Our House Is Loud

Meet the queer club kids who found a community through movement

Photography by Lily Vetch. Words by Shiri Shah

Welcome to our house, filled with South Asian queer club kids, performers, and creatives. You’ll get to know our group through the testimonies and photos below which consists of Zee Waraich, a stylist, model and dancer; Anthony Pius, also known as a hit drag act: Bolly Illusion; Minara-él-Waters, a beautiful Bengali Muslim drag princess; and me, Shiri Shah: writer, makeup artist, and a born-again recluse. We banded together in late 2017 to blow off steam in gay clubs, wearing the clothes we wanted as we expressed our authenticity. We felt both safe and fierce in our motley group. 

We were spotted via our Instagram presence. Parties such as HUNGAMA, a collective of queer South Asians, would hire us as a group to host their nights. We cheered each other on as we strutted down the club walkways. Sometimes bordering on hysterical screaming, like a ritual of release.

Our side hustle became a social scene of visual experimentation, blurring the parameters of “identity”, and future stories for our queer grandchildren. As a group of friends, we were each other's source of comfort when managers and owners would slack on payments and representation. Our presence grew into a crescendo until the pandemic hit, shutting all clubs and nightlife indefinitely. For a time we stopped moving.

Over the pandemic, we experienced life through the ebbs and flows of connectivity. The social landscapes of our world change with each passing moment; sometimes forcing a hermetic inertia, sometimes beckoning us to the dance floor as we entwine our bodies within fleeting moments of joy.

It’s been over a year since we rocked the London queer scene as an audacious, gender-bending group. We’ve continued moving to our own independent rhythms, chasing our dreams of creativity and security. Some of us continue to dance for our fans, and some of us have chosen the quiet space of writing stories. Yet we all started our journey of unshackling self-contempt and of moving towards queer salvation by reclaiming our heritage joyously. Dancing through the process. Keeping each other moving forward.

Here we honour ourselves and our thoughts from pre-pandemic to where we are today. A true moment of self-definition. Our voices are loud. We dance in ecstasy, feeling all the emotions that brought us to each other.

Shiri Shah, July 2019

It’s so ironic that people put us into a box and yet if you talk to us individually, our takes are so original and so insightful. I just find it really funny that the word ‘Paki’, is thrown around. If you actually sat us down and treated us like humans, there's so much difference.

It's the same thing with being South Asian. India has over 200 languages and I don’t even know how many religions, and that’s the one country everyone seems to think we all come from. We don’t. I think it's so important to keep reinforcing that. That is not what South Asian identity is. That is not what migration is. That is not what the diaspora is.

Shiri Shah, July 2021

It's been two years since myself and the others were a dancing queer clique. That space was honestly so foundational for us. As young queers who just started coming out to a new community, we found ourselves dancing with each other on bar tables, on the streets and wearing the most audacious clothing, screaming and laughing. I don't think I would feel as safe and as confident as I do now if I didn't have those people to fall back on.

I think it is also important because I'm from a Pakistani Muslim family. Dancing and wearing lewd clothing was a complete and utter no-no. My upbringing meant I wasn't really allowed to have a relationship with my body. It was so deeply ingrained into me that I wouldn’t allow myself to move my body, it became really stiff and alien to me. I didn't even have moments of dancing alone in my room.

Coming from that background and meeting these other people, taking over clubs, being applauded and cheered on has been so liberating. Really losing my mind and holding space for other people has helped me feel more at home in my own body.

When lockdown started I stopped dancing. I saw my friends continue to do drag, dance and lip sink in their bedrooms but I felt stagnant. I started using my body in different ways. I started running, doing yoga and breathing. I started experimenting with ecstatic dancing which is an Islamic form of dancing where you spin around in ecstasy and meditate while doing so. It's quite dizzying and has a similar effect to taking drugs.

But what I really started doing was taking my journey as a writer seriously. It's always down to you to speak your truth and tell your stories. We’re queer people who have run away from a lot of bad experiences and I want to use my poetry, my words, my stories to interrogate the status quo whilst also maintaining a level of respect for our ancestors and our elders. Our stories help us imagine a new future.

Zorawar Waraich, July 2019

I wasn’t able to explore my identity honestly until I connected to other queer people. They inspire me to be unafraid and proud. Just knowing that you aren't alone makes it all real and beautiful, rather than having to fight on your own just to exist.

We are blessed and love to celebrate and be in these scenes and nightlife where we party and we're very proud. But, when the sun comes back up, a lot of us are still unsafe. We're still targets. You have to take that makeup off, take the outfits off and survive in your day-to-day life.

One of the most amazing experiences I've had at HUNGAMA was probably one of the first or second times I was hosting. I was up there dancing, just doing my thing, wearing this super embellished top - a wedding blouse that I took from my mom, covered in her artificial jewellery. I went outside to take a break in the smoking area, and someone who is probably twice my age, South Asian and queer, came up to me. They appeared to be quite emotional and said that seeing someone my age be so unapologetic and visible and just celebrating my queerness made them feel really, really good and gave them hope. They thought it was very inspiring. I had to tell them that their bravery has had a part in birthing mine.

It doesn't matter how I'm dancing. It doesn't matter if I look a little crazy or if I don't look polished. I might even slip or break a heel, but that's what should be celebrated; that messiness, that reality of not being a pop star, just being somebody who's really proud of who they are, someone who refuses to be hidden away, someone who is just going for it.

If we can stop existing within the binaries that are forced fed to us by colonisers, we can start to free ourselves. I think we all need to understand that our bodies are not permanent, the only thing that may be permanent is our spiritual sense, and I don't think gender has much to do with that.

Ruhel Ullah, August 2019

My dream as a little kid was always to dance on a big stage and pretend I was a celebrity. I didn’t want fame. It was more about the level of peace and happiness I feel when I'm dancing on my own. It’s the one thing that I've always done ever since I was eight years old, even in the corners of the house where no one could see me. 

I had a little single bedroom that I shared with my brother. While he played Playstation in the corner, I'd dance in the background, and if he turned around I'd stop. I knew what drag was from a young age. I’d create characters in my room, I could be anyone; a pop star or a hoe–I pretended I had lots of celebrity boyfriends. I didn’t need it to be real. It just felt fun and exciting in my own room.

When I was 14 or 15, I knew I had to run away from home because there was no way to be happy in that house. I knew I had to sacrifice my family to be out. I knew that I had to go to university regardless of what I wanted to study. I just needed to figure out how to get out and be able to sustain myself. 

Minara is my drag name, my main influences are courtesan songs. I’ve always been inspired by Bollywood stars like Rekha, Madhuri Dixit, Ashwariya Rai. Whenever they play a mistress of the house, they own it, and it's really beautiful. 

I still identify as a man, and I still want to present as a good looking man when I'm out of drag. I don't think I can achieve that by drawing on my eyebrows, so I really go for the artistic flair with my drag makeup. The minute my face is on, my hair is on and the dress is on, my natural attitude just goes up.

Ruhel Ullah, July 2021

Over the pandemic, I've been trying to do what I can to make sure that I am the star that I see. I made mixes in my bedroom and created some outfits, but it’s been tough. 

I don’t care if no one ever knows my name, I don’t care if I’m a mysterious act, because I’m happy knowing that whatever I’ve created–a show or a mix or an outfit I put on a really good show. 

I get hope when someone says, “Oh, we’re going out tonight.” Sometimes I’ll show up as Minara even if I’m not booked because my favourite thing is when you look over at someone when you’re dancing, and they’re watching you.

Bolly-Illusion (Anthony Pius)

July 2019

I’m an Alternative Drag Queen, and I’m proud of my beard. My drag is all about me being a proud British Asian—infusing my Eastern and Western influences together. I enjoy Bollywood and Indian songs when I perform and equally love songs by British and American artists. What's amazing is that the queer “white spaces” such as The Royal Vauxhall Tavern and The Glory really enjoy the beauty of what Bollywood and South Asians create. The audiences always thank me for showing such richness and sharing a piece of myself.

My drag aesthetic is about combining the male and female energy together. That’s why I didn't get rid of my beard. I don't go full drag beat because I still want to stay true to my authentic self. Oh, I forgot to mention, I am THAT dancing queen who twirls fiercely in a 6-inch stiletto.

April 2021

Over lockdown, I was doing online shows but, I had to stop because it wasn’t the same. I missed being in East London, seeing someone wearing heels and a leather jacket, looking really flamboyant, being able to find similarities and relate to each other. The people that I know and love and who I confide in are home to me. Not being able to see them on a regular basis has really affected me.

Over this time, I’m seeing my mind growing in lots of different ways. I guess during this time, I'm even more grateful for my queerness. With Rueben, Sherelle and Kajel, we are a team. If I didn’t have this dance world, what would I have? I speak to them about everything, all the time. We keep each other moving.