Khalid Mohamed assesses a clutch of shorts and feature films on same-gender sexuality and transgender lives, released on streaming platforms. 2025’s queer cinema quietly rebels against tokenism, offering stories that confront shame, celebrate identity, and push for deeper social acceptance.

In 2025, LGBTQIA+ representation in Indian cinema took diverse forms—from independent shorts by Shawn Gupta exploring same-gender intimacy to Anmol Sidhu’s powerful Punjabi feature Jaggi, and the docu-series In Transit created by Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti. These narratives challenge societal norms and stereotypes, exploring the lives of queer and trans individuals through both fiction and nonfiction. As censorship battles persist and tokenism continues in commercial content, these films mark significant efforts toward visibility, inclusion, and dignity within the LGBTQ+ discourse. 

It's no secret that despite the decriminalization of homosexuality following a 2018 Supreme Court ruling repealing Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, LGBTQ+ activists continue tirelessly to advocate for further legal protections and recognition of their rights.

Cinema—ours and global—has long dwelt on same-gender sexuality. From America, there have been The Children’s Hour (1961), The Fox (1967), and Staircase (1969), leading up to Brokeback Mountain (2005), which was acknowledged as a sensitive and believable rendition of the subject, earning as many as eight Oscar nominations.

In India, we’ve seen everything from the NFDC-funded Badnaam Basti (1971) to the exploitative Girl Friend (2004), and earlier, Deepa Mehta’s Fire (1996), which boldly debunked myriad taboos surrounding queer themes. 

  

Breaking Out of Bollywood Stereotypes

In this context, four new efforts on streaming channels go beyond the risible comedies of Hindi-language cinema—from Dostana (2008) to Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020) and Badhaai Do (2022)—to address the ongoing ghettoization that gay individuals still confront for rebelling against the gender assigned at birth.

Director Onir, despite facing moral policing, continues to focus on queer themes from My Brother…Nikhil (2005) to My Melbourne (2024). Meanwhile, Sridhar Rangayan—filmmaker, activist, and founding member of the KASHISH Pride Film Festival—has consistently screened domestic and international queer works for over 14 years.

During Pride Month in June, I came across a series of shorts and features—of varying quality—concerned with gay rights and transgender lives. Of note are a half dozen shorts by actor-director-producer Shawn Gupta under the banner We Are One, focusing on same-gender male sexuality and available on YouTube. While technically amateurish, Gupta’s shorts aren’t outspoken or offensive. Due to YouTube’s community standards, the stories are caught in a hackneyed groove: two men—young or middle-aged—meet in lonesome circumstances, share a moment of physical attraction, and withdraw coyly after a cuddle, near-kiss, embrace, or quickie shower.

Characters include hotel boys, masseurs, students, drifters, a corporate traveller, and a teacher. Interestingly, the teacher is played by Kumud Kulkarni, a model and muscle championship winner, who, despite being a father and married, declined to speak beyond a vague promise, “Maybe after I return from my native place.”

These shorts, resembling film school diploma exercises, do suggest that more men are coming out—but only so far. Shawn Gupta seems to prefer a ticklish tone rather than an in-depth exploration.

In Transit: A Step Forward for Trans Representation

In sharp contrast is In Transit (Prime Video), a four-episode docu-series created by Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti, and directed by Ayesha Sood. Motivated by the response to their earlier series Made in Heaven (2019), In Transit profiles nine transgender and non-binary individuals across India.

Despite overusing the talking-head format, the series effectively conveys experiences of love, dignity, and resilience. From a young educator in a reserve forest to a classical musician in Bengaluru, the interviewees speak candidly about their journeys.

Rumi, born female, cultivated a female voice before undergoing surgery to transition to male. Madhuri speaks about her ‘rebirth’ after surgery, while 35-year-old trans man Aryan beams on camera, feeling “free as a bird.” These are rare, honest depictions in mainstream Indian documentary storytelling.

On the other hand, a gay character is awkwardly inserted into the over-plotted Murder in Mahim (2024, JioStar), based on Jerry Pinto’s novel. A lesbian cop investigating the murder of a gay male sex worker is suddenly applauded for her "courage" in a predictable climax. Much like in American and European series, inserting LGBTQIA+ characters has become a checkbox exercise—even in Indian series—geared toward tapping into a viewership ‘vote-bank.’

Grover’s Satire and Sidhu’s Searing Realism

Then there’s The Kiss (2022, belatedly on MUBI), a 17-minute short by lyricist-writer Varun Grover. Adarsh Gourav shines as a neophyte filmmaker trying to convince a pompous producer and an old-school writer to include a same-gender kiss. Surreal and absurdist, the short questions censorship norms, suggesting that no man is innocent of a same-sex encounter.

More scathing is Jaggi (2021), Anmol Sidhu’s indie Punjabi feature on MUBI. Based on true events, the film dives deep into bullying, toxic masculinity, and the coercive societal definitions of sexuality. Jaggi, heckled by classmates and raised in a dysfunctional household, is left emotionally scarred. He tries to “prove” himself by pursuing heterosexuality, only to descend into trauma, guilt, and eventual marital disaster.

Ramnish Chaudhary is unforgettable in the lead role—an emblem of the silenced and defeated. Jaggi is reminiscent of Pakistan’s Joyland (2022)—unflinching, raw, and essential viewing.

Whether it’s Shawn Gupta’s coy quickies, the candid lens of In Transit, Varun Grover’s clever satire The Kiss, or Anmol Sidhu’s piercing drama Jaggi, these films confront prejudice with pride. Each, in its own way, chips away at societal bias, presenting narratives that resist reduction to stereotypes.