What first drew me to Kolkata was its romanticized charm—the yellow taxis, the old-world architecture, the soulful music, the literature steeped in rebellion and nostalgia. Looking back, I chuckle at myself; maybe I was a little naive, a walking cliché. I came searching for the “romantic political culture” of West Bengal, a place I had read about in books and heard about in stories. 
(A random photo)
Friends who had studied in Kolkata warned me: “It’s not what you think. It’s not as politically alive as they say.”So I arrived with cautious curiosity—maybe even a negative hope. But what welcomed me instead was a vibrant, defiant rainbow: Sappho for Equality, a human rights organization working with the LGBTQIA+ community.
I came to learn, but what unfolded was much deeper—I began unlearning. Gender, sexuality, identity—concepts I once viewed through academic or medical lenses—came alive in front of me through the stories of community members. Their lives, their struggles, their resistance—it was all a kind of classroom, but more visceral and immediate than any lecture hall could provide.
My focus during this period turned toward queer health—particularly, how health systems often fail to recognize, support, or even include queer lives. The healthcare system in India remains woefully unequipped to deal with the unique medical and psychological needs of queer individuals. Medical curriculums barely scratch the surface of gender and sexual diversity. Most doctors graduate without even a basic understanding of the community’s realities.
The discrimination in healthcare often begins at the very first point of contact. Transgender individuals, for instance, are frequently addressed by their dead names, subjected to invasive and irrelevant questioning, or outright denied treatment. Queer individuals are pathologized, ridiculed, or treated as curiosities—rather than patients. In many hospitals, there is still a complete absence of protocols or privacy for queer and trans patients. The trauma of being “seen” through a judgmental or ignorant lens adds another layer of suffering to already vulnerable lives.
Yet, within the walls of Sappho and other safe spaces, I found something deeply human – community. It was here that I formed some of the warmest friendships of my journey. People who listened, who shared, who trusted me enough to let me into their world.
This period coincided with a politically charged moment in Kolkata—when the RG Kar Medical College incident sparked protests across the city. Different groups took to the streets, raising their voices against the government and the larger systemic rot. I, too, joined in. Marching alongside others, chanting fiery Bengali slogans, I saw a version of Kolkata that felt alive and unapologetically political—the Kolkata I had once imagined, now real in its resistance.
In contrast to the warnings I had received, the city did not disappoint me. It challenged me, educated me, and gave me space to grow—not just as a medical professional, but as a human being trying to understand the complexities of human life .
(Protest March in Kolkata)
