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Issues that create divisions on the rainbow spectrum

Discrimination and stereotyping is rife within the LGBTQI community, and members face as much bias among peers as they do outside

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While they may all march the streets during Pride parades in a common quest for acceptance, the LGBTQI (Lesbian Gay Bisexual Trans Queer Intersex) community itself is wrought with divisions. Its members are not alien to forming prior, often negative, notions about their queer peers, with ugly truths such as patriarchy and social status characterising their interactions. For instance, gays and lesbians stop being inclusive when they opine that bisexuals are a confused lot or that asexuality is a phase.

Delhi-based Anand Singh* says the gay men, especially those who appear to be heterosexual, top the pecking order in the queer community. Such men wear a sense of ‘you can do more and get away with more’. This high-handness, says Singh, is evident at LGBTQI+ parties. “Gay men literally dominate the space,” says the 29-year-old who works at a publishing house. “Many of my trans and female friends feel uncomfortable and unsafe as lines of consent and respectability often get blurred.”

Patriarchy is evident in gay circles. The kothi (the effeminate man in a gay relationship) is often dominated by the panti (the ‘husband’), feels Ivan John, gay rights activist and professor of sociology at Sophia College in Mumbai. “In this setup, the kothi is always the slave,” says the 48-year-old and cautions that LGBTQI meetings, film screening and parties are sometimes a façade for them to hook up with a certain clout. “The Gay Bombay crowd, that is the English-speaking, rich have a chiseled body and can intellectualise about art movies. They won’t interact with the Marathi-, Urdu-, or Kannada-speaking gay, from say, the Humsafar Trust.”

“Transgenders too are looked down upon by the queer community because they lack formal education and stay with their community in slums,” says Kalki Subramaniyam, actor and transgender activist from Chennai. Besides, discrimination within the trans community persists too, she says, narrating her own tale of stigma, when a trans man fell in love with her and proposed marriage. “The community did not accept us because biologically, he was not born a man.” She says that not all trans people accept hijras as part of their community. “They are phobic to that culture. But phobia stems from ignorance, so through writing, poetry and different art forms, I try and educate trans groups,” she says.

Bias, butch and bisexuals

“If you’re a butch dyke, then you’re ostracised by the community, period,” said actor Lea DeLaria, who plays Big Boo on the Netflix original series Orange is the New Black, last year. It’s a statement Rithika Kumar* agrees with. The 29-year-old media professional identifies as an androgynous lesbian, and the butch (lesbians who dress masculine) are the most targeted lot. “My femme or lipstick lesbian (feminine lesbians) friends won’t entertain a butch for being too manly. Even bisexual and gay men pick on butch women because they perceive their manliness as a threat,” says Kumar.


Bangalore​-based gender fluid Alex Mathew poses as himself (left), and in his drag avatar as the songstress, Mayamma (right)

Some lesbians refuse to date bisexuals, assuming the latter might ditch them for a man, says 24-year-old Seema Gupta*. “As if one doesn’t breakup or cheat in a hetero setup? Many within the queer community don’t get this,” says the marketing professional, who recalls a lesbian’s reaction at an LGBTQI party in Mumbai after she introduced herself as a bisexual. “She told me, ‘Oh, you’re bi? Now really, it’s time for you to decide, honey’.”

Facing similar ostracism like Gupta is Chennai-based Alex Mathew, a 26-year-old bisexual who is gender fluid and does drag as the fiery, sari-clad songstress Mayamma. He once asked to perform at a lesbian-only party, only to be rejected at the last minute. He later found out from a friend in the group that the organisers had decided to do without his performance because it was scheduled to be just a 15-20 minute performance. “I got to know the real reason when my friend added the ‘Plus, you’re not a woman’ bit as an explanation.”

It’s a mixed world

Fortunately for Mathew, he found fandom in the jogappas, when he sang a Malayalam song and danced to ‘Kajara re’ on a visit to a community-based organisation that rehabilitates transgenders in Warangal. “The guru immediately wanted to make me her daughter. It’s very flattering when people within the community are willing to take you to greater heights,” he says. But that’s rarely the case, he says, because his drag avatar makes gay and bisexual men assume he’s either transitioning or is too feminine. “They think, like Mayamma I’m feminine in bed and will only bottom. But I’m very much a man and do both. I only perform as a woman, but it’s not who I am sexually.”

Grace Singh, who identifies as asexual and works with the health industry, says many queer people, just like heterosexuals, approach her with misconceptions. “They think we never have sex, never fall in love, have very low libido, and that asexuality is just a phase,” says the 28-year-old, who started the Facebook group Indian Aces and Platonicity, a dating app for asexuals. Asexuals, she says, find LGBTQI events highly sexualised where the sole intent of most people is to hook up. “For example, people make out at the gay parade after-party. While that is wonderful, it makes asexuals feel uncomfortable.”

“But why shouldn’t we have stereotypes?” asks sociology professor Ivan John. “It’s natural. But the way to overcome this natural tendency is by speaking about the community in schools and colleges and portraying more of its members in Bollywood.”

(*Names have been changed on request)

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