Film editor and screenwriter Apurva Asrani tracks the Hindi film industry’s transformative journey of coming out of the closet
Apurva Asrani (MUMBAI MIRROR; September 8, 2019)

Growing up in India in the 1980s, I remember stealing my father’s stash of Debonair magazines, rummaging through pages filled with nude women, and trying to find that image of a buff man. Often, he was in the same frame as the woman, and in my head, I would replace her face with that of another man, and pretend they were a gay couple. This was the best I could do as there was absolutely no imagery anywhere that alluded to homosexual existence.

The first time I saw a gay man on screen was in 1993 — in the hard-hitting film Philadelphia, where a cute Tom Hanks was in love with a dishy Antonio Banderas. After searching in the dark for 15 years, I was relieved to finally find an image which I could aspire to. This was around the same time that three brave young men — Ashok Row Kavi, Vivek Anand and Suhail Abbasi — were bringing out India’s first gay magazine, Bombay Dost. The representation in India had begun.

If you had told the 15-year-old me, about 26 years on, that I would be attending Mumbai’s own LGBTQ film festival — celebrating its tenth anniversary, and showcasing 160 LGBTQ-themed films — I would not have believed you.

Some 43 countries (with a maximum number of entries from India) sent in films for the four-day event that took place last June across the city’s most iconic theatres — Liberty Cinema and Metro INOX. Kashish’s opening night saw over 1,000 LGBTQ Indians proudly walk its glittering red carpet; Section 377 had been shown its place, and we were no longer criminals in the eyes of the law. It is heartening that the youth of today, who find themselves struggling with their sexuality, have a plethora of LGBTQ imagery to refer to, and need not feel isolated like people of my generation did. In the last few years alone, Indian audiences have been exposed to a diverse spread of queer cinema.

The script of Aligarh (left), a film I worked on, was born out of a desperate need to end the lampooning of gay men in mainstream cinema. While we owe much of our early identity to Riyad Wadia’s Bomgay (1996), Mahesh Dattani’s Mango Souffle (2002) and Sridhar Rangayan’s Gulabi Aaina (2003), we were aware that these films weren’t co-opted into the mainstream. This may be partly because they were ahead of their time, and partly because society perceived them as ‘by’ and ‘for’ the community. BomGay, arguably the first gay film from India, reflected the angst of the repressed urban homosexual, and I remember being too afraid to watch the scenes of sodomy in a movie hall.

Onir’s sensitive My Brother Nikhil (2005; right) was probably the first film about a gay man that captured the attention of the mainstream. The film, starring Sanjay Suri, Purab Kohli and Juhi Chawla, did for Indian gay men, what Fire (1996; left below) — starring Shabana Azmi and Nandita Das — perhaps had done for lesbian women. It paved the way for sensitive LGBTQ representation in Indian cinema. Alas, the doors that opened with My Brother Nikhil were shut tight with big-budget padlocks when Dostana (2007) — Tarun Mansukhani and Karan Johar’s gay parody — hit the theatres.

While there were many who were thankful that Dostana brought the idea of being gay to family audiences, I was severely critical of how the film used the subject only for laughs, and remained homophobic till the very end. Films like Raja Babu, Mast Kalandar, Humshakals and Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya had also lampooned gay men in the past, the difference (and saving grace) here was that Dostana alluded to the possibility of a mainstream gay couple — well, almost. Karan Johar followed this up with Student Of The Year (2012), where Rishi Kapoor played a closeted school principal who lusts after a male teacher. “There’s so much more to gay men than just being over the top or sexual,” I wrote in a blog after Dostana released.

The biggest challenge with Aligarh was to write a character who, despite being in a sexual relationship with another man, refused to wear the many tags of sexuality. He belonged to a generation where the words ‘gay’ and ‘queer’ did not exist, a place where Professor Siras has to beg society to leave him to define himself. This was neither an activist film, nor did it ask for homosexuals to be treated specially. Instead, it asked for Professor Siras to be seen as a human being — and to award him the same constitutional right to life and privacy as anyone else.

Aligarh’s Siras is a private man, an award-winning poet, a man of letters, a respected academic, but most importantly, he is a man who treats others with respect. Siras never lusts after the handsome young male reporter interviewing him in his bedroom, and always conducts himself with dignity. That the brilliant Manoj Bajpayee broke Bollywood’s longstanding tradition of a mainstream actor refusing to “play gay” adds much value to the film.

Watching Aligarh with my father — who has struggled to make sense of my sexuality — was a surreal experience. He watched it with tears in his eyes, and identified with the loneliness of a senior citizen. I saw that Siras’ sexuality never got in the way of his empathy. At that moment, I knew Aligarh would achieve what it had set out to.

What surprised me though, is that Aligarh did not meet with strong opposition from either society or the censor board. While theatres screening Fire were vandalised in 1996, the CBFC had banned Gulabi Aaina in 2003, calling it ‘vulgar and offensive’, the times seem to have changed when Aligarh ‘came out’ of the censorship closet. While they muted the words ‘gay’ and ‘homosexual’ for its TV telecast, the film hit the cinemas without any major cuts. Even the kiss between Siras and the male rickshaw puller was retained without objection. And besides the city of Aligarh, where its mayor had banned the film, Aligarh ran all over India, for almost four weeks.

Incidentally, the last five years have seen a number of LGBTQ-related films play in cinemas. Shonali Bose’s terrific Margarita With A Straw (2015) saw Kalki Koechlin play a girl with cerebral palsy discovering her bisexuality. Karan Johar and Shakun Batra’s Kapoor & Sons (2016) brought us our first celluloid gay sex symbol — played gracefully by Fawad Khan.

Sudhanshu Saria’s urban gay love story LOEV (2017) focused on the emotional and sexual complexities between two friends; Sridhar Rangayan’s Evening Shadows (2018) told the emotional story of a mother coming to terms with her son’s sexuality; and Shelly Chopra Dhar’s Ek Ladki Ko Dekha To Asia Laga (2019) featured Bollywood star Sonam Kapoor as a small-town lesbian girl coming out to her traditional family.

The biggest leap in LGBTQ representation, however, has been in the digital space with Sacred Games (2018) and Made In Heaven (2019). Sacred Games by Anurag Kashyap and Vikramaditya Motwane, featured a trans character named Kukoo, played wonderfully by Kubbra Sait. Kukoo is an attractive dancer, a strong, self-respecting woman, in love with the leading character played by Nawazuddin Siddique, and also happens to have a penis. Made In Heaven by Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti is a current favourite with gay and straight people alike. It features Arjun Mathur in the lead, playing a Delhi wedding planner who gets in trouble with the law after he is filmed in his bedroom having sex with another man.

While the track bears an uncanny resemblance to Professor Siras’ in Aligarh, it is the writing and treatment that sets it apart. Arjun’s character Karan doesn’t wear his sexuality on his sleeve, yet he is seen as a ‘top’ who indulges in ‘no strings attached’ sexual relationships. And while I am grateful that the show normalises gay sex, Karan’s sexuality is never his identity. He is a bloody good wedding planner, a great friend, and a man who displays an astute sense of right and wrong.

I was privileged to have worked as an editor on Made In Heaven, cutting the episodes of Zoya Akhtar and show-runner Nitya Mehra. I suspect they brought me in because they wanted a gay man at the cutting table, to help them check on Karan’s character. The incredible response to the show is proof that characters like Karan are now seen as a legitimate part of society.

Before they began shooting, I was asked to read the scripts of Made In Heaven and offer feedback. I remember finishing reading them around midnight, and then bursting into tears. When my partner awoke to see me crying, he asked if the story made me sad. I turned to him and said, “No, I’m crying because I am happy. We are finally telling our stories.”

The writer is a National Award and Filmfare Award winning film editor and a Screen Award winning screenwriter. A version of this article appeared in Rainbow Reflections — An Anthology of LGBTQ Narratives in Indian Cinema, published by KASHISH Arts Foundation

Renuka Vyavahare (BOMBAY TIMES; September 9, 2018)

In a heartfelt conversation with Bombay Times, Apurva Asrani, the award-winning editor and screenwriter of Aligarh, opens up on what it takes for a homosexual man to come out publicly and the storms that he must brave. He thinks, however, that the landmark Supreme Court judgement on September 6 will go a long way in empowering the LGBTQIA community. Excerpts...

COMING OUT
The day I came out to my parents, the biggest burden of my life was lifted. I was 20 at the time and I knew that this would cause them pain, but I also knew deep down that they truly love me, and will accept me eventually. People have said to me, ‘You come from a fairly well off, urban, educated family and so, coming out couldn’t have been so bad,’ but that’s not true. When I came out to my folks, my dad was so hurt, he didn’t talk to me for over two years. My mother was crushed, too. She said that the trauma reminded her of the time when her father was diagnosed with cancer. And my parents are well educated, city-bred people, who have travelled the world. So, acceptance has nothing to do with education.

BATTLING SOCIETAL PREJUDICE & FINDING ACCEPTANCE
Today, my mother tags me on every update that she shares about the Section 377 verdict with celebratory emojis. My father forwards me well-written opinion pieces about the case on WhatsApp. But it took years for my parents to stop being embarrassed about my sexuality and to accept me as I am. At the age of 20, when I got into my first long-term relationship (that lasted eight years), I could see my parents’ discomfort. Though he was a nice guy, they didn’t want me to discuss him with their friends and extended family. They have grown up in a society, which believes that the right way forward is marriage and children. They have looked forward to the fulfillment of that dream their whole lives — a beautiful daughter-in-law and cute grandchildren. So, when their son told them that he is gay, that dream came crashing down. Having said that, we have to be sensitive to their feelings and worries — about who will look after their son when they are gone.

So, we need to show them that a society is possible where their gay son can have a committed, long-term relationship with another man. A loving bond that extends to include the families of their partners, something close to what they call marriage (of course, we must define our own concepts of longterm partnerships). They need to see that this is not some fleeting, carnal encounter that will last a few days. They need to see that this is love.

Today, my parents enjoy a great bond with my partner Sid, as I do with his parents. We have been together for 11 years, our families have gone on vacations together, and they see us both as their own children. We are there for each other in times of need. And we are not alone, we know of several gay couples who enjoy the blessings of their parents. It is possible.

‘WHY SHOULD HETEROSEXUAL PEOPLE FLAUNT THEIR RELATIONSHIP AND NOT HOMOSEXUALS?’
For too long, we have lived in a democracy that is unevenly applied. Because of what I do with another consenting adult in my private space, the law has been able to call me a criminal. So, my heterosexual brother, for example, has different rights from me. He can fall in love with a person of his choice, get into a recognized union with her and then choose to adopt a child. I do not have any of those rights. If my brother chooses to stand for public office, he can, while I, till a few days ago, wouldn’t be able to, because my sexuality deemed me a criminal. Why should heterosexual people be allowed to flaunt their relationships and not homosexuals? My best friend can publicly hold her husband’s hand, rest her head on his shoulder, and even give him a kiss on his lips at a restaurant. But if my partner and I were to try that, we’d raise eyebrows, evoke discomfort, and maybe even get told off for it. I have been evicted from a housing society when they discovered that I lived with another man.

I refuse to accept this inequality. I am a citizen of this country and today, its highest court has given me a clean chit to live as I am. If you have a problem with two people being in love, and you want to stop us from being happy, there is something wrong with the way you think. It’s called bigotry and our Constitution doesn’t support that anymore. Heterosexual couples get respect by default. Even we want that.

THE SPECTRUM OF SEXUALITY
If you’ve seen Aligarh, there’s a dialogue where professor Siras says that he doesn’t understand what the word ‘gay’ is; it didn’t exist when he was growing up. He was once married to a woman, has recently been in a relationship with a man; but he doesn’t see it as a problem. He says that he is old and lonely and all he wants is someone to share the night with. Why should the sex of that person be an issue for the society? Or should an old man forego his need for companionship, and suffer alone, just to please society?

Today, the spectrum of sexuality has extended far beyond the word ‘homosexual’ and it includes terms like gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and queer. While it does seem inconvenient to understand so many terms in ‘LGBTQIA’, it indicates that one’s sexuality cannot be slotted into a ‘one size fits all’. People should be allowed to explore and figure out for themselves where they stand. As long as sex is consensual and between two adults, no one should have a problem with it.

NEW PHASE, NEW BEGINNINGS
I have immense respect for those who have worn their sexuality on their sleeve. It took immense courage for some of us to be like that when the world tried to ignore our existence. We needed to be flamboyant, dramatic and loud so that our voice was heard. But now, we have the world’s attention. On September 6, 2018, the Supreme Court awarded us not just long-overdue recognition, it also issued an apology for the suffering we went through while justice was delayed. It gave us respect. So, now, it is time for us to respect ourselves, to live our lives with dignity. We must ask ourselves; do we want to call attention to our ‘differentness’, or do we want to integrate? Do we want to become part of a society that we have stood outside of, or do we still want to rebel? It is time to build healthy communities that will stand as our support structures. To enter diverse fields and industries where we can become leaders. Leaders who don’t fear their ‘closeted’ secrets being called-out. An LGBTQIA person isn’t some deviant sexual being that lurks in darkened alleys, strutting his/her stuff. We are by and large, a conscientious and loving bunch. Having being denied our right for so long, we know what it is to be marginalised, discriminated against. We are therefore sensitive to the pain of others.

We are important members of a civil society. We are artistes, media people, doctors, engineers, politicians, hoteliers and accountants. We are even leaders of religious cults. We are a hard-working lot, most of us childless, who put in long hours at work, and strive for great results. Many of us stand as pillars of society and are dedicated to loving our country. We know that we contribute to India’s economy and we demand respect for that. Our sexual preference has absolutely no bearing on how we perform our duties, and nobody has the right to question us about who we kissed and how we loved. As Chief Justice Dipak Misra, while delivering the landmark 377 judgement said, ‘I am what I am. So, take me as I am’.

Apurva Asrani, writer-editor of Shahid and Aligarh, was struck by facial paralysis five months ago and is now on a break
Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; June 23, 2018)

He’s been working non-stop since 2011— editing eight films and scripting three screenplays. His repertoire includes films like Satya, Shahid, Citylights,Waiting, Aligarh and Simran. Last year, Apurva Asrani saw through the biggest controversy of his career, vis-à-vis Simran. Then, five months ago, he suddenly woke up with Bell’s Palsy, a type of facial paralysis. “It was stress induced. I couldn’t shut one eye or eat without food dribbling from the side of my mouth. It was frightening! Luckily I found doctors who helped me recover most of my face, but I needed a break from the city so that I could heal my mind too,” he says.

Apurva spent his 40th birthday in the quieter part of Goa and fell in love with a neighbourhood with more trees than people. “After 11 years of being together, my partner Siddhant Pillai and I decided to gift ourselves a shot at this life. A writer can live anywhere with good internet and Sid works in music, so this place is a godsend. We are a 45-minute flight away from Mumbai and can hop across for meetings and creative sessions easily,” he reasons. He loves Mumbai for its ‘live-and-let-live’ mindset, the freedom to be who you are and to do what you want. “What I don’t miss is the concrete and the traffic. When you waste hours stuck in jams, you try and make up for lost time during the rest of the day. Everything is hurried, you don’t live a quality life.”

The Mumbai he grew up in wasn’t so congested and one had time to unwind. He sighs that today, when you get home from work, you’ll think 100 times to make a plan with someone living a few kilometres away. “If you make a late night of it, you start the next day under-slept and in a rush. It is unhealthy to work so hard without decompressing,” he warns, adding that at the village the only time the road is blocked is when a herd of 20 cows decides to sit down for an afternoon chill. “But they respond better to honks than Mumbai cows do,” he chuckles. “There’s time for exercise, good food, beach walks, bike rides, night outs and I still put in regular writing hours.”

Were his health issues brought on by the break of a 20-year working relationship with filmmaker Hansal Mehta and the controversy over writing credits with Kangana Ranaut on Simran? Apurva admits that while the fight did cause a lot of distress, it was his decision to go to battle. “If I’d accepted the status quo, I’d still be at parties with them and working on their next films. More than standing up against Hansal, I stood up to something that is wrong in our star-driven system; something he may also be a victim of. It came with collateral damage, but I wanted to set a precedent for other writers,” he asserts.

He informs that around that time his father needed a kidney to survive. Since waiting lists are painfully long, his mother decided to donate one of her kidneys. “All this happened after the post about Kangana and the writing credits went viral. So, while the papers were filled with malicious accusations, my brother and I waited outside the ICU praying for our parents to survive. I felt crushed emotionally,” he recollects. “But I can’t blame anyone else for my personal issues. In retrospect, I think Hansal was doing what he thought best to protect his film, but he should know I took up the fight to protect the same film.”

A year later, while working on his garden patch and his third oil painting, Apurva is also writing two screenplays. One is for a filmmaker who wants to do something out of the box. “The other is for myself. A producer who’s signed me to direct is patiently waiting for me to finish it. I’m mining from my own life so there’s a lot of introspection and rejected drafts. I’m in no rush. I don’t need to prove anything to anyone anymore,” says the National Award and Filmfare Award winner.

What about editing? “I wouldn’t give it up for anything, but it’s very hectic when you work as a ‘cutter and joiner’ with a director tapping on your shoulder. I’m happiest collaborating on films where the director wants my creative interpretation. Hansal Mehta, Nila Madhab Panda and Ram Gopal Varma have spoiled me like that,” he says.

How have his parents, brother, dog and partner reacted to the shift? He informs that while his parents, who’ve made a good recovery from the transplant, miss him, they know he’s a short flight away. “My brother is relieved to see me getting better. My dog is old and the busy Mumbai pavements used to be tough to navigate. He’s loving the long walks and the extra attention here. Sid is with me through thick and thin. We take each day as it comes without projecting too far into the future. I am grateful for the wealth of these relationships,” he says emotionally.

And colleagues? “The number of creative people who’ve moved to quieter places is staggering, so everyone is used to such shifts. Writers are famous for going into spells of hibernation to create new work, but we emerge dutifully for calls, meetings and deadlines,” he laughs.

The last six months have changed Apurva as a person. From being a social animal he can now go through days without meeting anyone. He took a workshop in a film school in Chennai recently and the dean rewarded him with a treasure trove of world cinema. “I watch these films without interruption, then, spend hours thinking about them. I’m also having more meaningful conversations here that aren’t time bound; that’s when you get to hear the best stories. It is valuable stuff for a writer,” he says.