Reconstruction Vol. 16, No. 2
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Gays and Society, Home and the Self: A Study of Rituparno Ghosh's "Gay Trilogy" / Akaitab Mukherjee and Rajni Singh
Abstract
The discourse of sexuality has long been dominated by heterosexuals, and this hierarchy has left homosexuals voiceless. This system has been sanctioned by the social authorities, as well, and heterosexuality has been institutionalized and the non-heteronormative orientations remain punishable offences. Nor is India is exceptional in this respect: Section 377 on Indian Penal Code considers homosexuality "against the order of nature" and hence a crime. After the Delhi High Court decriminalized Section 377 in 2009, Rituparno Ghosh spoke out for the rights of homosexuals and other sexual minorities. Through his acting, scriptwriting and directing, he established spaces in which society, home/family and self might balance social customs while facilitating dialogue with the gay communities. His Just Another Love Story (2010) exposes the societal reaction homosexuality, while Memories in March (2010) presents an Indian family's understanding and The Crowning Wish (2012) delineates self and state oppression. Furthermore, the appearance of Ghosh in these films complicates the issue of gender and performance, adding celebrity and stardom to the mix and exposing how gender as performance contests the heteronormative ideology of family and individual and is shaped by hegemony.
Keywords: gay, homosexuality, transgender, cinema
<1> Alternative sexualities can be found across Indian society from the days of Vatsyayana's Kamasutra or even before. Only a minority of individuals, however, represent themselves as "homosexual" (Kakar and Kakar 2007: 100). Indian society defines itself as heteronormative, and the mere thought of same-sex relations is seen as criminal. In ancient India, such activity itself was ignored or stigmatised as inferior but never actively persecuted. Vatsyayana discuss all natural and unnatural means toward satisfying unfufilled sexual desires. Much of contemporary attitudes towards homosexuality can be traced to ancient India where homosexuality evoked social scorn. Those involved in same-sex activities were relegated to a class of men called kliba in Sanskrit, seen as deficient because they failed to produce male offspring. While the term no longer exists, vestiges-the perception of deficiency and the combination of pity, dismay and revulsion towards a man who does not marry and procreate-remain. In her Queering India: Same-Sex Love and Eroticism in Indian Culture and Society (2001), Ruth Vanita argues that the relative tolerance, the grey area between simple acceptance and outright rejection of homosexual attraction, can be primarily attributed to the Hindu concept of rebirth. Cultural ideology strongly links sexual identity with the ability to marry and multiply. Unable to give birth to children, they are stigmatized. Section 377 of the Indian Penal code, drafted by Macaulay in 1883, makes this a matter of law:
Whoever voluntarily has carnal intercourse against the order of nature with any man, woman or animal shall be punished with the imprisonment of either description for a term which may extend to ten years, and shall be liable to a fine. (Kakar and Kakar 2007, 104)
<2> In cinema notions of representation is central. The complex, shifting business of re-presenting, re-working, re-combining depictions exists in tension with the reality to which such representations refer and which they affect. Richard Dyer, in his The Matter of Images, explores the concept of "out" groups and traditionally dominant groups alike. Embracing the eclectic texts of contemporary culture, be they queer or straight, politically correct, and reflections of Empire and the Colonial period, he recognizes that the representation of women and other oppressed groups was, and remains, a relentless parade of insults. He asserts that "what is re-presented in representation is not directly reality itself but other representation" (2002: 2). Representation, in the case of gay individuals, is itself significant. Cultural forms do not have single determinate meanings: we make sense of them in different ways, according to the cultural codes available to us. Gender binaries are categorized through the dichotomy of physical difference and performance, but with gays there is no such opportunity. Instead, the repertoire of gestures, expression, and stances, even individual environments, are taken as readily perceivable signs of gayness (19). As a result, a taxonomy of sexual types has developed within the mainstream imagination, and homosexuals, as with any other social minority, are routinely subject to stereotypes. The role of stereotype, Dyer reminds us, is to "make visible the invisible" (16). In fact, Walter Lipman, who first coined the term "stereotype," states that its purposes are various:
(i) Ordering the category: It alienates small group from the large part.
(ii) Short-cut way of identification: Typifying those people makes the process of recognising easy.
(iii) Reference: When the easily identifiable patterns are discovered, they are connected to a particular group.
(iv) Expresses our values: Generalisation unveils our idea about those people whom we represent with stereotypes. (quoted in Dyer 2002: 11-14).
<3> With the representation of homosexuality, the process of stereotyping makes the "typical" qualities visible even as it camouflages the self. In looking at how film directors routinely indulge typification of gays and other social minorities. Dyer describes four predominant types:
(i) In-Betweenism: Here the androgyny of the character is revealed through cross-dressing.
(ii) Machismo: It indicates exaggerated masculinity, and indeed its very exaggeratedness marks it off from the conventional masculine look on which it is based.
(iii) The sad and loney: Men belonging to this category lack the usual masculinity, where any "relationship to masculinity is more difficult, and thus sad" (2002: 42). They are neither androgynous nor are they masculine, as with the "macho" category.
(iv) Lesbian feminism: Here lesbianism is not an object of choice but the means to achieve full recognition of their repressed and despised femininity in the absence of a destructive masculinity (2002: 48).
<4> Cinema, as a prevailing medium of popular culture, serves as the mouthpiece for a heteronormative society and often remains sarcastic or cynical towards sexual minorities. Daring steps forward, where gays are presented with a greater degree of sensitivity, have been by a few directors, but these works are exhibited only in film festivals or released in multiplexes. They do reach remote towns and villages. Like the homosexuals depicted, they are indeed voiceless. Filmmaker Madhur Bhandarkar provided little more than a glimpse into gay relationships in his Page 3 (2005) and later in his award-winning Fashion (2008). Likewise, Onir's My Brother Nikhil (2005) and I Am (2010) only touched upon the subject. Premiering at the Kashish Mumbai International Queer Film Festival, Sanjay Sharma's Dunno Y Na Jaane Kyou (2010) became the first film in India to tackle issues of homosexuality, but it did so in a melodramatic fashion.
<5> It was "maverick" director Rituparno Ghosh (1961-2013) who gave voice to those previously silenced-through acting in and writing, as well as
directing works that challenged mainstream homophobia. His family had maintained close proximity with the Tollygunge film industry, allowing him to pursue
an interested in cinema. Although Hirer Angti (1992) marked his debut as a director, he only started his career as an actor quite late.
Previously, he had worked in an advertising agency. But critical acclaim and astounding viewer response welcomed this maiden venture. Since that time, he
has directed twenty movies and one documentary and has been the recipient of no less than thirteen national awards. His so-called "gay trilogy"-Just Another Love Story (
Arekti Premer Golpo, 2010), Memories in March (2010) and Chitrangada (2012)- was produced only after the
decriminalization of Section 377 of Indian Penal Code. It is obvious that this newfound freedom of choice, encouraged by the actions of the Delhi High
Court, inspired his honest portrayals of gay and transgender individuals on screen.
<6> Just Another Lover Story, a film directed by Koushik Ganguly, presents in documentary form the life of Chapal Bhaduri, stage veteran who had taken on female roles on the 1960s Bengali stage. Alongside the main plot runs parallel sub-plot, fictitious in nature. Both stories revolve round issues of homosexuality. The latter, emphasizing similarities with the life of Bhaduri, focuses on Abhiroop Sen (Rituparno Ghosh), a young, gay filmmaker who is himself making a docu-feature on the actor. Abhiroop is involved in a relationship with his cinematographer Basu (Indraneil Sengupta). The screenplay struggles to balance several life stories and different frames of time. As soon as the film begins, the two stories become entangled (Figure 1). While Chapal's narrative builds slowly in the film-within-the-film, Abhiroop's own life unravels as his relationship with Basu falls apart. The irony of Abhiroop's situation is driven home when he, apparently much more in control of his life and sexuality than Chapal, finds himself emotionally distraught by similar betrayals. "Has anything really changed?" the film seems to ask.
Figure 1: Film Poster for Just Another Love Story
<7> Opening the movie is the aged Chapal Bhaduri's performance of Shitala, the pox-goddess. His covering himself with heavy make-up, saree and jewellery and his soft, tiny and thin voice lends credence to his performance of the goddess and underscores an innate genius at female impersonation. But we must note here that he never once appears as a "drag queen. Nor does he parody hegemonic gender constructions in order to denaturalize or destabilize them, as drag queen are expected to do. His performances are not ironic, precisely because his lines were written by men and served to perpetuate fixed notions of womanhood held in place by an overarching patriarchy. Investing these lines with conviction and skills would allow, his performance erases the "masculine," insofar as possible, so that the feminine completely takes over the actor's body (Bose and Bhattacharya 2008: 71). His commitment extends beyond the stage as he deliberately makes use of his feminine-pitched voice. "I realized," he once related in an interview off-stage, "that mentally and psychologically, I was more woman than man" (Chatterji 2012). Tellingly, Bhaduri's gender "performitivity" ( seki satyer opomaan) cannot be analyzed in accordance with Dyer's predominant patterns of homosexuality. In truth, he had always acknowledged that he is female: "Sometimes I wonder why God had no mind on his work when he made me. He gave me everything," he would relate, "except the right body" (Chatterji 2012).
<8> Outside of the theatre, he dressed as a man, accepting mainstream social norms, for he felt powerless to break with the rules and regulations of society. With the death of his mother and , in particular, with the funerary rituals in place, he felt compelled to follow the customs assigned to and defining him. It was a massive blow to his adolescent mind.
<9> But Abhiroop is far more courageous than Bhaduri. He hardly takes note of how society reacts at his crossdressing. His use of make-up and dress like women is sheer performance, exaggerating the nature of the feminine. In doing so, he challenges the patriarchal social system that defines men and women as binary opposites and marginalizes those who fall in-between. Much concerned about the marginalization and victimization of of those who do not comply with heteronormative expectations, he regards them as the "third sex," an amalgamation of the characteristics of the two genders and androgynous by nature. He uses his femininity, however, to rock the social hierarchy and at the same time to draws attention to himself him. His existence is paradoxical to the heteronormative paradigm. Uday, who later became part of Abhiroop's team, comments on his hairstyle: "I don't like your hairstyle. It seems you are too desperate to prove a point" (2012). Androgynous hair and dress alike lend a sense of the bizarre.
<10> Abhiroop's behavior infringes upon the laws of society as he engages in a same-sex relationship with the cinematographer. Curious to learn more about those individuals who challenge social norms, he simultaneously becomes sympathetic-some may aregue empathetic-with them. Insofar as he longs to know more about the closeted life of Bhaduri, his documentary shifts from the stage performance for which he is perhaps best known to his personal life.
<11> Abhiroop's making of the documentary is inscribed with the same sarcasm towards alternative sexualities that exists invariably in the mind of people cross social strata and gender. Neighbors of Bhaduri take exception with members of his team who shoot the work, for no other reason than the subject matter being explored. During this time, his professional team did not permit him to appear before those protesting. Later, Uday also discouraged him from lodging an official complaint against the villagers with the police for his not being allowed to shoot Bhaduri's live performance. In both instances, it is Abhiroop's crossdressing and overtly effeminacy that give rise to public ridicule. And when Rani, Basu's wife, exerts claims of her inherent right to her husband's attentions, Abhiroop grows helpless. She is the mother of Basu's child, after all, whereas any claims Abhiroop may entertain of a relationship is taboo. That said, she appears far more sensitive towards his plight than others do. Understanding the nature of Rani's deceptions, however, he screams out in anguish: "If I were a woman, would you have reacted the same way?" (2012)
<12> Likewise, in Memories in March, directed by Sanjay Nag and recipient of the National Award in 2011, Ghosh takes on the role of a mournful lover-a role he had, in fact, so very tenderly crafted for the film. The work explores the sufferings of a mother whose son, who had worked with an advertising agency in Kolkata, following his demise in a road accident. She rushes to the city to collect his remains. As Arati Mishra (Deepti Naval) does so, she uncovers chapters in her son's life that she had not previously been privy to. Confounded and shocked, she comes to understand that her son, a gay man, was involved in a relationship with his boss, Ornab Mitra (Rituparno Ghosh). The focus of the film to the bonding between a mother and her deceased son's lover (Figure 2). Initially reluctant to accept the truth of the situation, with time this truth becomes and integral part of Arati and Ornab; and as it does so, the movie becomes their forward-moving journey from crisis to reconciliation.
Figure 2: Film Poster for Memories in March
<13> Doubtless, Ghosh's portrayal of a middle-class family's response to homosexuality rings true, as intimate issues of a personal same-sex relationship are treated matter-of-factly. To this end, scenes are shot in personal and private zones rather than public spaces so as to lay bare the horrific realities of a rampant homophobia that dictates the behaviors of mainstream society. In fact, it pervades the altercation between the bereaved mother and her son's lover. Recapitulations of memory of that son only serve to provide a clearer picture of such pervasive homophobia. Although the film gives a nod toward traditional familial beliefs about sexuality, the construction of the family unit is anything but. As Sudhir Kakar notes, the traditional Indian family is "large and noisy, with parents and children, uncles, aunts and sometimes cousins, presided over by benevolent grandparents, all of them living together under a single roof (1989: 8). His vision is of an ideal extended family prevalent in suburbs. By contrast, the nuclear urban family here comprises a single divorced mother and a son who later moves away. During one of her exchanges with Ornab, Arathi asserts that she remains conservative in nature and her views toward homosexuality equate it with perversion and abnormality, a disease in need of treatment. She soon shifts "blame" with her suspicions that Ornab had in some way deceived her son. She cannot see beyond her own preconceived notions of his being arrogant and obnoxious. In fact, she fails to see certain behaviors through an altogether alien lens, the eyes of those who struggle to survive and find some modicum of happiness along the periphery. Her vision is limited; it is ever controlled by the dominate heteronormative social hierarchy.
<14> Ornab, however, is able to convince Arati that gay individuals are not the "other," as society has ostracized them. Her access to her son's mail, something he had hesitated to send to her, relating his confession of an unusual love story, eventually facilitates a change in her attitude towards Ornab. In the letter, her son has decribed him in detail:
I don't know how you will even take this but I found someone very special ... very special ... not as special as you are, mom, but almost. And just like you [he is] loving, sensitive, caring, [with] a fine sense of aesthetics, well read and has an impeccable taste for sarees. Also just like you [he is] nagging, impatient, can't live without air conditioning, … always keeps me on a tight leash ..., a total drama queen. Samaj rahi ho na maa bilkul aap ki photocopy (sic).
His description plays to Ornab's feminine qualities that ultimately renders him-at least in her eyes-androgynous. The use of Maithili songs during Ornab's visit to the site of the accident, however, do much to project his being a woman. References to Krishna and Vrindavan in those songs immediately draw parallels of Ornab as Radha. Radha becomes the archetypal image of the beloved so often invoked in Indian love stories. The bereaved mother, likewise, realizes that the homosexual relationship shared between her son and his beloved is no sickness. It is what it is, a difference in sexual orientation. "A film like Memories in March, as film critic Taran Adarsh observes, "treads on a hitherto unknown path, and I genuinely feel that such stories need to be told. [The act of] coming out of the closet … would encourage more people to open up and accept their sexuality with pride" (2011).
<15> The final film in his gay trilogy, Chitrāngadā (2012), is based loosely on a one-act verse drama of the same title, penned by the great Indian litterateur, poet and Nobel recipient, Rabindranath Tagore. It took the National Award in the Special Jury Award section in 2012 (Figure 3). But it is important to recognize that Tagore himself had borrowed the plot of Chitrāngadā from the Sanskrit epic, the Mahābhārata. In the "Adi Parva" of the Mahābhārata, it is said that Arjuna met Princess Chitrāngadā during his expedition to Manipur. Provanjan, the king of Manipur and her father, had previously learned from Lord Shiva that only sons would be bless his family. Instead, a woman is born, debunking divine decree. Since the king did not have other progeny, he decides to rear her as a boy: she learns to bow and arrow and practices the art of war. Thereafter, she falls in love with Arjuna. The king grants permission to their marriage, provided that Arjuna's son would become king and head the Manipur dynasty.
Figure 3: Film Poster for The Crowning Wish
<16> Tagore's focus had been on the brief episode of Chitrāngadā's "gender trouble," with the metamorphosis from man to woman. He underscores the nature of her internal conflict when she sees Arjuna. With their initial encounter, the masculine traits make themselves apparent, her fascination with his love awakens passions of her own toward him. Despite a warrior-like spirit, her feminine traits surface. But she suffers from the impending sense of guilt. Ultimately, however, she reveals her truth to him, and Arjuna accepts her.
<17> Ghosh consciously selects Tagore's play for his film and gives to it a renewed vitality. Unlike his other adaptations, here he melds myth with reality. Within the work itself, as the choreographer, Rudra Chatterjee (Rituparno Ghosh), prepares a staging of Tagore's original on the eve of 150th birthday of the Nobel Laureate, he meets Partho (Jisshu Sengupta), the percussionist. They fall in love. However difficult it is for the parents to accept their son's homosexuality, the film itself becomes one of acceptance in the odyssey of one man's personal growth and the identification of his authentic self. The journey paralleling Ghosh's own beyond the frame of the camera, the autobiographical tone of the film is wholly unmistakeable.
<18> The depiction of Rudra's parents implicitly reflects the relationship between Ghosh and his parents. "Chitrāngadā carries," he mentions in an interview, "a silent dedication to them [parents]"(Ghosh). Rudra's father has always seen his son's effeminacy as a disease. He could not accept a sexual orientation different from the mainstream. Both the father and the son live at opposite poles when it comes to gender: the father does not accept his son's profession as a dancer, and his son's effeminacy prevents him from attending his son's staged performance. He worries both with the opinions of the larger society and about his son's becoming the butt of public mockery and ultimate humiliation. A major Freudian slip occurs when he says that they have bought new curtains to do up Rudra's room. Rudra's mother shares a similar vexation and cannot accept his decision to undergo reassignment surgery. "I gave birth to this body," she reminds him, "which is yours. ...I have a right to know, whatever goes on in this body. I have a right to know, if it is changing, transforming..."(Ghosh). But later, they accept his wish and recognize that they had previously privileged fixed typical qualities of men and wanted their son to perform them. They had never wanted to know what their son wanted to become. At the end, they give him the ultimate freedom, the freedom to choose his gender. Aparna Sen speaks succinctly to this point:
I knew uncle and aunty [the parents of Rituparno Ghosh] very well. They have come alive through your movie. Those sections are so very appealing!
<19> In truth, however, Rudra's overwhelming desire to change sex came about from blind love. Specifically, Rudra wants to adopt a baby since Partha loves children, but in accordance with the guidelines of Central Adoption Resource Authority (Chapter 4, Section 1), "Same-sex couples are not eligible to adopt." His crossdressing may suggest that he is transgender. Aparna Sen confirms that Ghosh in his early life also had a tremendous desire to become a woman but sometime later has resigned himself to his physical fate. The sex of his body may be male, but his gender mind set was decidedly female. Rudra eventually decides to embrace his former self, not as his having acquiesced to the demands of heteronormative norms. Certainly, Partha's rejection is significant, but by embracing his authentic self, he no longer feels that such a change is necessary.
<20> Rudra believes that gender is a matter of choice and tries to brush-off existing dictates of sexual orientation as prescribed by social hierarchy. His freedom of choice is his "crowning wish." He consciously embraces the understanding that gender distinctions, as binary oppositions and therefore self-erected boundaries in their own right, are inherently unnatural and that everyone is dissatisfied with their unhappy with their gender at birth: "Most of us are unhappy with what nature gives us. Or guys wouldn't want a macho six pack to become a man, girls wouldn't wax and primp to become a woman!" (Ghosh). The sophistication of his understanding echoes Judith Butler's thesis on gender. Like her, Rudra believes in gender as a choice, but as Butler recognizes, it is not at all possible for gender necessarily precedes any choice of "gender style," itself always and already limited from the beginning. Butler explains it thusly:
...[t]o choose a gender is to interpret received gender norms in a way that organizes them a new. Less a radical act of creation, gender is a tacit project to renew one's cultural history in one's own terms. This is not a prescriptive task we must endeavour to do, but one in which we have been endeavouring all along. (quoted in Salih 2006: 47)
His "tacit project," his personal quest physically to become a woman "interpret[s] received gender norms," and the various reactions-from his parents, by society and finally in very rules of governance-mirror the limitations of "cultural history" wherein we all exist and, in doing so, become critique of those limitations.
<21> It is not a matter of hyperbole that Ghosh's performances lend to the authenticity of his gay trilogy. From the perspective of stardom, it is a phenomenon best investigated not through a single critical optic, but from a multifaceted approach. Heterogeneous and dispersed forces are implicated in the making of celebrity certainly, and the process itself is so very multiple-centred, as opposed to being singularly controlled, that even the individual fan may feel enfranchised from the image of particular stars. Richard Dyer suggests in Stars that such images are composed by four differing types of "media text": promotion, publicity, films and criticism and commentaries (cf. Dix 2010: 98). Dyer's use of the term star owes much to Max Weber's understanding of "charisma" as "a certain quality of an individual personality by virtue of which he [sic] is set apart from ordinary men and treated as endowed with supernatural, superhuman or at least superficially exceptional qualities" (Gledhill 1991: 59). Their corporality is itself inscribed with an ideological charge, as are their ways of speaking and moving, and their trajectory in those film plots with which they are most commonly associated. "The Building of Popular Images" so that, a star "becomes a symbol to an unseen mass audience whose only contact with him/her is through the indirect means of the media" (Gledhill 1991: 41). In this manner, they assume a pedagogic function insofar as they instruct their audiences in the socially preferred forms of being. That is to say that without being "role models" in any banal or explicit sense their roles, nonetheless, function in a particularly vivid way in ideological reproduction.
<22> In fact, the ideological implication of Ghosh's on- and off-screen gender performance is significant and substantial. His representation of gay characters blurs any distinction between the life of reel and real life. His crossdressing and his embrace of the androgynous have been subject of much intense discussion in the pages of mass media. When asked to categorize himself according to the terms now current in discourses on sexual identity politics, he reminds us:
Our understanding of sexuality is sadly limited by the binary heterosexuality/homosexuality. I believe, our identities are subject to the body which again is a boundary.... I believe in transcending that boundary. ... the body is in a state of transition, perennially ... [and] so is my identity.
<23> At the time Just Another Love Story was being filmed, rumors of his imminent sex reassignment spread far and wide. When asked about the truth behind them, he was quick to note that
It is assumed that feminine gay men desire to be women. It is an inability to see beyond the binaries of male-female, hetero-homo. So, they feel that all feminine gay men must have a desire to become a woman, and since Rituparno Ghosh has the money, he must have undergone the surgery. I am a strong supporter of sex reassignment surgery but everything I support does not necessarily apply to me. (Ghosh)
His carefully constructed façade of sexual ambiguity before the media and his embrace of gender fluidity proved controversial issues for the Tollygunge film industry in the wake of Arekti Premer Golpo. His public appearances while crossdressing only further stoked discussions of his sexual ambiguity. Complicating matters, his androgynous appearance as he walked the runway during the 2009 Kolkata Fashion Week garnered considerable attention. His iconic status would remarkably overpower any representations on the stage, even as they challenge conservative social attitude Aware that he would lose a section of his audience who did not feel comfortable with authenticity and the honest exhibition of his sexuality in real or reel life, he continued to assert gender fluidity. Because his body of work most often dealt with issues facing middle-class Bengali bhôdrôlok (ভদ্রলোক, a new class of "gentlefolk" arising during the British colonial era), the predominate source of his audience and his fan base, it is likely that his non-heteronormative storylines and his personal celebrity will at some point give way to positive changes in middle-class ideology.
Principal Cast and Crew of Just Another Love Story (2010)
Directors: Rituparno Ghosh and Kaushik Ganguly
Abhiroop Sen (Rituparno Ghosh)
Basu (Indraneil Sengupta)
Principal Cast and Crew of Memories in March (2010)
Director: Sanjoy Nag
Screenplay: Rituparno Ghosh
Ornub Mitra (Rituparno Ghosh)
Arati Mishra (Deepti Naval)
Sahana Choudhury (Paima Sen)
Principal Cast and Crew of The Crowning Wish (2012)
Director: Rituparno Ghosh
Screenplay: Rituparno Ghosh
Choreographer (Rituparno Ghosh)
Drummer (Jishu Sengupta)
Acknowledgement: Unless otherwise noted, all images were acquired under a Creative Commons license.
Works Cited
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Ghosh, Rituparno. "I Can't Have a Relationship Because People Get Overwhelmed by My Stardom." Interview with Kaustav Bakshi. Hindustan Times 9 June 2013.
---. "Interview by Shohini Ghosh." Newindianindiefilms.wordpress.com. Newindianindiefilms, n.d. Retrieved 12 Mar. 2014.
---. "The Third Sex." The Telegraph 5 Oct. 2009.
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Kakar, Sudhir. Intimate Relations: Exploring Indian Sexuality. New Delhi: Penguin Books, 1989.
---, and Katharina Kakar. The Indians: Portrait of a People. New Delhi: Penguin Books, 2007.
Memories in March. Dir. Sanjoy Nag, 2010. Film.
Salih, Sara. Judith Butler. New York, NY: Routledge, 2006.
Sen, Aparna. "Ebar Rituparno Ghosh." Prothoma Ekhon 15 July 2013: 10-16.
Sengupta, Reshmi. "The Third Sex." The Telegraph 5 Oct. 2009.
Srivastava, Sanjay, ed. Sexual Sites, Seminal Attitudes: Sexualities, Masculinities and Culture in South Asia. London: Sage Publications, 2004.
Tagore, Rabindranath. Rabindra Natak Sangraha. 2 Vols. Calcutta: Kamini Prakashalaya, 1990.
Vanita, Ruth. Queering India: Same-Sex Love and Eroticism in Indian Culture and Society. London: Routledge, 2001.
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