Inside India’s evolving third gender Hijra youth movement

In South Asia, a new corner of TikTok is blooming: Hijra women in their thousands are taking to the app, dancing, growing their followings, and, significantly, making a lot of money. ​“These girls are getting rich, and I’m talking, very rich – TikTok pays in pounds, and that doesn’t change for the girls in Asia. It’s definitely a moment of attainment,” says Rahemur Rahman, a British-Bengali fashion designer and filmmaker from London. 

The rise of ​‘HijraTok’ marks a wider shift in how a new generation of Hijra women are negotiating what it means to be Hijra today, navigating inherited traditions alongside TikTok fame, chosen families, and independence. 

Body of Our Own, an upcoming documentary by Rahman and fellow filmmaker Lily Vetch, captures this moment of transition. Veering away from the narratives of suffering and spectacle, the film spends six years following three Hijra women as they live their lives on their own terms – finding love, building online audiences, and dreaming of autonomy. In a world where trans bodies are increasingly politicised, it aims to create something quietly radical: a representation of Hijra women simply as people, their personal journeys reflecting the same complex realities we all experience.

Once a significant part of social and spiritual life in South Asian countries during the 19^th century, Hijras were criminalised and marginalised under British colonial rule. Lawmakers actively attempted to erase Hijra communities through laws that criminalised gender non-conformity and same-sex relationships; a legacy that continues to shape queer lives across the region today. 

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In the 2010s, Hijras were officially recognised as a ​‘third gender’ in several South Asian countries through state legislation and court rulings. However, Section 377 – the colonial-era law criminalising same-sex intimacy – was only fully repealed in India in 2018. As a result, same-sex relationships remain illegal or heavily restricted in many other South Asian nations, alongside a legacy of continued social marginalisation and stigma. While this marginalisation varies across countries, most Hijras face limited employment opportunities, discrimination in healthcare, and the risk of being ostracised by their families.

Today, Hijra communities are rooted in long-standing cultural traditions and ideas of protection, while also shaped by shifting understandings of gender brought about by globalisation. Increasingly, through taking on influence from the internet and social media, younger members of the Hijra community identify as trans women or non-binary, while still retaining the Hijra title as a cultural and communal identity.

Rahman explains: ​“There’s an interesting thing happening right now, where a lot of global queer language, like trans and non-binary, has made its way over to South Asia. So Hijra is a very old term, and anyone who has an element of femininity beyond traditional cisgender, masculine presentations, they sit in a community called Hijra, and that’s all it is.”

He continues: ​“They might be intersex and still be very femme presenting, but because their genitalia doesn’t look like what a biological woman’s looks like, they would be ushered out into the Hijra community. But the communities are so old that they have this hierarchy scheme, where everyone always pays up to their leader, so they also have very rigid constraints.”

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Body of our Own documents these different experiences of modern Hijra women. It sees them forge their own paths, while at the same time navigating the stricter rules of the Hijra communities.

In 2019, Vetch and Rahman flew to South Asia where their charity partners, Somporker Noya Setu and Bandhu Welfare Society, introduced them to various Hijra communities. The first person they met was Neshi, a young woman wanting to escape her Guru Ma (matriarch).

“I think we just connected on such a deep level. She was so quirky and funny. She just sat there so perfectly, but we could tell she’s a naughty girl. It’s rare to meet your main character on the first day,” Vetch adds.

After some creative diversions and several trips to and from South Asia, Rahman and Vetch focused Body of Our Own on three Hijra women: Momo, a viral TikTok dancer and Guru Ma balancing loyalty to her chosen family and complex relationships with her estranged parents; Jannat, a sensitive young woman navigating sex work and artistry; and Neshi, who travels across India while dreaming of running a Hijra-led parlour in Kolkata.

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Rahman explains how the structure and filmography of the project was shaped by their own cultural influences: ​“We love Sex and the City, so we knew we wanted a few formidable characters — but we also wanted to show the normal, everyday, very mundane things the girls were doing,” he explains. ​“If you watch it closely, you can see the undercurrent of how their transness shows up in, say, an argument with their parents.”

Ultimately, the filmmaker hopes audiences come away seeing the women simply as people. ​“They’re just trying to make a living like me and you — everyone’s low-key just trying to get their likes on Instagram, get their comments up. They’re arguing with their mums and dads, or arguing about clothes. These girls and I have the same issues.”

That emphasis on shared experience is intentional. ​“We don’t want it to be seen as this ​‘South Asian story’,” Rahman says. ​“To be honest, I would love it if people went into the film not even knowing the girls are trans – just watching a lovely film and seeing what you take away emotionally, without your preconceptions.”

The emergence of ​‘HijraTok’ has been transformative to Hijra life, offering both social and financial liberation: girls dress in gold, participate in dance trends, and secure brand deals, opening up new opportunities for financial independence.

“They’re literally trying to get famous,” Rahman explains. ​“It’s globalisation, where these girls are on TikTok and seeing the same content that we’re seeing. When we first went, the internet wasn’t as big everywhere, but that was six years ago, and so seeing how globalisation has changed how queer and trans and non-binary kids are growing up in South Asia, it’s growing a whole new world for them. Momo uses TikTok a lot – like that girl is dancing and doing mini TV dramas for herself.”

Vetch adds: ​“I see this other side of social media – I see the toxicity of it and then I also see the empowerment. It’s creating social mobility for Hijra kids. A lot of Hijra kids in the villages are denied education once there’s acknowledgement of their femininity or a question about their sexual identity, so it’s hard for them to assimilate into capitalist society. So social media is giving them the ability to create their own career and that’s why I’m so for it.”

On the surface, the girls that Vetch and Rahman spent time with seemed far less concerned with the politics of their existence than with simply living their lives. The pair embedded themselves in these everyday moments, capturing their online content creation, family arguments, breakups, and ordinary routines. Yet even so, amid increasing global dangers for trans and queer people, portraying the humanity of Hijra women remains vital.

Rahman says: ​“People are dying, and now it’s not a game. We need to tell these stories so that people can live. We need to tell these stories so that we have more allies. We need allies in healthcare. We need allies in politics. We need allies on projects. People are going back on the promises that they gave to queer and trans and marginalised communities, and that’s why this has to happen now.”

Body of Our Own is currently fundraising to complete post production, and to donate funds to Momo, Jannat and Neshi, and to the documentary’s charity partners. Follow @bodyofourown on Instagram to keep up with the film’s progress. The documentary will be touring film festivals in 2026.

Isabelle Blakeney is a freelance journalist. Follow her on Instagram.

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