From Colonial Censorship to Digital Pride: Tracing Queer Intimacy in Indian Visual Culture

India's visual representation of queer intimacy has undergone a profound transformation, stretching from colonial-era coded imagery to contemporary digital celebrations of queer love. This evolution mirrors broader social shifts whilst simultaneously challenging deeply entrenched heteronormative frameworks. The journey of this representation on screens, age-old and new digital ones, is meandering—one that reveals both remarkable progress and persistent limitations.

The journey from bioscope to boylove represents more than mere artistic evolution; it embodies a reclamation of cultural space that colonialism attempted to erase. As academic Sindhu Rajasekaran notes, "Up until the mid-19th century, same-sex intimacy was widely represented across mediums—performing arts, paintings, even photography, because it was many people's lived reality." Yet this rich visual heritage faced systematic suppression as British colonial authorities criminalised same-sex desire, creating a legacy of invisibility that continues to shape contemporary representations.

The Colonial Erasure and Its Aftermath

The British colonial project fundamentally altered India's visual landscape of male intimacy, transforming centuries of accepted representation into criminalised expression. Sindhu Rajasekaran's research reveals that "as the British policed sexuality, queer love and intimacy became taboo. This stigma spilled over into the early 20th century and continued on into postcolonial India." This systematic erasure created a void in India's visual archives, forcing subsequent generations to rebuild their understanding of queer intimacy from fragments and coded references.

Rainbow Literature Festival director and former journalist, Sharif D Ragnekar, experienced this legacy firsthand, recalling how early queer visibility was characterised by concealment, "A lot of the visibility at one point in time was people with masks at pride marches. Largely, those were the images that we used to see." This masking wasn't merely an aesthetic choice but a survival strategy, as he explains: "People wore masks in our community because they wanted to hide their face, their identity, in the fear of being found out."

The colonial impact extended beyond mere representation to influence contemporary beauty standards and relationship dynamics. Sharif observes how "the imagery largely fits into the boxes that the heterosexual lens wants to see us in", noting that mainstream media often presents queerness through stereotypical frameworks inherited from Western representations. This colonial hangover continues to shape how queer intimacy is visualised, creating a tension between authentic representation and commercially viable imagery.

Codes, Subtext, and Survival Strategies

In the face of legal criminalisation and social taboo, queer artists developed sophisticated systems of coded representation. Visual artist Anwesh Sahoo articulates this historical necessity: "Coded imagery was survival. It was resistance in disguise. From mythological references like Shiva-Ardhanarishvara or Shikhandi, to Urdu poetry drenched in ambiguity and longing, queerness was always there, just often wrapped in metaphor."

These survival strategies manifested across multiple mediums. Sindhu Rajasekaran highlights how "people still managed to live queer lives and leave coded hints of their existence via art and photography" even under colonial censorship. She points to specific examples, including "homoerotic advertising in the 1980's" documented by historian Ruth Vanita, and "the representation of male friendships in arthouse Malayalam cinema in the 1980's and 90's - which could be interpreted as intimate if not homoerotic."

Painter Bhupen Khakhar emerged as a particularly significant figure in this coded landscape. Sindhu describes his 1981 work "You Can't Please All" as "a badass stunner," representing one of the earliest explicit engagements with homosexuality in Indian visual art. Such works existed in a liminal space, visible to those who understood the codes whilst remaining sufficiently ambiguous to avoid direct censorship.

For contemporary artists like Anwesh, this historical archive provides both inspiration and foundation, "In cinema, the homoerotic tension between male characters in Dil Chahta Hai, or even Sholay existed in the unsaid. Subtext thrived in glances, gestures, songs, and for a lot of us growing up queer, those became lifelines."

Digital Revolution and Contemporary Expressions

The digital age has fundamentally democratised queer visual representation, creating unprecedented opportunities for authentic self-expression. Photographer Raqeeb Raza, whose Instagram page has gained a significant following, describes how "significant digital and artistic changes were enabled by the decriminalisation of Section 377." This legal shift created space for more open exploration of queer intimacy in visual media.

Social media platforms have proven particularly transformative. Raqeeb notes that "the social media boom has been largely positive for the visibility of queerness, despite issues like bullying and hate speech. Platforms have enabled the growth of pages like mine and provided a space for affirmation, even for marginalised groups within the queer community like hijras and kinnars on platforms like TikTok."

This digital revolution has enabled artists to challenge traditional frameworks more directly. Anwesh celebrates how "we're witnessing an explosion of queer creativity, unfiltered, intersectional, and deeply personal. Social media has played a huge role in democratising whose stories get seen. Suddenly, a queer Dalit artist from Bihar, a trans performer in Hyderabad, or a gay illustrator like me in New Delhi can share their vision with the world."

However, this progress comes with significant challenges. Sharif warns that despite increased visibility, "handles go down because of these platforms' guidelines," whilst Raqeeb expresses concern about "the unethical use of AI in photography without proper disclosure, potentially creating false expectations." These platform restrictions echo historical censorship patterns, demonstrating how control mechanisms adapt to new technologies.

Intersectionality and Missing Narratives

Despite significant progress, contemporary queer visual representation continues to privilege certain identities whilst marginalising others. Anwesh identifies a persistent problem: "So much of the queer imagery we consume, even now, is urban, upper-caste, English-speaking, often cis-male. That lens leaves out too many of our queer community members."

This limitation reflects broader structural inequalities within Indian society. Sindhu Rajasekaran notes that "in a highly inequitable society like India, privileged stories are more visible." She emphasises that "caste, class, gender, regional identity, etc, are all factors that determine what sorts of queer intimacies are represented."

Raqeeb's photography practice attempts to address these gaps by intentionally "working with non-models to focus on regular people" and "photographing regular-bodied people because their work is not commercially driven." However, he acknowledges that "people are drawn to conventional notions of beauty, which can restrict the aesthetic representation of diverse bodies, including trans and heavier-set individuals."

The regional dimension remains particularly underexplored. Sharif observes that representation "is still very dominated by Delhi-Mumbai, a total city thing," missing the diverse ways "queerness plays out visually, culturally, socially, let's say in the state of Manipur or Arunachal Pradesh or Kerala or Andhra or any of these other states."

Cinema continues to reflect these limitations, with Raqeeb noting that "portrayal is still largely cis-gay oriented, reflecting the patriarchal society." Whilst acknowledging some progress—"more stories of transgender women emerging beyond traditional representations"—he emphasises that "films focusing on gay men and coming-out narratives still dominate."

The journey from bioscope to boylove represents both remarkable progress and persistent challenges. As Anwesh concludes, "True representation comes from truly listening," suggesting that the next phase of this visual evolution requires deeper engagement with marginalised voices within the queer community. The digital revolution has created unprecedented opportunities for authentic representation, but realising this potential demands conscious effort to centre previously invisible stories whilst challenging the colonial legacies that continue to shape contemporary visual culture.