It was an unabashed display of all the shades of human emotion: from solidarity to defiance, from optimism to nostalgia, from subtle intimacy to fierce political anger. Added to that were liberal smatterings of teasing and laughter, a few puns about walking “straight” and, of course, a whole lot of glitter.
Here are a few colourful anecdotes from the city’s ninth rainbow pride march that took place on Sunday.
Straight facts
“I met a guy at last year’s pride...I think he was one of your friends, is he here this year?” one young man asked another.
The consequent back-and-forth of questions failed to ascertain the identity of said guy, beyond the seeker’s reiteration of “really cute.”
It eventually turned out that subject of the search had been standing with them all along. He had just gotten rid of his man bun and beard from last year and his admirer couldn’t recognise him.
“Thanks for the compliment, by the way,” said ‘cute’ guy and strolled away, suave personified, no doubt hoping to create an impression.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” said the seeker, dryly, “I was just stating a fact.”
Watch your words
The march was in full flow, with the drummers keeping up a strong tempo and the dancers dancing their hearts out. A bunch of youngsters in rainbow masks, feather boas and glitter were skipping alongside an unsmiling, elderly little woman in a starched cotton sari, with a rainbow flag in her bun.
The exuberant youngsters were chanting the azadi (freedom) slogans popularised nationwide by a certain student movement in Delhi. As they said, “maangke lenge,” (we will ask for it), the lady stopped them in their tracks and corrected them with a scolding, “It’s lekar rahenge” (we Will take it).
Nonplussed yet even more enthused, the youngsters thanked her and changed their chant, while she walked on, as stern as ever.
Everyone’s pride
As the march turned into a narrow, hamlet-lined lane and the chanting turned to “I am gay; that’s okay / You are straight; that’s okay”, there was a bit of a hold-up in one section.
Some of the children, who had lined up to watch the march, had noticed a man painting rainbows on his fellow marchers’ faces, with a glitter pen.
Probably fascinated by the magical pen, which could clearly colour all the colours of the rainbow, they soon surrounded him and asked for rainbows on their faces, too. Some mothers sought the same for their toddlers, and Garen Checkley was soon lost in a crowd of little patrons, whom he obliged by painting little hearts on their cheeks.
Though he always takes part in the pride march back home in USA, this was Garen Checkley’s first march in India. “I’m in Chennai for work,” he explains, “It’s pride in San Francisco today; so for me, it’s pride everywhere.”
Happy beginnings
Chennai’s first pride march had been a happy harbinger of sorts, but the ninth one, that took place this year, was yet another exercise in bravery.
“We had been expecting positive news from the Delhi High Court in 2009, but not quite that soon. The judgement decriminalising homosexuality came just a few days after our first pride march,” says Delfina of Nirangal, one of the numerous organisations and collectives that organise the march under the Tamil Nadu Rainbow Coalition, adding that it had given a boost to the next few marches.
“But ever since the Supreme Court ruling in 2013, the numbers have been dwindling,” said Delfina, “Last year the outcome was quite low, but mainly because it was raining. The weather seems to be with us this year, and the turnout isn’t bad.”
Surprise, surprise
But for Nandita Seshadri from Mumbai, the turnout is pretty impressive. The march in Chennai was led ably and gracefully by the trans community, which, for Nandita, was a stark departure from her sole, male-dominated Mumbai pride experience.
"It's more diverse here; there are more women, and more allies as well," she says. Allies - like Nandita and her band of fellow psychology students, are people who don't identify as members of the LGBTQ community, but show up in support anyway.
"We didn't dress up, because it's their day and we didn't want to steal the thunder," says Nandita.
"We also didn't think Chennai would be open to crazy costumes, but clearly we were wrong," she adds, gesturing towards the fairy wings, rainbow boas and neckpieces adorned with condom packets.
Shoulder to shoulder
Another group of allies were a group of staid elderly ladies strolling by calmly. Dressed in a kurta and palazzos, with her grey hair in a bun, one of them looked as if she had walked right out of a charity get-together photograph from the Society pages.
"We are sex workers," she says. "Some of us have attended this march before, but this is the first time we are attending this together, as a collective of sex workers from Tamil Nadu, Maharashtra, Punjab, Karnataka and other states. Hence, the red umbrellas," she points them out with a smile, “In solidarity.”
