05 April,2026 10:01 AM IST | Mumbai | Arpika Bhosale
Padma Iyer says her home will continue to be a haven for trans and queer persons. PIC/ATUL KAMBLE
Padma Iyer and Meera have had a special bond since the latter reached out for help, and have been inseparable
Padma Iyer, 68, has never taken issue with being known as the mother of one of the most vocal gay rights activists in the country, Harish Iyer. She has earned the love of many queer adults and children who have reached out to her over the years. Even before the advent of WhatsApp, they would call on her landline or even turn up at her doorstep. Many of them were on the run from a volatile home environment, or taking a break from a family struggling to accept their identity.
Meera with Padma a few years after the former turned up at the Iyer home
One such case is Meera, non-binary transperson who turned up at the Iyer household back in 2018. At the time, Meera lived in Delhi. They had only chatted on Facebook and spoken on the phone briefly before this, when Meera had shared her struggle as her family grappled with her identity. "Padma called me at a time I was a bit lost," says the 36-year-old marketing professional. "My mother was at least trying to deal with what I was saying, but I think my father and my brother were nowhere close. I felt a little untethered," she recalls.
Meera stayed in the Iyer home for almost three weeks. She eventually moved out of her family home and lived in Mumbai for a year-and-a-half, before moving again to Bengaluru a year ago. Now, she wants to return to the maximum city. "There is so much support in Mumbai. Not that Bengaluru is not a good place as well, but with everything that's happening now, I need to be closer to my support system," she says.
Padma's home is home for Meera too. "Whenever I go to my home at Padma's," says Meera, "she cooks for me and takes care of me. When I lived in Mumbai, I'd celebrate all festivals with the Iyers. Harish calls me his sister. Bas aur kya chahiye?"
Meera
Like many of her friends now, Meera is swinging between giving in to the devastation and getting battle-ready for the fight ahead. "I call my friends randomly late in the night, stressed and worried. Then the next day I think about how we have survived everything else, and build back my will to face the day," she says. "In fact, one of the first calls I made was to Harish. I asked him if I could no longer step out in a saree or salwar suit," she adds.
We ask Iyer if her home will continue to be the haven that it has been for the community, despite Section 18 of the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, which many fear will be misused to penalise anyone who helps trans persons. She asserts, "My home will always remain open, no matter what law they make, no matter how much they try to stop me from helping."
Arijit Sen is trans man and mental health professional who is trying to provide support to his chosen family while barely keeping his head above water
When Arijit Sen first heard that the Trans Amendment Bill has been passed into law, he was driving back home from organising for a protest scheduled for the next day. "It was the first time in over 16 years," says the 36-year-old, "that I had suicidal ideation. Despite being a mental health professional, I felt that it would be better if I had an accident right then, rather than face what is in store for us next. I am not ashamed of these thoughts; no one should be. But if this is the impact on me, you can only imagine what is happening to those who are not as well-versed in how emotions work."
Arijit Sen, transtherapist, who is one of the many carrying the emotional labour of the mental health fallout
"Some are asking their therapists to adjust their medication to cope. Many people are not sleeping well, or they have shut down and are always sleeping. But again, they get back up and continue to fight on with hope, and I think this is the state of mind for most of us," he says.
As a mental health professional holding space for others who are distressed in the community, there's an added layer of guilt when Sen needs to take a moment to cope with his own grief. "Sometimes I feel total hopelessness, or cynical, like I can't do anything. Then I feel guilty. Sometimes I skip meetings or reschedule a few therapy sessions. Then shake myself and plunge back into community mobilisation and my professional work," he shares.
The strain is starting to show in other areas of his life too. "I feel increasingly irritable all the time, even with my partner, despite the fact that she has been there for me all the way. Today, I was filling up some last-minute paperwork for myself, and I began to feel anxious. âYaha pe rokh denge kya? Ye nahin hua toh? (Will they stop my documentation work here? And what if this doesn't work out?)
A protest by the queer community on March 25, a few days before the bill was made into an act. FILE PICS/ASHISH RAJE
At work, his documentation has been pending for 15-20 days. "A few who don't know about my identity have been asking me why I have not got it done yet," he says, adding, "I don't feel like cooking either these days. We have been ordering out a lot."
But there are days that give him strength. "Today, we are starting a mental health professionals' research project to document trans persons' data across the country. Work like community mobilisation, community based research, elders and creative arts is where I draw my strength from."
Alha Matra is a cis-woman and therapist who is part of a group of allies, who have organised a listening circle for trans mental health professionals experiencing burnout
Alha Matra and other ally therapists - Naina Shahri, Prarthana Shaam, and Shamal Jaykar - are hoping to give their trans colleagues a safe space to take off their mental and emotional armour and be on the receiving end of care, for once. They're hosting a listening circle online and offline, on Sunday and Monday, for trans therapists (like Arijit Sen).
It's crucial to note that the request to host this circle has come from the community's therapists. "We are hoping to offer a space where they can be witnessed without having to educate [the other person]... to not have care always extracted from them, but also receive care. It is one form that solidarity in action can take," says Matra.
The intake form for the circle has a âhopes and needs' section, which has garnered responses like: "I need to connect to other trans mental health professionals". Or, "I need to see my struggles reflected in someone else to know I am not alone". "We know that the suffering might not be metabolised in this space alone, but we hope to at least help with some of it," adds Matra.
Richa Vashista, a queer non -binary therapist and founder of Leher Mental Health, is holding listening circles for trans and non-binary persons impacted by the Act
Richa Vashista feels that while the Act mentions "transgender persons", non-binary persons like herself feel invisibilised because they "aren't even mentioned anywhere". She says that the breakneck speed with which the Bill has become an Act has not given the community any adjustment period. "The human mind takes time to process things, so when something like this happens in the span of two weeks, it's a bit too much" she adds.
Richa Vashista
Last week, Vashista and her colleagues held a listening circle with 10 people for trans and non-binary people affected by the Act. "It felt like a place of joy and resistance," she says, "Some people shared art, some shared poetry, and some shared how they channelled their anger and showed up for each other. Some others invited their trans friends over and cooked and shared a meal. It was a very powerful space." Leher will hold another community therapy session on April 20.
Aryan Pasha is a transman in Delhi, who has opened his home to transpersons in the city to come talk, let loose
Aryan Pasha, a lawyer, recently posted a photograph in which he is dressed as a unicorn. The caption is a satirical take on the erasure of his identity by the new Act: I am not a transgender person, I am a unicorn now.
Aryan Pasha wears as unicorn suit to poke fun at the fact that the new transgender act has left him without an identity
"Right now there is fear, confusion and absolute chaos," he says. "At least 15 to 17 kids come home every day to talk to me. Many who were about to transition don't know what to do now. Many are already being targeted at their jobs. Even MNCs with diversity and inclusivity policies have no clarity on what to do now because of the Act. We are slowly being driven out of the workforce," he adds.
When we ask if he will continue to keep his home open for trans persons even at the risk it might pit him against the system, he says, "I will stand for my community till my last breath this act has taken us decades back again. But I will not cower and hide my identity. I will wear a unicorn suit and go to the park and ask them, âWhat is my identity now?' I will live my life with joy and make sure that they do not snuff me out - not that they ever could."
Kanmani R, transwoman and lawyer at forefront of legal movement against the Act, lays out path ahead
"There are a few things that need to be addressed both, from a legal standpoint and to soothe panic in the community:
1 We have to address the confusion of gender-affirmative care providers. There is no ban on it, according to one of the answers given to questions in the Rajya Sabha. But we need clarity on that.
The community is trying to keep up their spirit while dealing with the disappointment of the new act
2 Come together to discuss the next steps. We cannot have people going off and taking legal steps in silo. This is a big logistical issue; the community must work as one.
3 If possible, do advocacy with the state government. Push your state to refuse to implement the Act, or issue some kind of condemnation.
4 See if state rules can be an avenue to water down the Act a bit.
5 The community needs to keep communication lines open and weighing our options between moving the High Courts or Supreme Court."
The community is still working out what the act would mean for the community
1 Pick up your phone: "When a trans friend calls pick up the phone no matter where you are," says transwoman Meera.
2 Refer a therapist: "If you know a transperson who is unable to cope, refer them to a therapist from the community," says transman Arijit Sen.
3 Get out of the way: "If you can't help, at least don't harm," adds Meera.
4 Open your doors: "Invite trans folk over for dinner, ask them how they are doing. Make your home a safe space for them," says ally Padma Iyer.
5 Show up: "Show up with your trans friends at rallies or protests, or even offline listening circles for support," says queer-affirmative therapist Ahla Matra.
