Confronting Homophobia in India: Myths, Morality & Change
Homophobia in India is not just about whispered insults, outdated jokes, or crude slurs. It lives in our laws, in our classrooms, in WhatsApp family groups, and even in the silences of our closest relationships. While Pride parades are brighter and queer cinema is finally getting screen space, the undercurrent of moral policing hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s been repackaged in the name of “tradition,” “Indian values,” and “family honour.” But let’s be honest: what we call “Indian morality” is less about culture and more about control.
Myths That Refuse to Die
One of the oldest myths about queerness in India is that it is “Western” or “imported.” Ironically, our own mythology tells us otherwise. From Shikhandi in the Mahabharata to the erotic carvings of Khajuraho, fluidity of gender and desire is hardly alien to our soil. Yet, the colonial shadow of Section 377 lingered for over 150 years, teaching generations to see queerness as criminal. Even after its historic reading down in 2018, the myth persists: that being queer is against Indian culture.
Another dangerous myth is that queerness is “a phase” or “something that needs curing.” Conversion therapy, though officially banned, continues underground. Families still drag their children to Babas or psychiatrists to “fix” them. It’s not just cruelled it’s illegal. But more importantly, it’s a refusal to accept that queerness is not a deviation from the norm; it is part of the norm itself.
Morality as a Weapon
In Indian society, morality is often wielded like a Danda a stick meant to discipline anyone who doesn’t fall in line. Women who smoke, couples who kiss in public, queer folks who hold hands everyone has been policed in the name of “Sanskriti.” But here’s the truth: morality in India has always been political. It shifts with caste hierarchies, class privilege, religious conservatism, and regional contexts.
Take Bollywood, for example. For decades, it mocked effeminate men and sidelined queer characters as jokes. Today, it celebrates inclusive cinema with films like Budhai Do and regional gems that push boundaries. Yet, the backlash on social media shows us that homophobia is alive, dressed in new clothes sometimes draped in saffron, sometimes in pseudoprogressive liberalism.
Queer India isn’t asking for tolerance. Tolerance is a passive kindness, like feeding a stray dog. What the community demands is respect, equity, and recognition. And that shakes the very foundation of a moral system built on control.
Where Change is Happening
The good news? Change is not just possible, it’s already here. Pride in India is no longer confined to metros. From Guwahati to Ranchi, smaller cities are claiming space. Queer collectives on campuses are becoming safe spaces where students can explore their identities without fear. Fashion designers are queering the runway, breaking away from rigid gender binaries. Even corporate India, albeit slowly, is learning that rainbow capitalism without policy changes won’t cut it anymore.
Perhaps the most radical shift is in storytelling. Independent queer filmmakers, YouTubers, and writers are creating narratives where joy, love, and resilience take centre stage. These stories matter because they counter the single-story narrative of queer pain.
As one activist in Chennai put it:
“Our existence is not a protest. Our joy is resistance. Our love is the morality India needs.”
The Road Ahead
Confronting homophobia is not a onetime march, a hashtag trend, or a court verdict. It’s a daily practice. It’s in the words we use, the spaces we create, the policies we demand, and the systems we challenge. It’s in refusing to let myths pass as “tradition” and morality as unquestionable truth.
Queer India is young, vibrant, and impatient and that’s a good thing. Because patience has been demanded of the community for far too long. Now, it’s time for courage, creativity, and unapologetic pride. The future of inclusive India will not be negotiated in hushed tones. It will be loud, visible, and unstoppable.
