Retelling the story of “a forty-year-old daddy meets a twenty-year-old Hindu boy and they fall in love with each other,” Iqbal Ali stands with a group of curious tourists outside an old Delhi shrine. It is a queer love story of Sarmad Kashani, 40, who was later beheaded by Aurangzeb for hearsay. His story is now part of Ali’s queer heritage walk of the old city that goes beyond the typical Red Fort-Chandini Chowk-Jama Masjid itinerary.
Kashani is the patron saint of love.
Ali led their group into Kashani’s red and white shrine facing the Jama Masjid’s Gate no 2. Each weekend they curate a unique tour, unearthing forgotten and ignored queer histories of the capital — from the tomb of “sapphic queer icon” Razia Sultan, the Hijra Kabristan in Mehrauli, gay cruising spots from the 1970s, to the shrine of Armenian mystic Sarmad Kashani and many more.
“Here are fine examples of a history that has happened in the heart of our city—and it is a shared heritage that’s important for us to reclaim,” Ali says.
Ali points to a wall filled with running pages of handwritten letters pinned against it inside the shrine. The letters to Kashani written by scores of visitors detailing their marriage troubles to him.
Ali then gifts each person a small book published by an independent publishing house from Jama Masjid. The book features the romance of Sarmad Kashani and Abhay Chand, “in a very desi way and not in a French erotic way though,” adds Ali, who identifies as a non-binary trans person.
It was a group of seven people – two PhD scholars, Gurugram MNC consultant, a PR professional – and the tour was three hours long with three sites and two snack breaks. It’s still early days, so Ali stops to record the tour every 15 minutes with Instagrammable photographs of the group. It’s a history walk that looks not at architectural marvels but at people’s histories that lie unrecorded in the corner alleyways of history.
Ali’s tales of history are stories from memory and childhood that naturally flow from a deep-rooted sense of self. They speak of these histories like it’s a regular Friday evening catch up with friends. The landscape of Old Delhi has folded into Ali and their queer tales. No heads are turned, Ali just shares and the rest follow.
“Official archives and built environments such as museums and memorials rarely reflect the efflorescence of queer and trans lives as they existed and continue to exist in our worlds,” says Dr. Anjali Arondekar, professor of Feminist Studies, and Founding Director, Center for South Asian Studies, University of California, Santa Cruz. “Queer history walks, exhibitions, performances and storytelling can often materialise those absent histories through their engagement with urban spaces such as Delhi that continue to breathe and exude the lives disappeared in the march of mainstream history.”
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When a forty-year-old ‘daddy’ fell in love
Clad in a simple kurta, sunglasses and a cigarette in hand, Ali guides you through the small alleys, away from the sherbet sellers and street hawkers of Meena Bazaar, and before you know it, you’re presented with a quaint shrine memorialising a queer Sufi Saint facing the steps of the Jama Masjid.
This is a story where “a forty-year-old daddy meets a twenty-year-old Hindu boy and they fall in love with each other,” narrates Ali as the group stands outside the shrine, built at the site of Kashani’s beheading by Aurangzeb, in his half smirk. Ali’s signature sarcastic quips only add to the storytelling experience, and garners chuckles from the group.
The shrine of Sarmad Kashani lies right next to his spiritual leader Hazrat Hare Bhare Shah’s shrine. Painted in an unorthodox red and green, the two shrines have a deeper symbolism. Ali takes the group into the quaint establishment and points to a wall filled with running pages of handwritten letters pinned against it.
According to Ali, the Sufi mystic—who they refer to as a ‘queer martyr’— is the saint of love and visitors and devotees write letters detailing their marriage troubles to him. While the Hare Bhare Shah’s green shrine is symbolic of fertility, and women are believed to write letters to the spiritual saint, when they try to conceive.
A third-generation citizen of Old Delhi, the 32-year-old’s love for history began from William Dalrymple’s City of Djinns. Dalrymple’s account of Ali’s own neighbourhood left them “shocked.”
From 2011 onwards, they have been researching extensively to start their community re-telling of queer histories. They officially began conducting the retelling exactly a year ago. With a small team of three to four people, Ali gets a buzzing traction on Instagram and through word-of-mouth references.
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They were here, they were queer
As the group gathers around the plaque that introduces the visitor to the Sunehri Mosque—also known as the Golden Mosque near Red Fort— Ali swiftly points out the language used to describe Qudsia Begum as a “mistress” and its “derogatory” undertones. She was considered an outsider owing to her Brahmin background, and not being of pure royal blood.
The plaque also mentions that the inscription on the 18th century mosque has information detailing its construction date — “it has a lot more than just its construction date!” Ali highlights. Ali tells the group that “our transperson’s name” is nowhere mentioned on the plaque and the very absence of Qudsia Begum’s rumored-to-be queer paramour, speaks volumes about the way history is narrativised.
Ali points to the inscription on white marble on the mosque, which reads that it was built under the reign of Ahmed Shah, “our glorious emperor” for the valor of Nawab Bahadur Javed Khan.
Transpersons, known as “eunuchs” during the Mughal period, were an integral part of medieval India and would guard the harems. They were also confidants of the Emperors and women of the harem.
Apart from Ali’s incisive yet enriching commentary, they also includes old, lesser-known food joints in his walks. Ustad, owner of Ustad Tea stall from Meena Bazaar, brews a cuppa with milk that’s said to be boiling all day, giving it a creamy caramel hue. Ali’s commission is a cigarette from Ustad himself, who he has known all his life.
All of their walks include visits to lesser-known but age-old establishments in the area. From changezi chicken at a wrestler’s dhaba, to imli bun kebabs, Ali believes that you cannot visit the old city without savouring its best delicacies.
The group was also taken to ‘Old Famous Jalebi Wala” at Chandni Chowk, known for their crisp jalebis doused in pure ghee and relished with some in-house rabri—perfect for a sundowner snack.
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New form of evidence in history
When the group visited the last remains of the grand Khazanchi haveli—that once belonged to Emperor Shah Jahan’s accountants who used to stash away money—Ali reminisces.
One would never imagine a large courtyard filled with vines tattooing the last remaining marble archways, to be found in a narrow lane in Chandni Chowk, so far removed from the thronging crowds and sharp screeches of scooty tyres against the road.
Dr. Arondekar observes that by using oral narratives and inter-generational memories, such queer history walks can also trouble what we understand as the ‘evidence’ of history.
“We move away from centering official archives to embracing a broader pantheon of evidence genres that invite us to participate and indeed even rewrite the histories and spaces we inhabit. Queer/trans history then becomes less a singular story of emergence and more about an ongoing story of queer lives,” she said.
Academics, young working professionals and college students are frequent visitors of Ali’s walks. Amarjeet Singh, a PhD scholar who has attended two of Ali’s walks already, says that politically these walks featuring queer histories are highly significant. They observes that within the current communal political climate in the country, that not only targets people from the LGBTQ+ community, but also Muslims and Dalits, “these walks can be seen as a source of resistance.”
Christopher Gonsalves, a working professional from a PR firm, who has also known Iqbal for over a decade, says that the perspective Ali offers is something you cannot find in books. “It’s not just queer history, but it’s queer history from a Muslim point of view, which tends to be more on the conservative side,” he says.
(Edited by Anurag Chaubey)