Doctor and writer Kinshuk Gupta on his debut collection of Hindi short stories about queer life in India and challenges of representing LGBTQ+ stories in Hindi publishing
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Kinshuk Gupta, 23, wears multiple hats. He is a poet, fiction writer, translator, and journalist. Apart from pursuing his love for the written word, he has also completed his M.B.B.S. degree from Maulana Azad Medical College and is currently a resident doctor at Lok Nayak Jai Prakash Hospital in New Delhi.
Kinshuk has received the Dr Anamika Poetry Prize (2021) and Ravi Prabhakar Smriti Laghukatha Samman (2022), and has been longlisted for the Toto Awards for Creative Writing (2021) and shortlisted for the All India Poetry Competition (2018); Srinivas Rayaprol Poetry Prize (2021) as well as The Bridport Prize (2022). Kinshuk edits the poetry section for literary journals Mithila Review and Jaggery Lit and works as an Associate Editor with Usawa Literary Review.
He is also a South Asia Speaks fellow, and is working on his debut collection of poetry with Tishani Doshi as his mentor.
But what stands out currently is his debut collection of short stories about queer lives in India – Yeh Dil Hai Ki Chor Darwaza (2023) – written in Hindi. By placing it in the context of the Hindi literary landscape, Kinshuk talks about the reception of queer stories and the quest for representation that is more reflective of the lived experiences of Indian queer people. In this interview, he opens up about his motivations behind writing queer stories in Hindi, and what it means to think about queerness in non-English contexts in India.
(This interview has been edited for length and clarity.)
In Hindi, unlike English, there are very few resources for people to learn about the lived experiences of LGBTQ+ people or have their questions answered. That is why, the kind of depictions that we see in literature are important. For many people, fiction is the only gateway to understanding, especially if they are struggling in the closet.
To the best of my knowledge, my book is one of the first modern Hindi collections, where all the short stories touch upon queer identity. People have written queer short stories but I cannot think of even one collection in Hindi where all the short stories have queer characters.
A lot of queer stories in Hindi have been written by heterosexual men and women. They do this to bring variation to their writing oeuvre. But instead of helping, it can harm the community. I won’t say that Hindi publishers are not interested in publishing books about queer people. Demand and what books sell fuel their interest. They publish fiction that highlights concerns of LGBTQ+ people, without proper understanding of lived realities.
I feel deeply resentful when the publishing world participates in furthering homophobia and transphobia. I want things to change, and I know that I need to be part of finding solutions by writing more queer stories (like the ones in Yeh Dil Hai Ki Chor Darwaza) in Hindi. I hope that writing this book is a step in the right direction.
It is completely bizarre to me but I guess that Hindi has now become associated with Hinduism in the current political atmosphere, and many people in the Hindi literary world feel that talking about homosexuality will damage not only Hindi literature but also Hindu families. This attitude is ruining not only the lives of queer people but also the secular fabric of India.
Sure! Chor darwaza means a hidden door. I live in Delhi now but I grew up in Kaithal, which is close to Kurukshetra in Haryana – the setting of the Mahabharat. My grandmother’s home had a few chor darwaze – secret exits used when someone wanted to escape and run away. For instance, in case of a life-threatening incident.
I use chor darwaza as a metaphor because there is a big taboo on talking about homosexuality in Hindi literature. Social structures and stigma force queer people to keep their secrets hidden in their hearts. These hearts become like closed chambers. They cannot talk about their loves and desires openly. If they want to be safe, they have to keep their relationships away from the public eye. In this respect, they are made to feel like thieves doing something forbidden.
The image of chor darwaza seemed ideal because I want to raise questions about the stigma and shame associated with homosexuality, even in this day and age in literature and society.
Hindi does not have readymade equivalents for words that are used by English-speaking LGBTQ+ people. When translating these words literally, sometimes the meaning is lost, unclear or even comical. In Hindi, a gay person would be called ‘samlaingik’ and a heterosexual person would be called ‘vishamlaingik’. ‘Sam’ means ‘same’ or ‘even’ while ‘visham’ means ‘different’ or ‘odd’. Is Hindi giving gay people the affirmation they require, and saying that heterosexual people are the odd ones? In such cases, translation can become a challenge.
Most journalistic pieces use the English words in Roman script. I believe that Hindi is a welcoming language because it has embraced many words from English, even if they are not connected to queer life. When I write short stories in Hindi, I often have characters who tend to use a mix of Hindi and English. I have to be true to them.
I felt drawn towards Vani Prakashan because it is the only Hindi publishing house that has a vertical for LGBTQ+ publishing called Satrangi Vani. They did not want to publish a one-off queer book just because it was the flavour of the season. In 2021, Aditi Maheshwari from Vani Prakashan approached me after she read my article in The Hindu titled ‘What does it mean to be a gay doctor in India?’ She asked me if I planned to write a book on homosexuality. Her encouragement led me to write more queer-themed short stories and produce a full collection.
Good fiction always transcends identity politics. While writing short stories, a writer has to show a range of human experiences. In every community, there are all kinds of people; so, it does not make sense to avoid showing grey characters. If I show a queer sexual predator, I also show queer friends who show up when the biological family abandons a lesbian couple. People read stories because they want to experience emotions, not only for representation.
Public declaration is complicated, and sometimes people who are out do not recognize this. Season 2 of the Netflix show Sex Education depicts a relationship between Eric who is out, and Adam who is not. This does cause friction between them. I came across several such relationships while interviewing queer couples for a non-fiction book that I am working on. Some of the material that I gathered made its way into an article titled ‘How Grindr fosters negative body image among queer males’ for The Caravan in June 2023. I found that some queer people already had a lot of conflict in their personal lives. They didn’t want to invite more through the visibility that comes with activism. I tried to see things from their perspective when I was listening to them.
Financial security is a big thing for people, so they want to get that sorted before they take on the risks that could accompany the act of coming out. While we do speak of a community, queer people who are not financially well-off cannot assume that other queer people will help them. People who live on the margins do not have a uniform experience. When queer people move from a small town to a metro, they cannot make impulsive decisions. They need to do things slowly, on their terms, in ways that make them feel safe. Familial support plays an important role in the journey of self-acceptance, and many queer people fear losing that support.
I did not have any nuanced understanding of gender affirmation surgery, and neither did my fellow students. Professors did not discuss this topic. We did not ask either. We were concerned about being thought of as troublemakers [if we asked those questions]. Also, it is assumed that people who ask such questions belong to the LGBTQ+ community. Things changed when I attended a workshop where, for the first time, I saw images of penises and vaginas that were surgically constructed. It was overwhelming, but I also felt deeply grateful and humbled. It filled a gap in my understanding of LGBTQ+ life.
Coming back to my experience in medical college, I have written about this at length in another The Caravan article titled ‘The invisibilisation of LGBT communities in India’s medical colleges. I have studied in one of the best medical colleges in India, but we were not given any special training on how to work with LGBTQ+ patients. I remember a case when a dermatologist asked a male patient if he had physical contact with his wife recently. The patient did not share any information. I was in the same room, so I thought it might be a good idea to ask him if he had a partner. He said yes immediately. It is important to use gender-neutral terms in various instances because we cannot assume that patients are cisgender and heterosexual. If we do, we fail to provide the care that they need. Society is cruel to LGBTQ+ people; doctors should not add to this cruelty.
In the absence of formal training and sensitization programmes in medical colleges, it can be disastrous for a queer person who comes out. They could face bullying from peers, seniors and professors. This could affect their academic performance. People could make unwanted sexual advances. A short story I wrote titled ‘Woh Achchha Aadmi Tha’ explores the power dynamics between a male student and a professor in a medical college who rapes him. He meets the student on Grindr. The professor has the upper hand. The student cannot report what he has gone through. Manika Arora and Anjali Deshpande’s English translation of the story, titled ‘He Was A Good Man’ has been published in a journal called Dialog.
An old gentleman [who primarily reads in Hindi] got in touch with me to share that he had been in the closet all his life, and was unable to share his truth with people close to him, but he found acceptance when he read my short story Machhali Ke Kaante, which was first published in Hans magazine and is now part of Yeh Dil Hai Ki Chor Darwaza.
Even people who are well-read in Hindi literature often think of homosexuality only as an abstract concept and not as something that is part of people’s everyday experiences. They are not accepting of queer people. We need more literature [in Hindi] featuring queer people. Visibility will enable acceptance.
Kinshuk Gupta, 23, wears multiple hats. He is a poet, fiction writer, translator, and journalist. Apart from pursuing his love for the written word, he has also completed his M.B.B.S. degree from Maulana Azad Medical College and is currently a resident doctor at Lok Nayak Jai Prakash Hospital in New Delhi.
Kinshuk has received the Dr Anamika Poetry Prize (2021) and Ravi Prabhakar Smriti Laghukatha Samman (2022), and has been longlisted for the Toto Awards for Creative Writing (2021) and shortlisted for the All India Poetry Competition (2018); Srinivas Rayaprol Poetry Prize (2021) as well as The Bridport Prize (2022). Kinshuk edits the poetry section for literary journals Mithila Review and Jaggery Lit and works as an Associate Editor with Usawa Literary Review.
He is also a South Asia Speaks fellow, and is working on his debut collection of poetry with Tishani Doshi as his mentor.
But what stands out currently is his debut collection of short stories about queer lives in India – Yeh Dil Hai Ki Chor Darwaza (2023) – written in Hindi. By placing it in the context of the Hindi literary landscape, Kinshuk talks about the reception of queer stories and the quest for representation that is more reflective of the lived experiences of Indian queer people. In this interview, he opens up about his motivations behind writing queer stories in Hindi, and what it means to think about queerness in non-English contexts in India.
(This interview has been edited for length and clarity.)
In Hindi, unlike English, there are very few resources for people to learn about the lived experiences of LGBTQ+ people or have their questions answered. That is why, the kind of depictions that we see in literature are important. For many people, fiction is the only gateway to understanding, especially if they are struggling in the closet.
To the best of my knowledge, my book is one of the first modern Hindi collections, where all the short stories touch upon queer identity. People have written queer short stories but I cannot think of even one collection in Hindi where all the short stories have queer characters.
A lot of queer stories in Hindi have been written by heterosexual men and women. They do this to bring variation to their writing oeuvre. But instead of helping, it can harm the community. I won’t say that Hindi publishers are not interested in publishing books about queer people. Demand and what books sell fuel their interest. They publish fiction that highlights concerns of LGBTQ+ people, without proper understanding of lived realities.
I feel deeply resentful when the publishing world participates in furthering homophobia and transphobia. I want things to change, and I know that I need to be part of finding solutions by writing more queer stories (like the ones in Yeh Dil Hai Ki Chor Darwaza) in Hindi. I hope that writing this book is a step in the right direction.
It is completely bizarre to me but I guess that Hindi has now become associated with Hinduism in the current political atmosphere, and many people in the Hindi literary world feel that talking about homosexuality will damage not only Hindi literature but also Hindu families. This attitude is ruining not only the lives of queer people but also the secular fabric of India.
Sure! Chor darwaza means a hidden door. I live in Delhi now but I grew up in Kaithal, which is close to Kurukshetra in Haryana – the setting of the Mahabharat. My grandmother’s home had a few chor darwaze – secret exits used when someone wanted to escape and run away. For instance, in case of a life-threatening incident.
I use chor darwaza as a metaphor because there is a big taboo on talking about homosexuality in Hindi literature. Social structures and stigma force queer people to keep their secrets hidden in their hearts. These hearts become like closed chambers. They cannot talk about their loves and desires openly. If they want to be safe, they have to keep their relationships away from the public eye. In this respect, they are made to feel like thieves doing something forbidden.
The image of chor darwaza seemed ideal because I want to raise questions about the stigma and shame associated with homosexuality, even in this day and age in literature and society.
Hindi does not have readymade equivalents for words that are used by English-speaking LGBTQ+ people. When translating these words literally, sometimes the meaning is lost, unclear or even comical. In Hindi, a gay person would be called ‘samlaingik’ and a heterosexual person would be called ‘vishamlaingik’. ‘Sam’ means ‘same’ or ‘even’ while ‘visham’ means ‘different’ or ‘odd’. Is Hindi giving gay people the affirmation they require, and saying that heterosexual people are the odd ones? In such cases, translation can become a challenge.
Most journalistic pieces use the English words in Roman script. I believe that Hindi is a welcoming language because it has embraced many words from English, even if they are not connected to queer life. When I write short stories in Hindi, I often have characters who tend to use a mix of Hindi and English. I have to be true to them.
I felt drawn towards Vani Prakashan because it is the only Hindi publishing house that has a vertical for LGBTQ+ publishing called Satrangi Vani. They did not want to publish a one-off queer book just because it was the flavour of the season. In 2021, Aditi Maheshwari from Vani Prakashan approached me after she read my article in The Hindu titled ‘What does it mean to be a gay doctor in India?’ She asked me if I planned to write a book on homosexuality. Her encouragement led me to write more queer-themed short stories and produce a full collection.
Good fiction always transcends identity politics. While writing short stories, a writer has to show a range of human experiences. In every community, there are all kinds of people; so, it does not make sense to avoid showing grey characters. If I show a queer sexual predator, I also show queer friends who show up when the biological family abandons a lesbian couple. People read stories because they want to experience emotions, not only for representation.
Public declaration is complicated, and sometimes people who are out do not recognize this. Season 2 of the Netflix show Sex Education depicts a relationship between Eric who is out, and Adam who is not. This does cause friction between them. I came across several such relationships while interviewing queer couples for a non-fiction book that I am working on. Some of the material that I gathered made its way into an article titled ‘How Grindr fosters negative body image among queer males’ for The Caravan in June 2023. I found that some queer people already had a lot of conflict in their personal lives. They didn’t want to invite more through the visibility that comes with activism. I tried to see things from their perspective when I was listening to them.
Financial security is a big thing for people, so they want to get that sorted before they take on the risks that could accompany the act of coming out. While we do speak of a community, queer people who are not financially well-off cannot assume that other queer people will help them. People who live on the margins do not have a uniform experience. When queer people move from a small town to a metro, they cannot make impulsive decisions. They need to do things slowly, on their terms, in ways that make them feel safe. Familial support plays an important role in the journey of self-acceptance, and many queer people fear losing that support.
I did not have any nuanced understanding of gender affirmation surgery, and neither did my fellow students. Professors did not discuss this topic. We did not ask either. We were concerned about being thought of as troublemakers [if we asked those questions]. Also, it is assumed that people who ask such questions belong to the LGBTQ+ community. Things changed when I attended a workshop where, for the first time, I saw images of penises and vaginas that were surgically constructed. It was overwhelming, but I also felt deeply grateful and humbled. It filled a gap in my understanding of LGBTQ+ life.
Coming back to my experience in medical college, I have written about this at length in another The Caravan article titled ‘The invisibilisation of LGBT communities in India’s medical colleges. I have studied in one of the best medical colleges in India, but we were not given any special training on how to work with LGBTQ+ patients. I remember a case when a dermatologist asked a male patient if he had physical contact with his wife recently. The patient did not share any information. I was in the same room, so I thought it might be a good idea to ask him if he had a partner. He said yes immediately. It is important to use gender-neutral terms in various instances because we cannot assume that patients are cisgender and heterosexual. If we do, we fail to provide the care that they need. Society is cruel to LGBTQ+ people; doctors should not add to this cruelty.
In the absence of formal training and sensitization programmes in medical colleges, it can be disastrous for a queer person who comes out. They could face bullying from peers, seniors and professors. This could affect their academic performance. People could make unwanted sexual advances. A short story I wrote titled ‘Woh Achchha Aadmi Tha’ explores the power dynamics between a male student and a professor in a medical college who rapes him. He meets the student on Grindr. The professor has the upper hand. The student cannot report what he has gone through. Manika Arora and Anjali Deshpande’s English translation of the story, titled ‘He Was A Good Man’ has been published in a journal called Dialog.
An old gentleman [who primarily reads in Hindi] got in touch with me to share that he had been in the closet all his life, and was unable to share his truth with people close to him, but he found acceptance when he read my short story Machhali Ke Kaante, which was first published in Hans magazine and is now part of Yeh Dil Hai Ki Chor Darwaza.
Even people who are well-read in Hindi literature often think of homosexuality only as an abstract concept and not as something that is part of people’s everyday experiences. They are not accepting of queer people. We need more literature [in Hindi] featuring queer people. Visibility will enable acceptance.
Chintan Girish Modi (he/him) is a writer, journalist and educator exploring the inner and outer worlds of queer folks. He used to run an India–Pakistan friendship initiative called Aao Dosti Karein, and have worked on projects with the UNESCO Mahatma GandhiInstitute of Education for Peace and Sustainable Development, the Hri Institute for Southasian Research and Exchange, the Asia Pacific Transgender Network, and Women in Security, Conflict Management and Peace. Chintan has been published in anthologies such as Bent Book, Fearless Love, Clear Hold Build and Borderlines Volume 1, apart from numerous newspapers and magazines.
Dikshant Sehrawat (he/him) is a photographer based in New Delhi.
Shruti Sunderraman (she/her) is a journalist, writer, editor and strategist who splits her time between Bombay and Bangalore. She has edits and bylines in culture, health, gender and science across several publications over the last 10 years.
