Photo Project : Drag Affair by Akhil Komaravelli feat Sas and Xen

Art has never been a fixed idea for me. It’s something that evolved as I began understanding the world and the strange, sometimes jarring, beauty within it. My training in Indian classical dance introduced me to a world of forms—of perfection, of discipline, of seeing things as they "should" be. But I’ve always been drawn to what disrupts that order: the oddities, the unsaid, the uncomfortable truths. That discomfort eventually found its home in my drag—a raw, confrontational expression I’ve come to call the "suffocated art specimen." A drag that tears apart mainstream notions of beauty, leaving behind something fractured, but honest.

In the beginning, people questioned my drag aesthetic. It didn’t fit into the glittery, polished template many expected. But over time, I introduced audiences to the concept of Tranimal Drag, where the grotesque becomes beautiful, where found objects and chaotic forms tell deeper stories than makeup ever could. Creating this kind of work became a ritual of survival for me.

Then came the pandemic.

With the world under lockdown, and the absence of physical connection tightening like a noose, something shifted inside me. Art, for me, had always required proximity. The electricity of human touch, the energy of being present with another—it had all disappeared. I felt distant, not just from others, but from myself. Isolation blurred the line between safety and stagnation. My drag, usually messy and loud, began to feel claustrophobic in silence.

But as the world slowly reopened, a new hunger grew inside me—a desire not just to return to drag, but to share it. I had become so possessive of my creative process, so immersed in self-expression, that I had almost forgotten the healing power of collaboration.

And then came Xen—a fellow artist and a longtime friend. Xen, an AFAB (assigned female at birth) performer, had followed my work and reached out to explore a collaboration. It felt serendipitous. Here was a chance to create drag not just with someone, but on someone. To be their muse, and let them become mine. We carried different energies: Xen was meticulous and composed; I was instinctive, unstructured. That tension—of chaos meeting clarity—sparked something magical.

We called it Drag Affair.

Set at Café Paaka, an open-air space in Hyderabad, this performance was less a show and more a shared ritual. In front of a small, walk-in audience, we sat with a heap of discarded items—stockings, broken jewellery, tangled wires, makeup, bulbs, glitter, fabric scraps—what society might call trash, but we called tools. The premise was simple: we would create each other’s drag looks live, using only what lay before us. No mirrors. No rules. Just trust.

Xen started by painting my face in gold. I covered theirs with nylon stockings, erasing familiar features. I tangled wires around their shoulders, gave them a look of deliberate disarray. They, in contrast, layered my form with shimmer and symmetry, drawing out an unexpected glamour. As our hands moved across each other’s bodies, styling, painting, creating—we surrendered. Our bodies, locked in solitude for more than a year, were finally speaking again.

What emerged was not just two drag personas, but a living expression of genderless, postmodern fashion. Our looks were wild, uncanny, contradictory—echoes of one another, yet uniquely individual. The boundaries between artist and subject had dissolved. We had become walking installations, canvases painted by trust and touch.

The performance was captured in photographs by Akhil Komaravelli, freezing this beautiful disintegration of self and structure. Despite the intimacy of the act, we ensured safety—testing ourselves before and after, following every protocol. Because at its heart, Drag Affair wasn’t about rebellion. It was about restoration.

Two performers engaged in a vibrant and dynamic performance art piece, adorned in elaborate costumes and masks. One extends a richly patterned, colorful scarf towards the other, creating a striking visual contrast against the natural backdrop.

More than anything, this collaboration reminded me that drag is not a solitary journey. While many assume drag queens are lone performers, fiercely protective of their looks and personas, in reality, drag is inherently collaborative. From the designers who craft our clothes to the photographers who capture us, drag is built on exchange. But rarely do we allow another artist to directly touch our face, our body, our drag.

This act—of creating drag on each other—was deeply vulnerable. It taught me the beauty of letting go. Of trusting someone else with your vision. Of allowing your body to be reshaped through someone else’s eyes.

When we looked at each other at the end of the performance, we no longer saw ourselves. We saw each other’s interpretation of who we could be. It was transcendent. Gender, biology, ego—all blurred into something more fluid, more expansive.

That, to me, is the true power of drag.

Drag Affair was a reminder that art can be therapeutic. That drag can build empathy, foster sisterhood, and help us reimagine connection in a post-pandemic world. It was a soft rebellion against distance. A loud celebration of intimacy. And a testament to the kind of healing that happens when two artists let go of control and simply trust the process—and each other.

Because sometimes, all it takes to stitch the world back together is a little glitter, a little trash, and the willingness to be touched.