Why do queer men love Rekha?

Rekha's 'Umrao Jaan' re-release during Pride Month revives her status as a queer icon -- fierce, wounded, and divine, writes Chintan Girish Modi

The re-release of Muzaffar Ali’s film Umrao Jaan (1981) in cinemas this year coincided with Pride Month, an annual celebration of resistance against the prejudice and discrimination faced by queer people in various settings, including at home, in workplaces, on the streets, and elsewhere. It was a case of sweet serendipity, especially for queer men who adore, idolise and try to emulate Rekha.

Meera Ali and Sathya Saran’s edited volume, titled Muzaffar Ali’s Umrao Jaan, was launched on the occasion. It contains several essays, including “What Umrao Jaan Meant to Me” by chef Suvir Saran. In the character of tawaif Umrao Jaan Ada, played by Rekha, Saran saw “a woman broken by fate and stitched back together by art, beauty, poetry and dignity.”

As a gay boy who felt out of place in the world, he found in Rekha’s performance “the first version of myself that felt whole.” Saran articulates the power of popular culture in nurturing self-worth and hope when he says that Rekha showed him “how to survive ruin in style”. He adds, “she made devastation desirable — not because it was romantic, but because it was real. She wore her wounds like jewellery. I wanted to be like her — whole, even in pieces.” 

Manish Gaekwad, author of the book The Last Courtesan: Writing My Mother’s Memoir (2023), fondly recalls Rekha’s interview on the talk show Rendezvous with Simi Garewal in 2004. When the interviewer asked Rekha if she would marry again, after her former husband Mukesh Aggarwal’s death in 1990, Rekha responded, “To a man?” The interviewer, a bit taken aback, said, “Well, not with a woman, obviously!” Rekha replied, “Why not?”

Gaekwad says, “An actor of her calibre and stature subtly suggesting it with such implicit conviction at a time when queer visibility was scarce, instantly earns her the queer icon crown.” He sees resilience in Rekha’s independence, especially her ability to put “a tragic marriage behind her, the mystery of which still enshrouds her as being blamed unfairly for her late husband’s suicide, one she does not feel the need to explain.” He believes that gay men relate to her because she comes across as “a wronged woman who never plays victim even when a relationship goes awry, and instead emerges as a survivor who maintains grace”.

Kartik, who works in publishing, offers a different and equally valid reading of the same situation. He says, “Melancholy drives a lot of queer men, and it finds a match in Rekha, who seems to have dedicated herself — in her personal life — to a vision of a man. I think of her as the OG lover girl, who lives with the pain of separation instead of running away from it.”

Being unable to marry the love of your life is a common theme in the lives of queer men in a heteronormative society, especially one where same-sex marriages have no legal recognition. Achin, a strategy consultant, is drawn to Rekha because of  “the inherent campiness of the presentation”. He means an aesthetic that is self-assured, glamorous, over-the-top, and unafraid to shock. He is struck by her jewellery, clothes and “the sindoor that she wears”.

Jayesh Talreja, a tax consultant, agrees. Speaking of Rakesh Roshan’s film Khoon Bhari Maang (1988) and Govind Menon’s Bachke Rehna Re Baba (2005), he says, “Every gay man, who has not been acknowledged or accepted, feels the need to stand out. Rekha’s flamboyance makes people uncomfortable because she is gutsy, not boring,” he says. For Achin, Rekha’s appeal also lies in her turbulent childhood and the lore surrounding her personal life. A fan of Umesh Mehra’s film Khiladiyon Ka Khiladi (1996), where Rekha plays an underworld don, Achin says, “We love a woman thriving in male-dominated spaces.” He points out that queer men also view Rekha as a symbol of eternal youth and unrequited love. Here, he hints at Rekha’s rumoured love affair with actor Amitabh Bachchan, who eventually married actor Jaya Bachchan. Gaekwad says, “Rekha is hugely successful and does not need a man to support her. She worships someone else’s partner without wanting it reciprocated.”

Her defiance of gender stereotypes makes her attractive to Gaekwad. He mentions Anil Ganguly’s underrated gender-bender film Agreement (1980), where “she wears the pants in the house, with domestic roles reversed as the husband manages the household chores.” He emphasises the impact of Rekha’s sartorial choices on drag artistes. The theme of transformation also plays out in the film Umrao Jaan, which is adapted from Mirza Hadi Ruswa’s novel Umrao Jaan (1899). The girl, who grows up to be a famous courtesan, is first introduced to the audience as a young Ameeran who is rejected for having a dusky complexion. She does not see herself as lacking. She has many nawabs appreciating her talent as a poet, singer and dancer in addition to her appearance. Gaekwad notes that this resonates with queer men, who have been made to feel like “black sheep in the herd”.

Kartik feels entranced when he watches Rekha on screen, and Rekha’s voice plays a crucial role. “It is husky and placid, somewhat androgynous. Even in her most emotional moments, the dialogue delivery is calm. She has an in-between personality, not the stereotypical shrill female ingenue nor the insipid angry young man. She exists on the border,” he adds.

Rekha’s role in Ram Gopal Varma’s film Bhoot (2003) is among his favourites. It came at a time when Rekha, “in Bollywood-speak, was past her prime,” but she was riveting as an exorcist who “had a magical power to draw lost souls to herself and allow them a release.”

Citing Raj Kumar Santoshi’s Lajja (2001) and Rakesh Roshan’s Koi…Mil Gaya (2003), Talreja argues that she picks roles that “celebrate feminine strength”. A die-hard Rekha loyalist, he cannot help pointing out that she played “a better mom” than Jaya Bachchan in Kal Ho Na Ho (2003). Queer men tend to have a complicated relationship with marriage as an institution, so throwing shade at the wife at the expense of the lover is hardly a surprise.

(Chintan Girish Modi is a journalist, educator and literary critic.)