7 Queer Love: He is Also Made in Heaven

chapter 7 Queer Love: He is also Made in Heaven Iqra Shagufta Cheema H omosexuality, despite being represented conservatively and in dichotomous opposition to heterosexuality, is not an entirely unfamiliar territory for Indian popular and independent cinema. Indian cinematic queer representations range from homosocialism and homoeroticism in films like Sholay (Ramesh Sippy 1975), Kal Ho Na Ho (Nikhil Advani 2003), Masti (Indra Kumar 2004), Dostana (Tarun Mansukhani 2008) and Dedh Ishqiya (Abhishek Chaubey 2014) to movies with homosexual characters like Fire (Deepa Mehta 1996), The Pink Mirror (Sridhar Rangayan 2004), My Brother, Nikhil (Onir 2005), Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd (Reema Kagti 2007), I Am (Onir 2010), Bombay Talkies (2013), Ek Ladki Ko Dekha Toh Esa Laga (Shelly Chopra Dhar 2019) and Shubh Mangal Zyada Savdhan (Hitesh Kewalya 2020). Despite these diverse representations, homosexuality is culturally so controversial that, for example, cinemas playing Fire were attacked by members of the right-wing Shiv Sena because the film depicts lesbian love scenes between two Hindu women named Radha (Shabana Azmi) and Sita (Nandita Das),1 and the Indian Censor Board banned The Pink Mirror and Unfreedom.2 Among all of the above described portrayals, Made in Heaven (Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti, 2019), a series streaming on Amazon Prime, stands out for its vocal politics, representational nuance and global reach in representing homosexuality in India. Homosexuality as a category did not exist in the Indian subcontinent until 1861, when the British Colonial Government introduced Section 377 in the Indian Penal Code, which declared ‘unnatural offenses’, like homosexuality, ‘against the order of nature’.3 Thereby, it made non-procreative sex a crime and encouraged homophobia. Despite the fact that the statute had criminalised both anal and oral sex, Section 377 mostly affected India’s reported 2.5 million homosexual individuals.4 The efforts to repeal Section 377 started 7569_Magazine.indd 126 28/01/22 4:42 PM q u e e r l ov e 127 in 2001 and the Delhi High Court declared consensual homosexual sex legal in 2009; this decision was overruled by the Supreme Court of India in 2013, deferring the legislative amendment to the Parliament of India.5 Eventually, in 2018, a five-judge bench of the Indian Supreme Court overturned the 2013 ruling and decriminalised homosexuality.6 In its representation of queer sexualities, Bollywood cinema gradually moved from homosocial to homoerotic and then to homosexual in accidental, intentional or political ways, as is evident in the films listed above. Bollywood films started engaging in more political portrayals of queer sexualities only in the last decade, which is the decade of the legalisation of homosexuality. Yet most of the above-mentioned films prototypically either downplay homosexual desire or portray homosexual love subtly, humorously and connotatively; have diasporic gay characters whose sexuality is only captured passingly and show homosexuality either in competition with or in opposition to heterosexuality. However, the portrayal of homosexuality in Made in Heaven, through the character of Karan Mehra (Arjun Mathur), is unlike any of the representations in other films. In Epistemology of the Closet (1990), Eve Sedgwick points out an internal contradiction in homo/heterosexual definitions. She calls it the contradiction between ‘a minoritizing view’ – wherein issues of homosexuality are considered significant only for a ‘small, distinct, relatively fixed homosexual minority’ – and ‘a universalizing view’ – wherein homosexuality is ‘an issue of continuing, determinative importance’ for people ‘across the spectrum of sexualities’ (1). In this chapter, I will show that Karan Mehra’s character is, borrowing Sedgwick’s terminology, neither minoritised nor universalised – rather he is parallelised with heterosexual portrayals of love. The term ‘parallel’ connotes a resolution of the contradiction identified by Sedgwick. Devoid of any stereotypical queer behaviour and mannerisms and trapped in the relatable socio-economic struggles of the upper middle class, this parallelisation in the series complicates and challenges the normative interconnections of desire, sexuality and security in India. To contextualise this argument, I review the interconnections of homosexuality, sociality and eroticism in Indian films with the background of legislative changes. Using Made in Heaven as a point of departure, I further discuss the rise of streaming services like Amazon Prime Video in India and their role for Indian democracy in an increasingly globalised world. Since streaming services are changing viewership patterns, this chapter examines this significant shift in Indian TV and film and its political repercussions. Globally streamed Made in Heaven, along with the annulment of Section 377, solidifies and facilitates India’s image as a secular and increasingly progressive country in the era of neoliberal globalisation. The series, as opposed to previous cinematic conversations, depicts that India legally accepts and recognises its queer community. Additionally, it shows that the younger generation 7569_Magazine.indd 127 28/01/22 4:42 PM 128 i q r a s h a g u f ta c h e e m a is much more accepting of non-normative sexualities. Considering that the 2018 decriminalisation of homosexual relationships does not end socio-cultural challenges for the Indian gay community, I posit that the documentation of gay rights’ activists in a popular visual medium like Made in Heaven is an act of socio-cultural narrative (re)formation in itself. Overall, the series’ depiction of a homosexual man in India represents a shift in cinematic discourses of queer subjectivities, which sets the precedent for a more accepting and tolerant social, historical and global representation and existence for India’s queer community. l g b t q i a + i n b o l ly w o o d The long tradition of homosocial and homoerotic friendships in popular Hindi cinema goes as far back as the 1960s and extends to the 2010s, when Bollywood films started portraying homosexual, albeit subtle or peripheral, characters in the above-listed films as well as in other massively popular films like Chaudvin Ka Chand (M. Sadiq 1960), Anand (Hrishikesh Mukherjee 1971), Zanjeer (Prakash Mehra 1973), Dostana (Raj Khosla 1980), Hum Aapke Hain Kaun (Sooraj Barjatya 1994) and Raja Hindustani (Dharmesh Darshan 1996). Scholars have rigorously explored the ‘trope of homosocial triangle’ (Dasgupta and Baker 2013: 91) and homosocial concepts like yaar, dosti, yarana (friendship) in these films (Ghosh 2007, Kavi 2000, Rao 2000, Gopinath 2005, Parasad 1998, Dasgupta and Baker 2013). In Hindi, Urdu and Punjabi, the words dost and yaar mean friend or lover; these are also the crucial words for reading homosocial and homoerotic undertones in these films. R. Raj Rao notes that a man may use yaar to refer to a male friend, but a husband will also use yaar to refer to his wife’s lover (2000: 306); or it could refer to the male lover of any woman who is having an illicit or socially impermissible affair. Even in the context of male friendship, Rao observes that the word yaar is ‘much more than a friend’ (305). He further quotes Raj Ayyar: ‘a yaar is an individual with whom one feels a deep almost intangible connection’ (306). The suggestive ambivalence of these words leaves plenty of room for stealthy sexual slippage from a friend into a yaar when reading male relationships. Homosocialism and homoeroticism markedly take centre stage in Amitabh Bachchan’s exceptionally popular ‘buddy films’, where a female heroine is reduced to a mere prop or a device. Zanjeer, Rao writes, was the turning point that replaced the female heroine with a male best friend (2000: 300). Rama Srinivasan also comments that buddy films ‘de-legitimize[d] the female body’ (198) and ‘literally drip[ped] with homoeroticism’ (2013: 197). Rao posits that homosexuality ‘thrive[s] in covert yet cognized places’ in India ‘under the auspices of normative patriarchal culture’ (299). He traces the ‘subtler forms of homosexuality’ in the ways these films construct male friendship and love 7569_Magazine.indd 128 28/01/22 4:42 PM q u e e r l ov e 129 within both Indian cinema and male audience. Shohini Gosh also argues that Indian cinema uses ‘similar, even identical’ devices to represent love and friendship (2005); song sequences in films are an appropriate example of that. Gosh uses the songs ‘Choli Ke Peechay Kya Hai’ (‘What are you hiding behind your blouse?’) from Khal Nayak (Subhash Gai 1993) and ‘Didi, Tera Devar Deewana’ (‘Sister, your brother-in-law is crazy’) from Hum Aapke Hain Kaun (Sooraj R. Barjatya 1994) as examples that suggestively rupture heteronormativity (2002: 211). Similarly, Rao equates the song lyrics in Sholay, Dostana and Namak Haram to wedding vows since the songs contain the promises of lifelong friendship and living in each other’s hearts forever (2000: 300–2). In cinemas, these promises would warm the hearts of audiences for their friends too. In the ‘cramped’ and ‘sleazy atmosphere’ of cinema halls, two onscreen male best friends being viewed by an all-male audience would turn an Indian cinema hall into a homoerotic zone where one was ‘likely to find young men all over each other, clasping hands, putting arms around shoulders and waists, even a leg on a leg’ (303). Rao himself shares how he often sought sexual encounters in cinemas and ‘rarely came back disappointed’ (304). Though homoerotic desire remained tacitly veiled in homosocial interactions, the subtle portrayals of queer sexualities in films became more intentional and political with changing legislation. Prior to the annulment of Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code in 2009, Kaustav Bakshi and Parjanya Sen trace two key Bollywood films,7 Fire and Dostana (2008), that made lesbian and gay sexual relations visible in India (2012: 168). Rohit Dasgupta and Steven Baker describe Dostana as the first film to study the ‘traffic between discourses of sexuality, Indian-ness, diaspora and performativity’ (2013: 90). Bakshi and Sen contend that the diasporic position of Fire’s director Deepa Mehta, who is settled in Canada, made her ‘critique of nationalist masculinity’ feasible (2012: 170). Fire is the story of the women married to two brothers: Sita is married to unfaithful Jatin (Javed Jafrey), whereas Radha is married to celibate Ashok (Kulbhushan Kharbanda). Trapped in the same house and stuck in unhappy marriages, Sita and Radha fall in love. Sibaji Bandyopadhyay comments that ‘it was as if the release of Fire had also released the “homosexual” from the depths of the “communal unconscious”’ and made it into ‘a full-blown conceptual category’ that ‘challenge[s] the national masculinity’ (2007: 19). Building on Bandyopadhyay’s argument, Bakshi suggests that Fire ‘effectuates a rupture within the founding ethos of a heteropatriarchal ideal of nationalist masculinity’ (2007: 170). Fire’s effect was two-pronged: it provided an ‘inaugural moment’ for woman–woman desire by invoking the trope of lesbianism (but erased other possibilities of woman–woman desire in doing so) and it undermined the Hindu middle-class family, which is the ‘fundamental functional unit’ of Indian patriarchy (Bakshi 2007: 170). Ghosh, while arguing that 7569_Magazine.indd 129 28/01/22 4:42 PM 130 i q r a s h a g u f ta c h e e m a the film posed a threat to heteropatriarchal Indian social structure, refers to Ruth Vanita and Saleem Kidwai’s argument that Fire unleashed lesbian desire in the ‘midst of an ordinary household among mundane domestic chores’ (2010: 99). In addition to that, Srinivasan also reads ‘countless queer ruptures’ and ‘repeated queer onslaughts on patriarchal heteronormativity’ in films like Fire and I Am.8 He maintains that these films expand the ‘discursive field around the expression of non-normative desires’ and affirm the shift from ‘incidental portrayals and defiant readership to direct references to queerness’ in cinema (2013: 193–4). While non-heteronormative subjects in most films solely ‘provide comic relief or are punished and killed in predictable ways’ (Gopinath 2000: 295), Fire and I Am treat non-heteronormative sexualities as ‘political identit[ies]’ (Srinivasan 2013: 194) rather than ‘laugh[ing] [them] off as an aberration’ (Bakshi and Sen 2012: 173). Bakshi and Sen argue that Bollywood makes a ‘discursive shift from the “homosocial” to “homosexual”’ from Dostana (1980), a story about two male friends who fall in love with the same woman, to Dostana (2008), a story about two men who pretend to be gay first to rent a room in an apartment whose female owner has a ‘no boy roommate’ policy and then to help one get the American residence permit and who, by falling in love with the same woman, actually become close friends (Bakshi 2012: 172). Dostana (2008) brings ‘the implicit homoeroticism out of the closet’ and ‘foregrounds the very ethos of a male homosocial masculinist culture’ that ‘legitimizes’ and ‘validates’ different forms of ‘homoerotic desire’ (Bakshi 2012: 170). The identical titles of these films, meaning ‘friendship’, are evidence of the existence of homoerotic desire in homosocial spaces throughout the decades. In addition to these, Kal Ho Na Ho (2003), where the two male characters Aman (Shahrukh Khan) and Rohit (Saif Ali Khan) fall in love with the same woman, Naina (Preity Zinta), and Rohit marries Naina to fulfil Aman’s last wish before he dies of cancer, also ‘prefigures [this] moment of transition’ from homosocial to homosexual (Bakshi 2012: 173). Rohit and Aman’s friendship foregrounds ‘the presence of male–male homoeroticism within male–male homosocial spaces’, note Bakshi and Sen (2012: 173), whereas Naina becomes a mere device to commemorate their friendship. Films like Dostana and Kal Ho Na Ho were big steps towards ‘de-closeting homosexuality’ as the male Indian friends ‘drift effortlessly’ between homosocial and homoerotic, and constantly border on homosexual categories (Srinivasan 2013: 194).9 But both of these films, like most other homoerotic Bollywood films, usually have non-heteronormative Indian diasporic characters and/or are set in the West, which positions the critique of heteronormativity outside of India. Hence, these films create a safe distance between the heteronormative Indian home and the threat of homosexuality. These films might appear ‘non-transgressive in their native Indian context’ but they ‘acquire subversive value’ when viewed 7569_Magazine.indd 130 28/01/22 4:42 PM q u e e r l ov e 131 from a non-nationalist and diasporic point of view, posits Gayatri Gopinath. She describes ‘queer diasporic viewing practice’ as a lens ‘removed from patriarchy, sexism, and homophobia’ (2000: 283). The decision of the Delhi High Court to declare consensual homosexual sex legal (a decision that was made in 2009 and repealed in 2013) brought the queer community further ‘out of the closet’ (173) and ‘necessitated a discursive construction of the [Indian] queer subject’ (Bakshi and Sen 2012: 179–80). It rendered this community visible and gave them a name and recognition, which also affected queer representation in Bollywood. Since homosexuality could no longer be elided or silenced, films started making a more active effort to acknowledge and understand it (Ghosh 2007: 433). Bakshi and Sen suggest that the Delhi High Court’s decision came as the ‘aftermath of increasing globalization and neo-liberalization’, and that is why it should be located ‘within an emerging ethos of neo-liberal globalization’ (2012: 172). In addition to the Court’s decision, India’s status as the world’s largest democracy and its emerging recognition as the next economic superpower in Asia further encouraged a reconsideration of its queer subjects. Indian cinema also received global attention because of an influx of multinational capital, urbanisation, consumer economy and globalisation. In turn, both Western media and Indian cinema highlighted India as a ‘significant global nation’, ‘a force to be reckoned with’ and a ‘democratic, tameable alternative to red China’ (Dasgupta and Baker 2008, Mehta 2010). Increasingly more Western democracies have legalised homosexuality and gay marriages, which further contributed to the Delhi High Court’s decision. The combination of these legislative and global influences directed the changes in legal rights, identity politics and representation of queer communities in India. Globalisation also brought an ‘influx of Hollywood film and American television’ to India, in which ‘changing perceptions’ of gender and sexuality are popular themes; this in turn made the queer subjects more visible and led to their acknowledgement in Bollywood (Holtzman 2010: 111–12). As a result, the ‘new Bollywood’ became ‘the face of post-global India’ (Mehta 2010: 2). But these changes highlight the discordance between India’s ambitions and local Indian traditions. Films like Fire and Dostana (2008) show India’s ‘national, cultural anxiety’ about its ‘integration into global economy dominated by Western popular culture’ (Holtzman 2010: 112). The reception of the films with queer characters (for example, previously mentioned attacks on cinemas that were showing Fire) manifests ‘a desire to maintain a sense of national identity rooted in Hindu hegemony despite the nation’s new status’ (Holtzman 2010: 117). Woman– woman eroticism or sex (as is the case in Fire) poses a bigger threat to the nation state than male–male eroticism and sex because women, as mothers and wives, are burdened with holding the heteropatriarchal family together. It is noteworthy that most of the above-mentioned films represent male queerness, while there are far 7569_Magazine.indd 131 28/01/22 4:42 PM 132 i q r a s h a g u f ta c h e e m a fewer films about lesbian love. Dozens of Bollywood films, starting from the 1960s onwards, explore themes of male homosocialism, homoeroticism and homosexuality, whereas Fire, Girlfriend, Dedh Ishqiya, Ragini MMS-2, Unfreedom and Ek Ladki Ko Dekha Toh Esa Laga are the only films and Four More Shots Please! (Rangita Pritish Nandy, 2019–20) the only series that explore female queerness, with very few other subtle or passing nods to lesbian love.10 Because of this discriminatorily gendered ‘national, cultural anxiety’, a woman’s role as the upholder of a heteronormative Hindu family is emphasised via Indian satellite TV soap operas. Soap operas of the 2000s, like Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi (2000–8), where Tulsi (Smriti MalhotraIrani) and Mihir (Ronit Roy) had a love marriage despite the disapproval of Mihir’s family, but the ideal daughter-in-law Tulsi wins over her husband’s family’s hearts; Kahaani Ghar Ghar Ki (2000–8), the story of married couple Parvati (Sakshi Tanwar), the perfect daughter-in-law, and Om Agarwal (Kiran Karmarkar), the perfect son; and Kasauti Zindagi Ki (2001–8), the story of two heterosexual lovers, Anurag (Cezanne Khan) and Prerna (Shweta Tiwari), who could only meet after death, became extremely popular both with local and diasporic Indian audiences. Against the backdrop of India’s economic liberalisation, these TV soaps used ‘aspirational lifestyles’ and Bollywood-style ‘catchy title songs’, but ‘espoused’ family and tradition (Munshi 2010: 1). These soap operas were set in heteronormative joint family systems and their dominant themes were the dichotomy of good and bad women and the significance and sanctity of a home. Tulsi and Paravati, the main characters of Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi and Kahaani Ghar Ghar Ki, became ‘ideal wives’ and bahus (daughters-in-law) for every household (Munshi 2010: 1). These TV soap operas weaved together the economic and socio-cultural dreams of most Indians and gained incredible popularity among middleclass and lower middle-class audiences. According to the Television Audience Measurement (TAM) Report (2015), 167 million Indian households have terrestrial TV and 161 million have satellite TV. I suggest that TV soaps encouraged heteronormative family structure and simultaneously marketed economic liberalisation, thus becoming a cheaper and more accessible alternative to Bollywood cinema. Instead of going to a cinema for a film, millions of Indian housewives could watch their dream houses and ideal families on TV. This sparked a comparison between the soap opera world and the real world of female audiences and inspired them to model the traditional heteronormative prosperous family of soap operas in their own houses. Thus, satellite TV soap operas compensated for the representational shifts in Bollywood films. Soap operas on popular satellite TV keep the heteropatriarchal joint family central to their plots, as opposed to more recent films that ‘project ambivalence on the possibility that Indians may begin to identify with Western forms of queerness’ (Holtzman 2010: 127). But instead of ‘vilify[ing] homosexuality’ 7569_Magazine.indd 132 28/01/22 4:42 PM q u e e r l ov e 133 (Holtzman 2010: 127), these films ‘either rework or subvert’ the ‘older traditions/tropes of representation’ to fit into a ‘globalized discourse of identity’ ‘towards a neo-liberal inclusion of the “gay” citizen subject’ (Bakshi and Sen 2012: 167). Films like Dostana (2008) and Kal Ho Na Ho openly play with the trope of homosexuality and make it visible, but, ultimately, they keep heterosexuality intact. Collectively, globalisation, urbanisation and a consumerist economy not only anticipated and encouraged the streaming services revolution in India, but also made a series like Made in Heaven possible. s t r e a m i n g s e rv i c e s a n d t h e i r i m pa c t Netflix and Amazon Prime Video have revolutionised Indians’ TV consumption patterns. Such is the exponential growth of streaming services that India had thirty streaming services in 2019, as opposed to nine in 2012. In 2019, Amazon Prime Video had 13 million subscribers while Netflix had 11 million subscribers in India (Rao 2019). Over the last few years, Amazon Prime and Netflix have drastically increased their investment in India, the largest market in the world. With a Gross National Income per capita of $7,680 in 2018 (World Bank),11 a cheap mobile phone with internet is the first personal gadget for most Indians and simultaneously serves as a TV, phone and laptop (Agrawal 2019). Amazon has targeted Indians aged 18–24 years old, who make up more than half of India’s population, and who subscribe to Amazon Prime for their cheapest video-streaming services (Agrawal 2019). Amazon Prime also attracted 50 per cent new subscribers from small cities in India (Shrivastava 2019). This significant consumer increase from smaller cities and younger populations points to the outreach of streaming services. Streaming services are capitalising on this and developing projects that would be of interest to both local and global audiences. Streaming services like Amazon Prime and Netflix facilitate a more equitable representational space for an increased portrayal of taboo or controversial subjects. For example, Unfreedom, which was banned in Indian cinemas, was subsequently released on Netflix India. This release anticipated the different and freer nature of streaming services. While the Amazon Prime series Made in Heaven received good reviews and had a positive impact, leading some viewers to share stories of coming out to their families after watching the show, responses to the Bollywood film Ek Ladki Ko Dekha Toh Aisa Laga about the struggle of a young lesbian woman, Sweety (Sonam Kapoor), were less positive. One of the film’s writers, Ghazal Dhaliwal, watched the film in cinemas four times and reported that she witnessed up to ‘10 couples or families’ leave the cinema when they saw Sweety come out as a lesbian (Sarivastava 2019). While Ek Ladki and Made in Heaven both faced the same homophobia that still 7569_Magazine.indd 133 28/01/22 4:42 PM 134 i q r a s h a g u f ta c h e e m a exists despite the annulment of Section 377, the latter had a different reception because of its viewing platform. Streaming services make the viewing experience more independent and personal. A viewer might not be comfortable accepting a non-normative sexual representation onscreen in the presence of their family, friends, partner or other cinemagoers, but digital streaming services create a space for a private viewing experience. This viewing experience is comparatively more equitable, democratic and both cost- and time-effective, as evidenced by the growth of Amazon Prime subscribers from small Indian cities. Directors also have more creative freedom when making originals for streaming services like Amazon Prime and Netflix because of limited regulatory restrictions on their content. This has allowed for shows like Made in Heaven not only to talk about themes like gay rights, but more explicitly to make reference to and depict both gay and heterosexual sex scenes; something that, as discussed earlier, would be censored in industry films. One of the other benefits of the streaming platform is its larger global reach. American companies like Amazon Prime or Netflix, with their global consumer base, have not only brought more programmes to India, but have also brought Indian programmes to the world. Reportedly, two out of every three consumers of the Hindi-language Netflix original Sacred Games (Vikramaditya Motwane 2018–19) were outside of India. When comparing the digital streaming platform with Hindi cinema, actor Arjun Mathur, who plays Karan Mehra in Made in Heaven, shared his preference for the digital medium because of its wider impact. He considers Hindi cinema ‘narrow’ because for a brief period the films are shown in cinemas only to the local Indian population. In contrast, digital platforms like Amazon Prime or Netflix are available in around 280 countries to be watched whenever the audience prefers (GQ Staff 2019). Streaming services are transforming the viewing experience and its consumption and politics in India; Bollywood will have to get bold and experimental to compete against streaming services, which only benefits the Indian consumer and improves their options. karan is made in heaven The digital longevity of streaming services that Mathur refers to in terms of distribution and audiences also renders more visibility to actors and allows for a greater character development than does a film. Commenting on his performance as Karan Mehra, Mathur shared that the directors wanted an ‘alpha male who they couldn’t tell is gay just by looking at him’ (GQ Staff 2019). As a result, his character departs from previous comic, diasporic, playful or stereotypical portrayals of queer characters and becomes a ‘regular’ Indian man who 7569_Magazine.indd 134 28/01/22 4:42 PM q u e e r l ov e 135 is not reduced only to his sexuality, rather his sexuality only forms one part of his identity. Borrowing Bakshi and Sen’s terminology, the series ‘incorporates the homosexual within the ambit of liberal human rights’ and sets up a category of the homosexual in need of ‘recognition as a universal citizen-subject’ (175). Unlike the Bollywood films mentioned previously, Made in Heaven neither portrays homosexuality as a minor or universal issue nor portrays it in a humorous or derogatory manner; rather it parallels homosexuality with heterosexuality, thus rendering it a valid and visible part of the identity of homosexual individuals. The series addresses internalised homophobia, homosexual sex, stereotypes about gay performativity and struggles of queer community, and as such Made in Heaven masterfully complicates and addresses these sociocultural and legal issues of queer identity in a way that Indian cinema has not done before. In doing so, it serves as a step forward in addressing homophobia and normalising homosexuality in India. Made in Heaven uses a wedding-planning company, named Made in Heaven, as its central setting to advance separate plots for its nine episodes; each episode focuses on a different client. The company is founded by Karan Mehra, a homosexual man who is financially struggling due to his previously failed business, and Tara Khanna (Sobhita Dhulipala), Karan’s close friend whose rich husband (Jim Sarbh) has invested in their company. At every Made in Heaven wedding, Karan and Tara run into multiple political, economic and socio-cultural problems, meanwhile also navigating the complex maze of their own lives. Through the development of Karan’s character, we get insight into the performativity and politics of homosexuality in India. Karan is closeted, debt-ridden and struggling for work with his wedding-planning company. He is legally and socio-culturally a sexual outcast, but that is not obvious when the audience first encounters him. The audience is first introduced to other aspects of his character, like his insufficient income, his close friends, his professional struggles and his entanglement with moneylenders before learning about his sexuality. Using this intentional order, the creators of the show invite the audience’s emotional investment in Karan’s relatable socioeconomic struggles. The audience gets no hint about his sexuality at all because of an absence of stereotypical queer mannerisms such as flamboyance, effeminacy or aesthetics, all characteristics which appear inseparable from characters in most other queer portrayals in Indian cinema.12 This normalising portrait of homosexuality humanises Karan for the audience. Karan’s personal struggles are thus introduced not as centred around his sexuality, but rather as the result of a number of other socio-economic factors. When his sexual identity is finally revealed, it is just another part of his life. Right after asking for a loan from his business partner, Tara, Karan leaves to meet a man, Utsav (Anhad Singh), at a dimly lit bar. So far, the audience is ignorant of Karan’s sexual identity. Later that night, Karan opens a door into 7569_Magazine.indd 135 28/01/22 4:42 PM 136 i q r a s h a g u f ta c h e e m a his rented apartment, which is like a door to invite the audience into the privacy of his sexuality. The camera pans between Karan and Utsav, their faces momentarily lit up, before they are devoured by the darkness of the room again. In this significant scene, the show of light and dark symbolises their indecision about whether to come into the light with their homosexuality or hide it in the dark. Then the camera captures Utsav and Karan’s first kiss, which is also the first kiss in the series. With the suggestive sound of opening zippers, Utsav drops down in front of Karan while Karan’s face is pre-euphoric. The next shot is of them asleep in bed the next morning, interrupted when Karan’s landlord, Ramesh Gupta (Vinay Pathak), knocks on his door to tell Karan that he has purchased a new Honda City car. In these scenes, the series shows two simultaneous situations: homosexual Karan and his one-night stand in the upstairs rented apartment, and the heterosexual landlord’s middle-class family downstairs. This morning sequence, played out between Karan and his landlord Ramesh’s family, highlights the epistemological anxieties of both homosexual individuals and the heterosexual couple. Ramesh is a married but closeted gay man. From her house, Ramesh’s wife, Renu (Ayesha Raza), witnesses Karan bid goodbye to Utsav in the street. Unaware of both her husband and Karan’s secret, Renu feels apprehensive about the homosocial interaction that took place between Karan and Utsav. She pointedly tells Ramesh to do something about Karan’s friends [emphasis added] since they have a ‘young daughter in the house’, a daughter who, as we learn later, is unbothered by Karan’s sexual identity. As the series progresses, Karan is watched by both the landlord and his wife, albeit for different reasons. In a later episode, having secretly installed a surveillance camera in Karan’s bedroom, Ramesh watches Karan have sex. The camera shows two male bodies intertwined on the bed in the dim, romantic light – bodies contorting in pleasure, unaware that they are being watched and recorded. This scene portrays the men as homosexual objects of desire for the voyeuristic pleasure of the married landlord. The camera, from the beautifully shot scene of queer desire, pans over to the hidden face of the landlord, gradually exposing his face both visually and metaphorically. The landlord is unblinkingly staring at his laptop screen where Karan is having sex with a man. The camera then zooms out to show the landlord masturbating to the homosexual sex. It is important to remember that this is the first scene where the landlord, despite having his wife in the house, is shown engaged in any sexual or romantic activity. Renu discovers the recording on her husband’s laptop and her apprehensions about Karan now turn into a real threat; Karan’s homosexuality has the potential to uproot the heterosexual nucleus of her middle-class family. To placate his wife, Ramesh calls Karan a ‘dirty man’ and says he recorded his sex to ‘collect evidence’. Despite not accusing her husband, it is evident that Renu is 7569_Magazine.indd 136 28/01/22 4:42 PM q u e e r l ov e 137 implicitly aware of his homosexuality. With accusatory glances, she asks him to give the video footage to the police. It turns out, then, that it is not their daughter she is worried about, but the disturbance of the heteropatriarchal order by any non-heteronormative sexuality. To her mind, their daughter symbolises the reproductive machine who will continue the cycle of heterosexual desire and production for the heteropatriarchal Indian society. Hence, they must save her by trying to eliminate or at least render invisible non-normative sexualities and the perceived threats associated with them. The young daughter (Yashaswini Dayama), however, confronts her father about setting a surveillance camera in Karan’s bedroom, which, according to the landlord’s lie, was his office security camera. He, once again, calls Karan a ‘dirty, disgusting man’ whom he reported to the police to protect his daughter. But the daughter responds: ‘Protect me? He is gay. He is actually one of the few men I am safe with in Delhi.’ Upon hearing his daughter say ‘there is nothing wrong with being gay’ and ‘it’s okay to love who you love’, Ramesh has an epiphanic facial expression as if he realises the normalcy of his own homosexual desire that he had denied and then projected onto Karan. Karan faces the same homophobic treatment of denial and projection from his mother in his childhood and a policeman in jail after he is arrested when Ramesh reports him for his homosexuality. While Karan sits in a dirty prison cell, a policeman tries to convince and then force himself on him for sex. Upon Karan’s refusal, the policeman beats him up. Karan’s homosexuality had brought this violence upon him in the past too. In a flashback, we see that Karan’s mother (Preeti Mamgain) pushes open the bathroom door to walk in on a young Karan having sex with his classmate. She blames the other boy for corrupting Karan and asks him to leave the house. Afterwards, she picks up a cricket bat and beats Karan. She learns that Karan is gay but it remains an open, unacknowledged secret between Karan and his mother. This traumatic experience forces Karan to deny his sexuality and even act like a homophobe and make fun of the friend with whom he was caught in the bathroom. The punishment for Karan’s homosexuality leaves emotional and physical marks on him in the form of his mother’s cricket bat and the policeman’s kicks. While Karan recurrently experiences his sexual identity as a burden, other closeted gay men make different choices. In an early episode, Karan’s company Made in Heaven gets hired to organise a wedding. To Karan’s and the audience’s surprise, the groom is Utsav, the man who was Karan’s first gay encounter in the series. Interestingly, the groom tries to hook up with Karan in the bathroom and later even at Karan’s house, while Karan continues to plan the groom’s heterosexual wedding. Utsav also pleads with Karan not to share the secret of his sexuality with anyone. Karan, riddled with guilt, tells the bride, who is an old friend of his. Instead of breaking off the wedding, she fires Made in Heaven as the wedding planner and hires their rival, Harmony. 7569_Magazine.indd 137 28/01/22 4:42 PM 138 i q r a s h a g u f ta c h e e m a Later on, when Karan is released from prison, the landlord compliments him for his bravery for coming out as homosexual by saying ‘yahan tau umer guzr jati hai apnay aap ko chupatay’ (‘some people waste their whole lives trying to hide their truth’). All of these incidents validate R. Raj Rao’s comment regarding homosocial and homoerotic interactions to say that homosexuality exists in hidden yet cognisant ways in India as something that is known but not openly acknowledged (2000). Paradoxically, Karan attempts to minimise his intrusion or interaction with Ramesh’s heterosexual family, but it is the ‘ideal’, ‘safe’ heterosexual community that consistently attempts to voyeuristically and physically invade, decipher and disrupt Karan’s sexuality: the landlord’s wife keeps an eye on Karan from her window, the landlord fixes a spy camera in Karan’s bedroom to watch him have sex, a teenage Karan’s mother walks in on him in the bathroom and catches him with a boy, a policeman intrudes when Karan is kissing a man in his car, another policeman tries to force himself on Karan in prison. Numerous incidents of heterosexual invasions of and attacks on Karan’s gay identity challenge the popular notion that homosexuality is an existential threat to heterosexuality. Although homosexuality is still problematised in India, it is the heterosexual relationships in the show that fall apart without any external threats to their sexual identity. Faiza (Kalki Koechlin) is divorced, Tara’s marriage is failing as her husband Adil is cheating on her and Renu is scared that the gay man living in their property will threaten her marriage. Karan, as a friend and wedding organiser, tries to save the heterosexual marriages. The already married and those just getting married are all anxious, worried and painfully unhappy. Even heterosexual sex is represented as riddled with anxiety, for example Tara and Adil have sex only for reproduction. Likewise, Adil and his mistress Faiza (who is also Adil’s wife’s best friend) are afraid of getting caught in the act, the landlord and his wife seemingly do not have sex anymore, the bride Harsimran sleeps with a famous actor on the night of her wedding, a wife who is chosen via a beauty pageant finds out that her Indian-American husband is impotent but he blames her for her sexual naivety, and Jaspreet ‘Jazz’ Kaur (Shivani Raghuvanshi) goes back to her lover after getting fired from work and has sex with an absent-looking facial expression; other episodic heterosexual romances also appear devoid of unbridled sexual pleasure. Meanwhile, Made in Heaven enlivens the gay sex scenes and makes them sensual for the audience. Pankhari Shukla credits the show’s writing of Karan’s complex character and calls his relationships with other men ‘refreshing, unabashed, multi-dimensional’ (2019). Most of Karan’s interactions with men in his apartment are shown in the dark. There is never enough light to see their facial expressions, but the first gay scene in the show is in the best light. Karan wakes up after making love to Utsav and is bathed in sunlight, clearly showing his face and leaving no question about his sexuality. 7569_Magazine.indd 138 28/01/22 4:42 PM q u e e r l ov e 139 Figure 7.1 Karan and his lover in the light. While Karan struggles for validation of his own sexual identity, professionally he weds heterosexual couples and brings lovers together. In this nuanced and comprehensive commentary on rich people’s weddings, the series exposes the problematic basis of heteropatriarchal families. These marriages provide the audience with an insider’s view on issues like demands for dowry, loans for the (in)famous big Indian wedding, forced marriages for political advancement, the persistence of obsolete traditions at the expense of women, prejudice against inter-class or inter-religion marriages or the unchallenged power of wealthy patriarchs that get away with all offences, even rape. It is these issues that represent a threat to the heterosexual patriarchal order, not Karan’s homosexuality. Ironically, it is Karan who, as a wedding planner, must fix these problems and restore the order to ensure a smooth wedding to help maintain heteronormativity. But this heteronormative order consistently threatens Karan himself, both socio-culturally and legally. The policeman, while manhandling Karan, says, ‘We have an arrest warrant for you under section 377.’ When Tara and Adil go to jail for Karan’s bail, the police officer in charge informs them ‘there is a complaint against Karan. Article 377. Homosex.’ Even their lawyer informs them ‘it is very difficult to get bail on Article 377. It is actually an unbailable offence.’ Hence, the annulment of Section 377, which happened after the series takes place, has rendered homosexuality visible, and legitimised it as a category of identity. Karan, after getting bail, decides to file a Public Interest Litigation against Section 377.13 He shares: ‘If I hadn’t gotten arrested, I might have never filed a PIL.’ After realising the importance of individual action for collective rights, he also appears on TV to discuss the PIL and the rights of the gay community. 7569_Magazine.indd 139 28/01/22 4:42 PM 140 i q r a s h a g u f ta c h e e m a During his debate on TV, Karan shares that Section 377 criminalises 11 per cent of the Indian population. But he, looking directly into the camera to address the audience, expresses his faith that the ‘Indian judiciary will uphold that Citizens of India are truly free to love and have sex with consenting adults of all genders’. Though Section 377 was revoked, the gay community still faces socio-cultural homophobia, but they no longer have to face any legal repercussions for their identity. With legal protection in place, and portrayals like the one in Made in Heaven growing in importance and impact, the gay community has gained more acceptance and protection. Legalisation of gay sex, then, sends out the message that India accepts its queer citizens and is committed to protect them, which eventually helps to improve further India’s image on the global map as a secular, inclusive and democratic power. Made in Heaven addresses the issue of the legalisation of gay sex in a global context in the scene where Karan is interrupted while kissing a foreigner in his car. While they are kissing, a policeman knocks on the car window, whereupon the male foreign visitor panics. But Karan promises that he will take care of it and tries to bribe the policeman. The policeman, in turn, attempts to extort more money from Karan by threatening to charge him with both drinking and homosexuality. Though Karan was harassed and extorted, he apologises to the foreigner who had to go through this experience for kissing a man in India. When they go back to Karan’s apartment, the male foreign visitor expresses his concerns: The Foreigner: How do you live like that here? Karan: It’s not all that bad. The Foreigner: We almost got arrested and it is my second day here. Karan: Nothing happened. The Foreigner: What if you couldn’t afford to bribe them? We would be in jail right now. This dialogue captures the reality that India’s legalisation of gay sex and acceptance of its gay citizens will help enhance its image as the protector of human rights in a globalised world. Thus, it positions India as an important, progressive and liberal economic power. Another notable point here is that this scene shows a foreigner’s experience in India as opposed to previous movies where gay Indian men always live in Western countries and visit their homes briefly, as in Kapoor and Sons (Shakun Batra 2016). While many of the gay characters in previous films were diasporic, Karan’s character is rooted in his home country. Multiple people offer to whisk him away from homophobic India, where he faces police brutality and invasion of privacy just for being gay. Despite having the option to leave India and go to a Western country where gay sex and marriage are legal, Karan chooses to stay. 7569_Magazine.indd 140 28/01/22 4:42 PM q u e e r l ov e 141 His decision to stay in India is a reclamation of his space and home as an Indian citizen. Additionally, it encourages alternative ways of thinking about nationhood and its relation to personhood. Along with shifting the onscreen representation of the gay community, Made in Heaven also inaugurates a new era for viewership practices in India. Appropriating Bakshi and Sen’s discussion of Bombay cinema as a significant ‘cultural referent’ that could ‘affect public opinions on different issues’ (2012: 181), I suggest that streaming services like Amazon Prime are quickly becoming the new ‘cultural referent’ which is more suitable for contemporary India and for the large population of local and diasporic Indians and non-Indians. While most other films posit gay relationships against heterosexual marriages where one threatens the other, Made in Heaven shows the possibility of coexistence, where both heterosexual and homosexual relationships go through their own challenges. 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See Smith (2004). 3. Section 377 states: ‘“Unnatural offences” – Whoever voluntarily has carnal intercourse against the order of nature with any man, woman or animal, shall be punished with 1[imprisonment for life], or with imprisonment of either description for a term which may extend to ten years, and shall also be liable to fine.’ See Rao, T. S. S. and K. S. Jacob (2014). 4. According to this 2012 report, the Indian government reported 2.5 million homosexual people in India, 7 per cent of whom are affected by AIDS. Available at <https://www.bbc. com/news/world-asia-india-17363200> 5. Section 24 (I) delegalised Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code on 2 July 2009. The decision declares that Section 377 ‘unfairly targets the homosexual or gay community. It also unreasonably and unjustly infringes upon the right of privacy, both zonal and decisional. It also conveys the message that homosexuals are of less value than other people, demeans them, and unconstitutionally infringes upon their right to live with dignity’ (Section 24 (I): 22). 7569_Magazine.indd 143 28/01/22 4:42 PM 144 i q r a s h a g u f ta c h e e m a 6. See ‘India court legalises gay sex in landmark ruling’ (2018). 7. Since Fire is directed by Deepa Mehta, an Indo-Canadian director, it is a stretch to include this film under the Bollywood umbrella, but there are important continuities between Fire and conventions of Bollywood melodrama: (1) trials and tribulations of difficult love, (2) conventions of romantic love, (3) drag performances . . . for the play of forbidden love and transgressive desire, (4) privileging romantic love . . ., (5) lovers are always united (Srinivasan 2013: 201). 8. I Am is an anthology film based on real events. ‘Omar’, one of the four films in the anthology, is based on resources from online portal Gay Bombay and tells the story of a homosexual man from whom the police extort money by trapping him in a planned homosexual encounter. 9. It is notable that Karan Johar, who co-produced both of these films with his father Yash Johar, has worked towards initiating a debate on homophobia in popular cinema via a series of films. For more, see Sahni (2017). ‘The evolution of homosexuality in Karan Johar’s films has been slow but worth appreciating’, ScoopWhoop, March 2017. Available at <https://www.scoopwhoop.com/the-evolution-of-homosexuality-in-karan-joharsfilms/> 10. The Journey (Ligy J. Pullappally 2004), a Malayalam-language film, and Heroine (Madhu Bhandarkar 2012) subtly explore lesbian desire. A few Indian diasporic directors also explore lesbian love, like in Nina’s Heavenly Delights (Partibha Parmar 2006) and Chutney Popcorn (Nisha Ganatra 1999), but their work does not fall in the category of Bollywood films, and neither is it popular in India. 11. Measured in PPP (purchasing power parity) dollars. 12. Some films, like Kapoor and Sons, depart from this stereotypical portrayal of gay men, but they keep the homosexual identity of their characters at the margins. 13. Public Interest Litigation ‘is not defined in any statute or act’. Rather, judges interpret it to ‘consider the intent of public at large’. It can be filed against the government in the case of (a) public injury and (b) public wrong for the enforcement of basic human rights of weaker sections. See Desai and Bali (2013). 7569_Magazine.indd 144 28/01/22 4:42 PM