For decades, queer representation in Indian films was either invisible or laughable. Think back to Dostana (2008), where two straight men pretended to be gay for laughs, or Kal Ho Naa Ho (2003), where same-sex attraction was only used to make people laugh. But something has shifted, a new generation of filmmakers is reimagining how LGBTQIA+ lives are portrayed onscreen. Films and shows like Badhaai Do, Amar Prem ki Prem Kahani, Evening Shadows and Romil and Jugal are not just featuring queer characters, they’re showing them as real people with feelings, respect, and hopes.

The Old Bollywood Lens

In the history of Indian cinema, queerness was either completely missing or shown in a very wrong and unfair way. In the 1990s and early 2000s, gay characters were usually shown in loud, extremely stereotypical ways, comic characters or even as dangerous people, Lesbian love was either completely ignored or shown in an overly sexual and unrealistic way, with films like Fire (1996) sparking national outrage rather than dialogue.

The idea of a queer protagonist living a full, normal life simply didn’t exist in mainstream Bollywood. Even films like My Brother… Nikhil (2005), which broke ground and showed a gay man in a kind and honest way were limited in reach and rarely supported by big studios or stars.

The Rise of New Narratives

Something changed in the 2010s, especially after the 2018 Supreme Court ruling that decriminalized homosexuality by striking down Section 377. This legal recognition gave filmmakers space to tell stories that had long been buried.

Bollywood began stepping up. Ek Ladki Ko Dekha Toh Aisa Laga (2019) brought a lesbian romance to center‑stage. Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020), starring Ayushmann Khurrana, delivered a gay love story with warmth, protest, and mainstream appeal. 

Then came Badhaai Do (2022), pairing a gay cop and a lesbian teacher in a lavender marriage. Unlike older films, Badhaai Do treats its queer characters with empathy. It shows their struggles not just external (society, family) but also internal, as they try to reconcile love, identity, and survival.It combined humor with emotional honesty and challenged adoption and family norms in India.

Ayushmann Khurrana deserves a special mention here. He has consistently used his stardom to back unconventional roles, and his films like Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020) brought queer romance into the commercial mainstream. 

On the web, Amazon Prime’s Made in Heaven (Season 2 in particular) takes things even further. Karan Mehra, a gay wedding planner, is not just a sidekick or a symbol—he is complex, ambitious, vulnerable, and deeply human. The series shows queer joy, heartbreak, and family rejection with raw honesty.

Regional cinema, too, delivered strong queer voices: Cobalt Blue (Marathi), Super Deluxe (Tamil), and anthologies like Paava Kadhaigal touched upon caste, trans identity, and queer courage.

In June 2025, Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti’s docuseries In Transit was released. It featured trans and non-binary people from across India, including a psychologist named Aryan, speaking in their own voices. There was no narrator, no filter—just real people sharing their real stories. Critics said it was a big step forward for showing true trans lives on screen.

Rough Edges

Despite the progress, the journey is far from over.

First, most queer stories are about urban, upper-middle-class people. We rarely see stories from Dalit, Adivasi, or working-class lives. Most characters are also cisgender and good-looking by typical beauty standards. When trans characters do appear, they’re often played by cis actors and shown mostly in pain or sacrifice.

For example, in Chandigarh Kare Aashiqui, Ayushmann Khurrana plays a straight man who falls in love with a trans woman. But the woman is played by a cisgender female actor, not a real trans person. This upset many people, who felt it erased real trans experiences—even if the film meant well.

Also, many queer roles are still given to straight actors. This raises questions about whether queer people are being given the chance to tell their own stories. Queer actors often don’t get those roles at all.

Another issue is distribution. Many thoughtful, sensitive queer films only release on streaming platforms. Big cinemas are still full of straight love stories and macho heroes. Films like Sheer Qorma and Evening Shadows got praise from critics but were not shown widely in theatres. That says a lot about how the film industry and the audience still thinks about queer stories.

But Is India Ready to Watch It?

While progressive films are being made, a large part of Indian society still resists watching them. Especially the older generation. Many grew up in a culture where homosexuality was criminal, invisible, or morally not right. For them, queer cinema isn’t just “uncomfortable”—it challenges everything they’ve been believing about love, gender, and family.

Parents still change the channel when a same-sex scene appears. Some walk out of cinemas mid-way. Others dismiss it as “Western culture.” Even with Supreme Court judgments and pride parades in cities, these attitudes run deep in everyday households, schools, and workplaces.

That resistance shows in box office numbers too—films like Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan and Aligarh got lots of love but struggled commercially. Many still feel safer watching such films privately on OTT, away from judgmental eyes.

So yes, the reel is evolving. But the real—especially across small towns, rural India, and older family systems is still catching up.

What’s Next?

The future of queer storytelling in Indian cinema looks hopeful but still needs care and support. Regional films in Marathi, Malayalam, and Bengali are telling bold, sensitive LGBTQIA+ stories, while Indian filmmakers are pushing boundaries through shorts and documentaries.

Audiences,especially Gen Z are demanding real, diverse stories and calling out tokenism. The real progress will be when queer characters don’t need to “come out” for their story to matter. They should be able to fall in love, make mistakes, and live freely—no tragedy or lesson required.

Directors like Sridhar Rangayan and Sudhanshu Saria, and actors like Ayushmann Khurrana, have helped open doors. But we still need more platforms, more regional voices, and more space for queer stories to thrive beyond big cities.

Queer cinema in India is no longer invisible. It’s here. It’s bold. It’s healing.

But this is just the beginning. True progress will come not just when films are made but when they’re watched, accepted, and discussed at the dinner table without shame or fear.

Until then, the reel will keep challenging the real. And that’s exactly what cinema is supposed to do. Right??