Pride& joy New tales of transness in Indian cinema

The transgender community is finally becoming visible in the mainstream. As India celebrates Pride Month, meet award-winning actors, directors, cinematographers and screenwriters. See how they view their roles as storytellers, and what they’d like to see

Natasha Rego

They inhabit a liminal space on Indian screens, there but not really there. The trans person is typically portrayed as a hijra in the mainstream, strong but kind, often a friend or ally of troubled women, sometimes cunning, sometimes evil, always on the margins. The trope of the hijra is, of course, a very limited prism through which to view trans identities and experiences. But what’s worse than the limited prism, in many ways, is that when you see a trans person on screen, there is rarely a trans actor involved.

Today, as streaming platforms alter the worlds of storytelling, catalysing a change in audiences too, new views of transness are emerging. There was the beautiful and tragic Kukoo in Season 1 of Sacred Games (2018-19). The powerful and menacing Razia Bai in Gangubai Kathiawadi (2022). The transwoman in a relationship with Ayushmann Khurrana’s Manu in Chandigarh Kare Aashiqui (2021). The story follows their lives as she comes out to him, and his tumultuous journey towards acceptance.

These stories of transness were sensitive, evocative, triumphant. But all three roles were played by cis-het actors (Kubbra Sait; Vijay Raaz; Vaani Kapoor). Still not a trans person in sight.

Trans talent may need some handholding, says Sridhar Rangayan, director of the Kashish Mumbai International Queer Film Festival, and they may not have the star status yet. “But stars can be created. Directors do it all the time. It’s a matter of investing in someone, training and workshopping with them.”

Meenakshi Shedde, film curator and South Asia delegate to the Berlin film festival, points out that in cinema, a start is often made with “behalf-ist films”, which can then pave the way for marginalised communities to speak for themselves.

“One of the finest films made on Dalit issues is Shyam Benegal’s Samar (1999). Shyam Babu is an upper-caste person who is empathetic and a very fine filmmaker. But that filmmaking has a very different power from the films of Nagraj Manjule (Sairat, Jhund, Fandry), who comes from the community and draws from his own and the community’s experiences, which have a very raw power and immediacy. Both kinds of films are extremely valuable, and there’s a different kind of power when people tell their own stories.”

For now, change is trickling into the mainstream, with trans people appearing in front of and behind the camera, in roles as varied as screenwriting, cinematography, direction and acting.

Satya Rai Nagpaul, cinematographer of the critically acclaimed Anhey Ghohrey Da Daan (2011) and

Hansal Mehta’s Aligarh (2015), is a trans masculine person. Gazal Dhaliwal, who wrote the dialogue for Alankrita Shrivastava’s Lipstick Under My Burkha (2016), is a transwoman. Pradipta Ray, who won best emerging filmmaker at the Kashish festival for Raat Baaki (2012), is a transwoman.

Mairembam Ronaldo Singh from Manipur and Anjali Ameer from Kerala are trans women who have played both trans and cis-het characters on screen. Anjali has acted alongside Malayalam superstar Mammootty. Singh had a significant role in Season 1 of Paatal Lok (2020-).

It’s a far cry from where things were two decades ago, when Bobby Darling became the first openly queer character in the mainstream. Most of the scripts she gets still want her to play a gay man, she says.

Is part of the answer to exclusively cast trans actors in trans roles? That is a rather limited solution, members of the community say. “We are talking about a niche area of work and opportunity, which cannot be translated into a viable career option. But if you’re saying a trans person can play any role, just like in Chandigarh Kare Ashiqui a ciswoman plays the role of a transwoman, now that is something I’d like to see,” director Ray says.

In Hollywood, admittedly flawed in numerous ways, some steps are being taken in this direction. Laverne Cox plays an Ivy League lawyer at a boutique law firm in the 2017 show Doubt; her trans identity is not crucial to the plot. Season 2 of the Mindy Kaling production Never Have I Ever (2020-) featured a school counsellor played by transwoman Alexandra Billings. Her transness was neither part of the plot not explicitly commented upon.

In India, “regional, independent films have been exploring these themes more sensitively than the mainstream,” says Shedde. “The late Rituparno Ghosh was crucial in this respect. The actor Sanchari Vijay won a National Award for portraying trans activist Living Smile Vidya in the 2015 Kannada film Naanu Avanalla… Avalu (I’m Her… Not Him).”

Last year, Benjamin Daimary became the first openly gay Indian actor to win a National Award, for his role in the Assamese film Jonaki Porua (2019; Fireflies), about a young transwoman who faces hate and ignorance while on a journey of self-discovery. The Kerala state government has opened up all film awards to trans artists too. Tamil Nadu-born Negha S became the first transwoman to win best debut actor, for her Malayalam film Antharam, about the journey of a transwoman from the streets to life as a homemaker.

There is still a long way to go, and not just on trans representation, says actor Anjali. “If you think about it, Dalits and tribals have been marginalised most in the industry,” she adds. “Even women are still fighting to be represented, and we are such a majority.”