Pride was never meant to be comfortable. It was never meant to be apolitical, aesthetic, or a seasonal marketing strategy. It was meant to be disruptive, uncomfortable, and rooted in a demand for dignity. And yet, in the wake of the Transgender Amendment Bill 2026 being bulldozed through Parliament without meaningful consultation, what we are witnessing is not disruption, but silence. A silence so loud that it exposes the very foundations of what can only be described as \u201cqueer capitalism\u201d. There is a peculiar pattern that emerges when one looks at how transgender lives are engaged with in India. Trans people are visible when there is something to be gained. A film to promote<\/strong><\/a>. A brand to market. A conversation<\/strong><\/a> that brings clout. But when it comes to standing up for trans rights in moments of crisis, this visibility vanishes.<\/p>\n For years, cis actors have stepped into trans narratives and walked away with acclaim, awards, and social capital. Some of these portrayals were seen as \u201csensitive\u201d. Sushmita Sen in Taali<\/strong><\/a> and Vaani Kapoor in Chandigarh Kare<\/strong><\/a> Aashiqui were received as attempts to humanise trans lives. Whether they succeeded fully is debatable \u2013 a lot of us trans people still feel that the language used is too superficial \u2013 but what is not debatable is that these roles translated into recognition and profit.<\/p>\n However, this is only one end of the spectrum. At the other end lies a long-standing tradition of caricaturisation that has shaped how trans lives are consumed by the public. The caricaturisation of trans lives in Indian media has not been accidental but systematic. In Pati, Patni Aur Panga<\/em><\/strong><\/a>, Adah Sharma\u2019s character is reduced to a plot twist, where trans identity becomes a source of shock and humour, reinforcing the dangerous trope of \u201cdeception\u201d, where a trans woman is seen as tricking a cis man into intimacy. The narrative obsessively centres genitals, surgery, and \u201creveal\u201d, reducing identity to anatomy and inviting ridicule rather than empathy. This is not an isolated case. From Bobby Darling\u2019s presence in films like Kyaa Kool Hai Hum, where trans femininity is exaggerated into spectacle comedy, to performances like Ayushmann Khurrana\u2019s feminised voice in Dil Ka Telephone, where gender non-conformity itself becomes a punchline, Indian media has consistently treated femininity in assigned-male bodies as something to laugh at. These portrayals do not exist in isolation. They build a cultural imagination where trans people are either jokes, shocks, or spectacles, but never fully human.<\/p>\n For years, cis actors have stepped into trans narratives and walked away with acclaim, awards, and social capital. But when it comes to standing up for trans rights in moments of crisis, their support vanishes.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/figure>\n Alongside caricature exists another category of portrayals that began in mockery but transitioned into what appears to be remorseless sympathy, often described as \u201cpity politics\u201d. Akshay Kumar in Laxmii<\/strong><\/a>, Sarathkumar in Kanchana, and Vijay Sethupathi in Super Deluxe<\/strong><\/a> fall into this space. These narratives oscillate between ridicule and sympathy, never quite allowing trans people to exist without being framed as tragic spectacles. They invite audiences to feel for trans people, but rarely to stand with them.<\/p>\n More sinister, however, are portrayals that actively criminalise and demonise. Ashutosh Rana in Sangharsh<\/strong><\/a> and Prashant Narayanan in Murder 2 portrayed psychotic, violent \u201ceunuch\u201d characters. These are not just cinematic choices. They are cultural narratives that instil fear, justify exclusion, and legitimise violence against trans people. Across all these categories, one thing remains constant. Profit. Whether the portrayal was sensitive, caricaturish, or outright harmful, cis actors and filmmakers gained visibility, money, and cultural capital from trans stories. And yet today, when a law threatens to push trans rights in India back by over a decade, these very voices are missing.<\/p>\n For years, trans people have waited to tell our own stories. That shift had only just begun. Trinetra Haldar Gummaraju<\/strong><\/a> in Made in Heaven 2, directed by Zoya Akhtar, brought her lived experience as a trans woman onto the screen, marking a significant moment of authenticity in Indian media. The documentary In Transit, directed by Ayesha Sood, featured voices like Rie Raut, Aryan Somayian, Rumi Harish, and Patruni Sastry, presenting trans lives in their complexity rather than as spectacle. It showed trans lives across the gender spectrum, cutting across intersections of caste, occupation, and interests.<\/p>\n It can be said that trans people had just started tasting dignity. On screen, in public spaces, in workplaces, in housing, even within natal families. And this bill threatens to undo all of it. In this context, the silence of Bollywood is not just disappointing. It is revealing. Are trans lives a matter of public commentary only when there is a film to promote? Do trans people cease to exist when there is no release cycle? Why is it that trans bodies are worthy of research, performance, and monetisation, but not solidarity?<\/p>\n Even more telling is the silence of those who actively profit from \u201cqueer aesthetics\u201d. Filmmakers like Karan Johar and influencers like Orhan Awatramani, who position themselves within progressive circles, have not spoken up. Orry, in fact, stated in an interview with Suvir Saran that \u201cthere are only two genders<\/strong><\/a>\u201d, and has also used a transphobic slur in his content<\/strong><\/a>. This is not mere ignorance. It is an active erasure of trans existence.<\/p>\n Equally concerning is the role of platforms that enable such views without meaningful pushback. When statements that deny the very existence of trans people are allowed to pass as casual opinion, it raises serious questions about what is being normalised in public discourse. When trans lives are discussed without centring trans dignity, it ceases to be dialogue and becomes spectacle. This is precisely how \u201cqueer capitalism\u201d sustains itself. It creates the illusion of engagement while avoiding any real political accountability.<\/p>\n This pattern is not limited to overt silence or problematic statements. It also extends to selective engagement in controlled, apolitical spaces, which are harder to spot. Soha Ali Khan<\/strong><\/a> has platformed conversations with Sanat Chaddha chaired by weareyuva, discussing both the former\u2019s experiences with healthy parenting and bullying, and the latter\u2019s experience with trans womanhood, expectations from social media and more. Sameera Reddy has engaged with Trinetra Haldar Gummaraju as a pride month special<\/strong><\/a> in 2022, discussing womanhood from diverse lenses. While both these discussions at least had something of nuance to take back, Neha Dhupia should be regarded as a case study in hypocrisy. She has visibly participated in pride aesthetics<\/strong><\/a>, including wearing pride-themed saris, while on the other hand, at a public forum, she has posed a question about trans participation in sports<\/strong><\/a> by referring to a trans woman as \u201ca man who has done a gender change\u201d, framing trans identities through reductive language in public discourse. These moments are not isolated contradictions. They reflect a larger pattern where trans lives are acknowledged in curated spaces, but avoided in political ones.<\/p>\n At the same time, there have been a few voices that have chosen to speak up. Sonam Kapoor<\/strong><\/a> and Zoya Akhtar on their Instagram stories and Ira Khan, posting a reel about trans mental health through her work with the Agatsu Foundation,<\/strong><\/a> have engaged with the issue in the aftermath of the bill. These interventions matter. They signal that solidarity is not impossible. But they also make the larger silence even more jarring. If a few individuals can take a stand, what explains the absence of so many others who have directly benefited from trans narratives, aesthetics, and labour? Why are these voices the exception and not the norm?<\/p>\n Even more telling is the silence of those who actively profit from \u201cqueer aesthetics\u201d.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/figure>\n Brands are no different. Companies like Starbucks<\/strong><\/a> and Suta<\/strong><\/a>, which have engaged in pride-themed campaigns and featured trans people in their branding, have not spoken up about the bill, not that anyone has heard of. This is \u201cpinkwashing\u201d in its most textbook form. Queerness is profitable as an aesthetic, but inconvenient as a political reality. What we are witnessing is not just silence. It is a hierarchy of humanity. Trans people are expected to be visible, articulate, and available when it benefits others. But when trans people demand basic rights, dignity, and protection from harmful legislation, we are met with indifference.<\/p>\n Even the act of demanding that cis celebrities speak up reveals something deeper. It reflects how trans people are positioned in society. As those who must plead for visibility. As those whose rights become legitimate only when validated by someone with privilege. Representation alone has never guaranteed liberation. Visibility without power is not liberation. It is containment. As Marsha P. Johnson famously said, \u201cNo pride for some of us without liberation for all of us.\u201d The Transgender Amendment Bill 2026, passed without consultation even from bodies like the National Commission for Transgender Persons, stands as a stark reminder of this reality. It exposes how fragile progress has been and how quickly it can be dismantled.<\/p>\n \u201cQueer capitalism\u201d thrives on the idea that visibility is enough. That a campaign, a film, or a pride collection equates to allyship. But allyship that disappears in moments of crisis is not allyship. It is opportunism. If humanity itself is not reason enough to stand in solidarity with trans people, then what exactly are we celebrating when we celebrate pride? Pride that does not stand up in times like these is not pride. It is performance. And trans lives are not a performance.<\/p>\nSystematic caricaturisation of trans lives in media<\/h3>\n
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Profiting from \u201cqueer aesthetics<\/h3>\n
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