Gym infrastructure and its culture reinforce rigid gender norms, forcing trans men to restrict themselves from fully owning this space.
On a scorching day in early March, I was at the Clive House Playground in South Dum Dum, Kolkata watching a bunch of queer folks play cricket. I was invited by Sanchayan Majumdar, a 34-year-old trans man, who was competing in the All Bengal Trans & Queer Cricket Premier League. The event was organised by Transmasculine Initiative For Solidarity, Advocacy and Resources, an NGO in West Bengal. I had met Sanchayan before to interview him for this story. When he asked me if I’d like to see him play, I was game.
"I feel like I'm truly living my life to the fullest when I'm on the field, playing cricket,” he told me after the game. “All my tensions and worries disappear—it lifts my mood and fills me with so much happiness."
Sanchayan helped his team win their match, scoring 36 runs in three overs and taking 3 wickets. With his chiseled physique framed by a grey jersey and beige cargo pants, Sanchayan exuded a quiet confidence as he spoke.
Sanchayan was one of the ten transgender and nonbinary trans-masculine individuals I interviewed to understand their experiences of accessing gyms, which tend to be hypermasculine or hyperfeminine in India. For most of them, a gym is not just a place to build strength—it is also a space where they affirm their identities.
Moreover, research suggests that working out is beneficial for individuals who are taking testosterone as part of their gender affirming hormone therapy.
Sanchayan began working out in 2016 when he was 25 years old. He wanted to create a more masculine physique for himself. In addition, his trans friends had advised him that losing breast fat through exercise was necessary to qualify for keyhole mastectomy—a surgical method of chest reconstruction that leaves minimal scarring. He has spent several hours in the gym almost every day for the last 10 years, diligently working on his muscles to achieve the physique he has today.
However, the experiences of most trans men and nonbinary people I spoke with are marred by mainstream gym culture, which reinforces rigid gender binary norms in training approaches, locker rooms, and the attitudes of trainers and gym users.
Although most Indian gyms are not designed or run with trans and non-binary people in mind, they are still carving out spaces for themselves—reshaping both their bodies and what it means to belong in fitness culture in the process. For some of them, the underlying motivation is their desire to fit in, be liked and respected, and be seen as a “man”.
December 1, 2018 was a landmark day for many trans men in India. That day, Aryan Pasha became the first Indian trans man to take the stage in a bodybuilding event. Aryan came second in the Men’s Physique (short) category of Musclemania India, the local edition of a major international bodybuilding competition.
Aryan’s triumph, according to Sanchayan, symbolised the idea that a trans man’s body could be shaped and built up just like a cis man’s. “Not all of us want a bulky frame, but I can vouch that the majority of trans men admire the body that Aryan has,” said Sanchayan.
Although Sanchayan was aiming for a keyhole mastectomy, he couldn’t lose the amount of fat required to qualify for it. When he had initially discussed the possibility of getting the surgery with his surgeon, he was told it wouldn’t be possible because of his body weight. But he decided to try anyway. In 2019, after three years of working out, he finally gave up and settled for a double-incision surgery, which meant more visible scars.
“Keyhole surgery is only suitable for someone with less breast tissue,” said Sunil Malla Bujar Barua, an endocrine surgeon practising in Guwahati, Assam. “I don’t think it is a good idea for a trans man with heavy breasts to opt for this method.” He further explained that while one could achieve some weight loss by working out, it would still be hard to reconstruct the chest in a traditionally masculine shape because there would be a lot of loose skin left behind.
Committed to getting the physique he desires for himself, Sanchayan got back to the gym after his surgery. His bulging biceps are a testament to his dedication to the long haul. “I want to build a more masculine physique for myself—where my muscles are so defined that my veins visibly stand out,” he told me, clenching both fists so that I could see his progress so far.
Sanchayan sees achieving his dream body as the ultimate affirmation of his masculinity. When I probed deeper, asking Sanchayan why he sees masculinity as being intrinsically linked with muscles, his responses betrayed his desire to not just be accepted but also respected and desired as a man.
While he has made a lot of progress in the ten years he has been working out, he believes young cis men in his gym have outstripped his progress in a much shorter time. As a result, they look down on him, he feels. “They treat me like I am a kid, and give respect to guys who look bulkier and have been able to show faster progress,” he lamented. “To what extent can I ignore the humiliation?”
Sanchayan has felt the pressure to be more muscularly masculine, not just from strangers, but from those close to him as well. “My ex-girlfriend wanted her partner to have a muscular physique. Most girls are into men with such body types,” he said.
Sanchayan works at an international interior design brand, where his colleagues perceive him as a gay man. They don't know about his transition, he believes, but they have made stereotypical assumptions—based on his lean body, minimal body hair, and the absence of a thick beard. The constant stereotyping is one of the reasons he feels the need to build a bulkier—more masculine—physique. “It’s not just about aesthetics; it’s about being accepted as a man, so I can live a dignified life,” he said.
While the desire to appear masculine drives some trans men to work out, many others go to a gym simply to safely navigate transition. A 2021 study published in the International Journal of Obesity, which followed 223 trans men through five years of hormone therapy, concluded that weight gain is a common side effect of gender-affirming hormone therapy in transgender individuals, particularly among trans men.
The weight gain “is consistent with previous studies, and testosterone is the most likely reason for the weight gain, as it occurred so soon after initiating therapy,” said Michael S. Irwig, associate professor of medicine, Harvard Medical School, in an interview with Medscape Medical News. Irwing is also a senior author of the study.
On a scorching day in early March, I was at the Clive House Playground in South Dum Dum, Kolkata watching a bunch of queer folks play cricket. I was invited by Sanchayan Majumdar, a 34-year-old trans man, who was competing in the All Bengal Trans & Queer Cricket Premier League. The event was organised by Transmasculine Initiative For Solidarity, Advocacy and Resources, an NGO in West Bengal. I had met Sanchayan before to interview him for this story. When he asked me if I’d like to see him play, I was game.
"I feel like I'm truly living my life to the fullest when I'm on the field, playing cricket,” he told me after the game. “All my tensions and worries disappear—it lifts my mood and fills me with so much happiness."
Sanchayan helped his team win their match, scoring 36 runs in three overs and taking 3 wickets. With his chiseled physique framed by a grey jersey and beige cargo pants, Sanchayan exuded a quiet confidence as he spoke.
Sanchayan was one of the ten transgender and nonbinary trans-masculine individuals I interviewed to understand their experiences of accessing gyms, which tend to be hypermasculine or hyperfeminine in India. For most of them, a gym is not just a place to build strength—it is also a space where they affirm their identities.
Moreover, research suggests that working out is beneficial for individuals who are taking testosterone as part of their gender affirming hormone therapy.
Sanchayan began working out in 2016 when he was 25 years old. He wanted to create a more masculine physique for himself. In addition, his trans friends had advised him that losing breast fat through exercise was necessary to qualify for keyhole mastectomy—a surgical method of chest reconstruction that leaves minimal scarring. He has spent several hours in the gym almost every day for the last 10 years, diligently working on his muscles to achieve the physique he has today.
However, the experiences of most trans men and nonbinary people I spoke with are marred by mainstream gym culture, which reinforces rigid gender binary norms in training approaches, locker rooms, and the attitudes of trainers and gym users.
Although most Indian gyms are not designed or run with trans and non-binary people in mind, they are still carving out spaces for themselves—reshaping both their bodies and what it means to belong in fitness culture in the process. For some of them, the underlying motivation is their desire to fit in, be liked and respected, and be seen as a “man”.
December 1, 2018 was a landmark day for many trans men in India. That day, Aryan Pasha became the first Indian trans man to take the stage in a bodybuilding event. Aryan came second in the Men’s Physique (short) category of Musclemania India, the local edition of a major international bodybuilding competition.
Aryan’s triumph, according to Sanchayan, symbolised the idea that a trans man’s body could be shaped and built up just like a cis man’s. “Not all of us want a bulky frame, but I can vouch that the majority of trans men admire the body that Aryan has,” said Sanchayan.
Although Sanchayan was aiming for a keyhole mastectomy, he couldn’t lose the amount of fat required to qualify for it. When he had initially discussed the possibility of getting the surgery with his surgeon, he was told it wouldn’t be possible because of his body weight. But he decided to try anyway. In 2019, after three years of working out, he finally gave up and settled for a double-incision surgery, which meant more visible scars.
“Keyhole surgery is only suitable for someone with less breast tissue,” said Sunil Malla Bujar Barua, an endocrine surgeon practising in Guwahati, Assam. “I don’t think it is a good idea for a trans man with heavy breasts to opt for this method.” He further explained that while one could achieve some weight loss by working out, it would still be hard to reconstruct the chest in a traditionally masculine shape because there would be a lot of loose skin left behind.
Committed to getting the physique he desires for himself, Sanchayan got back to the gym after his surgery. His bulging biceps are a testament to his dedication to the long haul. “I want to build a more masculine physique for myself—where my muscles are so defined that my veins visibly stand out,” he told me, clenching both fists so that I could see his progress so far.
Sanchayan sees achieving his dream body as the ultimate affirmation of his masculinity. When I probed deeper, asking Sanchayan why he sees masculinity as being intrinsically linked with muscles, his responses betrayed his desire to not just be accepted but also respected and desired as a man.
While he has made a lot of progress in the ten years he has been working out, he believes young cis men in his gym have outstripped his progress in a much shorter time. As a result, they look down on him, he feels. “They treat me like I am a kid, and give respect to guys who look bulkier and have been able to show faster progress,” he lamented. “To what extent can I ignore the humiliation?”
Sanchayan has felt the pressure to be more muscularly masculine, not just from strangers, but from those close to him as well. “My ex-girlfriend wanted her partner to have a muscular physique. Most girls are into men with such body types,” he said.
Sanchayan works at an international interior design brand, where his colleagues perceive him as a gay man. They don't know about his transition, he believes, but they have made stereotypical assumptions—based on his lean body, minimal body hair, and the absence of a thick beard. The constant stereotyping is one of the reasons he feels the need to build a bulkier—more masculine—physique. “It’s not just about aesthetics; it’s about being accepted as a man, so I can live a dignified life,” he said.
While the desire to appear masculine drives some trans men to work out, many others go to a gym simply to safely navigate transition. A 2021 study published in the International Journal of Obesity, which followed 223 trans men through five years of hormone therapy, concluded that weight gain is a common side effect of gender-affirming hormone therapy in transgender individuals, particularly among trans men.
The weight gain “is consistent with previous studies, and testosterone is the most likely reason for the weight gain, as it occurred so soon after initiating therapy,” said Michael S. Irwig, associate professor of medicine, Harvard Medical School, in an interview with Medscape Medical News. Irwing is also a senior author of the study.
Sanchayan began working out in a small gym close to his home in Bally, a semi-urban town on the banks of the Hooghly River in West Bengal’s Howrah district.
The space was divided into two distinct sections—one for men and one for women—and was run by a couple who also served as trainers. The two sections were stark opposites: the women’s section was equipped mostly with treadmills, cycling machines, and yoga mats, while all the heavy weightlifting equipment meant for muscle building was placed in the men’s section.
Sanchayan, who hadn’t begun his transition at the time, defaulted to the women’s section in the segregated gym, where he said his masculine body language and mannerisms made him a target for discrimination from the women.
He recalled the female trainer skipping his turn when she was giving muscle relaxation massages—and evading him when he tried to remind her. Similarly, the male trainer, during a casual interaction, told him to change the way he sat because it was “too manly” and “didn’t suit a girl.”
“I found their behaviour toxic and decided to quit the gym within one week,” Sanchayan said. He then started working out on his own, in an open ground near his home, sans equipment, with only YouTube workout videos to guide him.
The gender binary is deeply ingrained in almost every aspect of the gym experience. These gendered obstacles mean that even when access is assured and there is no obvious discrimination to deal with, most gyms continue to induce feelings of gender dysphoria in trans men.
Gender dysphoria is the feeling of distress or unease that gender nonconforming individuals often feel due to the mismatch between their gender identity and the gender they were assigned at birth.
When Yalhim, a 23-year-old trans man, walks into a gym, the flat chests of cis men trigger his dysphoria. He feels isolated because there aren’t any people like him in his gym, he said. “Even the thought of stretching or performing certain exercises in front of other men can be deeply unsettling.”
Many trans men who haven’t had top surgery wear binders as a way of dealing with dysphoric feelings about their chests. Binders, mostly worn by trans men and nonbinary trans masculine people, are designed to compress and flatten the chest. While they help trans men present in a way that is aligned with their gender identity, they come with their challenges. For example, it is uncomfortable to wear them for long periods, especially in some environments like a gym.
“If I go to the gym wearing a binder, my entire stress is on the discomfort that binder is causing, instead of actually focusing on the workout,” said Kabir Maan, a 34-year-old Delhi-based trans man who works as an educator “It does not really serve the purpose of working out.” Despite the discomfort, Kabir believes binders are an unavoidable necessity for trans men who want to work out since the alternative is greater dysphoria.
While most of the trans men I spoke to for this story said that the experience of navigating a gym felt significantly easier after top transition, bottom dysphoria remains a challenge: navigating locker rooms, massage services, and steam rooms.
For Riddhiman, a 29-year-old trans man from Delhi’s Model Town, who has had a top surgery and not the bottom one, using the locker rooms at his gym and accessing services like saunas are all dysphoric experiences. He is currently on a low dose of testosterone and still menstruates. Using a men's washroom, especially when he is on his period, is extremely uncomfortable.
Amrit Jethani, a trans man who works as a physical trainer at a gym in Pune, believes gyms are inherently uncomfortable spaces for trans men who are transitioning. “Working out is supposed to give me a good feeling, but instead I have to deal with people asking me rude questions about personal identity,” he said. “The struggle starts with washrooms, which is such a bare minimum thing, but they are often not trans-friendly.”
It isn’t just the infrastructure that creates barriers. In Amrit’s opinion, trainers are simply not equipped to understand and respond to the needs of a trans person’s body. “They understand science, but they understand the science of cisgender bodies. It is very important to understand the science of transgender people, the struggle that their bodies and minds go through,” he said.
Apart from his job in the gym, Amrit also offers online training to queer clients, most of whom are transitioning. “Many [trans] people are opting for training online because gyms are such an unpleasant experience for them,” Amrit said.
Amrit has not come out to anyone at his workplace. He doesn’t think anyone would understand his identity.
Kabir believes that the only way things will start to change for the better is if queer folks come forward and try to find solutions that address the fitness needs of the community. He believes that community-owned infrastructure and initiatives can help create comfortable spaces for queer folks, while also building allyship. “It is our responsibility now to go out and create spaces for ourselves, maybe we will need support from the other side, but it is important for us to lead, ” he said.
Despite years of dedication, Sanchayan said he is yet to achieve his ideal physique. He feels that even the slightest break in his gym routine or testosterone therapy causes his body to lose definition. The desire to build muscle mass and develop prominent bulges like cisgender men has now become a source of anxiety for him. “I feel I am not doing enough, but I doubt I can pump more in the gym,” he said.
The gym Sanchayan trains in now is a modest facility with mostly manual equipment. Stepping into this space after transitioning used to be daunting for him. He worried about being recognised for who he was before. “I didn’t want to be labelled. I wanted my identity to be clear—I am a man,” he said.
It took a lot of perseverance for Sanchayan to reach a place of confidence. Working out shirtless was once unimaginable for him. It wasn’t about people’s perceptions, he said, but rather an internal battle. The first time he removed his shirt in the gym, he waited until the space was empty. He stared at himself in the mirror, conscious of his scars, consumed by fear and questions—what if someone asked about them? What if someone took a picture?
The next time he took his shirt off, there were a few people around. When they asked him about his scars, he lied that they were from an accident because he didn’t think it was important to share something so personal with strangers. Over time, dealing with these questions has gotten easier for him.
Now, when he wants to take his shirt off and stand in front of the mirror to check out his progress, he doesn’t wait for the gym to empty anymore. That fear has faded away but the desire to gain respect by appearing muscularly masculine keeps him going. “I like working out because it makes me feel sporty but I would have been much less anxious about the physique if the societal norms of what a man is and how he should look like were not so rigid,” he said.
Writer
Ekta Sonawane (they/she/he) is a non-binary gender fluid journalist from Maharashtra.
Editors
Visvak (they/he) is a writer and editor, mostly of narrative nonfiction.
Illustrator
Jose (she/they) is a non-binary illustrator from Kerala whose work highlights personal stories marked by gender, body experiences, and their South Indian heritage. While not lost in their sketchbook, they can be found devouring all things camp and horror.
Producer
Ankur Paliwal (he/him) is an independent journalist, and founder and managing editor of queerbeat.
