“survival here isn’t passive… It’s choreography. It’s resistance. It’s art.”
Moving to Mumbai as a queer person feels like stepping into a film set that refuses to cut. Everything is running on too little time, too much sweat, and a background score that somehow includes both honking horns and a live remix of Yeh Hai Bombay Meri Jaan. The city will test your stamina, your politics, and your shoes.
You will arrive here thinking geography is neutral, that love is linear, that trains come on time. You will be wrong on all three counts. But that’s fine… error is the true syllabus.
This is your handbook. Fold it, highlight it, ignore it, contradict it. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
On Navigating.
Google Maps will lie to you. Autos will refuse you. Trains will baptize you. Dadar station at rush hour is not transportation; it’s a theatre of cruelty. If you can get in and out alive, you’re a local. If you can do it while carrying your laptop bag, dabba, and dignity, you’re a god.
Pro tip: when in doubt, just follow the crowd. If they’re running, you run too.It’s
On Love.
This is the capital city of “situationships”.
Dating apps in Mumbai are like housing - expensive, unreliable, and almost never where you pictured yourself. The geography of love here is brutal. Everyone here is “twenty minutes away.” This is a lie. What they mean is: three train lines, two Uber surges, and one monsoon detour through an underpass that turned into Atlantis.
If you’re lucky, love in Mumbai looks like sharing a cigarette under a leaking subway while the world drowns around you. Romance here is less about roses and more about the text message: “Don’t fall sick, I left ORS in the fridge.”
On Sex.
Queer sex in Mumbai is always accompanied by an audience. A roommate. A landlord. A lizard. Sometimes a parrot (not a joke, just a fact). And even Jesus and Ganpati Bappa are watching from the shelf.
Budget hotels double as sanctuaries and horror films—choose wisely. Always carry gum, lube, and an exit strategy. Especially the exit strategy.
Classified Ad for XXX -
FOR SALE: Broken heart, Bandra pickup only. Slightly used. OFFER: One kiss at Bandstand, free with one chai, two suttas.
On Community.
You’ll meet your people at a poetry slam around Bandra, in the smoking zone at Kitty Su, in a WhatsApp group that changes names every week: QTs Only (final) → new link pls → final_final.
Chosen family is logistics; sharing cabs after an after-party in Todi Mills, lending heels, saving each other from bad trips, and worse dates.
Footnote: Community is the only reliable GPS here. It’s what tells you you’re not lost.
Fake flyer stapled here:
DRAG SHOW, SATURDAY, SECRET WAREHOUSE IN CHEMBUR
password: gulab jamunFootnote
On Renting.
Brokers will ask if you’re married, vegetarian, or capable of exorcising ghosts. Answer creatively. It’s the final straw for a house (actually) made of straws. Poof!
Queer flats exist, but they’re passed down like family heirlooms. If someone offers you one, treat it like treasure.
Remember: home isn’t just four walls, it’s who you let crash on your sofa/mattress when they’re heartbroken.
WANTED: Queer flatmates who don’t judge bad playlists. Pref: Western line.sofa/mattress
On the Monsoon.
This is the city’s longest relationship, and it resurfaces all the time, girl.
Every pair of shoes you love will die. Accept this grief early. Invest in quick-dry clothing and the emotional resilience to smell like a wet dog in public. The sea will rise, the drains will clog, and yet, work will go on. Carry a spare shirt. Carry two.
Consider it Mumbai’s cruel love language.
LOST & FOUND NOTICE
One white sneaker, swept away near Khar Subway, July 2025. Reward: one by two manchow soup, fried noodles included.
On the Fame Monster
WARNING: Fame is contagious. Handle with gloves.
Mumbai worships the almost-famous. Everyone is almost something: almost cast, almost published, almost verified.
The trick is not to drown in other people’s projections. The trick is to celebrate your friends louder than the city celebrates itself. Protect your peace. Hype your friends. And remember, clout doesn’t cuddle you at night.
If the city teaches you anything, it’s this:
Being seen isn’t the same as being known.
(Graffiti: “Being seen ≠ being known.”)
CLOSING ARGUMENT
Mumbai isn’t a city you conquer, it’s a city you negotiate with - daily, hourly, sometimes minute to minute. The rent will rise, the rains will return, the trains will still be late.
It will break your bank balance, your sleep cycle, your umbrellas. But it will stitch you into constellations of people who will hold you up when you think you are falling.
It will also hand you—
a community that claps when you walk into a room, a lover who brings you chai & bun-maska in the rain, a drag queen who tells you you’re family now.
Hold onto them. Hold onto each other.
(tear here for helpline numbers, queer party calendars, or just to make the page look more dramatic)
About the author: Pratul Narang is a Mumbai-based filmmaker and writer with a knack for storytelling that bites (in a good way). By day, he crafts compelling narratives for brands and personalities; by night, he moonlights as a host/emcee in the underground scene, bringing the drama and flair. His work explores themes of queerness, identity, and urban life with a dash of humor and heart. Pronouns: he/they. Think of him as a master of words and mic – equal parts poet, provocateur, and party starter.
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