LGBTQ representation in Indian film
Indian cinema, over the years, has had a complicated relationship with queer representation within its narrative. For decades, cinema has played a pivotal role in shaping public perception, social norms, and cultural narratives. However, in terms of LGBTQ representation, that legacy has largely been one of invisibility, distortion, and mockery.
For the longest time, queer characters in cinema were either ridiculed, vilified, or erased altogether from the mainstream cinematic frame. Characters were often given exaggerated traits and confined to roles meant for comic relief. Frequently portrayed as outsiders, outcasts, or morally deviant, they were depicted through a limited, heteronormative lens.
However, over the last few years, there’s been a notable shift. Post the decriminalisation of Section 377, Indian cinema has slowly started to navigate away from its past of marginalisation toward a space of celebration, empathy, and authenticity for LGBTQ stories.
A Legacy of Erasure and Stereotyping
Representation of queer characters in Indian cinema well into the 2000s — was largely inauthentic. Gay men were often portrayed as effeminate sidekicks or comic relief. Transgender characters, particularly hijras, were used as metaphors for fear or mysticism. Lesbian characters were non-existent.
While popular and box office success stories, films like Masti, Dostana, and Partner used homosexuality as a punchline — reducing it to a joke for the male gaze and heteronormative comfort. The cinematic language of these films did not attempt to understand or humanize queer characters, but reinforced the idea of queerness as unnatural, deviant, or laughable.
Serious attempts at portraying LGBTQ characters — such as Deepa Mehta’s Fire (1996), Rituparno Ghosh’s Chitrangada (2012), and My Brother… Nikhil (2005) were relegated to the “art-house” or “parallel” cinema. These films were significant in their own right, but never received mainstream support to significantly shift societal attitudes.
The Legal Turning Point: Section 377
The Indian Supreme Court’s landmark judgment on 6 September 2018 decriminalising homosexuality was more than a legal win. A cultural turning point, suddenly, queer love was no longer “illegal”. Doors opened for Indian cinema to reimagine queer characters not just as “the other” but as complex, fleshed-out individuals worthy of love, joy, conflict, and resolution, like any other lead character. Suddenly queer was not comedy, but a well-rounded character that deserved attention.
This post-377 era began to reflect a more inclusive India, both in stories being told and in the characters that populated them. This shift wasn’t limited to just independent cinema. Mainstream Bollywood too started to evolve.
The Mainstream Embrace
One of the first mainstream films to earn attention was Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020), a gay romantic comedy starring Ayushmann Khurrana and Jitendra Kumar. The film’s greatest strength wasn’t just its lead pairing but its attempt to normalise same-sex love in a middle-class Indian family setting. Though not without its flaws, the movie marked an important moment: a commercial Hindi film led by a bankable star directly addressed homophobia while still delivering laughs, romance, and resolution.
Similarly, Badhaai Do (2022) told the story of a lavender marriage — a gay man and a lesbian woman entering a marriage of convenience. While tackling themes like coming out, family acceptance, and queer loneliness, it managed to retain a heartwarming, humorous tone. It was both an emotional and cultural success, celebrated for making queer relationships feel ordinary — and therefore valid.
Other notable films like Sonam Kapoor’s Ek Ladki Ko Dekha Toh Aisa Laga (2019), which centered around a lesbian love story, and regional films like Super Deluxe (Tamil, 2019) — which featured a powerful transgender character played by Vijay Sethupathi — signaled that queer love stories could thrive across languages and genres.
The Rise of OTT and Queer Visibility
Streaming platforms were quicker to embrace diversity and representation. The relatively liberal space offered by OTTs like Netflix, Amazon Prime Video, SonyLIV, and others has allowed creators to explore LGBTQ themes with more nuance and less fear of censorship or commercial backlash. In a way, OTT helped audiences mature and accept a wide variety of love stories, not limited just to heterosexual love stories.
Anthology films like Ajeeb Daastaans (Netflix) and series like Made in Heaven (Amazon Prime Video) included queer characters not as token representatives but as emotionally rich protagonists with their own arcs, heartbreaks, and triumphs. Made in Heaven, in particular, was lauded for its portrayal of Karan Mehra (played by Arjun Mathur), a gay wedding planner navigating love, trauma, and social expectations in urban India.
SonyLIV’s Gulmohar, featuring a sensitive portrayal of a closeted gay woman (the legendary Sharmila Tagore) in a multi-generational family drama, and Netflix’s Class — an Indian adaptation of Elite — with queer storylines woven seamlessly into the fabric of teenage angst and privilege, exemplify how OTTs are driving a more inclusive future.
More recently, the 2024 romantic comedy A Nice Indian Boy, directed by Roshan Sethi and based on Madhuri Shekar’s play, features an Indian-American doctor who introduces his family to his boyfriend, a white man adopted by Indian parents, challenging racial, cultural, and gender stereotypes about love and marriage.
Beyond Representation: Towards Queer Authorship
However, Indian cinema still has a long way to go in terms of queer authorship. Most of the high-profile queer stories continue to be told by cisgender, heterosexual creators. Despite good intentions, this runs the risk of misrepresentation or perpetuating stereotypes.
The queering of Indian cinema is still a work in progress. While there’s been measurable progress, there are still gaps when it comes to the representating transgender, non-binary, and Dalit queer identities. There’s a tendency for mainstream stories to “sanitize” queerness, often limiting such characters to upper-caste, urban, English-speaking personalities.
However, there has been an undeniable paradigm shift in queer representation in Indian cinema. There is now a space, a vocabulary, and an audience for queer love stories. Pride is no longer relegated to protest signs or hidden metaphors — it’s increasingly becoming part of everyday storytelling.
Indian cinema has the potential to become a genuine agent of change, not just reflecting society but actively helping to reshape it. Because love, after all, needs no justification, on screen or in life.
