Sapta Matrika : Explorations in Drag

There are rituals you inherit. And then, there are rituals you create.

The Matrika Project came from my need to reimagine what faith and divinity mean to someone like me—a queer person who didn’t fit into the strict boxes that religion often builds. Through this project, I brought to life the Saptamatrikas—seven fierce mother goddesses from Hindu mythology—using drag as my medium. But it wasn’t just about looks or performance. Each goddess I embodied connected deeply to my personal story, my gender, and my spiritual path.

Bharmi

My journey started long ago, even before I understood drag or queerness. As a child, I visited Yellama temples where I saw transwomen from the Jogini community walking on fire, piercing their bodies, and dancing in full devotion. One of them once gave me a flower and said, “May the Devi bless you.” That moment stayed with me. It was the first time I saw queerness and divinity come together.

Later, I saw other rituals too—like in Bengal, where a man dressed up as Goddess Kali and was fully accepted by the village while he gave blessings. These early experiences shaped how I saw faith—not as something fixed, but something alive, emotional, and expressive.

At home, I grew up with contradictions. My father was a temple priest during the day and talked about communist revolutions at night. That made me learn to both respect and question religion. I didn’t fully believe what was written in the scriptures, but I wanted to build my own understanding of faith. That became the path I walked.

For me, drag became a spiritual experience. It wasn’t just art—it was prayer. I started painting gods on my face and dressing my queer body as divine figures. I wasn’t imitating anyone—I was becoming something that felt real and sacred to me. I did photo shoots where I posed as different Devis. In 2021, I even celebrated Navaratri by dressing as a different goddess for nine days. It was my own version of ritual.

That led me to the Matrika Project, where I explored the Saptamatrikas—Chamundi, Kaumari, Maheshwari, Narasimhi, Brahmani, Indrani, and Varahi. These seven goddesses each represent a unique kind of energy, often connected to male gods like Shiva, Vishnu, and Brahma. But for me, they were more than just myth—they became ways to explore gender and power through drag.

Chamundi was my connection to rage and survival. She reminded me of all the times I had to be strong just to exist. Kaumari was the protector in me—the one who defends softness with strength. Maheshwari represented stillness and inner knowing, especially important when I needed peace. Narasimhi was wild and powerful. When I performed her, I let go of control and embraced chaos. Brahmani reminded me that I can be a creator. She helped me see that my body and my drag are tools to birth new ideas. Indrani was regal, proud, and beautiful. She helped me feel powerful in my femininity. And Varahi, with her boar face and earthy energy, was the most raw. She taught me that even the parts of myself that others call ugly or strange are worthy and sacred.

But there was also a sadness. In temples, books, and festivals, these goddesses are always shown in cis women’s bodies. The transwomen I saw worshipping Yellama were never represented. The gender fluidity I saw in real life was erased from the mainstream stories. I asked myself: where do people like me belong in faith?

That’s when I realized: I don’t have to wait for representation. I can create it. Through drag, I became the Devi I had been searching for. I didn’t need permission—I just needed presence.

Each goddess I performed helped me rewrite the rules. They showed me that faith doesn’t have to reject queerness. It can hold it. It can even celebrate it. Dressing as a goddess didn’t just make me feel powerful—it protected me. Like in that scene from the film “PK” where putting a god’s image on your face stops people from hurting you, I felt shielded by the divine. Maybe not from violence, but from shame.

My body became a canvas. A space where I could live my truth, beyond the limits of gender, beyond the fear of being different.

Through the Matrika Project, I made space for myself in the spiritual world. I told the stories I wish I had seen. And I hope, through this work, others who feel left out of their faith might find a path of their own—where they are holy, powerful, and beautifully divine just as they are.