June, the sixth month of the Gregorian calendar, is welcomed with enthusiasm by the LGBTQIA+ community and its allies. Chennai plays host to a packed calendar of events that typically culminates at the Pride March, conducted annually on the month’s last Sunday.
In the lead-up to that day, plans begin to take shape — coordinating travel with friends, family, and partners, deciding what to wear, and making posters. On the day, many arrive early to greet familiar faces, have volunteers paint their cheeks in rainbow colours, pick up flags, wigs, and other props from the organisers, and gather before walking together.
While this has become a familiar routine for participants, a similar routine seems to unfold for those outside whose homes the parade takes place.
Living majorly under thatched roofs on S Kuvam Road, the first path the walk sets off along, are residents who look forward to the last Sunday of June, too. Regular attendees would recognise them instantly: the bystanders who cheer from the sidelines, dance along with the crowd, stop participants for selfies, and occasionally find themselves held back by the police who escort the procession.
One of them, Karpagam, a resident, shares, “We will come to know a few days ahead that the rally will happen on so-and-so date. Once we know for sure, most of us call all our relatives from Perumbakkam, Vyasarpadi, and Chintadripet. We tell them that the event is happening and invite them here so they can enjoy the celebrations, too.”
Karpagam even admits to pacing down the road to Rajarathinam Stadium, where the walk begins, in excitement. “I keep walking down the road from the afternoon to check if volunteers have come, if the crowd has arrived. I love to get a sneak-peek at all the costumes, dresses, and make-up that people wear. If I spot face-painting volunteers, I send all our area kids to get their faces painted, too,” she shares.
In the last three years, volunteers and participants have left rainbow props like wigs, glasses, and flags with these residents, who confess to bringing it out for pride celebrations. Durga, another resident, adds, “All the kids get whatever props they have ready after lunch. They shower, wear those wigs, and wait. Even we, adults, put on our best outfit and wait for the march to begin.” She pulls out her phone to show pictures that she clicked at this year’s Pride March and stops swiping when her selfie, with stone bindis stuck to her cheeks — each one a colour from the LGBTQIA+ flag — flashes on screen. “One of them stuck these on my cheeks because I requested them to,” she says, and proceeds to show a selfie she took with the person who created her face art. “See, see,” she insists with childlike enthusiasm.
The female residents even confess to fan-girling over poet and activist Agni Pradeep’s costumes every year. “I saw the costume this year. It (the words on the costume) was in Hindi and I didn’t understand. But I said ‘hi’ (to her). I later saw on YouTube that it was the paper (gazette) of a law (act) that now mandates trans people have to prove they are thirunangai or thirunambi to the government,” Durga explains. Her neighbour, who wished to remain anonymous, recollects Agni’s costume from 2025, “It was a white sari, I think. There were things written on it.”
Embracing a community
Beyond the glitter and spectacle, many residents of S Kuvam Road speak with quiet clarity about the message of Pride. Mohana says, “I heard them announce about the rights of trans persons. They were asking people to treat them with dignity and were even putting forth their requests to the government.” Another young resident, Gayathri, adds, “They say that ladies can love ladies, men can love men, everyone is equal and should be treated with dignity.” To this, Mohana nods in agreement.
When the same conversation shifts to men in the area, there is an apparent contrast of this understanding. Youngsters Siva* and his friend Murali*, who work in a small-scale garment factory, maintain that they are unaware of what the Pride March is about, despite witnessing it for the last three years. Saleem, Karpagam’s neighbour, too, concurs. “I don’t know what it is about. It’s just an enjoyment with music. They make some announcements on the go but I don’t fully hear it because they are usually moving. The police don’t let us march with them so I don’t understand it,” he dismisses.
Karpagam, however, cuts Saleem, saying, “Most men in general are not as understanding or accepting as the women here.” She emphasises, “Thapana kannotathula pakuranga (they see it from the wrong perspective). They make fun of many of those who pass by, some may even use unnecessary words like ‘ombodhu’, ‘uss’ [derogatory terms used to refer to trans women]. They clap their hands at trans women.” Another resident, Geetha*, corroborates, “I have seen young men from our neighbourhood pass comments and I have shouted at them, too. But we can’t do more. So, now we are teaching our children to learn to see everyone as humans.”
Durga says that the idea behind bringing their extended families to witness the parade is also for them and their children to understand “diversity, to learn to respect everyone. Not just to dance.” Geetha even shares how a trans woman was their neighbour in the slum. “She is my friend. She has shared her struggles, how people make fun. She got the surgery (gender affirmation) done and was recovering here. I remember how much pain she was in,” she recalls.
Many of these women also see themselves as active allies, as parents who affirm that they would stand by their children should they identify as part of the LGBTQIA+ community. “Ellame manasu dhane, madam? (Isn’t everything in the mind, madam?)” Gayathri asks.“There are parents who don’t accept. Those children suffer. We are already suffering, will we let our children suffer even more?,” Karpagam asks, her words laden in emotion.
These residents of S Kuvam Road may remain on the sidelines, but have a keen understanding and celebrate Pride. Though the intersecting realities of class, caste, and deeply entrenched social hierarchies often keep them from joining the procession, or lingering around long enough to take photos and videos, the women and the children they are raising here embody a steadfast allyship that is worthy of being celebrated, too.
*Names changed