Muslim drag queens: bhangra, Bollywood and bravery

I’m in a crowded club in the centre of Birmingham – bhangra is blaring, women around me are hitching up their saris, and men are being cat-called by shrill female brummies shouting: “Aaja!” Business as usual for a bhangra night, except I’m watching five northern Muslim drag queens mime at Club Saathi. The theme is a “wet sari party” and the evening is being filmed for Muslim Drag Queens, a Guardian documentary.

This is the UK’s biggest drag night, where the dancefloor is populated by gay Asian men dressed as women. London’s biggest Gaysian drag night is Club Kali, whose monthly events always sell out. Behind its doors, and at places like it – London’s Disco Rani, Urban Desi and Manchester’s Club Zindaghi – men in ornate saris and lenghas fastidiously apply makeup backstage. “Asian skin is a craft to master, and it takes newbies a while to learn the ropes,” says Rezzia Rani, door host of Club Kali, “especially with our stubble … luckily, we have good eyebrows.”

Most of the queens our documentary team spoke to were practising Muslims who attended mosque regularly, and were on a journey to answering a central question – is being a Muslim drag queen in the UK tenable? We also took cameras behind the scenes at Club Kali – which usually prohibits filming (anyone caught filming or Snapchatting is thrown out) – where drag queens perform to songs such as bhangra hit Baby Doll and Bollywood track Lovely – both of which we hear hundreds of times during the course of making the film. We were privy to the queens getting ready, as they applied thick layers of makeup and hair-removal cream. We saw them stared down by hoteliers and bus drivers, and witnessed first-hand the abuse that threatened the crew.

Three main voices emerged. Newbie Ali, 22, aka “Shilpa” – after Bollywood starlet Shilpa Shetty – said his double life began in Pakistan, where he took beauty classes in secret, while telling his parents he was studying IT. We followed him as he agonised over his first at Club Kali. There was Saied (stage name Rezzia Rani) who let us into his most intimate moments away from his NHS day job, and showed us letters of abuse he had received. During filming, he was threatened with eviction from his home, was violently attacked, and received countless threats.His grit as he travelled on public transport every month to Club Kali, dressed as Rezzia in her azure sari and adorned with gold bindis, tikka and earrings, was a lasting lesson in defiant bravery.

The most experienced queen, Asifa Lahore, offered a glamorous insight into just how liberating coming out to the community can be. He provided a simple but powerful mantra to Ali, which was repeated at times of real vulnerability by all the queens:”Think of all the people you’ve left back in Pakistan who wish they had the freedom to go on stage dressed like a sexy bitch … you’re doing this for them.”

What we uncovered was a world of performative protest bolstered by solidarity, and gay Asian men finding their voices. Some want to be famous, others, such as Rezzia, offer maternal advice to vulnerable peers. For newcomers such as Shilpa, it’s about just existing – sending a message to other tentative queens that they can do it, too. For a brief moment, we were invited to witness a world away from the rhetoric of extremism and Islamaphobia – which is writing its own narrative, of gay Muslim men who dress as drag queens.