Thade Rahiyo

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The journey with this performance began almost two years ago, when I first rehearsed and performed this song properly at my 49th birthday party. It became, in many ways, a tie-in to two extraordinary actresses of the 50s and 60s — Madhubala and Meena Kumari.

Since childhood, I have been emulating such iconic women. Growing up as a femme boy, it was difficult for me to model myself after men, especially given the lack of worthy male figures in my life. Instead, I was drawn to strong women — their magnetism, their aura, their power. Watching them on screen felt natural, and I found myself dancing to songs from Bollywood, long before I understood what it all meant. Film, song, and dance were always welcome in our home — though, of course, the “men” disapproved. Kathak became my artistic release, my stage of truth, and I performed for many years.

Later, when I entered the gay community, I realised quite young — at around 16 or 17 — that gender fluidity must always be welcome. I am glad to be living in an age now where Gen Z has embraced this with ease, not stigmatised it as my generation often did. I identify as a cis male gay man, but I am more than happy to allow my femme side to breathe. I love the alta, the dupatta, the grace of an anarkali draped just so. It is not drag in the traditional sense — it is fluid, playful, freeing.

So, for the Gay Bombay Talent Show on 21st September, I chose to honour both Madhubala and Meena Kumari through their iconic songs — Pyaar Kiya Toh Darna Kya and Thade Rahiyo. Initially, I went back and forth between Inhi Logo Ne and Thade Rahiyo, but my heart leaned towards Meena Kumari ji’s sheer elegance in the second. 

I even designed costumes for each piece. For Pyaar Kiya Toh Darna Kya, I sourced nearly 16 metres of fabric with heavy work along the hem. It looked magnificent but proved impossible to manage during the pure Kathak sequence of the first two minutes — the skirt was simply too heavy. That’s when I decided to let it be the costume for Thade Rahiyo, and I’m glad I did. As you can see it in the pictures. 

Everything came together so beautifully. I recreated the film sequence on stage, with my “muh-boli bahen” Christina as Gauhar Jaan and my friends stepping into the roles of Nawabs. We rehearsed at a cosy space called Little House in Yari Road, about four times, before taking it to stage. Everyone came dressed in white, with touches of red and pink to reflect the Nawabi splendour, and Christina stunned in a brand-new sharara.

When the performance began, some in the audience were unfamiliar with the song. At one point, when a Nawab “stormed off” as part of the act, people genuinely thought he was leaving in anger — only to realise it was woven into the choreography. With gunshots, bi-plays, and grandeur, it unfolded like living cinema. Under the stage lighting, it looked epic.

The pictures capture only glimpses — the costume, the styling, the mood — but the full video (which I’ll share once edited) tells the story. It was seamless, majestic, and made possible by my incredible co-performers: Christina, Savio, Ankush, Vishal, Saif, Gary, Urzaan, and Abhinav.

I’m exhausted, yes, but also deeply fulfilled. The entire talent show was a triumph — spectacular performances all around — and being on stage again felt brilliant. This is just the beginning. I think I shall keep doing this.

A Reflection on Insidiousness

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There is something I must say, and I will not soften it with polite words. The LGBTQ+ community is no monolith of love, acceptance, and support. We like to present it that way, but the truth is harsher. Wherever there are human beings, there will also be envy, bitterness, and insidiousness. Where there is an Othello, there will always be an Iago. And we are not exempt from that.

Recently, I shared something deeply personal and profoundly important to me. I posted about my mother receiving the Rajshri Khote Guardian of Love Award — an award named after my aunt, Munni Pua (Rajshri Khote), who was a beacon of acceptance and strength for our community. She once opened her home to us when we were cast out of a public space, and for 20 years, her living room became a sanctuary of belonging, chai, samosas, and love. Without her, GayBombay would not have become what it is today.

And then came the trolls. Faceless, nameless, and petty. One of them wrote: “Now it’s like families awarding families.”

On the surface, this is trivial. A throwaway jab from a stranger. But I felt a surge of anger — not because the words wounded me, but because they reeked of vindictiveness. They belittled the very real sacrifices and the very real love my mother and aunt gave to me and to countless queer people.

Let’s be clear: these awards are my brainchild. They are not sponsored, not bought, not influenced. We, in GayBombay, have deliberately kept them free of corporate money precisely so that no one could control them via outside forces. Every awardee has been discussed, consented to, and chosen because of their contribution, not because of their connections. Yet still, the whispering starts. The backbiting. The Why him? Why not her? Why not me?

I even had someone — a person I deeply respect and care for — reach out to me, asking if I was recognising a certain “well-known” figure. Another person I love wholeheartedly suggested I do something along similar lines. But for me, these awards are not about playing a political game or duplicating existing hierarchies of fame. They are about honouring love, courage, and genuine support.

This does not mean that those who are visible or celebrated are excluded — far from it. Their contributions matter deeply, and they too have a place in this recognition. What I will not do, however, is allow the weight of a name or a reputation alone to dictate my choices. I refuse to betray the integrity of this moment simply to appease hearsay. Thankfully, both of them understood the spirit from which I was coming.

I was reminded of the darker machinations the Me Too movement laid bare — where power and malice conspired to keep women from what was rightfully theirs unless they submitted to unjust demands. At its core, it was about control. In its own way, the comment about nepotism felt similar: an attempt to push me, and GayBombay, into bending to someone else’s will. Yet I remain an idealist, and I know this is not ideal — not for me, nor for the community I belong to. For nearly three decades I’ve stood alongside the men I first knew as boys, and like Sister Sledge sang so long ago, “we are family” and “I’ve got all my sisters with me.” They know Munni Pua, they know me – because they are family.

So, let me remind those trolls and naysayers: without Munni Pua, there would have been no Sunday meets in a safe space. Without parents like my mother, there would have been no Pride marches where a parent walked beside her gay son. Without women like these, countless queer children and parents would never have had a space of dialogue and acceptance. And yet some would dare to sneer at “families awarding families.”

Yes — families who opened their doors. Families who stood against society. Families who loved without condition. Families who held this community together when it was just a fragile idea, not the thriving network it is today.

This is not about me. This is about legacy. It is about honouring those who truly guarded love when it was dangerous, inconvenient, and often thankless to do so. And if that makes some people uncomfortable, so be it.

For 27 years, GayBombay has built something beautiful. Without sponsors. Without permission. Without bending to anyone’s agenda. Organically. Honestly. With love. And that is precisely why the trolls hate it. Because it is something they cannot replicate — love that is freely given, relationships that are intricate and strong, a community that has survived and flourished without being sold out.

So yes, I am angry. I am angry at the smallness, the jealousy, the backbiting. I am angry at those who twist what is beautiful simply because they are incapable of building anything themselves. But I am also proud. Proud that we have done this. Proud that we continue to do this. Proud that our awards, like our community, are born of resilience and love, not vanity or sponsorship.

And to the trolls, the malcontents, the whisperers: fuck you. Fuck your jealousy. Fuck your spite. You cannot touch what is real. You cannot take away love that has been lived, given, and shared for decades.

Because love, in the end, wins. And the Rajshri Khote Guardian of Love Award is proof!

My Kids and Their Lessons

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If you’ve followed my writings, you know that dogs are not simply pets to me — they are companions, teachers, and my children. Living with dogs has been one of the most grounding and transformative experiences of my life. They have walked beside me through loneliness and joy, through grief and laughter, and they have given me lessons that no classroom, book, or mentor could fully teach.

Dogs do not care about the masks we wear for the world. They don’t measure us by our successes or failures, our wealth, or our appearance. For them, love is in the moment — a wagging tail when you walk in the door, the nudge of a wet nose when you’re low, the quiet companionship when words fail. They have taught me that presence matters more than perfection. To truly be with someone — whether human or animal — is the most profound act of love.

Each of my dogs has carried their own story, sometimes marked with pain, abandonment, or fear before they came to me. And yet, I have never seen them give up on joy. They can be hurt and still trust again, neglected and still give love. Their resilience humbles me. They remind me that life can wound us, but bitterness is a choice — and forgiveness, often wordless, can set us free.

As adults, we often forget the simple grace of play. My dogs never do. Whether it’s chasing a ball, running wild in the park, or simply rolling on their backs in the grass, they remind me that joy is not frivolous; it is survival. To laugh, to move, to play is not just about fun — it is about keeping the spirit alive.

Dogs are perhaps the only beings who embody loyalty without condition. They don’t keep count of arguments or misunderstandings. They don’t hold grudges. Their loyalty is not bound by transaction — it is instinct, pure and unbreakable. In a world where human relationships can often fracture under strain, my dogs show me what steadfastness looks like.

Over the course of my life, I have lost four dogs. Each loss has carved a hollow that no words can truly fill. And once, I had to make the most unbearable decision — to end the suffering of the one I held dearest. It is in these moments that my dogs have taught me their most profound lesson: that life is fleeting, and it is made full not by grandeur but by the everyday.

Their short time on earth is a reminder to live in the present — to relish the mundane walk, the quiet nap, the silly game of fetch. Because in the end, only love matters. Only love sets us free. At the final breath, it isn’t the achievements or possessions that count, but the care and presence of those who hold you with love until the very end.

Life, I’ve learned through them, is cyclical. I lose one pup, and another finds its way to me. The poignancy and bitterness of death are inevitable, but so is the sunrise of another day. Their passing has taught me to embrace the paradox of grief and renewal — to know that endings are also beginnings, and that love carries forward even when bodies do not.

Perhaps the most unexpected gift has been this: my dogs have taught me to be gentler with myself. They don’t see my flaws as I see them; they don’t recoil at my scars. In their eyes, I am enough — worthy of affection, worthy of care. And slowly, through their gaze, I’ve learned to soften the harshness of my own.

My house literally, feels more alive because of them. Their presence fills corners with warmth, noise, chaos, and peace all at once. They make even the most ordinary days feel less lonely. For me, home is not about walls or possessions. It’s about the heartbeat at my feet, the bark at the door, the eyes that follow me room to room. Home is where they are.

Dogs have been my healers, my mirrors, and my greatest teachers. They have shown me that love is not complicated; it is given freely and without expectation. They have shown me that joy is found in the smallest gestures, and that resilience is written in the wag of a tail after a storm.

Most of all, they have shown me that life is both fleeting and eternal: fleeting in its moments, eternal in its love.