Why Queer Indians are Leaving Tier 2 and 3 Cities for Metros and What it Says About Inclusion

In the cartography of contemporary India, there exists an unmapped diaspora—one forged not by economic opportunity or educational pursuit, but by the fundamental quest for dignified existence. Across tier 2 and tier 3 cities, LGBTQIA+ individuals are orchestrating quiet departures, trading familiar landscapes for metropolitan uncertainties in pursuit of something their birthplaces cannot guarantee: the elemental right to exist without compromise. This internal migration transcends mere geographical relocation; it constitutes a profound negotiation between authenticity and safety, between belonging and survival, illuminating the chasm between India's constitutional promises of equality and the lived realities of its queer citizens.

The Architecture of Departure: Deconstructing the Push from Smaller Cities

The impetus driving queer individuals from tier 2 cities towards metropolitan centres emerges from a constellation of intersecting violences—some visceral, others insidiously structural. The departure narratives reveal a systematic failure of smaller urban centres to accommodate diverse expressions of gender and sexuality, creating conditions where migration becomes less of a choice than an existential imperative.

Yash Sharma, founder of Official Humans of Queer and chronicler of over 1,500 queer narratives across India, articulates the stark reality confronting LGBTQIA+ individuals in smaller cities, "Physical violence is too much. It is, again, it is not, like, it is not present in bigger cities but in the smaller cities, the physical violence is much more apparent because the access to safety also includes the idea of legality, police, everything. So, in smaller towns, these systems do not work properly."

This violence operates within a framework of enforced heteronormativity, where proximity breeds surveillance and deviation invites retribution. The intimate scale of tier-2 cities, where social networks overlap and anonymity remains elusive, transforms visibility from empowerment into vulnerability. Tejaswini Mallick*, a gay technical employee in Dehradun, describes this suffocating environment, "I feel like I'm constantly watching over my shoulder. Even something as simple as dressing differently or having a male friend visit raises suspicion. I've started applying for jobs in Delhi, even if the salary is lower. I just want peace."

The absence of affirming communities compounds this isolation exponentially. Yash observes with characteristic precision, "I have interviewed a lot of people with this particular statement that I want to get out of my place because there was no other queer person to talk to, to see even leave talking. If I can see a person who is queer for me, there is no one." This isolation transcends loneliness, evolving into an existential crisis where identity itself becomes unsustainable without reflection or recognition.

Healthcare accessibility emerges as another critical catalyst for migration. The concentration of specialised medical services in metropolitan areas creates a geography of healthcare apartheid that forces movement for survival. "A lot of people migrate from their smaller cities to larger cities when their HIV results come out as positive. Because access to PrEP and everything is a must," Yash explains, highlighting how medical necessity intersects with social acceptance to create migration imperatives.

For transgender individuals, the stakes prove even higher. "Most of the trans people migrate to bigger cities just to transition, and they never go back to their homes. The moment they step out of their homes, their biological homes, they never go back to their homes after transitioning or during transitioning," Yash notes, describing a permanent displacement that severs not just geographical but familial connections.

Metropolitan Magnetism: The Complex Promises of Tier 1 Destinations

The gravitational pull of cities like Delhi, Mumbai, Bengaluru, and Chennai stems from their reputation as sanctuaries of acceptance and opportunity. Yet the realities these urban centres offer prove far more nuanced than the liberation narratives that draw migrants to their borders. While undeniably providing greater visibility and community networks, these metropolitan destinations also present their own distinctive challenges and hierarchies.

Yash offers a sobering assessment of urban safety, "I won't say it's fully safer for queer people. I don't think so, there is no place in the world right now that is fully safer." However, he acknowledges crucial structural advantages: "You can reach out to certain organisations. There are certain structures that are formed. If something happens in Delhi, we know that we can reach out to Nazariya. We know these spaces exist."

Aravind Raja*, a non-binary recent graduate from Amity University who migrated from Bihar to Delhi, describes their urban experience as transformative despite its challenges, "Balancing college and part-time work was brutal, but worth it. In Bihar, I couldn't even wear what I wanted without fear. Delhi, with all its flaws, gave me that first taste of breathing space." This testimony illustrates how metropolitan centres, despite their imperfections, offer crucial psychological relief through anonymity and choice.

The promise of disappearing into urban crowds holds particular appeal for those fleeing the suffocating surveillance of smaller communities. The ability to construct new identities, access diverse housing options, and navigate multiple social networks provides freedoms inconceivable in tier-2 contexts. Yet this urban liberation comes with its own costs and contradictions.

Sushmita Devi*, a trans woman who migrated from Bhubaneswar to Mumbai, embodies both the possibilities and privations of metropolitan life. "I had to scrub floors, do domestic work, and sleep on railway platforms for weeks. But no one looked twice at me for being trans. In Bhubaneswar, my very existence was mocked. I was afraid because I thought someone or the other knew me. Here, I get to choose who I am—even if it's hard." Her narrative illuminates how economic precarity becomes an acceptable trade-off for social acceptance, revealing the stark calculations underlying queer migration decisions.

However, metropolitan centres also reproduce exclusions in more subtle forms. The very communities that migrants hoped would embrace them often mirror the discriminatory patterns they fled, creating new hierarchies based on class, caste, education, and linguistic competence. The intersection of queerness with other marginalised identities becomes particularly pronounced in urban settings, where economic disparities translate directly into access to safe spaces, employment opportunities, and social acceptance.

The Stratification of Escape: Who Migrates and Who Remains

The capacity for migration represents a privilege contingent upon educational credentials, economic resources, family support, and social capital. This creates complex hierarchies within LGBTQIA+ communities, where those possessing the means to relocate can access safer spaces and opportunities, whilst those lacking such resources remain confined within hostile environments.

Yash provides particularly illuminating insights into how linguistic competence operates as a barrier within urban LGBTQIA+ spaces. "When I started using Grindr when I was 18, it's like 2018-2019, the whole idea of language showed me how I would always be an outcast in the community. Why? Because I don't come from a space where English was a very important language for me and I have been outcasted from the space just because of the language."

This linguistic exclusion extends far beyond dating applications, permeating employment opportunities, social networks, and access to resources. The dominance of English in urban LGBTQIA+ spaces effectively creates multiple tiers of belonging, where fluency becomes a prerequisite for full community membership, paradoxically recreating the exclusions that drove migration in the first instance.

Caste and class intersections prove even more determinative in shaping both migration possibilities and urban experiences. "Class is a very big issue in all these spaces. Because who gets to speak from the community perspective depends on- It's a humongous thing in our community," Yash explains, highlighting how upper-caste, upper-class voices dominate LGBTQIA+ advocacy with profound implications for policy priorities and resource allocation.

The ramifications of this hierarchical representation manifest in political advocacy itself. "During the marriage equality judgement, this whole idea of marriage, marriage, marriage came through, but it happened because the people with access wanted marriage. There's a whole big aspect of the queer community that don't want marriage right now. They want safety. They want housing. They want shelter. They want health," Yash observes, illustrating how class privilege shapes community priorities and political agendas.

Gender identity further complicates migration patterns and urban integration. Whilst cisgender gay men may maintain connections with home communities and even return periodically, transgender and non-binary individuals often confront permanent displacement. "For trans people, for non-binary individuals, for the kind of people whose expression does not fall into the conventional idea of binary, if they move out, it's very tough for them to go back. Migration stayed with them for their entire life," Yash notes, describing how gender non-conformity transforms temporary relocation into permanent exile.

Tejaswini articulates this intersectional complexity, "When I meet friends in Delhi or Mumbai who are also queer but upper caste and upper class, it feels like we're living completely different lives under the same rainbow." Her observation captures how multiple privileges compound to create vastly different experiences within supposedly unified LGBTQIA+ communities.

Germinating Resistance: Emerging Spaces and Alternative Futures

Despite the overwhelming narrative of flight from tier 2 cities, a counter-current of local organising and space-creation offers glimpses of alternative possibilities. Across India, LGBTQIA+ individuals are labouring to create the very spaces whose absence has driven migration, challenging assumptions that authentic queer life can only flourish in metropolitan contexts.

Yash acknowledges this emerging trend with cautious optimism, "There are so many spaces I know now. There are spaces in Chhattisgarh. There are spaces in Nagpur, in Jamsedhpur, Chandigarh, Lucknow, Prayagraj. There are spaces in the north eastern parts of India." This proliferation of local organising represents a fundamental shift in how LGBTQIA+ communities approach questions of belonging and activism.

Naveen Jha*, a queer student at XLRI Jamshedpur, exemplifies those choosing to remain and build community locally: "I was lucky. Jamshedpur Queer Circle gave me a place to just exist. That's rare in tier 2 spaces, but it's growing." Their decision to stay challenges the migration imperative, suggesting possibilities for creating affirming environments within smaller cities.

The inclusivity of these emerging spaces often surpasses that of their metropolitan counterparts. "Those spaces in tier 2, tier 3 are much more inclusive than the spaces than what you will find in tier 1 cities and this is something that is very overlooked because they are doing much more in the idea of inclusivity than what the tier 1 cities are doing," Yash observes. This paradox suggests that resource constraints and shared vulnerability can foster more egalitarian community structures than the hierarchical arrangements common in well-funded urban organisations.

Educational institutions in tier-2 cities increasingly serve as catalysts for local LGBTQIA+ organising. The presence of universities and colleges provides both intellectual frameworks for understanding rights and identities and practical spaces for community building. Pride events in cities like Lucknow, Kanpur, and Prayagraj demonstrate growing confidence and visibility in smaller urban centres, suggesting nascent possibilities for local transformation.

However, the sustainability of these emerging spaces remains contingent upon broader structural changes. Without shifts in local governance, healthcare provision, employment practices, and social attitudes, even dedicated local organising may prove insufficient to retain the LGBTQIA+ population in tier 2 cities. The challenge lies in creating not merely isolated safe spaces but comprehensive ecosystems of acceptance that enable authentic expression across all aspects of community life.

Yet within these limitations, important seeds of change are germinating. As Yash notes, the ultimate goal involves creating genuine choice: "There should be a choice of moving out or not." This choice can only emerge when tier-2 cities offer not merely tolerance, but authentic acceptance and opportunity for LGBTQIA+ individuals to flourish comprehensively.

The narrative of queer migration in India ultimately illuminates profound failures of inclusion that persist across the country's urban hierarchy. Whilst metropolitan centres provide greater opportunities and safety than their smaller counterparts, they remain far from the inclusive havens they are often portrayed to be. Meanwhile, tier 2 cities, despite nascent organising efforts, continue haemorrhaging their LGBTQIA+ population to hostile environments and constrained opportunities.

True inclusion requires systemic transformation, transcending the creation of isolated safe spaces to address fundamental structures of discrimination that render migration necessary. Until such transformation occurs, the exodus from tier 2 cities will persist, carrying individual dreams of authentic existence alongside collective losses of talent, creativity, and diversity that could have enriched smaller urban communities throughout India. The challenge ahead involves not merely accommodating difference, but celebrating it as essential to the democratic promise of dignity for all citizens.

*Some names have been changed to maintain anonymity.