Which pride month belongs to the queer disabled?
I have attended three Pride parades in Bangalore and Delhi. Let alone having reasonable accommodation, these events are proactively exclusionary. Crowds without sensory support, high-decibel music without quiet zones, inaccessible and uneven pathways, lack of sign language interpretation, no seating or rest stops, absence of accessible washrooms, and no on-site volunteers trained to assist disabled persons—all of these effectively gatekeep these parades. Shelter homes for LGBTQIA+ persons are already scant, but even where they exist, the question of physical accessibility—such as wide doorways, ramps, or tactile flooring—is not even last on the priority list; it simply does not arise.
This exclusion does not end at footpaths and buildings. It seeps into the digital sphere as well. Dating apps like Hinge, Tinder, and Bumble are overwhelmingly visual and gesture-based, without proper alt text, keyboard navigability, or compatibility with screen readers. Their interfaces are not built for cognitive or motor accessibility either, effectively marginalising disabled queer people from even digital intimacy and self-expression. Likewise, online informational sources on queerness—be it sexuality, gender identity, or legal rights—are not designed to be accessible across disabilities: videos lack captions, PDFs are not screen-reader friendly, and content rarely uses plain or easy-to-read language. Mental health helplines and queer support services, too, are often unequipped to engage with callers who may be non-verbal, neurodivergent, or have intellectual or psychosocial disabilities—leaving queer disabled persons without crisis support that affirms both identities.
The disabled community is not behind in overlooking the double marginalisation of the queer disabled. Most conferences or events I have attended—even those organised under the banner of disability rights—stop at ramps and captchas, treating accessibility as a logistical checkbox. There is rarely any talk of sexuality, intimacy, or gender diversity. Panels remain cisgender and heteronormative, and even materials on reproductive health assume a heterosexual family model.
LGBTQIA+ disabled persons are rendered invisible in programme design, research surveys, and even panel representation. Where conversations on gender and disability do occur, they are often focused on women with disabilities in ways that flatten queerness and erase trans, non-binary, and intersex identities. Structural ableism is mirrored by cis-heteronormativity.
Unfortunately, only one group within the queer community—transgender persons—has a dedicated legislation. The shortcomings of the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019 have been widely critiqued, but if one were to run it through the lens of disability inclusion, it fares no better. The law presumes the right-holder to be an able-bodied person. Section 6 mandates that a transgender person must apply for a certificate of identity through a formal application process, and Section 7 requires proof of medical intervention for a revised certificate—without any provision for reasonable accommodation for persons with disabilities.
The accompanying Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Rules, 2020 further entrench this exclusion. The National Portal for Transgender Persons, which is supposed to be a one-stop platform for name and gender change applications, welfare schemes, skill development, and ID card issuance, features a visual captcha without audio or logical alternatives. It is not screen-reader compatible, nor does it allow accessible modes of document submission or proxy application support—functionally excluding blind, low-vision, and neurodivergent persons from even the first step. There is no mention of assisted decision-making, nor any procedural safeguards for trans persons with psychosocial disabilities who may be denied recognition due to guardianship structures.
If a codified law crafted to protect one of the most marginalised queer groups can overlook disability so blatantly, one can only imagine the invisibilisation of disabled persons in the broader gay, lesbian, bisexual, asexual, intersex, and plus spaces. For instance, in policy demands—like marriage equality, gender-neutral hostels, or conversion therapy bans—the disabled queer person is absent as a subject. They are either rendered invisible or seen as too complex, inconvenient, or rare to be planned for. This compounds stigma and isolation, and leads to queer liberation spaces reproducing the same ableism they claim to fight.
On the other side, the disabled community does have a comprehensive legislation—but it remains entirely silent on queerness. The Rights of Persons with Disabilities Act, 2016 mentions the word gender only twice—Sections 5 and 24—stating that community support and social security schemes should be implemented 'with due regard to gender.' But the Act never defines what gender is, nor does it recognise that disabled persons may be trans, non-binary, intersex, queer, or asexual.
Instead, it flattens gender into a male–female binary and assumes all disabled people live in heterosexual family structures. Across its anti-discrimination framework, legal capacity provisions, and welfare schemes, there is a conspicuous absence of any conceptual, legal, or policy space for queer-disabled individuals to be seen or protected.
Further, Rule 10 of the RPwD Rules, 2017, which ensures access to reproductive and family planning services, assumes the user is heterosexual and cisgender. There is no mention of access to sexuality education, sexual autonomy, or relationship rights for queer-disabled individuals. Rule 15, which outlines accessibility standards, speaks of physical and digital access in generic terms but fails to consider how gendered infrastructure—like sex-segregated toilets, hostels, or shelters—can be inaccessible or unsafe for trans and non-binary disabled people.
Exclusionary practices and compartmentalised laws that refuse to account for intersectionality stem from a deeper reluctance within both communities to see each other. Not every queer person is able-bodied, and not every disabled person is cisgender or heterosexual. Pride that is not accessible is not pride. Accessibility that does not imagine queerness is not inclusion.
It is only when both movements begin to work in tandem—across lines of disability, gender identity, and sexual orientation—that the full promise of dignity and rights can be realised. Until then, the rainbow and the purple flag will continue to fly on parallel poles—never meeting, never touching—leaving queer-disabled persons to wonder which Pride month is theirs?
This article is authored by Anchal Bhatheja, research fellow, Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy, New Delhi.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Indian Express
04-07-2025
- Indian Express
After Pride month, let's talk about mental health of queer people
The screens were awash with rainbows last month — vibrant, defiant, shimmering with the promise of freedom. Pride celebrations bloomed across India's cities, corporations scrambled to drape themselves in rainbow flags, and for a fleeting moment, the world pretended it has made space for queer people to breathe. Not quite! Pride is defiance, a celebration of our resilience, our grit and progress, but there are silences that stir behind the celebrations, grief behind the smiles. The most important is the physical and mental health of queer people in India. This is the paradox of Pride in a country that decriminalised homosexuality but never truly legalised queer existence. In India, despite decriminalisation, India's vast queer population, estimated by some as 135 million LGBTQIA++, remains at lifelong risk of mental health challenges, not to mention violence, abuse, marginalisation and erasure. Though large enough in number, they remain uncounted, and unheard. Even today, most queer people are rejected, abused and face violence most commonly in the safest of all spaces — their own families and communities. As a result, India's queer individuals face disproportionate mental health challenges due to social stigma, discrimination, and exclusion within families, communities and institutions. They live suspended between fragile hope and the daily erosion of self. Not criminals anymore, but not allowed to exist freely either. While national data is limited, studies show queer folks experience higher rates of depression, anxiety, self-harm, and suicidal ideation than their cis-heterosexual peers. Are these mental health challenges natural companions of queerness? No. They are the carefully cultivated harvest of a society that still believes desire or love that does not conform to its standards is a crime or treats gender non-conformance of any kind fit for punishment. You are beaten into submission, silenced, excluded or erased. Family coercion and economic and emotional dependence worsen these situations. Most families, armed with scripture and stigma, become the first battlegrounds. A parent's rejection is not just a private grief — it is a sentence often for life. Conversion therapy, even though illegal, continues, sometimes within homes in diverse forms of harassment and coercion. Conflict with the family about sexual orientation and gender identity is a key risk factor associated with poor mental health in queer folks. In the end, coming out, living independent, free queer lives, though not impossible, is difficult and dangerous, and queer people continue to exist on the margins of their families and society. This creates lifelong dissonance, breeds self-hate and a lack of compassion for self. The closet then is not a refuge but a choice of slow suffocation. The betrayal is systemic. In villages and small towns, where the internet dangles the illusion of freedom but offers no escape, queer lives are negotiated in whispers. Conversion therapy, abuse and suicide are common. Escape to the city is the only liberation. It offers freedom but also loneliness and grief of losing your families. Lavender marriages, forced estrangement, the relentless performance of 'normalcy', these are not choices. They are survival rafts. Erasure by families and society, but also the health system, leads to a pathologisation of queer distress. Hence, psychiatrists and psychologists dismiss queer mental health challenges as something to live with, an occupational hazard of being. As a result, approaches to queer well-being are rarely about changing environments or asking society or parents to change attitudes. Instead, we focus on making queer people tolerate and manage exclusion and disrespect, rather than challenging the structures that enable it. Where are the interventions for parents who disown their children? They don't exist. For families, the learning gap is significant as well. Caught between conservative social and religious values, parents struggle with poor understanding of LGBTQIA++ identities, stigma, and misinformation. Socialised to be deeply homophobic, they are unable to change mindsets and accept their children. India needs a national conversation on queer mental health, acceptance and family support. Data shows that parental acceptance improves mental health, achievement, and social functioning. I am often asked, can we change? Of course. Change is incremental, but collective action can change mindsets and attitudes. A broader public narrative on queer Indians and South Asians that actively addresses this issue is needed urgently as are policy and programmes to contain this damage. We are harming queer folks for life if we do not address the social and environmental factors, particularly within families, that affect their mental health. What can we do? We need parental educational programmes, ongoing conversations with communities, religious leaders and institutions that foster understanding and acceptance. We need a national policy on youth mental health that specifically addresses queer mental health. University programmes, teacher sensitisation, and school programmes that help parents and children understand sexuality and gender diversity are essential. Fears that this may push people towards homosexuality or gender diversity are unfounded. It will only help them live more compassionate lives, and help parents to be more responsive, as they should be, to these children fighting battles about their identity on a daily basis. From the government, we need policy that moves away from conservative, one-sided pathologised research to queer-focussed research, where communities remain participants and help generate evidence to understand these issues better. Finally, we need to remember queer people remain tax-paying citizens. Compassion is not a concession. Equity is not a bargaining chip. Dignity is not up for debate. You may turn away or pray us into silence, but we deserve equity and dignity — for all queer folks, of all ages. And it starts with our well-being. The writer is a public health expert
Time of India
01-07-2025
- Time of India
Not just a Pride Month talk: City hosts a literary event on identity and visibility
Karuna Ezara Parikh the exhaustion of being boxed in, and the urgency of still being heard. Malcolm Seah When visibility becomes a performance Both writers reflected on how Pride Month, while important, risks becoming a siloed celebration — neatly boxed into June, then shelved. 'Why should there be specific events and timings to talk about queerness?' Seah asked. 'Why can't a Pride parade happen on a Tuesday morning if it wants to?'. Parikh agreed, adding that allyship should not have an expiration date. 'Our work is to make this post-Pride, to ensure that we focus on visibility throughout the year,' she said. Label fatigue? Kolkata, taboos and the 'grace' of acceptance 'We need more of this': A Sunday morning that sparked real talk The event may have started early, but it struck a deep chord. 'I was a bit sceptical as the talk was early on a Sunday morning,' said Tulika Pal, a student. 'But I could relate to the conversation. In India, the conversations around identity are still pretty oppressive.' For Ayushi Acharya, another student, the session felt overdue. 'I can see the community growing, but it's never enough. We always need more representation. Previously we didn't even have events like this during Pride Month. As a queer person of colour, it's so nice to see young authors sharing real experiences we live every day.' Teacher Aditi Jhunjhunwala added, 'Sessions like this offer great insight — not just into personal stories, but also into the harsh realities of other Asian countries. Hearing firsthand accounts really shapes how we think, and how we will continue to think.' What experts have to say: Asia has always been a conservative bloc, and speaking up about queerness or divorce still feels risky — people don't always respond well. But if people like me don't write about it or say it out loud, nothing will change. Transitioning isn't new; it's been part of cultures like India and Thailand for centuries. So why are we still acting like it's something the West invented? — Malcolm Seah Calcutta has always felt more open-minded than many other cities — a traditionally liberal, intellectual society. I hope that continues, especially when it comes to topics still considered taboo elsewhere in India. But our work isn't done. We must keep voicing our support for these freedoms — for everyone. — Karuna Ezara Parikh Cafés can be more than just places to eat — they can be safe spaces. When curated with care, they become venues where people from all communities can gather, connect, and feel seen. Events like these aren't just about books or food; they're about building a quiet, consistent community. — Shuli Ghosh, founder & creative director, Sienna Store
Time of India
01-07-2025
- Time of India
Celebrate Identity Beyond Pride Month: City Hosts Literary Event for Visibility
the exhaustion of being boxed in, and the urgency of still being heard. Malcolm Seah When visibility becomes a performance Both writers reflected on how Pride Month, while important, risks becoming a siloed celebration — neatly boxed into June, then shelved. Tired of too many ads? go ad free now 'Why should there be specific events and timings to talk about queerness?' Seah asked. 'Why can't a Pride parade happen on a Tuesday morning if it wants to?'. Parikh agreed, adding that allyship should not have an expiration date. 'Our work is to make this post-Pride, to ensure that we focus on visibility throughout the year,' she said. Label fatigue? Kolkata, taboos and the 'grace' of acceptance 'We need more of this': A Sunday morning that sparked real talk The event may have started early, but it struck a deep chord. 'I was a bit sceptical as the talk was early on a Sunday morning,' said Tulika Pal, a student. 'But I could relate to the conversation. In India, the conversations around identity are still pretty oppressive.' For Ayushi Acharya, another student, the session felt overdue. 'I can see the community growing, but it's never enough. We always need more representation. Previously we didn't even have events like this during Pride Month. As a queer person of colour, it's so nice to see young authors sharing real experiences we live every day.' Teacher Aditi Jhunjhunwala added, 'Sessions like this offer great insight — not just into personal stories, but also into the harsh realities of other Asian countries. Hearing firsthand accounts really shapes how we think, and how we will continue to think.' What experts have to say: Asia has always been a conservative bloc, and speaking up about queerness or divorce still feels risky — people don't always respond well. But if people like me don't write about it or say it out loud, nothing will change. Transitioning isn't new; it's been part of cultures like India and Thailand for centuries. So why are we still acting like it's something the West invented? — Malcolm Seah Calcutta has always felt more open-minded than many other cities — a traditionally liberal, intellectual society. Tired of too many ads? go ad free now I hope that continues, especially when it comes to topics still considered taboo elsewhere in India. But our work isn't done. We must keep voicing our support for these freedoms — for everyone. — Karuna Ezara Parikh Cafés can be more than just places to eat — they can be safe spaces. When curated with care, they become venues where people from all communities can gather, connect, and feel seen. Events like these aren't just about books or food; they're about building a quiet, consistent community. — Shuli Ghosh, founder & creative director, Sienna Store
