Gay Couple Aditya and Kaushik Redefine Love

Gay Couple Takes on Tradition: Aditya and Kaushik’s Bold Love Story

June heralds Pride Month, a vibrant celebration of love, identity, and resilience for the LGBTQIA community worldwide, honouring their struggles and triumphs. In India, the pride movement has surged, with colorful parades and growing visibility, yet the Supreme Court’s October 2023 verdict denying legal recognition to same-sex marriage crushed hopes for many, leaving gay couples like Aditya and Kaushik in limbo. Aditya Bandopadhyay, once a fierce lawyer championing LGBTQ+ rights, traded courtrooms for a serene farm in Kerala, where he now lives with his partner, Dr. Kaushik Dowarah, a PhD in environmental science and aspiring full-time author, dedicating his time to writing and sustainable living.

For Aditya, Pride Month is a defiant reclaiming of space and joy for the queer community. As a former lawyer who fought for LGBTQIA rights, he sees "visibility" as a counterpoint to the systemic celebration of heterosexuality. “Heterosexual people have a series of celebrations not only throughout the year but throughout their lives. Engagements, weddings, anniversaries, childbirth—all these are nothing but heterosexuality being actually celebrated. These events reinforce the legitimacy and visibility of straight relationships at every stage. For queer people, though, this kind of validation and visibility was historically absent. For the longest time, our lives were lived under oppression—religious, legal, and social. So Pride Month, for me, is about reclaiming that space. It’s about celebrating our lives, our existence, and saying we deserve joy and love and visibility too. It’s a positive thing that this month is now widely recognised as Pride Month across the world. It’s a symbolic but powerful way for queer people to affirm our identity. Visibility matters. And I cannot stress that enough. It tells someone who feels alone that they are not. That who they are is valid and worth celebrating,” Aditya reflects.

Dr. Kaushik, with his roots in Assam, understands the weight of invisibility for queer individuals in small towns. For him, Pride Month is a beacon of hope, amplifying queer voices through media and celebrations. “I come from a small town in Assam, and I know firsthand how invisibility shapes your experience. That’s why Pride Month is so crucial. It offers visibility. Young queer kids growing up in small towns or villages often feel the need to hide who they are. When they see queerness being celebrated—on TV, in parades, in the media—it can give them hope,” Kaushik shares.

Challenging Stereotypes: Redefining Queer Love Beyond the Bedroom

Aditya and Kaushik challenge the reductive lens often applied to same-sex relationships, particularly during Pride Month discussions. They argue that society fixates on sex when it comes to gay couples, overshadowing the depth of their bond. “Let me be blunt here—when a man and a woman get married, society sees it as a celebration of love, partnership, family. No one says, ‘Oh, they are getting married because they want to have a license to do sex.’ But when two gays or two lesbians want to get married, people immediately reduce it to sex. That’s deeply problematic. Queer relationships, like any other, are about companionship, love, and everyday life. Pride Month is about normalising this. So that when someone sees a queer couple walking down the street, their first thought isn’t about what happens in their bedroom—it’s about what they’re cooking for dinner or what movie they’re going to see,” Aditya asserts.

The age gap between Aditya and Kaushik has sparked judgment, even within their own community, adding another layer of discrimination to their journey as a gay couple. When asked about facing bias, Kaushik revealed how their age difference fueled scrutiny, with assumptions about their relationship rooted in stereotypes. “What I was saying ties back to what Kaushik mentioned earlier — that when people think of gay relationships, the first thing that comes to mind is sex. It’s always about what happens in bed, and rarely about the idea that two people can simply be happy together. That perception seeps into the community itself, where sex becomes the only form of validation people seek. It’s unfortunate, but many within the community end up focusing on sex as a marker of existence or identity. And that brings about rigid expectations — this idea of who you're supposed to be with, what kind of people should be together. These ‘brackets’ create internal stigmas. Within the community, there's judgment and setbacks because of these very ideas. I remember friends of mine, under the guise of concern, telling me things like, ‘Why are you with this older man?’ According to the unspoken standards within the community, apparently a gay couple shouldn't be over 25 years old. There’s this unwritten rule,” Kaushik explains.

Fighting Discrimination: Defying Stigma with Strength

For Aditya, discrimination against gay couples often persists because victims internalise it, but defiance can shift perceptions and challenge oppressive norms. He emphasises that visibility as a confident gay couple has transformed how others view their relationship, turning skeptics into supporters. “Another important point — discrimination often continues because the person facing it internalises it. If someone feels like they’re doing something wrong, they accept the discrimination instead of resisting it. But when you stand your ground — when you say ‘screw you, I won’t take this nonsense’ — it makes a difference. That kind of confidence can push back against oppressive attitudes,” Aditya asserts.

He continues, “Yes, like I said earlier, visibility plays a huge role in normalisation. We’ve been together for 8 years now, and people have seen that we are genuinely happy. They’ve seen that we live normal lives. Some of the same people who once expressed concern or judgment now actually celebrate us. And I’m not just talking about virtual approval — we’ve met many of these people in real life. They’ve spent time with us, seen our highs and lows, and come to understand that our relationship is as ‘normal’ as any other.”

Aditya and Kaushik, like many gay couples in India, confront systemic discrimination embedded in everyday institutions, which subtly but persistently denies them equal treatment. Simple acts like opening a joint bank account or naming each other as insurance beneficiaries remain out of reach, forcing them to navigate loopholes to secure their future as a gay couple.

“We’ve never been able to open a joint bank account as a couple. We had to pretend to be business partners. The standard bank forms only allow relationships like ‘father,’ ‘mother,’ ‘spouse,’ ‘business partner,’ and so on. There’s no space for two people who are simply in a committed relationship,” Aditya reveals. He adds, “Same thing has happened with insurance. I’ve never been able to buy an insurance policy where Kaushik is the beneficiary, and vice versa. These systems don’t recognise us. These issues require legal reform. Social awareness or activism isn’t enough — we need consistent legal activism to change these frameworks.”

Same-sex Marriage as a Right, Not a Ritual 

The dream of marriage for gay couples like Aditya and Kaushik is not about lavish ceremonies but about securing fundamental rights denied by India’s legal system. As a petitioner in the same-sex marriage case, Aditya felt the courtroom discourse fixated on marriage as a spectacle, sidelining the urgent need for legal recognition that would grant gay couples like them access to practical benefits. “As a lawyer, I don’t view marriage as a social event — I see it as a bundle of rights. For example, if we were married, I could list Aditya as the beneficiary on my insurance. If one of us worked for the government and passed away, the other would be entitled to a spousal pension — just like any other legally married spouse. So, for us, marriage was always about access to rights — not the rituals, not the Instagram moments,” Aditya explains.

The duo found the legal battle for marriage equality for gay couple mired in a flawed framework that failed to address the unique realities of same-sex relationships. Aditya, drawing on his legal expertise, critiques the reliance on gendered laws like the Hindu Marriage Act or Special Marriage Act, which impose heterosexual norms ill-suited for gay couples. 

“We felt the whole discourse was too focused on the word ‘marriage.’ Our concern was with the legal framework being proposed — using the Hindu Marriage Act or the Special Marriage Act for same-sex couples. The problem is, both of these laws are highly gendered. They talk about ‘bride’ and ‘groom,’ and assign different rights and responsibilities to men and women. You can’t just apply these laws as-is to same-sex couples. Let me give you a simple example… Suppose the court says, ‘Okay, go ahead, get married under the Hindu Marriage Act.’ Both of us decide, ‘Alright, let’s do the saat phere under the Hindu Marriage Act.’ Now after that—who among us is the woman in the relationship? Who is the man? Who is supposed to get maintenance at the time of separation? Simple things like—what will be the location for any kind of marital litigation? What will be the jurisdiction of that court? Will it be the man’s jurisdiction or the woman’s? The Hindu Marriage Act says the woman’s—like you know—birthplace, etc. But if we are supposed to have litigation tomorrow because our marriage is not working out, where do I go? These may seem like simple things, but they become impossible under the current framework. And for us, it was an ideological problem—why should equality mean that I must completely suppress what is unique about our relationship, which is that we are a same-sex couple, and start following heterosexual norms?” Aditya argues.

Aditya and Kaushik know that rights for marginalised communities are won through relentless, strategic struggle, not granted freely. Reflecting on their decision to withdraw their same sex marriage petition, Aditya points to the flawed approach that doomed the case, emphasising the need for smarter advocacy to secure equality for gay couples. “See, ultimately, no right has ever been handed to any community on a platter. That just doesn’t happen. You have to fight for your rights. As a gay couple, we believe in standing up for our rights. We have to claim it. And that process is a gradual one—it’s incremental and filled with pitfalls. Take for example the decriminalisation litigation we did. I drafted that petition in 1999. We got our relief in 2018. It took us 19 years to get there. These are not quick fixes. So first, let’s be very clear—whatever we want, we have to go out, fight for it, and ask for it. The government won’t give it to us. The courts won’t give it to us. We have to claim it through consistent struggles and we have to claim it intelligently. We failed in the marriage litigation because we framed our demand in the silliest way possible before the court. We asked the court to legislate. We asked the court to apply laws that don’t even apply. That’s why we withdrew. Our petition was ready to be filed, but when I saw the circus unfolding before the court, we said—this isn’t going anywhere. We’ll get lost in the melee. So we pulled back,” Aditya explains.

Aditya’s legal work has long intersected with the struggles of the Dalit community, particularly queer Dalits who face compounded discrimination as both gay and marginalised caste members. His advocacy focused on grassroots intervention, confronting systemic abuse head-on to protect those doubly oppressed, a fight he deems more vital than courtroom eloquence for gay couples and others facing injustice.

“For example, if a policeman picks someone up and beats him, and then realises that the person is also Dalit, he might add caste-based slurs, which clearly fall under criminal acts in our untouchability laws. But when that person seeks help from a Dalit group, often he doesn’t get it. I wanted to change that. As a lawyer, I was in a position to sit in a police station and negotiate the release of a Dalit person. And I think that is a more important part of legal work than being eloquent before the wigs in the Supreme Court. I’ve spent 70% of my legal life doing that. Because when a policeman is beating someone up, it takes courage to walk in, stand in front of them, and say, ‘Nahin, aap maroge nahin. Usko chhod do.’ (No. You can't assault them. Let him go.) Ask them: ‘On what basis are you holding him?’ Once you start asking those legal, logical questions, it takes the wind out of their sails. It disarms them. And that’s the kind of work I did,” Aditya shares.

The gay couple today live a quiet life in Kerala. Their bold love story and their thoughts on equality speak volumes about the broader battle for equal rights and inclusivity in India, where Pride Month sparks hope but cannot erase the deep-rooted barriers gay couples face—legal, social, and systemic.

News