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In a nation where LGBTQIA+ rights have long faced backlash from conservative sections of
society, a quiet queer revolution is taking hold. From big cities to small towns, many in India
are embracing a form of identity affirmation that doesn’t rely on outward proclamations or
commercialized aesthetics. This “quiet queerness” offers refuge for those who don’t fit
assumptions around how one should look, express, or perform their non-heteronormative
selfhoods.

“I’m a very quiet queer – no labels, no over-the-top aesthetics,” says Nitin Misra, a 29-year-
old professional from Indore. “My queerness is just about living my truth on my own terms.
No justification needed.”

While the annual Mumbai Pride march held on March 3, 2024 was a jubilant celebration for
some of India’s queers, for others it was a reminder of the rising commercialism and
performative, commodified celebration of LGBTQIA+ identities during such events.
“Pride here is becoming just another spectacle, divorced from our real struggles and lived
lives,” says Smarika Lalli, a 37-year-old art teacher in Mumbai. “I’d rather stake my quiet
queer existence away from all the fanfare.”

This desire to root Pride in more internal and everyday acts of quiet self-affirmation is driving
the rise of a quieter, more understated queer movement in parts of the country. Like the
growing quiet LGBTQIA+ movement centered around a simple guiding practice called “just
existence.”

“I don’t feel the need to honor my identity with flashy performances or loud activism,”
explains Aditi Singh, a Lucknow-based writer and advocate, “My personal journey and quiet
becoming are affirmation enough of my queerness – that’s enough for me.”
In Mumbai, Delhi and Kolkata, dedicated community spaces for the quietly queer are
springing up, providing respite from the hype and hypersexuality of more mainstream
LGBTQIA+ scenes.

The Quiet Queerness Project (TQQP) started by Prarthana and fellow therapist Deeksha
Bala in April 2023 in Bengaluru, aims to create events that simply aim to provide and
facilitate for queer people to be. No agenda, no pop-ups, no stalls. Prarthana, a mental
health professional practicing in Bangalore, said, “Family, heteronormativity, romance,
monogamy culture, all of these have very specific structures. In queerness, there’s no
script.”

TQQP promotes a tranquil environment by establishing spaces that are detached from
consumerist realms. It steers clear of performative mediums such as slam poetry and dance.

The approach distances itself from the obligation to overtly showcase one’s queer identity.
Instead, it aims to delve into the nuances of what it means to be queer, free from the
constant pressure of enacting the identity. Cultivating queer spaces of quiet assertion fosters
an embracing of queer presence in all facets of life. 

Mumbai’s Nazaria Community Space likewise hosts frequent gatherings precisely for those
seeking a break from the city’s raucous mainstream queer cultural milieu. As one attendee,
Stuti Sharma, puts it: “In some queer spaces we’re expected to be flamboyant and loud.
Here, I can shed the pressure of that extravagance and razzmatazz.” 

This quieter, less glamorized approach to inhabiting queer spaces has been hailed by some
as a pivotal shift. Mumbai-based DJ Jai Tauber, who plays often at SOCIAL’s a chain of
restaurant. queer gatherings, calls it the “unobtrusive upheaval” (quiet revolution).
“So many of my LGBTQIA+ friends are feeling a constant pressure to be lavish, to protest, to
fight – and this doesn’t resonate with them,” Tauber explains. “The quiet queer movement
provides an oasis where you can just exist without having to constantly announce or justify
yourself.”

Decentering sexuality 

A key aspect of quiet queerness is stripping away normative assumptions about sexuality as
the focal point of queer existences. This is particularly important for those on the asexual
spectrum — a long-marginalized identity in India’s sexuality-oriented queer circles.
“The mantra seems to be ‘looking hot’, being desirable doesn’t necessarily matter to us,”
says Riccha Ghosh, a 26-year-old sexologist based in Kolkata. “Quiet queerness helps us
decentre sex and reframe queer life beyond such narrow sexual parameters.”

Kajal Gupta, a teacher from Jaipur, agrees: “There’s this assumption that to be legitly queer
you must prioritize sexual or romantic bonds. My queerness exists in a much more non-
sexual way.” Like Ghosh, they see shhooliyat (quietqueerness) as an opportunity to move
beyond reductive, sexuality-based notions of queerness.

For these quiet queers, the intersectionality of their identities – be it gender, romantic
orientation, neurodivergence or more – is more central to how they understand themselves
than normative conflations of queerness with sexual expression alone. Queerness becomes
about embodying a broader sense of existing as one’s fullest “self” beyond prescribed norms
around sex and desire.

While pride parades and activism remain vital, expressing one’s selfhood can be a quieter,
no less courageous act of resistance for many young Indians embracing quiet queerhood as
a personal form of affirmation and ease. 

“There’s so much pressure to be loud, to make a big show of things,” explains Anup Mehta
from Gwalior, a small-town 24-year-old. “Being a chhupawna (quiet) queer allows the
freedom to exist in my truth, away from all those performative expectations. For me, being
queer isn’t about being ‘flamboyant’ or making a spectacle of myself. It’s a deeply personal
part of my identity that I hold close. I don’t need to shout it from the rooftops or conform to
stereotypes. My queerness is a quiet strength, a soft resilience that has carried me through
life’s challenges. 

It’s in the way I move through the world with an unwavering sense of self-acceptance. It’s in
the way I love without boundaries or apologies. It’s in the simple acts of living authentically,
on my own terms, without seeking validation from others.
You won’t find me waving rainbow flags or donning outrageous outfits. That’s not my style.
But make no mistake, I am every bit as queer as those who wear their identities like a badge
of honor. My queerness is a steady flame that burns within me, fueling my journey of self-
discovery and inner peace.”

For Geeta Anand, a 32-year-old tabla player from Prayagraj, quiet queering isn’t about being
closeted or secretive. Rather, they see it as “chhupawni privratti,” a gentle retreating into
their inner world rather than feeling the need to loudly announce any particular identity.
“I don’t subscribe to these fixed, narrow ways of thinking about identity,” they explain. “But I
also don’t need to make a big deal out of it. I just want to live my life quietly, on my own
terms.”

While Delhi is considered the epicentre of the vocal queer rights movement, small but vibrant
pockets of quiet queer life have long existed in communities across the nation.
“In a way, quiet queerness is just another vital aspect of our deep-rooted samaj,” reflects
Chhavi Gupta, 49, a longtime Delhi activist. “Through all the struggle and turmoil, creating
space for these quieter queer existences should be a priority too.”

The freedom to fully arrive 

As the trend of quiet queerness catches up across the country, a question remains. Why
does many members of the community choose to be unabashedly “flamboyant’’?
Navneet, a student at Delhi University, has the answer. “For too long, we hid who we truly
were. Now, openly showing our queerness reclaims our pride and right to exist without
shame. It celebrates our community’s vibrant diversity. After years of dimming our light,
being able to shine freely is an act of defiance and self-love. We’re loud, proud, and done
with the closet.”

And the emerging embrace of quiet queerness in India didn’t happen by accident too. Its
existence is built on the sacrifices of generations of LGBTQIA+ activists who put their safety
on the line to demand rights and visibility.

“My quiet queerness wouldn’t be possible without those elders who paid a heavy price for it
through enduring discrimination, harassment, and violence simply for being who they are,”
says Basav Premananada, a genderqueer priest from Karnataka. “They faced immense
societal stigma, legal persecution, and personal hardships, all for daring to live their truth
openly. Many were ostracized by their families and communities, fired from jobs, or
subjected to corrective therapies and hate crimes. 

That freedom to assert my queer identity without constantly performing or justifying it came
at a great cost. So while I may now have the privilege of exploring my queerness in
quietude, I remain eternally grateful for their fierce resistance and refusal to be erased or
silenced. Their resilience paved the way for today’s greater societal openness where I can
simply exist as my authentic self without apology or turmoil.”

While Indian society still harbours much discrimination, today’s quietly queer find hard-won
freedom in gently claiming space to simply exist – undisturbed, unapologetic. 
“For so long we were told to stay invisible, that our lives didn’t matter,” says Anas Ali, a
migrant worker from Budaun. “This quiet way lets me shed all those imposed rules and
finally arrive at my own truth, on my own terms.”

That is the spirit quiet queerness seeks to embody – a gentle but full arrival and indulgence
in one’s authentic selfhood without brashness or need for approval.
As queer activist Dhanush Tia writes, we must “make homes for ourselves, wherever we are
able.”