Rainbow Rishta humanises Indian queer relationships but leaves out most of the country
Amazon Prime Video’s six-part docu-series shows what it means to date as an independent, out queer person in urban India even though society is yet to come to terms with us.
Whenever we see the queer community in public discourse, it’s usually through a political lens. For the longest time, the LGBTQIA+ community in India has been fighting for their rights, shouting from the top of their lungs and trying to be as visible as possible for anyone to notice them.
In that fight for equality, what’s left out are the personal lives and the daily ins and outs of living as an out queer person.
Amazon Prime Video’s Rainbow Rishta attempts to invite that lens indoors and into the lives of queer people just dating, loving, living, marrying, and existing.
The six-part docu-series traces six stories of people in different parts of India as they find love, in one form or another.
The most visible face of the series is Dr Trinetra Haldar Gummaraju. A doctor, an influencer, and an actor, she first won hearts through her journey of transitioning, and later, as a wedding consultant on Made in Heaven Season 2. In Rainbow Rishta, we see the loneliness behind the celebrity and the longing to have a family of her own, especially as she grew up in an atmosphere that was harsh and unloving.
The dating dilemma is a central theme in the docu-series.
Dating in the queer community is an enigma. While there’s a longing for love and intimacy, the scars of dissonance—whether it’s how society sees your sexuality or is unable to make sense of your gender identity—seep into the relationships you want to form. That element of dysfunctionality is inherited from our families who, more often than not, don’t see us eye to eye.
This is well portrayed through the life of Sadam, Founder of Ya.all, a Manipur-based youth-focused NGO, as he tries to overcome his dark past and give love another chance. Human rights lawyer Aishwarya Ayushmaan, better known by their drag name Lush Monsoon, too dips their toes into the dating pool as they explore the person behind the drag.
The docu-series doesn’t shy away from exploring sadness and trauma, as is the standard parameter of most queer existence. However, it shines in moments of upliftment.
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Sanam and Aneez have a simple goal: to find a home to live in. However, it isn’t easy for the two women in their early twenties who want to live unabashedly in Guwahati and make sure their landlord accepts them as they are. That rebellious fire never goes out, nor does their will to be uncompromising with their true selves and their love for each other.
There’s a certain comfort in just living together, without hiding—either from yourself or others.
Suresh and Soham have been doing that for more than six years. And as it happens with relationships that have aged a little, theirs too has plateaued. However, the dream is to age a little more and see the grass grow by the sunset, with one or two little ones of their own.
The cherry on the cake is the societally accepted relationship between Daniella and Joel. Danielle, an intersex person from the Hijra community, has a bittersweet but endearing love for her partner, whom she wishes to marry while donning a white wedding gown. The acceptance from both their middle-class Maharashtrian families feels, at least initially, groundbreaking.
Daniella’s mother and soon-to-be mother-in-law offer to pawn their jewellery to help her buy the gown she wants. They go around distributing wedding invitations and inviting everyone from their families. On one such visit, a relative looks at their relationship through the eyes of society.
“People are not happy, so they will talk about it for a few days. They will eventually stop talking. How much longer will they continue?” she examines.
While the docu-series presents a slice of life into the myriad lives within the queer community, its perspective is largely urban and first-world. Whether it’s the mimosa-sipping Trinetra or Lush Monsoon going on a date in drag, the lives of these queer people—all of whom can converse in English—seem privileged. They are young, educated people who are ordinary celebrities in their own right—coming from progressive queer circles in cities across the country.
Their lives do not represent the daily realities of queer people living in Tier II and III cities in India, many of whom either live a double life or are treated as outcasts. This is where Rainbow Rishta isn’t quite convincing as a ‘true’ representation of the Indian queer community. By excluding the lives of those whose Instagram follower count doesn’t run into thousands, the project prefers picking low-hanging fruits—portraying the lives of those who travel in the air rather than on the road.
Still, Rainbow Rishta is a triumph in its own way. It humanises Indian queer relationships outside the sphere of social media and cuts deep into what it means to live as an independent and unabashedly queer person in modern India.
Rating: 3.5/5
Edited by Swetha Kannan
