As the Chennai Rainbow Pride Parade returned after a two-year gap on Sunday, the unassuming Langs Garden Road, Egmore turned into a riot of colour and song. Flags were aloft, drums were beating, speakers were blaring, as an estimated 7,000 people showed up over four hours.
“In 2019, we had around 3,000 participants. This year, the crowd is larger after two years of COVID,” says transwoman G Sankari, co-founder of Nirangal Charitable Trust, one of the organisations that form Tamil Nadu Rainbow Coalition that unites to organise this parade. Sankari takes a couple of minutes to sit down and get her breath back, after hours of cheering and chanting with participants old and new.
Amid all the joyous mayhem, however, there also stood the quiet ones. The ones standing shy by their friends, others speaking gently when spoken to, a few keeping just a little bit of distance so as not to be overwhelmed by the noise — still feeling a kinship with all the joy, still fully aware of the importance of taking such vibrant, unapologetic ownership of a public space.
“It is important that we be seen and accepted, that people of the city get used to us being us. That’s why I’m glad the pride march took a slightly different route this year,” says Johnson aka Johncy Maria, a Chennai-based French teacher who has been attending the pride parade for over a decade. “I sometimes travel to other cities to participate in their pride parades too,” he beams over his trilingual placard, “But I haven’t missed the Chennai one in 14 years. Don’t ask me my age; one needs to be young to have boyfriends.”
A few paces behind Johncy marches a group of people with red umbrellas. The quieter ones stand back and cheer as their more excited friends twirl their way into a dance circle, taking a break from chanting, “Sex work is work”. These are members of SIAAP — South Indian Association for AIDS Prevention — here to show support, along with sex workers of different genders and orientations.
There is a reason sex workers want to march in a pride parade? A soft-spoken reply cuts through the raucous singing, crystal in its clarity of thought, explaining how human rights issues do not exist in separate silos. “We are very proud to say that our struggle has resulted in freedom for all — men, transgender sex workers and women sex workers. That is why we are saying today: ‘the Supreme Court sees us, when will you?’,” says Dr Shyamala Nataraj of SIAAP, referring to the recent Supreme Court order recognising the dignity of sex workers. SIAAP is one of the organisations that was part of the Supreme Court-ordered panel in the case.
Other hard-fought victories, both personal and public, can be traced back to the people present at the Chennai Rainbow Pride Parade. But the march on Sunday is a place of relief from the travails of activism — they are here to celebrate. As others join in the dance circle, the red umbrellas blend in with other flags and placards. Teenagers weave in and out of the clusters, carrying their friends on their shoulders, stopping only to pose for photos or accept water offered by strangers.
The sea of dance and song moves slowly, back and forth along one half of the road. Roadside shacks do brisk business, children and mothers of the neighbourhood join in the cheer, even as some revellers take the time out to help keep things orderly.
“We usually start thinking about pride march at the end of the previous year’s pride march, when we have a review meeting,” says Delfina, a member of Nirangal, adding, “This time, there was some uncertainty just like last year. We decided to plan as usual starting from January, and see what the pandemic situation was like around June. For 10 years, we have had the pride parade in the last Sunday of June. This year, we continue that tradition.”
