South Asian performers celebrate their authentic selves at Dragistan
Writer Anjana Pawa takes us to Dragistan 2024, a showcase of South Asian queer performance in Brooklyn
Legendary drag queen LaWhore Vagistan at Dragistan 2024 in Brooklyn.
Mettie Ostrowski
Words by Anjana Pawa
Performing is an innate quality in South Asian culture. Be it song, dance, or drama, many areas of the region have a host of performing arts traditions that are inherent to their histories and their peoples. There’s evidence of this leading back to as early as 200 B.C. in the Natyashastra. It can also be found in the world of Sufism, an ancient movement in the Islamic world that embraces dance, poetry, and music. With such a robust and decadent history, it’s no surprise that the South Asian drag performance scene is blossoming in New York City.
LaWhore Vagistan inspires other performers to embrace their authentic selves.
Mettie Ostrowski
In modern times, however, performing arts within the South Asian subcontinent has come to take on a more commercialized role. Bollywood favors the glitz, glam, and sponsorships that have helped it grow into a billion-dollar industry. And in the world of drag, RuPaul’s reality TV lens for the art has turned it towards commodification as well. But in Brooklyn, New York, drag aunties and their drag children are aiming to disrupt these narratives, encouraging performers to embrace their authentic selves without the pressure to perform to the audience’s expectations. Taking center stage in this disruption is Kareem Khubchandani—author of Decolonizing Drag and professor at Tufts University, a self-proclaimed “auntie,” and the trailblazing drag queen LaWhore Vagistan.
“There is an audience for what we do,” Khubchandani tells JoySauce, reinforcing the idea that diverse expressions of drag are not only valid, but celebrated. “Even if you do funny-looking drag, even if you do drag that does not fit the profile of the commercial world, there is an audience for it.”
Kulfi Jaan fuses classical South Asian dance with the culture, etiquette, and languages he was raised with.
Mettie Ostrowski
And this isn’t merely a sentiment—it resonates deeply for them, and for LaWhore. Khubchandani was raised in Ghana as a Desi person born in post-colonial South Asia. They have always navigated a complex identity shaped by cultures that have been separated by colonial borders. When coming up with the drag identity LaWhore Vagistan, these complex identities all came to the surface.
This sentiment that Khubchandani brings to their drag is also the philosophy that they bring into the classroom at Tufts, where they teach a class on the art. “My students make drag with me, but I use drag as a platform for education. I curate shows in a way that allows people to see the world a little bit differently.” This is where they met Kulfi Jaan and RuAfza, two former students who went on to become their drag children and full-time performing drag artists.
For Kulfi Jaan, drag is a vehicle for authenticity and spirituality. “Kulfi Jaan is a desi drag deity, a drag king, and a courtesan (a tawaif,)” he tells JoySauce. His performance fuses the elements of classical South Asian dance, which he’s been studying since the age of 5, with the culture, etiquette, and languages he was raised with. At times, performance feels like healing the inner child and queering the past, a concept he carries from Khubhchandani’s class. “Aunty really taught me the power of bringing the past into the future,” Kulfi shares.
For RuAfza, the classroom was where she found what she needed to cement her drag identity, something she was already exploring. This rang especially true as a performer who doesn’t fit conventional beauty standards—the ones that exist even for drag queens. “[The class was] a critical look at drag performance,” she shares. “It allowed me to exist in this form no matter what people say. Believing that as a fat person with a beard, I can be sexy, and hot, and feminine.” Since then, RuAfza has created a community of her own in Brooklyn, performing full-time and producing drag shows regularly, working on everything from designing posters for social media, to working with lighting and stage design. The quintessence that was taught within the classroom walls and the belief that decolonization and authenticity is at the root is something she also brings to her own productions.
“I love giving people permission to be weird. You don't have to do it like me, or for me,” Khubhchandani shares. “Do it for yourself.”
Through this ethos, Dragistan, a showcase of South Asian queer performance, was born. The seeds for this event were planted during isolation and fear during the pandemic. There was a deep desire to return to community. “How do we keep pride going?” Khubchandani found the community asking. “The answer was drag. Drag was the thing you could put on a screen.” This led to a coalition-building moment, in which South Asians across the world came together to perform for their computer screens and drag shows happened on Zoom. “We were meeting other drag artists from the diaspora through this—in Pakistan, in Trinidad, in the U.K., in India—and it was really special.”
Sundari's performance was inspired by the theatrical style of Launda Naach, an ancient Bhojpuri folk art.
Mettie Ostrowski
Once COVID restrictions began to lift, Khubhchandani and the drag community wanted to bring this coalition offline. In 2023, Dragistan was held on Fire Island. This year, in July, it was in Brooklyn and featured more than 20 queer South Asian performers.
Opening the show was Sundari, an Indo Guyanese drag performer from Queens, whose performance was inspired by the theatrical style of Launda Naach, an ancient Bhojpuri folk art in which men dress as women to dance and entertain an audience. Her performance was accompanied by a soundtrack that featured soca and chutney music, a genre that originated in Trinidad and Tobago in the 1970s, fusing elements of reggae, African folk, and East Indian music. For someone like Sundari, whose Indo Caribbean roots trace back to colonial histories, opening the show was a powerful act of cultural reclamation. Her performance set the tone for Dragistan as a celebration of an identity that transcends borders, honoring those across the diaspora who carry a complex history and showing that South Asian identity can be as multifaceted and vibrant as the people who live it.
Emi Grate, a queen originally from Mandalay, Myanmar, serenaded the crowd with a moving rendition of the Broadway classic “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina,” reworking the lyrics to sing, “Don’t cry for me, my dear Burma.” Drag king and burlesque dancer duo Spicy Delight and Mercy Masala performed a raunchy rendition of the mythological tales of divine lovers Radha and Krishna, which incorporated elements of classical Indian dance.
Another pair, Kulfi Jaan and Chutney Chataranga, collaborated to put on a rocking performance of the Bollywood classic “Chaiyya Chaiyya,” in which the performers embodied the iconic moves of Shahrukh Khan and Malaika Arora. This is a song that is so embedded in South Asian pop culture across the diaspora that the entire dance floor was singing along.
RuAfza donned her classic eyebrows, put on her drag mother’s sari (which was passed on from her mother before that) and put on a memorable number that was nothing short of a masterclass in comedic timing. Malai, a queen who regularly hosts shows for New York’s queer South Asian community, dipped into prosthetics for her look and transformed the stage into Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club,” dressed as the pink pony herself. Her mix also included an equally equine-themed Bollywood song, “Ghodey Pe Sawar.”
While the marquee was filled with icons, attendees and performers alike would agree that one act was the most striking of all: Bijli. Now an elder in the scene, Bijli came to New York from Pakistan in 1989 seeking asylum. With the support of the Pakistani queer, drag, and trans communities at the time, Bijli made a name for herself thanks to her exceptional grace, dance skills, and electrifying stage presence. Many in the community have their own memorable stories of their first time seeing Bijli perform in the 1990s or 2000s, citing the joy of being a part of the space she worked to carve. “It’s like a singer getting to share the stage with Lataji, or like a dancer sharing the stage with Birju Maharaj,” shares Sundari, likening Bijli to two of India’s most celebrated and revered artists.
Bijli has captured hearts since the 1990s and 2000s.
Mettie Ostrowski
At the core of the evening was the idea that colonial histories do not have to restrict us from what we thought was possible. “We deserve abundance and to be showered with pleasure and performance,” Khubchandani shares, capturing the essence of what Dragistan represents—a joyous affirmation of self-worth and community belonging, outside of what colonial forces have taught otherwise. After all, they wrote a whole book about it.
Published on December 4, 2024
Words by Anjana Pawa
Anjana Pawa is a Brooklyn-based culture reporter who regularly covers music, entertainment and beauty. You can find her on Twitter at @apawawrites.