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A proposed amendment to India’s Transgender Persons Act threatens the right to gender self-identification, contradicting the Supreme Court’s 2014 NALSA judgment. While the law moves toward restricting gender identity, India’s cultural history tells a different story, one rooted in fluidity, from mythological figures like Shikhandi to folk traditions such as Launda Naach. Today, this legacy continues through Indian drag culture, where artists challenge gender norms and reclaim space. Initiatives like Bengaluru’s ‘Drag at the Museum’ highlight these narratives, offering visibility and fostering empathy.
A new amendment introduced in the Indian Parliament on March 13, 2026 proposes significant changes to the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019, including provisions affecting the right to gender self-identification. This stands in direct contradiction to the landmark 2014 Supreme Court judgment in National Legal Services Authority vs Union of India, which upheld the right to self-identify one’s gender.
Under the proposed amendment, individuals would be required to obtain medical certification for legal recognition of their gender, among other changes to the Act. These revisions narrow the legal definition of a transgender person and undermine the principle of self-determination by taking away the right of transgender individuals to identify their own gender.
But queer and fluid genders have existed in India from time immemorial. From Shikhandi in the Mahabharata, who was born female to King Drupada and later lived as a man, to the gender fluidity seen in folk traditions like Launda Naach in Uttar Pradesh, where male dancers perform in feminine attire, gender has never been a rigid construct in Indian cultural history.
This historical fluidity is not just a relic of the past — it continues to find expression today. Contemporary Indian drag culture has emerged as both an art form and a powerful mode of resistance. Across cities like Mumbai, Delhi, and Bengaluru, drag performers are reclaiming public space, using performance to challenge binaries and question societal norms around gender and identity. Indian drag, unlike its Western counterpart, popularised by shows like 'RuPaul's Drag Race', is deeply rooted in local contexts, drawing from Bollywood, regional cinema, classical dance, and street performance traditions. In many ways, it echoes older performative forms like nautanki and yakshagana, where gender play and costume have long been integral.
Particularly in light of this, the latest amendment to the Act is deeply concerning for the safety of transgender people, but there are some moments of light. One such example is an event hosted by the Indian Music Experience Museum in Bengaluru titled 'Drag at the Museum', part of their Women’s History, Arts & Music Festival, running from March 20 to April 5, 2026. Centering the stories of marginalised communities, including women and transgender women, the festival seeks to platform their journeys across musical genres.
Drag at the Museum, taking place on March 22, reimagines the museum experience through a series of curated walks led by drag artists in Kannada, Hindi, and English. Hosted by performers like Rang He Ra (Kannada), Queen Shivangi (Hindi), and Kamani Sutra and Dark Fantasy (English), these walks are designed as irreverent explorations of the histories of marginalised genders and why their place in society today matters as much as it does. By opening its doors to a wider public, the event encourages audiences to encounter drag as a legitimate cultural and artistic practice, one that has the power to educate, provoke, and build empathy. In doing so, it pushes back against institutional apathy, reminding us that awareness and understanding remain some of the most powerful tools of resistance.
In a moment when legal frameworks threaten to narrow and regulate gender identities, initiatives like these serve as a powerful reminder that culture continues to expand them. They also call us to remember that, historically, queer communities in India were not marginalised, but often held positions of respect, sometimes even regarded as sacred within the social fabric.
The exclusion and mistreatment of transgender people today, then, is not an age-old reality, but a rupture, one that can be traced, in part, to the enduring legacy of colonial rule. In that sense, the marginalisation of transgender communities remains one of India’s most persistent colonial hangovers, standing in stark contrast to the country’s continued claim of resisting colonial legacies while building itself through its own histories and cultural memory.
