Bigger Than My Body

It’s so bad that cis folks left work early to be here (sic).

This was just one of the posters with cutting commentary on this afternoon in March at Freedom Park. Under a festive shamiana with fabric ruffles in pink, we had gathered with over 300 protesters from the transgender community, allies, and friends from across the city to make our voices heard against the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 introduced by the Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment on March 13. It had arbitrarily modified the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019 without rhyme or reason.

At the protest, wrapped in the demure strength of the trans flag, under a sky threatening rain, we listened to each other. The love, the confusion, the warmth, the anger, and the resolve were thick in the air.

What’s Going On?

Let’s start from the beginning. In 2014, the Supreme Court of India made a landmark ruling in a case called National Legal Services Authority (NALSA) v. Union of India. It said two important things that were long overdue. First, transgender people have the same fundamental rights as every other citizen under the Constitution. Second, every person has the right to self-identify their gender. This was huge. Because until then, the law didn’t really see trans individuals at all.

This was the result of more than five years of grassroots organising, door-to-door surveys, sustained protests, consultations with policymakers and pressure from the transgender community similar to this on-going moment of dissent.

The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019 is far from perfect, but it did some important things. It created a process for trans people to get identity certificates. It said no medical procedures were required to be recognised. And it stated that gender identity is not just biology — it’s who you know yourself to be. For the first time in our country’s legal framework, a trans person could say ‘this is who I am’ and the law had to listen. The 2026 amendment stands to snatch all that back.

The Nitty Gritty

The most important change in the Bill: it removes the right to self-identify and narrows the definition of who counts as transgender. Its configuration includes only specific socio-cultural groups, Hijra, Kinner, Aravani, and Jogta communities; people with certain intersex variations, and those who have been forced into presenting a transgender identity. It excludes trans men, trans women who don’t belong to these specific communities, non-binary, and gender-fluid people. The Bill explicitly states that it is not meant to protect people with “self-perceived…gender identities or gender fluidities.”

The consequences of this are severe. For many trans people — particularly those who are dysphoric and have been pushed out of their homes — the right to self-identify was the difference between being allowed to exist or being invisiblised within formal systems. It meant your identity was legal. It meant you could apply for government job reservations. It meant that when you walked into a workplace or a hospital as yourself, the law was at least theoretically on your side; an already low bar.

According to the 2011 Census, there are 4.88 lakh transgender people in India, widely considered an undercount. Moreover, only 32,424 ever received a certificate under the 2019 Act. The Bill now threatens even that. It pushes an already vulnerable population further into the margins. It leaves them with two choices: disappear back into invisibility or face even more discrimination out in the open.

Additionally, the Bill demands that anyone who wants legal recognition must now ‘prove’ their transness in front of a government-appointed medical board. And private medical procedures including gender-affirming surgery must be reported to the District Magistrate. The state gets to decide who you are. And if they deny recognition, there are no clearly charted-out paths for redressal. The Bill feeds into the narratives of transgender panic by including “compelled, by force, allurement, or deceit, to assume a transgender identity.” By treating trans identities as something a person can be tricked into, the Bill’s definition of transgender criminally targets delicately-built systems like Hijra gharanas, traditional kinship structures; NGOs, shelters workers, and doctors providing gender-affirming care; both medical and meaningful. The Bill introduces severe penalties, including life imprisonment, in cases involving abduction, grievous harm, and forcing someone to assume a transgender identity. The transgender community fears that broad, undefined terms like coercion or inducement are open to the wrong kinds of interpretations.

Fight The Power

“If you call yourself an ally to the trans people or the queer community, it is your time to put a testimony to that allyship. Because being an ally is not just going and being nice to your trans friend,” Draupadi, a biologist and one of the speakers at the Freedom Park protest. “It’s showing up against the system that oppresses them. Even if you do not want to keep us in your prayers, keep us in your conversations — especially your political conversations,” she adds.

The Bill was ‘debated’ for three hours in the Lok Sabha on Tuesday, March 24, before being passed by voice vote in the middle of an opposition walk-out. But the window to act is still open. Write to the members of the Rajya Sabha, who are yet to ratify this Bill and register your protest because trans rights are human rights.  

The details: Write an email to your Rajya Sabha representative here. This site was created by Jinal and Irene from the Queers Against The Trans Bill ‘26 Collective. Follow this Collective for updates on this urgent matter.

Rashmi Kamath is a behavioural science researcher at DER Studios, the producers of LURU magazine and its affiliates.