Inside India’s blossoming drag scene

Two queens walked into a bar – in this case, a Halloween gala. The midriff-barring green floral dress immediately signposted Jennifer Lopez, who was walking arm-in-arm with a punk rock goth in a black shirt which simply said, ‘I don’t know her.’ “Is that supposed to be Mariah Carey,” someone whispered as low ‘oohs’ went around the crowd. This is not Hollywood but a club in Lower Parel in Mumbai the night before Halloween where drag mothers, queer kids and allies had gathered from around India to celebrate the day of the dead – the drag way.

Riffing off of the Met Gala – which took until 2019 to have a drag artist on the carpet – 32-year-old Glorious Luna, mother of the House of Luna, started the Death Gala two years ago. “Halloween isn’t really an Indian festival,” she says, “but it feels like we need to celebrate it as today, queer people can be whoever they want to be – like at least put the red lipstick on that they so desire, in the name of being Dracula.”

Crossdressing and drag have had a long history rooted in the country’s performance traditions, but when the illusion continues offstage to personal expressions of gender and sexuality heads can turn. Although a colonial code that criminalised gay sex was overturned in 2018, a sensitive bill for protection of trans rights and same-sex marriage is still being hotly debated – and legal change has never implied societal change. “We often carry our lipstick or earrings in a purse and glam up at the venue,” said Humhu, who was our punk rock Mariah. “So at least we can escape some of the judgement, and feel safe.” 

At the Death Gala, everyone performs on the carpet as judges honour the best dressed at the end of the night. Host Pratul Narang had thrifted the highest pairs of platforms in the room, while his House of Luna sister Nin Kala recreated the iconic Galliano glass look to embody marble statues of Mary in churches around Bombay. 28-year-old Vellvet Vortex, from Haus of Spice, portrayed a punk Elvira with face piercing doubling as beauty spots, while her sister Sisssy Nova sashayed down as a dragged-out version of the Bride from Creature Commandos in a stacked beehive and teal eyeshadow. “My make-up took months to reach a stamp but I’m still the hair queen of my haus,” smiles Sisssy. “It was five sleepless nights of making a hair cage, along with a lot of hairspray and patience!”

This DIY spirit of drag is something that gives joy to many like Humhu, who would make looks together with Luna and his queer friends during COVID. “We would play 80s Bollywood or disco music to feel free, and make looks, model and then get back to boy clothes to return home.”

Bollywood remains a realm to draw from for Desi queers, even further north in Kolkata where 27-year-old Ahon Gooptu’s drag persona Xenia Fauxbia Darling fondly recalls learning to dance watching the Bollywood choreographer Saroj Khan during his one-woman show Item. Last month as an opener to the show, he hosted performances by first time baby drag queens – including performer Sasha G who paid tribute to Khan through a pun in her name, and roused the building as she shimmied among us to RuPaul’s “Covergirl”.

For others its channeling sharp-witted female actors who fly in the face of conservatism like Meena Kumari, who was the figure who held together the annual ‘Gham Bar’ last month organised by Gay Gaze Bombay to celebrate the community through their struggles. “Meena Kumari was the queen of tragedy,” says co-founder Gurleen Arora. “Constantly under the microscope like us and shamed for having multiple lovers. She wrote poetry and sang songs no one ever knew about.”

Performing was House of Luna’s Rayyan Monkey, 30, who wore a red anarkali as a foil to Humhu’s goth Meena Kumari with scleral eyes and golden jewellery that had been dyed black. “My reference was her song ‘Inhi Logo Ne’ from her film Pakeezah where she’s a tawaif (courtesan),” says Rayyan. “I have been doing tawaif drag, let’s call it that, for a while. There’s a lot of historical overlap between the tawaif and the hijra (transwoman or intersex) or khawaja sara culture, but we’ve consistently seen that Bollywood erases the latter. I’m a Muslim woman and I grew up thinking there was no place for trans identity in Islam, but khwaja sara is predominantly seen from a Muslim lens. That’s why I did Meena Kumari in drag, to rewrite this cinematic language.”

Gurleen herself created Rayyan’s anarkali – like she continues to do for many queer people as an act of care. Donning a thin Dalí-esque moustache and a Pisces fish on her tie, Gurleen is a drag king called the Mermellian. “I’ve made it a personal mission to bring out as many drag queens as possible,” she says. “So that more AFAB, transmasc, non-binary identities can come out with their drag personas – as many people associate drag with queens. Before our first drag ball, I worked with the kings to curate their act, help with their make-up and costume based on what they felt comfortable in, rather than just glamorous.”

Sounds like the duties of a drag mother, but Gurleen personally doesn’t adhere to ideas of matriarchs or patriarchs or the idea of a drag house. “I only come with a certain level of privilege to ensure someone who doesn’t have enough can have a bit more,” she says.

While ball culture might be new among the urban queer community, haus culture in India is embedded in hijra culture, according to Humhu. “Queer individuals from nearby towns, villages and cities who had been ostracised by their community would come and stay with a guruma,” he says. “Luna has created this queer utopia and it’s a liberating feeling for a queer kid who might arrive from a far-off station, stay at a friend’s place, get ready together and go see a drag queen or king perform.”

Elton J Fernandez, part of the judging panel, who dressed up as a shimmering Ursula with a hand-encrusted shell helmet shimmering with golden baubles at the Halloween gala, recalls when he was a teenager, queer elders – mother or not – would provide a safe space. “As a mother you’re truly their nurturer and comforter, and that’s what Luna is for everybody – her house is a refuge for anyone who wants to come and spend time when they can’t do it anywhere else.”

In Kolkata, Ahon is starting House of Darling headed by Xenia, a lightly-bearded performance studies scholar with sparkling eye glitter. “I think what’s missing in Kolkata is an understanding of drag and I’m envisioning this house as a community of people with a safe space to collectively celebrate this form of performance and expression – which has been used as parody in the mainstream for far too long,” he says.

Part of the house is Meowhisasur, 20, whose paper-thin moustache is taken from the marginalised demon figure of Mahisasur in the Hindu pantheon. For them, performing for the first time was an extension of their activism and a source of deep gender euphoria. Also rising in the city is House of Oleander headed by Sandeepta, who let it all out on the death carpet in a velvet gown dancing to Gaga’s “Bloody Mary”. At the gala, Luna herself was a blushing bride singing Radiohead’s “Freak”. “I’m wearing a thrifted 80s gown,” she smiles. “We can’t marry in this country so it’s nice to live that fantasy and say fuck that. That’s the real horror, isn’t it?”