement’s  

discourse on sexuality, stating,  

Do  people  outside  of  the  urban,  largely  English‐speaking  and  

relatively privileged queer movement think of themselves in terms of  

‘sexuality’?…the drive to deploy the framework of sexuality, to bring  

about its ‘recognition’ in law and policy by the state, to establish it as a  

framework  for  the  redistribution  of  resources,  power,  suffering,  

pleasure  and  control  over  discourse  in  ‘civil  society’  places  the  

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differences  worldviews  in  a  relationship  of  power,  of  dynamism.  

Surely  we  must  then  examine  closely  the  implications  of  the  

framework of sexuality. (94)  

  

To clarify, Khanna does not argue that the queer discourse on sexuality is Western  

in  origin,  but  rather  that  the  framework  is  rooted  in  a  particular  ‘politics  of  

regulation’, constituted in the colonial context (95). He also does not negate using  

the  framework  of  sexuality,  but  merely  advocates  for  further  assessment  of  its  

application on a widespread political level, since this is the voiced objective of the  

Indian  queer  movement.  At  the  end  of  the  article  Khanna  offers  an  alternative  

analytical  paradigm  in  which  minority  voices  are  not  excluded  from  the  larger  

landscape of queer political ideology and identity:   

Perhaps  it  is  about  ensuring  that  we  allow  frameworks  and  

imaginations  other  than  those  relating  desire  and  entitlement  to  

personhood  to  speak,  to  participate  in  the  framing  of  discourse.  […]  

the problem lies in the hegemony over the use and meaning of these  

terms.  I  think  we  need  to  recognize  the  mechanisms  through  which  

this  growing  hegemony  takes  place—systematically  and  through  

power dynamics within organizations, within groups. (100‐1)   

  

Khanna critiques mainstream contemporary queer politics for creating hierarchies  

of  oppression  and  reifying  new  dynamics  of  hegemonic  ideology  that  exclude  and  

oppress  minority  identities,  particularly  minority  gender  identities,  within  the  

mainstream  movement.  His  examination  of  dominant  queer  ideology,  through  the  

lens  of  his  own  minority  status  as  a  bisexual  kothi,  exposes  the  movement’s  

hegemonic  assumptions  of  gender  and  sex  that  relegate  individuals  to  confined,  

socially constructed, normative sexual identities, and dismiss gender variance.   

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Satya Rai Nagpaul is an Indian scholar, based in Bangalore, who writes for a  

number of Indian queer publications, including In Plainspeak, and created the trans  

male social networking organization Sampoorna. Nagpaul has written a number of  

short  articles  about  his  own  identity  and  experiences  as  a  transgender,  post‐ 

operative Indian male, in which he discusses topics like the difficulty of learning to  

tie  his  own  loongi,  physically  transitioning,  and  confronting  the  invisibility  of  his  

own identity within Indian society and the Indian queer community (Nagpaul 2004;  

Nagpaul  2008;  Nagpaul  2009a;  Nagpaul  2009b).  In  his  article  “Where  Are  All  the  

F2Ms?  :  Trans  Visibility  and  Organising  in  India”  (2004),  Nagpaul  critiques  the  

Indian  queer  community  for  being  trans  exclusive,  ignorant  to  the  issues  of  

transgender people, and even transphobic (Nagpaul 2004). Nagpaul writes,   

There are lessons for us to learn from the history of lgbt organizing  

the world over. There are identities which get left out or subsumed by  

the  existing  queer  spaces.  For  example,  the  presence  of  trans‐ 

identified female bodied persons in lesbian spaces. Trans needs have  

not been met, even recognized, in such spaces. The prevalent lesbian  

notions  of  ways  of  being  are  inadequate  for  trans  needs.  These  

notions  do  not  enable/empower  the  trans‐identified  members  of  

lesbian spaces. Another example would be the ongoing debate about  

who is the ‘koti’? (a male bodied person with female gender identity)  

The  ‘Koti”  is  being  understood  as  the  ‘vernacular  gay‐identified  

person’  where  as  she  is  clearly  a  transgender  person.…The  

documentation  of  non‐hijra  transgendered  lives  in  India  is  yet  to  

begin. (Nagpaul 2004, 6‐7)  

  

Satya  Rai  Nagpaul’s  articles  and  personal  experiences  express  dissatisfaction  with  

the  status  quo  of  the  Indian  queer  community’s  treatment  and  understanding  of  

transgender  lives.  Queer  groups  and  organizations  may  voice  the  inclusion  of  

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different transgender identities within their political struggles, but their politics are  

primarily  centered  around  the  cisgender  issues  of  same‐sex  desiring  gays  and  

lesbians  and  often  exclude  trans  people;  Nagpaul  utilizes  the  term  ‘tokenism’  to  

refer  to  these  actions  towards  trans  people  (7).  He  states  that  through  his  

experiences,  attempting  to  organize  around  issues  of  transgender  politics  within  

different  queer  organizations,  he  was  mostly  turned  away,  in  part,  because  most  

queer Indian organizations were not addressing issues of gender in any queer way.  

While sexuality is an important identity amongst queers, and continues to exist for  

transgender/gender  variant  individuals,  gender  is  also  a  clear  marker  of  queer  

identity  as  well;  an  important  queer  reality  which  many  Indian  organizations  and  

groups have overlooked.  

Gender  variant  individuals  are  embodiments  of  counter‐hegemony;  

excluding  these  identities  from  queer  scholarship,  relegating  their  identities  to  

footnotes or ‘tokenism’, and silencing their issues within the larger queer movement  

is an act of heteronormative assimilation and acceptance of the global dominance of  

heteropatriarchy.  Emergent  transgender  scholarship  in  India  seeks  to  expose  

gender  prejudice  and  oppression  and  give  voice  and  identity  to  a  multitude  of  

gender  variant  identities  that  are  currently  marginalized  within  the  Indian  queer  

movement. In the following chapter, I discuss the political involvements of a number  

of  mainstream  queer  organizations  in  India,  the  foci  of  their  groups,  and  their  

politics towards gender variant individuals.   

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Chapter 3: Politics of the Contemporary Indian Queer Movement  

In this chapter, I discuss the political engagements and ideologies of a select  

group of mainstream queer organizations, which represent and exemplify different  

aspects  of  the  contemporary  queer  movement  in  India.  I  have  chosen  these  

organizations  based  upon  their  political  objectives  and  level  of  organizing  around  

specific  queer  issues,  which,  I  will  show,  reflect  their  treatment  of  gender  

variant/transgender identities and politics. In order to discuss these organizations  

and the broader political ideologies they represent, I have created three descriptive  

categories based on my research: 1) organizations that are fundamentally based in  

‘lesbigay’  political  objectives  and  use  a  “‘see‐for‐instance’  endnote”  model  when  

discussing trans issues and politics; 2) organizations that engage in queer analyses  

of  gender  and  promote  gender  variant/transgender  identity  exploration,  largely,  

through avenues of knowledge dissemination; 3) organizations that predominantly  

focus on transgender social issues and politics through a queer human rights activist  

framework. These categories are by no means exhaustive, but are meant as tools for  

understanding organizations’ ideological positionality towards transgender politics  

within the Indian queer political movement.  

Due  to  the  scope  and  physical  limitations  of  my  research  I  have  largely  

chosen  organizations  that  have  websites  with  mission  statements  and/or  stated  

political  objectives,  as  well  as  organizations  with  socio‐political  publications,  

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including  informational  pamphlets,  reports,  blogs  and  discussion  forums.  While  I  

recognize  that  this  limits  my  research  to  a  particular  group  of  queer  political  

organizations,  I  argue  that  these  organizations,  because  of  their  exposure  and  

influence within the queer community, exemplify different aspects of contemporary  

queer politics in India and, therefore, provide insight into the overall movement’s  

political  and  ideological  stances.  In  future  research  endeavors  I  would  like  to  

research  queer  groups  that  are  on  the  periphery  of  the  more  mainstream  

movement, particularly those that may challenge the larger movement’s goals, and  

that may or may not be accessible through avenues of internet communication or  

queer academic forums. These groups would provide even greater insight into the  

movements  that  constitute  queer  politics  in  India,  but  for  the  meantime  the  

organizations  that  I  have  chosen  for  my  current  research  give  an  important  

overview of the mainstream politics of the contemporary queer movement in India.   

Rather  than  showcasing  queer  organizations  individually,  I  have  selected  a  

few  organizations  to  categorically  represent  the  different  political  and  ideological  

stances  that  queer  groups  have  taken,  and  are  taking,  in  regards  to  gender  

variant/transgender  identities  and  politics.  The  three  organizations  I  analyze,  as  

they are respectively connected to the above categories, are, 1) Voices Against 377  

(Voices);  2)  Lesbians  And  Bisexuals  In  Action  (LABIA);  and  3)  Sangama/LesBiT.  

These  organizations  identify  as  LGBT,  queer,  or  sexual  minority  groups,  were  

founded between 1995‐2004, and have been politically active over the past decade  

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in three different urban centers in India; Delhi, Mumbai and Bangalore, respectively.  

To  support  my  claims  regarding  these  organizations’  political  ideologies  and  

activities, I include other queer organizations, when possible, with similar political  

objectives  and  treatment  of  transgender  politics  as  further  examples  of  the  

descriptive categories. Ultimately, I engage with these organizations in order to gain  

insight into the larger queer movement’s treatment of gender non‐conformity and  

transgender politics.   

  

Voices Against 377  

  

I  begin  this  discussion  with  the  Delhi‐based  group  Voices  Against  377,  which  is  a  

coalition of over a dozen Non‐Governmental Organizations (NGOs) and progressive  

groups, many of which are queer‐based, that joined forces in early 2004 to overturn  

Section  377  of  the  Indian  Penal  Code.  This  law  was  a  colonial  remnant  that  

criminalized a plethora of sexual acts that were deemed ‘against the order of nature’  

by  the  British  and  Indian  governments,  and  was  especially  applied  to  consenting  

same‐sex  adult  relationships.  Taken  from  the  Voices  Against  377  website  and  

“Rights  For  All:  Ending  Discrimination  Against  Queer  Desire  Under  377”  Voices  

report, the law reads as follows:  

377. Unnatural Offences.  

Whoever voluntarily has carnal intercourse against the order of  

nature with any man, woman or animal, shall be punished with  

imprisonment for life, or with imprisonment of either description  

for a term which may extend to ten years, and shall also be liable  

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to fine.  

  

The  extremely  vague  language  of  this  law  allowed  the  Indian  government  to  

prosecute  individuals  for  sexual  acts  ranging  from  oral  sex,  even  if  it  was  

heterosexual,  to  sodomy  to  sexual  abuse  of  children;  anything  that  constituted  an  

affront to ‘the order of nature’. The following are a few of the well‐known, publicized  

cases in which individuals were harassed, arrested, and/or assaulted under Section  

377:  1)  Lucknow  2002,  HIV/AIDS  outreach  workers  harassed  by  police;  2)  Delhi  

2006,  Section  377  expanded  to  all  LGBT  identities,  not  just  penetrative  acts;  3)  

Chennai  2006,  custodial  torture  and  subsequent  suicide  by  LGBT  person  under  

police custody; 4) Bangalore 2006, “arbitrary arrest and detention of LGBT person”  

(Alternative Law Forum).  

  Bina Fernandez’s edited book Humjinsi: A Resource Book on Lesbian, Gay and  

Bisexual  Rights  in  India  (2002)  includes  a  number  of  political  documents  in  Hindi  

and English that were used to spread information and garner political support for  

the  repeal  of  Section  377.  The  following  is  an  excerpt  from  a  document  entitled  

“Some Facts About Section 377”, which was publicly distributed for the “Signature  

Campaign  for  the  Repeal  of  Section  377  [of]  the  Indian  Penal  Code”  executed  by  

Stree  Sangam,  India  Centre  for  Human  Rights  and  Law,  and  the  Forum  Against  

Oppression of Women (79‐82).  This document sheds light on the sexual specificities  

of the law, the arbitrary and oppressive nature of the law, and the ways in which  

police  manipulated  their  power  under  the  law  to  harass  and  assault  sexual  

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minorities.  

  

Figure 3.1:   Humjinsi Signature Campaign Document (2002, 80)  

  

Figure 3.2:   Humjinsi Signature Campaign Document ‐ English Translation  

This law is based on the thinking of Christian religion and culture and was  

implemented  in  all  of  the  British  colony.  Behind  this  law  is  the  

understanding  that  a  sexual  relationship  between  two  individuals  should  

only  be  for  procreation.  Other  than  this,  every  sexual  relationship  is  

73 

 

considered  wrong  and  unlawful.  The  meaning  of  this  law  is  that  the  

penetration of the penis anywhere other than the vagina is unlawful. Since  

human  sexual  relations  are  usually  not  confined  to  such  narrow  

perspectives,  if  this  law  technically  applied  to  everyone  then  almost  every  

person can come under its grip. But this is not so because there is only one  

meaning of this law adopted today.   

  

The sexual relationship between two men by this belief is of course proven  

to  be  unlawful  and  because  of  this  very  thing,  today  it  is  derived  from  the  

meaning  of  this  law  that  this  law  is  against  homosexuality  and,  thus,  it  is  

used  against  men  and  women  in  homosexual  relationships.  Technically,  

women in relations with women do not come under this, but this law is used  

to scare them. And this is the form of the law against homosexuality as it is  

known today.   

  

We  would  like  to  mention  a  first  person  account  of  this.  This  is  an  oral  

account of a man living in Delhi.  

  

“I was wandering with a friend. We were talking, so two policemen came to  

us. They took me away and they requested my watch and gold chain from  

me.  I  was  very  scared.  In  my  head  I  had  only  one  thought  that  what  they  

want they shall take but they should leave me alone. I knew that if they had  

taken  me  to  the  police  station  with  them  then  they  would  have  raped  me  

there. They were threatening to beat me over and over again and rape me. I  

was  very  scared  and  whatever  I  had  on  me,  a  watch  and  one  hundred  

rupees, I gave to them. Then they told me to come back with more money.  

  

  

Hijras, kothis and transgender individuals face heightened levels of harassment and  

assault by Indian police and were particularly targeted under Section 377. Though  

protection  from  police  brutality  continues  to  be  a  human  rights  issue  raised  by  

transgender  rights  groups  across  India,  the  issue  gained  national  recognition  and  

became an essential component of transgender rights groups’ campaigns to repeal  

Section 377.  

After  decades  of  oppression  and  a  decade  and  a  half  of  petitioning  the  

government  to  decriminalize  consensual  same‐sex  sex  acts,  queer  Indians  and  a  

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number  of  women’s  groups  finally  overturned  Section  377  on  July  2,  2009  in  the  

Delhi  High  Court.  Its  overturning  was  widely  reported  in  both  domestic  and  

international  newspapers  (IANS  2009;  Shams  2009;  Thottam  2009;  Timmons  

2009).  I  begin  my  analysis  of  queer  political  actions  and  ideologies  in  India  with  

Section  377  because  the  organizing  efforts  to  overturn  this  law  are  arguably  the  

most important landmark queer demonstrations in India history. And while Voices  

Against 377 did not execute the first campaign against Section 377, it is the largest  

coalition of queer and women’s rights organizations that organized to overturn this  

law and was highly influential in achieving this historic milestone.  

The coalition’s major political endeavors from 2004 to 2009 were concerned  

with  gathering  high  profile  individuals  to  legally  support  their  cause;  connecting  

oppressed identity groups; raising awareness and spreading knowledge regarding  

the human rights violations of the law; and providing avenues for civil action and  

protestation;  all  for  the  greater  purpose  of  creating  a  large,  unified  legal  front  

against  Section  377  (Voices  Against  377  2005,  1‐3).  As  expressed  in  their  report  

entitled “Rights For All: Ending Discrimination Against Queer Desire Under Section  

377” (2005), which was printed in both Hindi and English language versions, Voices  

Against  377  utilized  a  queer  political  framework  to  organize  groups  against  the  

human rights violations on ‘queer desire’. On the very first pages of the report, even  

before  the  table  of  contents,  they  include  a  bolded  definition  of  the  term  ‘queer’,  

above the list of supporting groups, which reads as follows,   

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“Queer” : an inclusive umbrella term that designates all those who are  

willing to question the norms of gender and sexuality.  

  

By using this broad definition of ‘queer’ in conjunction with the coalition’s mission  

statement, “…working on women’s rights, child rights, human rights, sexual rights  

and the rights of same‐sex desiring people”, Voices Against 377 sought to connect a  

number of minority identities through a common structural oppression and struggle  

based  on  gender  and  sexual  minority  status.  In  order  to  increase  public  support,  

Voices Against 377 launched a number of political campaigns. One of which, called  

Million Voices Campaign, states the following as the coalition’s mission,   

‘Voices  Against  377’  aims  to  raise  awareness  about  the  violation  of  

people’s fundamental rights and specifically, the marginalization and  

criminalization  of  same‐sex  desiring  people,  including  gay,  lesbian,  

transgender and bisexual communities enabled by this law.   

  

In this statement, Voices Against 377 employs a sexually specific definition of queer  

identity that locates the marginalization and oppression of queers at the center of  

the debate to overturn the law. By utilizing a dual definition of ‘queer’, the coalition  

was able to involve a broad range of minority identities that were affected by this  

law,  while  simultaneously  bringing  particular  awareness  to  the  heightened  

oppression faced by gender and sexual minorities in the country.  

At the structure of the coalition’s political engagements and queer ideology is  

the  fundamental  belief  in  and  petitioning  for  equal  human  rights  for  sexual  and  

gender minority groups alike. The introduction to the 2005 report states,   

[Section  377]  allows  for  punishment  to  be  meted  out  to  gay,  

lesbian,  hijra,  transgender  and  bisexual  people  whose  human  

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ights  are  repeatedly  violated  by  state  and  non‐state  actors  as  

diverse  as  the  police,  the  family,  the  media,  and  the  medical  

establishment. (1)  

  

Although oppression based on sexuality and gender is recognized within the 2005  

report, language used throughout the report conflates ‘queer’, ‘same‐sex desire’ and  

‘homosexuality’,  applying  them  equally  to  gay,  lesbian,  bisexual,  hijra,  kothi  and  

transgender identities alike. The quote from the Million Voices Campaign mentioned  

above,  for  example,  clarifies  the  phrase  ‘same‐sex  desiring  people’  by  listing  the  

identities ‘gay, lesbian, transgender and bisexual’ without any discussion of gender  

identity.  With  an  obvious  emphasis  on  sexuality  and  sexual  conduct  in  the  report  

due to the nature of the law, a significant amount of space is given to biology, the  

medicalization  of  homosexuality,  mental  health,  and  critiquing  what  is  ‘natural’.  

Section  377  and  the  discourse  surrounding  it,  even  within  the  coalition’s  2005  

report,  epitomizes  Foucault’s  argument  against  the  repressive  hypothesis  and  

exemplifies  the  close  attention  given  to  every  sexual  detail  of  the  non‐normative  

sexual lifestyle, both by governmental and organizational reporting. The amount of  

attention  given  to  biology  and  sex  overshadows  important  discussions  of  gender  

that are only touched upon within the report. One short testimonial regarding the  

Indian  government  and  society’s  “Non‐Recognition  of  Sex  Reassignment  Surgery”  

started  an  important  discussion  about  transsexual/transgender  exclusion  within  

Indian  society,  transgender  male  identity,  and  the  cultural  transgressions  and  

repercussions  of  sex/gender  ambiguity.  Its  placement  between  two  much  longer  

77

articles discussing HIV/AIDS and the women’s movement, however, overshadowed  

the brief discussion of trans issues and, ultimately, illuminates how little is actually  

known  about  transgender/transsexual  identities  outside  of  hijra  and  kothi  

identities.   

Queer activist academics and groups have used the term ‘same‐sex desire’ for  

decades to describe cisgender queer sexuality and the oppression of ‘queer desire’.  

While the fight for the recognition and validation of queer sexuality is an important  

political  and  ideological  battle,  broad‐reaching  queer  organizations,  like  Voices  

Against  377,  often  unintentionally  utilize  gender  variant  identities  in  a  ‘“see‐for‐ 

instance” endnote’ fashion in order to raise awareness around their organization’s  

political  objectives,  yet  the  gender‐based  oppression  these  identities  face,  both  

within and outside of the queer community, is rarely addressed at length. Within the  

2005  report,  the  Voices  Against  377  coalition  includes  a  few  important  articles  

regarding the ways in which Section 377 sanctioned police brutality against hijras,  

kothis and sex workers, who were given no protection under the law. While one or  

two  testimonials  on  transgender  issues  is  more  than  other  organizations’  reports  

include, discussions of gender and sexuality within the report and throughout the  

website  are  distinctly  limited  to  queer  sexuality  and  heteronormative  gender  

identity. Under the section entitled ‘Dialogues and Debates’ on their website, every  

debate  and  discussion  primarily  centered  on  lesbian  and  gay  rights  and  the  

criminalization  of  sodomy.  While  sodomy  laws  may  apply  to  some  gender  variant  

78

individuals,  it  is  unclear  whether  gender  variant/transgender  identities  were  

included  in  any  detail  in  any  of  the  discussions  or  debates.  Gender  variant  

individuals  and  communities  were,  and  continue  to  be,  attacked  based  on  their  

gender  identity,  not  just  their  sexuality.  Organizations  like  Voices  Against  377  

recognize this, for they mention transgender identities’ issues in short articles and  

include them in the overall oppression and marginalization of the queer community,  

yet  these  gender  communities’  struggles  are  often  overwhelmed  by  less  

marginalized  issues  of  queer  sexuality  within  the  larger  communal  political  

movements.   

Mission  for  Indian  Gay  and  Lesbian  Empowerment  (MINGLE)  is  a  

“nationwide  advocacy  group  and  think‐tank  that  pushes  for  LGBT  equality  in  all  

spheres  of  public  life  in  India”,  according  to  their  website.  It  is  an  organization  

consisting  of  middle  to  upper  class  academics,  students,  lawyers,  professionals,  

doctors and engineers, who believe that all Indian citizens deserve to “enjoy their  

fundamental  right  to  lead  a  secure  and  dignified  life  irrespective  of  their  sexual  

orientation  or  gender  identity”.  Their  major  political  engagements  involve  

educational  campaigns  and  legal  advocacy;  one  of  the  bullets  of  their  mission  

statement being, “To bring the issue of Gay Rights to the centre stage for a national  

debate”. The only mention of transgender identities throughout their website is in  

the T of the LGBT acronym, aside from a general statement in their “Vision” about  

the  protection  of  rights  for  all,  including  gender‐based  identities.  Like  Voices,  

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MINGLE  is  an  organization  that  is  comprised  of  partnering  organizations  and  

individuals that range from Arvind Narrain, who heads the Alternative Law Forum  

in Bangalore, to Ashok Row Kavi, a chairperson on the Humsafar Trust (one of the  

oldest  gay  organizations  in  India),  to  Anjali  Gopalan,  who  is  the  Founder  and  

Executive  Director  of  The  Naz  Foundation  (India)  Trust.  (The  Naz  Foundation  

drafted and filed some of the most influential petition letters to repeal Section 377  

that  Voices  Against  377  later  utilized  for  their  campaigns.)  Organizations  that  

explicitly partner with MINGLE include two upscale, middle class, gay and lesbian  

English  language  magazines,  Pink  Pages  and  The  Queer  Chronicle,  which  mainly  

show  pictures  of  naked  gay  men,  feature  articles  about  “coming  out”,  and  update  

their  readers  on  the  major  gay  events  and  vacation  destination  spots  around  the  

country. Of the individuals appearing in these magazines, almost every one is very  

light complexioned and almost appear European. This expression of ‘light skinned  

equals beautiful’ is made explicit with every page that is turned and is unavoidable  

to  the  reader,  thus  exposing  certain  issues  of  class  and  race  that  are  prevalent  in  

wealthier, middle class communities. Gender variant identities are not discussed in  

these magazines, again, other than their mention in the LGBT acronym.   

I  am  not  arguing  that  there  is  direct  intentionality  on  the  part  of  

organizations  to  exclude  gender  variant/transgender  identities.  On  the  contrary,  I  

believe  that  some  efforts  are  being  made  to  include  transgender  political  issues  

within  broader  queer  political  movements,  but  these  inclusions  only  reach  the  

80

surface of these communities’ issues. Amongst the organizations that are listed as  

supporting  Voices  Against  377,  for  instance,  none  primarily  focus  on  or  even  

significantly  mention  working  with  gender  variant/transgender  individuals  or  

communities.  Without  representation  in  a  large  coalition  like  Voices  Against  377,  

gender  variant/transgender  political  issues  are  inevitably  marginalized.  The  onus,  

however, should not always fall on marginalized identities to represent themselves  

within the larger political movements, especially within a coalition that petitioned  

for wide‐ranging organizational support under a queer political banner.  

In the foreword to the groundbreaking and informative study conducted by  

the  Peoples’  Union  for  Civil  Liberties‐  Karnataka  (PUCL‐K),  “Human  Rights  

Violations  Against  the  Transgender  Community:  A  Study  of  Kothi  and  Hijra  Sex  

Workers in Bangalore, India” (2003), printed in English and Kannada, Upendra Baxi  

makes  clear  the  crucial  distinction  between  ‘lesbigay’  and  ‘transgender’/’queer’  

political movements. Baxi writes,   

This monograph highlights the distinctions between nascent lesbigay  

and  transgender  movements.  The  right  to  sexual  orientation  and  

conduct  aims  itself  in  the  former  domain  at  liberation  from  

heterosexist and homophobic politics of cultural denial of equal worth  

of all human beings. It affirms lesbigay right to difference constituting  

a new frontier of ‘universal’ human rights. Transgender communities  

extend  this  contestation  even  further.  They  crystallize  queer  theory  

and  its  politics.  The  difference  is  crucial.  Lesbigay  struggles  pursue  

affirmative remedies; queer politics, in contrast, seeks transformative  

ones. (5)  

  

Baxi  goes  on  to  explain  through  a  quote  by  Nancy  Fraser,  author  of  Justice  

Interruptus  (1997),  that  queer  and  transgender  politics  seek  to  destabilize  and  

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‘debinarize’ the heteronormative paradigm, while ‘lesbigay’ political objectives seek  

to  revalue  lesbian  and  gay  identities  within  the  heteronormative  structure  (6).  

While  not  all  transgender  individuals  seek  to  destabilize  heteronormative  

structures, take for instance hijras, kothis or other transgender individuals that seek  

the  right  to  marriage,  the  distinction  between  lesbigay  and  queer  politics  is  

extremely  relevant  to  the  discussion  of  Indian  queer  organizations,  like  Voices  

Against  377  and  MINGLE,  and  their  treatment  of  gender  variant/transgender  

politics and identities.   

Opposition  to  Section  377  was  largely  organized  under  a  lesbigay  political  

model, in which gay male sexuality and same‐sex desire were the main foci of the  

human  rights  campaign.  Although  the  coalition  sought  to  broaden  their  political  

objectives across a variety of marginalized identities, Voices Against 377 primarily  

utilized this model of lesbigay affirmative politics to raise awareness regarding the  

oppression  of  sexual  minorities.  Gender  variant/transgender  issues,  although  

mentioned, were largely secondary or tertiary to the issues faced by gay, lesbian and  

bisexual queer identities. Voices Against 377 exemplifies the political ideologies of a  

number  of  queer  organizations  that  seek  to  universalize  human  rights  and  

acceptance  of  all  marginalized  sexual  and  gender  identities.  Ultimately  these  

organizations  place  lesbigay  politics  above  those  of  transgender  politics,  thus  

creating greater forms of marginalization of non‐normative gender‐based identities  

within the community.   

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Lesbians And Bisexuals In Action (LABIA)  

  

LABIA  is  a  queer  feminist  collective,  based  out  of  Mumbai,  that  first  began  as  the  

lesbian  and  bisexual  women’s  collective,  Stree  Sangam,  in  1994.  At  present,  the  

LABIA  collective  is  comprised  of  lesbian,  bisexual  and  trans  women  and  focuses  

primarily  on  queer  and  feminist  activism.  According  to  their  website,  a  large  

component of their activism consists of organizing discussions for ‘queer and queer  

friendly  people’,  engaging  with  college  students  about  issues  of  gender  and  

sexuality, publishing a queer zine entitled SCRIPTS, running an LBT phone line, and  

organizing  a  monthly  feminist  film  screening.  Part  of  LABIA’s  mission  is  to  battle  

misogyny  within  the  queer  community  by  creating  women’s‐only  spaces,  thereby  

giving  women  agency  over  their  own  voices  and  identities  within  a  safe  political  

forum  (Shah  2009).  While  this  may  seem  exclusionary  of  men’s  identities,  a  

significant focus of LABIA’s political work is centered on exposing gender privilege  

and marginalization and including trans masculine gender expressions; issues that  

many  other  queer  organizations  that  are  run  and  organized  primarily  by  men  

neglect  entirely.  As  a  queer  feminist  collective,  LABIA  is  uniquely  situated  within  

both  the  women’s  and  queer  movements,  thereby  providing  an  important  

intersection of identities for queer discussions of gender and sexuality. As one of the  

first spaces for queer women to socialize and organize in Mumbai and an influential  

and crucial voice within the queer community, Stree Sangam/LABIA is a monument  

to  the  political  developments  and  future  of  the  women’s  and  queer  movements.  I  

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include  LABIA’s  political  ideologies  and  actions  in  my  discussion  of  Indian  queer  

politics as it is an example of queer organizations that engage in queer analyses of  

gender and promote gender variant/transgender identity exploration.   

LABIA’s political mission is situated within a feminist and queer ideological  

framework, in which they seek to break the silence around queer women’s identities  

and sexualities and raise awareness about issues facing other marginalized groups.  

In  the  “About  Us”  and  “History”  sections  of  their  website,  the  collective  explains  

their ideological roots and broader connection to marginalized identities:   

We see oppression based on gender and sexuality as part of the same  

hetero‐patriarchal norms that oppress other marginalised peoples as  

well. We wish to continue to ally with others, who, like us believe that  

working towards a society where all genders and sexualities would be  

respected and treated equally is necessary. Our strategies are multiple  

and complex, but our alliances are crucial. As are our politics and our  

lives.  

  

LABIA’s mission specifically targets queer feminist issues, yet it also recognizes the  

structural  oppression  of  the  national  and  global  system  of  heteropatriarchy  that  

affects  their  multilayered  identities  as  queer  Indian  women  as  well  as  all  

marginalized identities in the system. They further explain their collective identities,   

We believe that our freedoms are not singular, and neither are our  

identities.  We  are  queer,  we  are  people  of  different  sexualities  and  

genders; we are also people being thrown out of our jobs because of  

corporate takeovers; we are people from different castes, regions and  

communities;  we  are  people  with  disabilities;  we  are  people  losing  

our  lands  to  development  schemes  or  SEZ  plans;  we  are  people  

spending endless time filling water for our families; we are still being  

forced  to  marry  against  our  wills;  we  are  citizens  of  this  country,  

struggling to survive and fighting for our rights. We remind ourselves  

of this again and again when we sit down and make our action plans  

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and  strategies.  We  aim  to  raise  our  voices  for  freedom  and  justice  

with all those who are doing the same.  

  

By  focusing  on  queer  women’s  issues  and  applying  a  queer  feminist  political  

approach  to  their  activism,  LABIA  is  able  to  reach  a  very  specific  group  of  

marginalized  identities  based  on  gender  and  sexuality,  while  also  maintaining  a  

broader mission of universal sexual and gender equality and acceptance.  

Gender is a main component of LABIA’s political ideology. But unlike some  

women’s  groups  that  only  view  gender  within  the  heteronormative  binary,  LABIA  

expands the categories of ‘woman’ and ‘female’ to encompass queer sex and gender  

identities.  During  the  2008  Silver  Jubilee  Conference  of  the  Indian  Association  of  

Women’s Studies (IAWS) in Lucknow, LABIA was involved in organizing a two‐day  

session for the conference entitled “Generating New Knowledges Across Sexualities  

and Genders”. In these sessions, members of various organizations and universities  

across India contributed to challenging the cultural strictures that continue to limit  

queer and feminist understandings of gender and sexuality. In the introduction to  

the  report,  featured  on  their  website,  which  highlights  their  sessions  of  the  

conference, LABIA describes,   

It’s no small measure of the long way we’ve travelled that after years  

of reluctance,  even  resistance,  queer  feminist  articulations  and  

concerns are today an integral part of women’s movements as well as  

women’s studies in India. In fact, as it turned out, ours were among  

the best attended and most lively sessions (as we were told by many  

lovely, unbiased women) at the Lucknow conference.   

  

In  the  first  panel,  “Interrogating  Gender”,  Chayanika  Shah  gave  a  presentation  in  

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which  she  began  with  the  question,  “Why  do  I  call  myself  a  woman?”,  and  then  

proceeded  to  deconstruct  the  cultural  notions  of  sexual  classification  that  dictate  

gender norms and identity. In one session called “The Body in Business”, Meenakshi  

and  Pushpa,  two  sex  workers  from  Maharashtra  and  Uttar  Pradesh  respectively,  

discussed  the  daily  difficulties  of  their  sexual  identities  and  the  new  forms  of  

violence and oppression that emerged when they reclaimed their agency.   

In  one  particularly  intriguing  panel  entitled  “Reading  the  Body:  Construct,  

Fact, Fiction”, panelists challenged the ways in which science and technology have  

constructed certain notions about sex and gender classifications and identity. Satya  

Rai Nagpaul, who is also a member of LABIA, was in attendance and read his piece  

entitled  “R(emoval)  for  Real”,  in  which  he  discussed  the  details  of  his  sexual  

reassignment surgery and physical transition from being female to male. After his  

piece, another LABIA member discussed intersex identity and the privileges of ‘so‐ 

called’ ‘normalcy’. LABIA reports,   

Shahlini Mahajan spoke of how the intersex movement challenges the  

imagining  of  our  world  as  dimorphic,  in  terms  of  male/  female.  By  

speaking  of  “gender  variance”  as  a  continuum,  rather  than  of  

variations  from  the  “norm”,  the  movement  critiques  the  

pathologization  of  intersex  by  the  medical  establishment,  and  

questions  the  privilege  of  “the  normalcy  of  the  so‐called  correctly  

sexed  body.”  Are  we,  as  feminists  and  queer  activists,  willing  to  

question this privilege?  

  

Both  of  these  presentations  sparked  vibrant  discussions  afterword  regarding  the  

place  of  doctors  in  choosing  the  sex  of  children  at  birth,  the  questionable  

responsibility of doctors to their patient’s surgical requests, and the social pressures  

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felt  by  some  butch  lesbians  to  sexually  reassign  because  of  discomfort  with  their  

social  identity.  Satya  Rai  Nagpaul  and  Chayanika  Shah  fielded  a  number  of  these  

questions and helped to further clarify misunderstandings and points of confusion  

for inquisitive doctors, queer females and others. The sessions LABIA organized for  

the  IAWS  conference  created  a  dialogic  forum  for  the  collective  destabilizing  and  

renegotiating of discourses of sexuality and gender, which LABIA based upon their  

alternative queer feminist politics of radical gender non‐conformity.   

In one of their forthcoming research projects, entitled “Breaking The Binary:  

Understanding Concerns and Realities of Queer Persons Assigned Gender Female At  

Birth Across A Spectrum of Lived Gender Identities”, LABIA seeks to give voice to  

the marginalized identities of female‐bodied individuals living outside of the gender  

binary. On their website they explain,  

There have been many far reaching discussions on the complexity of  

gender  and  sexuality  within  not  just  the  queer  movement,  but  also  

other  movements,  most  notably  the  women’s  and  human  rights  

movements.  At  the  same  time,  we  feel  that  even  within  the  queer  

communities, those who are assigned gender female at birth but are  

constantly  negotiating  it,  remain  the  most  marginalised  in  terms  of  

presence and rights.…We wish to understand the circumstances and  

situations of those who are made to, or expected to, fit into the female  

gender but who see themselves as different in terms of their gender  

identity, perform different gender roles, possess or cultivate different  

gender  attributes  from  those  imposed  by  societal  norms  and  

conventions,  and  who  may  have  a  different  relationship  to  their  

bodies.  

  

This  project  is  closely  tied  to  my  own  research  interests  in  the  subcontinent  and  

highlights  an  area  of  the  queer  community  that  LABIA  states  is,  “the  most  

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marginalized  in  terms  of  presence  and  rights”.  Gender  variant  female‐bodied  

individuals, as well as post‐operative transgender men, are hardly acknowledged, if  

at  all,  within  Indian  society.  It  is  only  Satya  Rai  Nagpaul’s  academic  work  and  

political  involvements  in  Sampoorna  and  LABIA  that  have  shed  light  on  these  

invisible identities of the queer community and demanded that proper attention and  

recognition be given to them. Their research project will hopefully spark others to  

continue  to  research  and  create  support  systems  for  these  under‐acknowledged  

queer  gender  identities.  Their  project  is  a  clear  example  of  how  LABIA’s  focus  on  

queer  gender,  as  well  as  queer  sexuality,  positions  them  at  the  forefront  of  

discourses  on  sexuality  and  gender  in  the  women’s  and  queer  movements.  

Dedication  to  the  dissemination  of  queer  discourses  of  gender  and  sexuality  in  

Indian  society  is  one  of  the  major  political  endeavors  of  the  collective  and  is  

apparent  in  the  collective’s  educational  campaigns  on  college  campuses,  feminist  

film screenings through CineLabia, and the production of their queer zine SCRIPTS.   

  

Below  are  two  rally  songs  that  LABIA  wrote  and  posted,  transliterated,  on  

their  website.  The  first  one,  “Aaj  Kal  Hamare  Pyaar  Ke  Charche”  (2010),  was  

comprised and sung for the first annual “365 without 377” celebration on July 2 nd ,  

2010 and is an adaptation of the song, by the same title, LABIA wrote in 2004 for a  

program  called  “April  Jollies”.  The  second  one,  “Hum  Queer  Hain,  Garva  Se  Bolo”  

(2009), was written for the Queer Azadi Mumbai March in 2009 and was written to  

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the tune of the Marathi song “Dhagala Lagali Kala Paani Themb Themb Gala” and the  

feminist  song  “Main  Acchhi  Hoon  Ghabrau  Nako”  written  by  Awaaz‐E‐Niswaan.  

These rally songs were created for and sung at large, public political events where  

those organizing and marching literally and figuratively were giving voice to queer  

issues and identities through these songs. Given the nature of the songs, I opted for a  

more English colloquial translation, where I sought to capture the sentiments and  

spirit of the songs, rather than the rigidity of the sentence or grammatical structure.  

The  first  song,  “Aaj  Kal  Hamare  Pyaar  Ke  Charche”,  discusses  a  new  era  of  queer  

pride  in  India  and  the  strength  of  the  queer  community  post‐Section  377.  The  

second song, “Hum Queer Hain, Garva Se Bolo”, discusses the struggles of individual  

and  collective  queer  identities  as  well  as  the  need  to  proclaim  pride  for  those  

identities. I include these two songs as further examples of LABIA’s queer feminist  

political ideologies and efforts to include a multitude of gender and sexual identities  

in their political causes and discourses.   

  

Figure 3.3:   “Aaj Kal Hamare Pyaar Ke Charche…” Rally Song  

  

“Aaj Kal Hamare Pyaar Ke Charche ...” (2010)  

  

Aajkal hamare Pyaar ke charche har zubaan par  

‐ achchha?  

sabko malum hai aur sabko khabar ho gayee  

‐ to Kya!  

  

            khamosh the, akele bhi, lekin the manchale  

            dhoondhate dhandte aap sab mil gaye  

            dhoondhate dhandhate biradaran ban gaye  

    

89



  

           dosti ke shole dostana bane  

           invisible se fashionable ho gaye  

           logon ki aankhon mein ab utarane lage  

  



  

           saintalees mein desh ye azaad hua  

           do hazaar nau mein pyaar azaad hua  

           three seven seven ka jab band baj gaya  

  



  

            naye sapane kanoon ne hain jagaye  

            in par ab na aaye nafraton ke saaye  

            aao sab rangon ka parcham lehraayen                          

  



  

           hamane to pyaar mein aisa kaam kar liya  

           pyaar ki raah mein apana naam kar liya  

           jeene ka ab naya intazaam kar liya                            

  



  

  

Figure 3.4:   “Aaj Kal Hamare Pyaar Ke Charche” ‐ English Translation  

  

“These Days Discussions of Our Love …” (2010)  

  

These days discussions of our love are on every tongue   

‐Really?  

Everyone knows and everyone has been informed  

‐So!  

  

  We were silent, also alone, but we were courageous  

  While continually searching we found each other  

  While searching we became a community  

  

These days discussions of our love are on every tongue  

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  We made the flames of friendship friendly  

  From invisible we became fashionable  

  We have been lifted in people’s eyes  

  



  

  In ‘47 the country became free  

  In 2009 love became free  

  At the time the ban on 377 was executed  

  



  

  The law has awoken new dreams  

  Now these shadows of hate will not come  

  Come! Let’s wave the rainbow flag  

  



  

We worked for our love  

By way of love we made a name for ourselves  

Now we made a new life arrangement for ourselves  

  



Figure 3.5: “Hum Queer Hain Garva Se Bolo” Rally Song  

“Hum Queer Hain Garva Se Bolo”  (2009)   

  

(Each line may be sung twice.)  

  

hum queer hain garva se bolo, ab tum bhi suno  

   

hum bhi hain is desh ke vaasi, azadi hamein pyari  

court ne sun li maang hamaari, ab hai baari tumhaari  

hamein izzat se jeene ka haq hai, hamko jeene do  


   

jabaran shaadi se bachkar main girlfriend ke sang bhaagi  

mumbai mein kai dost mile aur apni kismat jaagi  

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khuli sadkon pe nikale morche ko, aasmaan chhoone ko  

main lesbian hoon garva se bolo, ab tum bhi suno    

   

college mein main socha karta koi nahin mere jaisa  

humsafar mil jaayenge itane, socha na tha kabhi aisa  

yun buri nazar se na dekho,  saath chal ke dekho  

main gay hoon garva se bolo, ab tum bhi suno    

   

kyon humko tum jaane bin beemar banaate barbas?  

padari kyon hain pareshan aur baba kyon hain narvas?  

mat bolo ye nafrat ki bhasha, hamein jaano samjho   


   

bachpan mein main ladki thi ab ladka ban ke ghoomoon  

bachpan mein main ladka tha ab ladki ban ke ghoomoon (for the repeat)  

dil karta hai aaj mera ke taaron ke lab choomoon  

kyon na aaj meri is khushi mein tum bhi shaamil ho  

main trans hoon garva se bolo, ab tum bhi suno  

   

kapde kaise koi pehenta, kaun kise hai chahta  

kisi ko kya mushkil hai isse, kiska kya hai jaata  

isi jagah hum pale badhe hain, isi jagah se hai naata  

hum koi ajooba nahin hain, ab tum bhi kaho  

hum queer hain garva se bolo, aisa sabse kaho  

hum queer hain garva se bolo, aisa ZOR SE KAHO!  

Figure 3.6: “Hum Queer Hain Garva Se Bolo” ‐ English Translation  

“We Are Queer, Say It With Pride” (2009)  

  

(Each line may be sung twice.)  

  

We are queer, say it with pride, now you listen here  

  

We too are residents of this country, we love freedom  

The court heard our demand, now it’s your turn  

We have the right to live with respect, allow us to live  


  

After escaping from a forced marriage, I fled with [my] girlfriend  

In Mumbai we made many friends and our fate was realized  

We went out onto open streets to protest, to touch the sky  

I am a lesbian, say it with pride, now you listen here  

  

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In college I used to think that there was no one like me  

I never thought that I would meet so many people like me  

Therefore don’t look down on us with a disapproving gaze, walk with us and see  

I am gay, say it with pride, now you listen here  

  

Without knowing us, why do you make us sick unnecessarily?  

Why is the priest upset and the father anxious?   

Stop speaking this language of hate, know us and understand us  


  

In childhood I was a girl, now as a boy I’ll roam  

In childhood I was a boy, now as a girl I’ll roam (for the repeat)  

Today my heart desires to kiss the lips of stars  

Why will you not also meet me in this happiness?  

I am trans, say it with pride, now you listen here  

  

Who wears which type of clothing, who desires whom  

Whatever issue someone has with it, what business is it of theirs  

This is the place we were born and raised, our ties are grounded here  

We are not weird, now you speak it  

We are queer say it with pride, say it to everyone  

We are queer say it with pride, say it with force  

The first song, “Aaj Kal Hamare Pyaar Ke Charche”, “These Days Discussions  

of  Our  Love”,  tells  the  story  of  the  contemporary  Indian  queer  movement  and  its  

accomplishment  in  overturning  Section  377.  Each  three‐lined  verse  discusses  one  

step  in  the  process  of  making  queer  desire  legal  and  are  introduced  with  the  

repeating chorus, “Aaj kal hamare pyaar ke charche har zubaan par/ sabko malum  

hai aur sabko khabar ho gayee”, “These days discussions of our love are on every  

tongue/ Everyone knows and everyone has been informed”. In one sense, the chorus  

is addressing the media and social fanfare surrounding queer sexuality and desire  

since petitions for the repeal of Section 377 started receiving national attention. In  

another sense, the chorus is calling attention to the freedom that queers now have  

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under  the  law  in  India.  “Everyone  knows  and  everyone  has  been  informed”  that  

being  queer  is  no  longer  against  the  law  and  therefore  deserves  celebration  and  

respect.  The  first  verse  discusses  the  creation  of  a  strong  queer  community;  the  

second,  the  community’s  successful  efforts  to  shift  public  sentiments  about  queer  

identities from negative to positive. I find the third verse to be the central verse of  

the song, “saintalees mein desh ye azaad hua/ do hazaar nau mein pyaar azaad hua/  

three seven seven ka jab band baj gaya”, “In ‘47 the country became free/ In 2009  

love  became  free/  At  the  time  the  ban  on  377  was  executed”.  Likening  the  

independence of India from British rule to the freedom afforded to the Indian queer  

community  evokes  feelings  of  nationalism  and  queer  pride  that  help  substantiate  

queer identities as Indian identities.   

The  fourth  and  fifth  verses  both  discuss,  in  somewhat  idealistic  ways,  the  

opportunities  and  freedoms  that  queers  now  have  in  a  post‐Section  377  Indian  

society. A line from the fourth verse reads, “in par ab na aaye nafraton ke saaye”, and  

the  final  line  of  the  last  verse  reads,  “jeene  ka  ab  naya  intazaam  kar  liya”.  While  

some  verses,  like  these,  seem  to  imply  that  queer  political  objectives  ended  after  

Section  377  was  repealed,  the  overall  message  of  the  final  verses  recognizes  the  

hard  work  and  dedication  of  the  queer  community  and  their  collective  efforts  to  

make a better future possible for queers in India. Repealing Section 377 was the first  

step  in  this  process  and  this  rally  song  celebrates  this  achievement.  By  not  

mentioning queer identities or issues of gender or sexuality in specific terms, “Aaj  

94

Kal Hamare Pyaar Ke Charche” rallies the queer community under a single political  

issue that the unit as a whole achieved; thus affirming the successes of the entire  

community. The second rally song provides more individualized attention to issues  

of queer sexuality and gender identity.  

“Hum Queer Hain, Garva Se Bolo” begins with the declaration of its title, “We  

are  queer,  say  it  with  pride”.  The  first  verse  situates  queer  identity  within  the  

cultural and national identity of India. By declaring “hum bhi hain is desh ke vaasi,  

azadi hamein pyari”, “We too are residents of this country, we love freedom”, queer  

marchers are stating that their identities are not foreign to India, that they are desi  

and queer and patriotic. The verse also makes clear that queers fought for the Indian  

court system to listen to their demands and overturn Section 377, and now they are  

calling for the respect of society as well. Verse two is the first verse that discusses a  

specific  queer  identity  and,  I  assume  that  because  LABIA  is  a  feminist  women’s  

collective,  it  begins  with  a  lesbian  couple  that  escapes  the  oppression  of  forced  

marriage  and  runs  away  to  a  queer  community  in  Mumbai.  The  third  verse  is  

concerned with the life of a gay college student who, in my interpretation, does not  

think that he will ever be able to openly love another man or find anyone who is like  

him.  The  third  line  of  the  verse  makes  a  particularly  strong  declaration.  It  reads,  

“yun buri nazar se na dekho, saath chal ke dekho”, “Therefore don’t look down on us  

with a disapproving gaze, walk with us and see”, firmly stating that those who look  

down upon gay individuals should not do so until they have really considered what  

95

gays experience in their lives. It calls for those outside of the community to really  

think about what it would be like to think that you might never be able to truly love  

someone because society’s expectations are so strongly against your love. It is also a  

clever  line  for  a  march,  given  that  the  line  reads  “saath  chal  ke  dekho”,  almost  

requesting  that  those  within  earshot  of  the  march  should  walk  with  them  and  

understand their struggles in that very moment. The fourth verse returns to queer  

identity  and  raises  a  series  of  rhetorical,  or  perhaps  not  rhetorical,  questions  

directed  towards  the  older  Indian  generations  that  are  against  or  uncomfortable  

with queer identity and possibly believe it is a Western import and a choice. In the  

third line of the fourth verse, the marchers call out, “mat bolo ye nafrat ki bhasha,  

hamein  jaano  samjho”,  “Stop  speaking  this  language  of  hate,  know  us,  understand  

us”.  I  interpret  this  verse  as  the  marchers  telling  society  as  a  whole  that  hating  

queers is ignorant and if they stop their hateful language they might actually get to  

know and understand queers for who they truly are.   

Up until this point in the rally song, aspects of gender non‐conformity have  

not  been  raised.  Struggles  faced  by  queer,  lesbian  and  gay  identities  begin  each  

verse and by the third line there is a hopeful or confrontational statement, followed  

by a final line that declares pride for that identity. Every verse is sung in the first  

person except for the queer identity verses, which use the plural; indicating that the  

larger  queer  movement  encompasses  the  struggles  and  identities  of  all  sexual  

minorities  under  a  united  front.  The  fifth  verse,  however,  begins  with  the  lines,  

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“bachpan mein main ladki thi ab ladka ban ke ghoomoon/ bachpan mein main ladka  

tha ab ladki ban ke ghoomoon”, “In childhood I was a girl, now as a boy I’ll roam/ In  

childhood  I  was  a  boy,  now  as  a  girl  I’ll  roam”,  showing  that  birth  sex  does  not  

confine  someone  to  a  prescribed  gender  identity.  The  line  further  indicates  that  

some form of social and/or physical transition has occurred, allowing this person to  

live  freely  within  their  body  and  in  their  new  gender.  The  verse  continues  by  

declaring the happiness of the person in their new sex/gender identity, “dil karta hai  

aaj  mera  ke  taaron  ke  lab  choomoon”,  but  follows  with  a  sad  questioning  of  why  

others will not join them in their happiness, “kyon na aaj meri is khushi mein tum  

bhi  shaamil  ho”.  The  verse  ends  with  a  declaration  of  pride  for  trans  identities,  

“main  trans  hoon  garva  se  bolo,  ab  tum  bhi  suno”,  which  encompasses  both  

transgender  men  and  women’s  identities  and  could  potentially  encompass  gender  

non‐conformity and/or ambiguity in general.  

The  vignette  offered  in  the  fifth  verse  can  be  understood  on  a  number  of  

different  levels.  On  one  level,  it  expresses  the  conflicted  feelings  of  a  transgender  

person who finds happiness in their identity and simultaneously experiences social  

marginalization  because  of  it.  Why  will  tum  not  meet  the  transgender  person  in  

their  happiness?  The  lack  of  support  afforded  to  the  trans  person  in  this  verse  

creates a distance between ‘tum’ and the ‘trans’ person, which seems to indicate a  

level of social stigmatization and even marginalization of trans identity. Therefore,  

LABIA could be addressing the oppressions of heteronormativity on gender identity  

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in  Indian  society  through  this  verse.  On  a  second  level,  ‘tum’  could  be  a  queer,  

cisgender person who operates within heteronormative understandings of gender  

identity and expression. By this account, LABIA would be directing this verse of the  

rally song towards heteronormative gays, lesbians and bisexuals within the march,  

thus  targeting  the  marginalization  of  transgender  identities  within  the  queer  

community.  On  a  third  level,  the  verse  could  extend  the  meaning  of  ‘trans’  to  

indicate gender non‐conforming identities in a broader transgender sense, whereby  

the first two lines would indicate a transgression of gender expression rather than a  

direct sex or gender change from one binary category to another, i.e. man to woman,  

and visa versa. The happiness that is expressed could be due to a feeling of freedom  

from the restrictions of the heteronormative gender binary, allowing the person to  

live happily in the realm of androgyny. In this way, the entire verse could be sung, or  

read,  as  a  declaration  of  existence  and  an  assertion  of  pride  for  gender  non‐ 

conforming identities in the queer community and society at large.   

By  shouting  transgender  pride  throughout  the  streets  of  India,  LABIA  

destabilizes  heteropatriarchal  society  and  the  gender  norms  that  oppress  gender  

variant  people,  thereby  breaking  the  silence  around  these  identities  and  causing  

society to question gender roles and constraints. In the sixth and final verse, LABIA  

scolds  Indian  society  for  policing  gender  and  sexuality,  “kapde  kaise  koi  pehenta,  

kaun kise hai chahta/ kisi ko kya mushkil hai isse, kiska kya hai jaata”, “Who wears  

which  type  of  clothing,  who  desires  whom/  Whatever  issue  someone  has  with  it,  

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what  business  is  it  of  theirs”.  LABIA’s  inclusion  of  gender  variant/transgender  

identities in this public rally song exemplifies their political focus on disseminating  

queer  knowledge  of  gender  and  sexuality  through  exposing  social  issues  of  

marginalization in a public rally forum.  

  

LABIA is a queer organization that specifically targets issues of queer gender  

identity and gender variance within the Indian queer movement and Indian society  

at  large.  As  a  feminist,  women’s  collective,  they  make  the  political  decision  to  

include transgender women as well as transgender men in their organization and  

political  pursuits.  Their  queer  feminist  political  approach  provides  an  important  

intersection  between  analyses  of  gender  and  sexuality  and  fuels  their  political  

engagements  in  academic  conferences;  research  on  gender  variant  female‐bodied  

identities;  production  of  a  queer  zine;  feminist  film  screenings;  educational  

campaigns  on  college  campuses;  and  production  of  political  rally  songs.  As  is  

apparent,  LABIA’s  primary  mode  of  political  engagement  is  knowledge  

dissemination  of  queer  ideologies  of  gender  and  sexuality  and  is  one  of  the  only  

organizations in India providing such extensive work on these topics.  

  

Sangama/LesBiT  

  

Sangama is a human rights organization, based in Bangalore, that advocates for the  

rights  of  sexual  minority  groups,  with  particular  attention  given  to  poor,  non‐ 

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English  speaking  transgender  identities.  On  their  website,  Sangama  lists  sexual  

minorities  as  the  following:  hijras,  kothis,  doubledeckers,  jogappas,  lesbians,  

bisexuals,  homosexuals,  gays,  female‐to‐male/male‐to‐female  transsexuals;  all  of  

which either are or could be transgender identities. Although they do not explicitly  

identify  using  the  term  ‘queer’,  Sangama’s  politics  are  rooted  in  queer  social  

critiques  of  gender  and  sexuality.  They  explain  their  involvement  in  the  ‘sexual  

rights movement’ on their website as,  

based  on  not  only  the  discourse  of  sexual  identity/orientation  and  

gender identity but also on discourses of human rights, sexual rights,  

gender equality, social justice, etc.  

  

Rather  than  engaging  in  discourses  of  non‐normative  gender  and  sexuality,  

Sangama’s primary political objective is to provide necessary social services for the  

gender variant/transgender communities of Bangalore. It is a unique organization  

not  only  because  it  provides  a  wide  range  of  services  for  transgender  women’s  

communities,  but  more  directly  because  it  offers  some  of  the  most  extensive  

services for FtMs in India. LesBiT is Sangama’s support group for lesbian, bisexual,  

women‐loving‐women, and female‐to‐male transgender identities, and is the avenue  

through  which  Sangama  runs  its  programs  for  FtMs.  I  include  Sangama/LesBiT  in  

this  discussion  of  queer  politics  in  India  as  an  example  of  a  queer  human  rights  

organization  that  is  primarily,  and  almost  exclusively,  dedicated  to  the  rights  and  

issues of a broad spectrum of gender variant/transgender identities in India.   

An  important  aspect  of  Sangama’s  queer  human  rights  framework  is  that  

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they acknowledge the multilayered identities and varying levels of marginalization  

found  within  the  queer  community.  Their  “Vision”,  as  stated  on  their  website,  

proclaims,   

Sangama  is  an  anti‐sexist,  anti‐classist,  democratic  and  transparent  

organisation.  We  believe  in  diversity  and  do  not  see  all  sexuality  

minorities  as  a  monolithic/uniform  community.  We  recognise  that  

they  come  from  different  class/caste/gender/  religion/  language/  

culture/ethnicity/sexual  identity/  sexual  orientation/  political  

backgrounds. Different people face different forms of marginalisation  

even among sexuality minorities.  

  

Just as they state that sexual minorities are not a monolithic identity, so Sangama  

also  recognizes  the  diversity  of  transgender  communities,  identities  and  needs.  

Based  on  this  insight,  they  maintain  programs  and  campaigns  that  offer  special  

services for different gender variant groups based on the groups’ specific needs and  

have,  thus,  become  a  safe  haven  for  the  most  marginalized  identities  in  southern  

India. Sangama’s focus on lower class sexual minority groups targets socioeconomic  

oppression  within  society  and  reveals  issues  of  marginalization  based  on  class  

differences  within  the  Indian  queer  community.  Under  “Frequently  Asked  

Questions”, Sangama writes,  

How  are  sexuality  minorities  from  poor  backgrounds  especially  

vulnerable?  

  

Sexuality  minorities  from  upper/and  or  [sic]  middle  class  [sic]  have  

access to information through the mass media and the internet, and  

tend  to  identify  themselves  as  being  part  of  the  global  queer  

community.  People  from  non‐English  and/or  poor  backgrounds  do  

not have access to these spaces, including resources and information.  

  

By  giving  lower  class  sexual  minorities  access  to  resources  and  information  

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pertinent  to  their  identities,  Sangama  seeks  to  de‐marginalize  class  identities  that  

are on the periphery of the queer movement in India. Lower class FtMs are arguably  

the  most  marginal  identities  in  Indian  society,  due  to  oppressions  based  on  their  

gender,  sex,  class  status,  and  face  many  difficulties  accessing  resources  because  

their  identities  are  largely  rendered  invisible  by  Indian  society  and  human  rights  

organizations. LesBiT’s FtM services give these extremely marginalized identities a  

chance to ‘live their lives with self acceptance, self respect and dignity’ (Sangama).  

Before I engage with LesBiT’s services for and treatment of FtMs, I first take a brief  

look  at  the  services  Sangama  provides  for  hijras,  kothis  and  other  transgender  

women’s identities.  

Sangama estimates on their website that over seven thousand people in the  

Bangalore  city  area  have  been  reached  by  their  HIV/AIDS  programs.  In  the  first  

paragraph of the HIV/AIDS campaign’s description, they explain the main drive of  

the program,   

HIV  has  a  serious  impact  on  the  lives  of  Hijras,  Kothis  and  

Doubledeckers  (HKD).  The  program  works  to  reduce  the  HIV  

incidence  among  HKD  and  their  partners  in  Bangalore,  as  well  as  

providing care and support for People Living [sic] with HIV/AIDS.  

   

Although any sexual minority can utilize this program, the reason for its existence is  

to combat the growing number of HIV/AIDS infections that disproportionately affect  

the HKD community. Connected to this issue is the large number of HKDs that work  

in  the  sex  industry.  Utilizing  linkages  between  sexual  minority  and  women  sex  

workers  in  Bangalore,  Sangama  joined  forces  with  the  women’s  sex  workers  

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movement  and  initiated  the  creation  of  the  Karnataka  Sexworkers  [sic]  Union.  

Sangama explains,  

Immoral  Traffic  Prevention  Act  (ITPA)  is  based  on  the  erroneous  

premise  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  voluntary  sex  work  and  

punishes  mostly  poor  people  whose  livelihoods  are  based  on  sex  

work.…Legitimate  sexwork  [sic],  on  the  other  hand,  has  to  do  with  

economic  viability  that  is  a  critical  component  of  livelihoods  for  

millions of men, women and hijra sexworkers [sic].  

  

By creating this union, Sangama provides greater economic and social stability for  

transgender sex workers and takes a progressive stance against laws that prosecute  

sex  workers  and  their  clients.  Other  services,  like  the  24‐hour  crisis  intervention  

helpline,  health  clinic  and  legal  advocacy  network,  benefit  all  sexual  minority  and  

transgender  identities  similarly.  The  crisis  line,  however,  is  largely  run  for  the  

purpose  of  assisting  transgender  women  and  men  who  face  an  increased  risk  of  

public and police violence because of their gender identities.  

  Health clinics, sex worker advocacy and HIV/AIDS awareness and prevention  

campaigns are fairly common resources that human rights organizations, whether  

domestically  or  internationally  based,  provide  for  sexual  minorities  like  MSMs  in  

India and are available to  hijras, kothis and other transgender women’s identities.  

UNAIDS,  INFOSEM  and  APCOM  are  examples  of  such  organizations.  Resources  for  

lesbian, bisexual and FtM identities, however, are extremely limited due to the social  

invisibility  of  these  identities  within  the  queer  community  and  Indian  society  at  

large.  Sangama’s  support  network  LesBiT  is  a  very  unique  feature  of  this  

organization  because  it  provides  services  specifically  tailored  to  the  needs  of  

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lesbian/bisexual women and FtMs. The LesBiT Fact Sheet, located on the Sangama  

website under the ‘Lesbian Rights’ campaign tab, states,   

Sangama  recognizes  that  this  community  [LesBiT  community]  face  

[sic] dual oppression of being a woman (either born, raised or living  

as a female) and as a sexual minority in the patriarchal, homophobic  

society;  hence  the  relevance  of  the  project.  We  focus  on  the  lower  

socio‐economic sections of this community. The goal of this project is  

to  visibilize  [sic]  of  [sic]  human  rights  violations  against  the  

community and to bring about changes in the social attitudes towards  

lesbian and bisexual women, FtMs etc.  

  

Along  with  creating  awareness  of  the  existence  of  these  identities  and  the  

oppressions they experience within society, LesBiT has the added task of creating a  

community that does not currently exist within the queer community. In the same  

way  that  Sangama  creates  services  for  HKDs  as  a  particular  sexual  minority  unit,  

Sangama  has  pushed  for  the  growth  of  the  LesBiT  community  to  organize  and  

petition for LesBiT human rights. Of their ‘Project Strategy’ points, three out of six  

entail  networking  these  identities  into  one  community,  whereby  Sangama  even  

initiated  a  political  campaign,  separate  from  their  sexual  minorities  human  rights  

campaign, especially for the ‘human rights of lesbians, bisexual women, and female  

to male transgenders’ (LesBiT Fact Sheet). While grouping these identities together  

as one marginalized unit based on the perceived similarities of their sex/gender or  

invisibility within society is enticing, FtMs and lesbians/bisexuals are quite different  

identities.  Therefore  the  resources  that  LesBiT  provides  are  tailored  towards  the  

community  as  a  whole,  as  well  as  to  the  specific  identities  that  comprise  the  

community.  

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One of the major tasks that LesBiT emphasizes is breaking the widespread  

isolation experienced by lesbian, bisexual and FtM identities (LesBiT Work Sheet).  

In  order  to  combat  this  isolation,  they  conduct  ‘field  work/  outreach’  programs,  

attend  weekly  community  meetings  at  Sangama’s  main  office,  organize  support  

groups, and make themselves accessible through their own LesBiT helpline. In order  

to  promote  more  awareness  around  LesBiT  identities,  Sangama  hosted  a  two‐day  

conference, entitled “South Indian Lesbian/Bisexual Women’s Conference”, in which  

lesbians, bisexuals and FtMs across South India attended. The website does not state  

what the content or activities of the conference were, but it seems as though it was  

used for community networking and dialogue. Although FtMs are explicitly included  

as  members  of  the  conference,  I  wonder  why  they  are  excluded  from  the  

conference’s  title.  Did  LesBiT  feel  as  though  more  people  would  attend  if  the  

transgender identity was not mentioned? Did the conference not include aspects of  

FtM  culture  or  identity?  Since  no  other  information  is  given  the  conference’s  

treatment of FtMs is unknown, but FtMs were welcome to attend. Sumathi Murty, a  

member  of  LesBiT  and  Sangama,  presented  in  LABIA’s  session  of  the  2008  IAWS  

conference in Lucknow. In her presentation, Murthy discussed gender identity and  

gender roles within the context of lesbian relationships, based upon her interactions  

and  perceptions  of  the  LesBiT  community.  Murthy  explains,  “For  a  long  time  in  

LeSBiT  [sic],  there  were  no  lesbians  or  gays,  only  heterosexual  husbands  and  

heterosexual  wives”  (LABIA).  Murthy’s  discussion  seems  to  raise  issues  of  

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heteronormativity  and/or  possible  misogyny  within  the  LesBiT  community.  

Misogyny  is,  unfortunately,  a  social  issue  that  affects  LesBiT  communities  and  

identities just as it does heterosexual communities. It is unclear, however, whether  

Murthy  was  directly  alluding  to  issues  of  misogyny,  for  LABIA’s  summary  of  

Murthy’s  presentation  concluded  that  Murthy’s  overall  message  was  about  the  

fluidity of gender roles in the queer community. I am sure discussions of misogyny  

and heteronormativity within the queer Indian community exist, but it is unknown  

whether  LesBiT  addresses  this  issue  or  how  transgender  male,  butch  lesbian  and  

other lesbian or bisexual identities in the LesBiT group conceive of their gender and  

sexuality. This would be an interesting topic to research further.  

In terms of FtM resources, LesBiT launched a Sexual Reassignment Surgery  

(SRS)  initiative,  in  which  they  organize  with  hospitals  in  the  Bangalore  area  to  

provide  lower  cost  services  for  FtMs  who  cannot  afford  the  surgery.  The  LesBiT  

Work Sheet states,   

This for Sangama as well as for the project is very crucial, as the key  

population  of  the  organisation  as  well  as  for  the  project  is  sexuality  

minorities from working class background who otherwise would not  

be able to afford an SRS. Also, this is initiated keeping in mind that the  

process  once  started,  has  to  be  followed  up  appropriately  for  which  

the network would be effective a system than depending on a single  

doctor or a hospital.  

  

Sangama  notes  this  project  as  a  ‘crucial’  service  for  the  ‘key  population’  of  the  

organization and of the LesBiT group, which positions lower class FtM identities at  

the center of Sangama’s politics. While most mainstream queer organizations hardly  

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mention  transgender  identities,  let  alone  transgender  males  or  FtMs,  

Sangama/LesBiT  take  the  opposite  political  approach.  Acknowledging  and  

encouraging their sex/gender identity, Sangama/LesBiT seek to meet the needs of  

the marginalized FtM community and give them the resources they need to fully live  

their  lives.  Sangama/LesBiT  also  made  the  political  and  social  decision  to  include  

FtMs in their temporary women’s shelter. The website explains,   

A  very  challenging  task  for  Sangama  has  been  accommodation  of  

Female to Male Trans genders [sic] and/or butch lesbians who many  

times  form  a  major  part  of  Sangama's,  and  to  be  more  specific  the  

project's  key  population.  The  shelter  being  a  “women’s”  space,  

accommodating  somebody  who  even  “look  like  men”  [sic]  though  is  

highly  risky,  it  was  Sangama's  very  conscious  decision  to  provide  

shelter to FtMs.  

  

Again, Sangama/LesBiT state the importance of FtMs, as well as butch lesbians, as a  

‘key population’ in LesBiT’s socio‐political engagements. When they state that it was  

‘highly risky’ to include FtMs, do they mean that it was risky for the women in the  

shelter?  Was  it  risky  for  the  safety  of  the  FtM  and/or  butch  individuals?  Was  it  a  

risky social or political move for the group? The specific meaning is not clear. What  

is  clear  is  Sangama/LesBiT  took  a  risk,  in  some  way,  by  opening  their  women’s  

shelter to FtMs, but they did so in order to acknowledge and meet the needs of the  

community.  Including  FtM  and  butch  identities  in  their  programs  and  further  

situating them as central to their project’s mission is a radical form of gender and  

sexuality politics, based on their desire to provide social services for marginalized  

transgender/gender variant identities.  

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  At the end of the foreword to the PUCL‐K’s report “Human Rights Violations  

Against the Transgender Community”, Upendra Baxi had these words to say about  

Sangama,   

This  precious  monograph  addresses  the  mission  of  human  rights  as  

contesting discrimination in its most profound sense, as a source and  

a seat of continual mode of production of the distinctively recalcitrant  

form  of  Indian  human  rightlessness.  Sangama  thus  represents,  

through its present and future struggles, the best hope there is for a  

renaissance  of  [the]  human  right  to  difference.  I  remain  deeply  

indebted  to  its  magnificent  initiative  and  in  particular  to  Arvind  

Narrain for educating me in the possible alternative futures of human  

rights. (7)  

  

Sangama’s queer human rights framework alters the environment of contemporary  

queer politics in India by shifting the political focus of the movement towards the  

issues  and  politics  of  the  most  marginalized  sexual  and  gender  communities  and  

identities.  By  centering  their  politics  on  marginal  class,  gender,  sexual  identities,  

Sangama/LesBiT  disrupts  the  dominant  structures  of  Indian  society  that  seek  to  

render  these  identities  invisible.  LesBiT’s  intentional  inclusion  of  FtM  and  butch  

identities  and  needs  positions  the  organization  at  the  forefront  of  political  

organizing around issues of sexuality and gender, for FtMs and butch lesbians are  

the most marginalized transgressive queer identities in India. By focusing on gender  

variant/transgender  issues  through  a  queer  human  rights  political  framework,  

Sangama relieves a portion of the social burden of marginalization experienced by  

oppressed communities and empowers them to politically organize for their rights.  

  

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  Through  my  research  I  have  found  that  contemporary  queer  political  

organizations  in  India  generally  treat  transgender/gender  variant  identities  and  

issues in one of three ways: 1) through a “‘see‐for‐instance’ endnote” or tokenistic  

model  to  bolster  their  own  lesbigay  political  agendas;  2)  through  non‐normative  

gender  analyses,  with  a  focus  on  knowledge  dissemination;  or  3)  by  centralizing  

transgender  identities’  issues  and  politics  within  a  human  rights  political  

framework,  often  focusing  primarily  on  providing  services  for  lower‐class  

individuals. As I expressed in the beginning of this chapter, these categories are non‐ 

exhaustive,  but  help  situate  queer  organizations’  ideological  positions,  in  a  broad  

sense,  on  the  inclusion  of  transgender  politics  and  identities  within  their  political  

frameworks.  With  more  research  on  this  topic,  more  descriptive  categories  of  

analysis  may  be  formed  that  give  greater  insight  into  the  political  ideologies  of  

queer organizations and their inclusion and exclusion of gender variant identities.  

Overall, I found that a majority of queer organizations in India fall within the first  

category, but a growing number of organizations are recognizing the prevalence and  

importance  of  non‐normative  gender  expression  and  identity  within  their  queer  

communities.  As  programs,  like  LABIA’s,  disseminate  knowledge,  greater  visibility  

around gender non‐conformity and gender variance occurs and more organizations  

like  Sangama/LesBiT  arise  to  meet  the  needs  of  minority  gender  communities  

within  the  queer  movement.  Sangama  is  also  engaged  in  forms  of  knowledge  

dissemination  within  their  organization,  but  their  primary  objective  is  to  provide  

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essential resources for those who face the greatest forms of marginalization based  

on  class,  caste,  gender,  etc.  throughout  Indian  society.  Breaking  the  barriers  of  

silence around gender variant identities and transgender political issues is the next  

front in queer political organizing and the queer human rights movement in India.  

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Chapter 4: Conclusion – So…where are all the FtMs?  

  

When the beard finally ‘appeared’, I was my own father. I even took  

his  name.  Without  asking.  Like  I  took  his  cameras.  In  anger.  That  

removal  from  his  universe  was  as  real  as  the  hair  that  started  

appearing all over my body, masculinising me in ways that perhaps he  

could negotiate only through silence.…Who are we? What is this urge  

to maleness? Is it real? Is my father’s maleness ‘real’? Why is it more  

‘real’ than mine? Why is my physicality less legitimate than his?    

      —Satya  Rai Nagpaul, “R(emoval) for Real”  

  

  

…the  many  cultural  practices  of  the  hijra  community…are  part  of  a  

living culture that contest heterosexism by their very existence.   

—Narrain and Bhan, Because I Have A Voice  

 Transgender/gender variant identities in India have been rendered almost  

entirely  invisible  by  the  heteronormativity  that  permeates  Indian  society  and  the  

mainstream queer community in India. “Who are we?…Why is my physicality less  

legitimate than his?” Satya Rai Nagpaul’s questions seek to destabilize the restrictive  

gender  norms  that  oppress  transgender  lives  by  exposing  trans‐ignorance  and  

transphobia. Gender non‐conformity and transgender identities are direct affronts  

to  the  norms  of  heteropatriarchal  society,  whereby  transgender/gender  variant  

bodies  become  political  sites  of  socio‐cultural  resistance  and  counter  hegemony.  

Gender  variance  is,  thus,  the  epitome  of  counter  culture.  In  order  to  locate  these  

transgressive  gender  identities  within  the  larger  structures  of  the  national  and  

global systems, I use neo‐Gramscian theory to structurally critique gender (Gramsci  

1971;  Cox  1983;  Sax  1991;  Rupert  2000;  Bieler  2003;  Harvey  2005).  Applying  

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Antonio Gramsci’s concept of ‘cultural hegemony’ to gender and transgender studies  

explains  the  social  establishment  and  dominance  of  gender  norms  that  are  

understood as ‘common sense’ or, as Gramsci phrases it, ‘the sense held in common’  

by  the  majority  of  people  across  the  hegemonic  system  (Harvey  2005,  39).  These  

‘common sense’ ideologies, as produced by the dominant social class, permeate the  

system  and  work  within  institutions  and  organizations,  including  queer  

organizations,  to  suppress  and  oppress  counter‐hegemonic  ideologies  and  

identities, including those of transgender identities (Rupert 2000; Bieler 2003; Cox  

1983).  I  argue  that  heteronormative  gender  and  sexuality,  as  exemplified  by  the  

heterosexual  family  unit,  provide  the  structural  backbone  of  dominant  society.  

Researching  transgender  identities  within  India,  therefore,  reaches  beyond  

archiving a cultural identity or community, it exposes the oppressive structures of  

heteropatriarchal  dominance  that  regulate  the  personal,  economic,  and  socio‐ 

political  lives  of  all  individuals  under  the  hegemonic  system  (Bhaskaran  2004;  

Steans 2006; Rupert 2000; Hoogvelt 1997).   

Indian  and  Western  scholarship  on  South  Asia  have  yet  to  engage  with  

transgenderism/gender  variance  outside  of  hijra  transgender  identities.  My  

research  is  meant  to  start  a  discussion  about  transgender  and  gender  variant  

existence in the subcontinent through Indian queer and feminist analyses of gender  

and sexuality. As I discussed in Chapter 2, current Indian queer scholarship focuses  

primarily on same‐sex sexuality and queer desire, and largely relegates transgender  

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identities  to  the  footnotes  of  their  discussions  of  queer  sexuality  and  the  queer  

community.  While  a  majority  of  Indian  queer  scholarship  focuses  primarily  on  

issues of queer sexualities, scholars like Chayanika Shah and Akshay Khanna engage  

in discussions of non‐normative gender identity, gender fluidity and ambiguity, and  

transsexuality.  Transgender  Indian  scholars,  like  Satya  Rai  Nagpaul  and  Revathi,  

also  draw  attention  to  the  silence  around  gender  variant  identities  within  

scholarship and raise issues of the marginalization of their own identities within the  

broader queer movement. Issues of class, caste, gender and religious difference also  

play  strong  roles  in  the  inclusion  and  exclusion  of  various  identities  within  the  

predominantly English‐speaking, middle class Indian queer movement.   

Contemporary queer political organizations in India also primarily follow a  

“‘see‐for‐instance  endnote”/tokenistic  model  while  engaging  in  lesbigay  political  

objectives and largely exclude issues faced by gender variant/transgender identities  

from their movements. In Chapter 3, I discussed Voices Against 377 as a coalition  

organized and run by lesbigay political objectives, with minor inclusions of issues of  

violence  faced  by  transgender  groups.  In  similar  organizations/coalitions,  like  

MINGLE or The Pink Pages, trans identities were only included as part of the LGBT  

acronym  and  representations  of  other  forms  of  gender  variance  were  difficult  to  

find,  if  at  all.  By  disengaging  from  queer  gender  politics,  mainstream  queer  

organizations exclude gender non‐conforming identities from their political agendas  

and  inadvertently  reify  the  very  heteropatriarchal  institutions  they  seek  to  

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dismantle.  LABIA  and  Sangama/LesBiT,  however,  are  two  queer  political  

organizations that bring non‐normative minority gender and sexual identities from  

the  periphery  of  the  Indian  queer  movement  to  the  center  of  their  organizations’  

political objectives. Sangama/LesBiT especially establish poor transgender/gender  

variant  communities,  including  kothis,  hijras,  trans  women,  trans  men,  FtMs  and  

butch lesbians groups, as the organization’s target and core population. LABIA and  

Sangama/LesBiT  are  unique  organizations  within  the  larger  Indian  queer  

movement  for  they  situate  non‐normative  gender  politics  at  the  center  their  

organizations’ politics.   

Through my research of Indian queer scholarship and Indian queer political  

organizations, I discovered that gender is a neglected area of analysis within queer  

ideologies  in  India.  Some  scholars,  which  I  have  mentioned  above,  are  critically  

engaging in issues of gender non‐conformity, as well as queer sexuality, and further  

invest  these  ideologies  within  the  queer  activist  organizations  in  which  they  are  

involved.  Satya  Rai  Nagpaul  and  Chayanika  Shah,  for  instance,  are  both  active  

members of LABIA. But the majority of Indian queer scholarship focuses on queer  

sexuality to the exclusion of gender variant identities. I have shown that there is a  

link between the treatment of gender variance within dominant ideologies in queer  

scholarship  and  the  exclusion  of  transgender  politics  within  queer  political  

organizations.  While  exclusion  is  not  necessarily  intentional,  queer  gender  

identities’ issues and politics are marginalized both within Indian queer scholarship  

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and  queer  political  organizing.  Nagpaul,  Shah  and  Khanna  are  just  a  few  of  the  

scholar‐activists  who  discuss  the  exclusion  of  gender  variant  groups,  transgender  

identities,  and  FtMs,  specifically,  within  these  contexts.  The  continued  

marginalization of gender variant identities within scholarship reflects and affects  

the marginalization of gender variant identities within queer political organizations  

in  India.  Recognizing  the  importance  of  transgender/gender  variant  identities  as  

visible  and  concrete  forms  of  counter  hegemony  is  essential  for  queer  ideologies  

that  seek  to  dismantle  the  heteronormative  structures  of  society.  

Transgender/gender  variant  studies  are  currently  at  the  forefront  of  gender  and  

sexuality  studies  within  India  and  around  the  world.  Therefore,  scholar‐activists  

engaging in these discourses of gender variance and gender non‐conformity are the  

future  of  queer  political  organizing  against  the  systemic  oppressions  of  

heteropatriarchy.  

  

115

Epilogue – Reflections on my Research  

  

My research merely scratches at the surface of gender variant/transgender  

sexualities and gender studies in the Indian subcontinent. I recognize that aspects of  

my project may be perceived as reifying rigid lines around categories of ‘gender’ and  

‘sexuality’, thereby instituting a binary understanding of ‘gender’ as separate from  

‘sexuality’,  but  this  is  not  the  intention  of  my  project.  The  main  objective  of  my  

project is not to create divisions between gender and sexuality, but rather raise the  

issue  of  the  lack  of  analysis  of  queer  gender  identities  within  Indian  queer  

scholarship, as well as the lack of recognition of non‐hijra gender variant identities  

in  the  subcontinent.  Gender  variant  identities  complicate  sexuality  beyond  

cisgender queer sexualities, for their ambiguous sex and gender identities challenge  

the  very  ways  in  which  sexuality  is  defined.  For  future  research,  I  would  like  to  

further  examine  the  nuances  of  gender  and  sexual  identity  amongst  a  range  of  

gender  variant  individuals,  including  more  androgynous  gender  identities  like  

kothis,  butch  lesbians  and,  potentially,  genderqueer  individuals.  It  was  not  within  

the  scope  of  this  project  to  analyze  all  aspects  of  the  gender  variant  spectrum  in  

India mainly because, at present, I do not have access to this information. Because  

transgender research outside of hijra communities is very new in the South Asian  

context,  I  limited  my  thesis  to  simply  raising  the  issue  of  silence  around  queer  

gender  identities  within  Indian  queer  scholarship  and  exposing  areas  of  

marginalization  of  gender‐based  identities  within  and  outside  of  the  Indian  queer  

116

movement.  While  Satya’s  statement  that,  “The  documentation  of  non‐hijra  

transgender lives in India has yet to begin” (Nagpaul 2004, 7) is still true in 2011, I  

argue  that,  based  on  the  ideological  and  political  endeavors  of  organizations  like  

LABIA  and  Sangama/LesBiT  and  scholars  like  Satya  Rai  Nagpaul  and  Akshay  

Khanna, gender variant research in South Asia has now begun to commence.  

117

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