What if iconic Indian ads had queer characters?

Growing up queer in India was like hiding in the shadows. No one knew you, the media also didn't show you. You watched the same shows, the same cricket matches, sang along to the same ad jingles, and yet, you never really saw yourself in them. Especially not in Indian ads, which defined our cultural identity. Those ads that ran between our favuorite cartoons or TV shows, bright, catchy and often heartwarming, were never built with us queer folks in mind. 

We saw families, but never a trans mom. We saw weddings, but never two grooms. We saw friendships, but always the cis-kind. We saw love, but only the kind that fit comfortably within a saree-pallu-and-sindoor template. What if that hadn’t been the case? What if the ads that shaped our childhoods, that we quoted and laughed about, that we remembered word-to-word, had queer characters in them? Not as dramatic statements or tragic figures, but as people simply existing, buying a mutual fund, flipping a dosa, fighting for the remote, or choosing a term insurance plan.

Here’s a little time travel. A reimagination of iconic Indian ads, but queer version. Not for shock value, but to show how powerful representation could have been if it were incorporated into the ordinary.

Dhara Cooking Oil ‘Jalebi ad’

The runaway kid is still there, sitting at the station, upset because he’s been scolded. But instead of Ramu Kaka, it’s Rani Didi, a Kinnar woman he clearly knows and trusts, who spots him. She sits beside him, a warm smile on her face, and gently says, “Ghar pe maa garma-garam jalebi bana rahi hai.”

Back then, and even now, most of us only saw Kinnar women at traffic signals or weddings, and we were often told to look away. This simple swap could’ve told a whole generation that someone like Rani Didi could be kind, familiar, and safe. Just like anyone else.

Because the bond between a child and a caring adult isn’t about gender. And if an old uncle can lead a child back home, so can a trans woman. The jalebi still tastes just as sweet.

Raymond, the complete man men 

A man in a grey Raymond suit is organising a wedding sangeet. He’s busy, focused, until he catches a glimpse of his partner watching from the balcony, also dressed sharp in a black suit.

He smiles, pulls out the speaker, and plays “Saamne yeh kaun aaya…” They start to dance. Slowly, their friends and family join in. It’s warm, loud, celebratory, and quietly revolutionary.

We’ve seen men in suits be fathers, sons, and grooms, but never partners to each other. This wouldn’t just be about queer love; it would be about redefining Indian masculinity itself. Gentle. Playful. Proud.

‘The Complete Man’ was always meant to be someone thoughtful, refined, and expressive. This version just lets him love who he wants, and dance in his best suit while doing it. And here, both of them are ‘Complete Men’. 

Washing powder Nirma

Hema, Rekha, Jaya aur Sushma, sabki pasand Nirma… Nirma. The ladies push an ambulance stuck in the mud, dirtying their clothes and reinforcing that women are powerful. But in this version, one of them is a trans woman. Two others are wives, holding hands as they laugh and clean each other up.

Because queer women, trans women, women who love women, they are strong, too. They lift heavy things, roll up their sleeves, and get on with life, just like anyone else. And yet, we’ve almost never seen that on screen.

The ad still celebrates the same spirit, powerful women who don’t care about mess. It just expands that definition of ‘woman’ to be more true, more inclusive, more real.

 

Amul doodh peeta hai (colourful) India

Remember the cheerful chaos of the Amul Doodh jingle, sung by Usha Uthup? Kids, dancers, wrestlers, all beaming and sipping their milk? Now imagine one more, a drag queen in full fabulousness, twirling on screen with her glass of Amul doodh in hand, adding sparkle to the song.

Because joy is joy. And queerness isn’t always pain or protest, sometimes, it’s just a moment of sparkle in a daily routine. Including a drag queen here would’ve been a quiet nod to the diversity we already live with, just rarely acknowledge.

This ad was always about people from all walks of life. Adding one more face, one more story, only makes the milk taste more like home.

Glucon D 

The sun is merciless, and the cricket game is intense. Just like the original ad, one kid starts to lose energy under the heat. But this time, that kid is a little trans boy. That’s it. Nothing else changes. He’s tired, he drinks Glucon D, and he’s back in the game.

Because it’s simple. It tells trans kids, you belong here too. On the playground. In the ad. In the world. No dramatic storyline, no lecture. Just a boy playing cricket with his friends.

Because childhood should be carefree. This version reminds us that when we let kids just be kids, without making their identity the headline, we make space for joy and for real change.

LIC Prudential - Bande acche hai

Imagine this: An old gay couple sitting on their balcony, quietly enjoying their morning together. One is reading a book, the other holding a cup of tea, about to sit down. As the one with the book squints against the sun, the other, without a word, moves his chair closer, positioning himself just right to block the sun from his partner’s eyes.

In the original Bande Acche Hai ad by LIC Prudential, we saw an older straight couple, where the husband shields his wife from the harsh sunlight, embodying the idea of a reliable partner who’ll always be there. But now, imagine that same love, that same quiet, tender moment, between two older gay men.

The original ad’s simplicity and warmth would remain unchanged, but the message would shift to say that gay couples, like any others, deserve the same love, care, and security. The idea of “being there for each other” isn’t just for heterosexual couples. It’s universal.

The subtle act of the older gay couple would carry the same weight, showing that love is love, at any age, in any form.

So why does it matter? 

Because representation isn't a rainbow-washed logo or a Pride month campaign, it’s about showing queer lives as real, rich, and relatable. Ads are where many of us first learn what’s ‘normal’. And if we never see ourselves, we learn to shrink, to become transparent, to hide.

If we’d seen ads like these, maybe we wouldn’t have spent our teenage years trying to decode whether that ‘close friendship’ on screen was actually gay. Maybe we’d have known that people like us grow up, buy houses, adopt cats, raise kids, fight over dosa sambhar, and yes, invest in SIPs.

We wouldn’t just exist in the corners, we’d be in the middle of the screen, laughing.

To today’s ad industry, you are our mirror. Start representing all of us. Let trans kids grow up seeing possibility. Let ace folks see themselves without the pressure of explanation. Let bi and pan people exist without needing to justify who they love. Let us have stories beyond coming out and pain.

Because queer people aren’t a marketing trend. We’re your neighbours, colleagues, and customers. We’ve always been here.

Representation isn’t a favour. It’s overdue. And no, we won’t wait for June to be visible. The change might feel small, but for us, it means everything. A simple casting change could make all the difference. So, let’s start now. Let’s see ourselves in the everyday stories, because that’s where we belong.

 

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