There’s a line in the play Jhumkewali, where Rekha (played by Harshini Misra) says to Bindu (played by Lauren ‘Toto’ Robinson), “Koi tujhpe gussa nahi reh sakta.” [It’s impossible to stay mad at you].
As one of the co-directors of Jhumkewali, I have borne witness to Lauren’s quirks and eccentricities over the past few months, and I can confirm that this is how it is in real life, too.
Lauren is a non-binary actor, educator, and drag artist based in Mumbai. They’re playful and mischievous, but with an openness and sensitivity that makes you feel at ease around them. When they walk into a room, there’s an energy about them that you can’t help but feel endeared by. And you really, really can’t stay mad at them for long.
You may have watched them on screen in Netflix’s Mismatched (Season 3) or Rana Naidu, or heard their voice in the Hindi dub of Mae Martin’s Wayward. You may have caught them performing on stage in Jhumkewali, or in Faezeh Jalali’s 777, or in drag at a queer event.
As a theatre educator, they have worked with children and adults alike through schools that offer varied curriculums as well as independent workshops.
In this conversation, I interview Toto about what it’s like being a trans person in education, the difficulties of navigating the film and television industry, and their personal journey as a non-binary person.
You’ve had mainstream acting roles in the past few years. How has it been to navigate the film and television industry as a trans and queer person?
My body has always been my primary instrument. My gender journey and my acting journey are deeply, deeply intertwined. Acting was the only place where my shape-shifting wasn’t questioned. It was celebrated.
One time, I was playing a cis character, and I had a dysphoric episode a couple days before the shoot. It was really hard and I couldn’t come out of the bathroom. I couldn’t support myself at that time. So now, when I get my costumes, I do these affirmations: ‘I am now stepping into a character’.
You have to do a lot of your own advocacy in these spaces. I did have difficulties with directors, because having trans stories told out loud through the format of visual media requires care. You have to feel like you are taken care of. I don’t mean ‘taken care of’ in that you give me a vanity, or four assistants. For me, it’s that my safety and well-being aren’t in opposition to the artistic vision; they’re a prerequisite to it. I think that doesn’t happen a lot over here. That’s where the money is at, actually. They’d rather spend for your entourage than an intimacy coordinator.
As a trans person, when I’m telling a trans story, I might be uncomfortable with the camera in certain angles; I want to talk about it first. And I’m glad I have the space to have these conversations, but the follow through is important as well.
For example, I am upfront about my pronouns because it can be confusing. I’m they and them. However, there was a shoot where I was repeatedly misgendered on set while filming, even when the character’s gender identity and pronouns were clear in the script. So the labour of correction would fall on me. It’s hard being the person having to look out for this when I need to focus on a scene partner, or an emotion.
My understanding is that the industry sees me as a niche; I only fit some version of a stereotype. The auditions I get have also dwindled; it feels like they don’t really know where to cast me. They feel like I’ve become less versatile but I feel like my versatility has only increased!
What are some changes that you think are required for trans people to be able to exist in these spaces?
We need mentors—queer and trans people in the industry. We need more awareness, and support systems in place to allow access to creative work.
We need it included in the structure of it all. When you direct a fight scene, you have an action director or a stuntman come in; we need something similar. You should hire a gender consultant or a queer consultant. But right now, it feels like we’re there to fit an idea of what ‘diversity’ looks like. People want representation without the work of actually bringing in authenticity.
What made you want to do drag? Where did your drag persona, Daddy Freddie, come from?
The Gay Gaze Bombay was doing a show, a few years ago, called Kingdom of Anarchy 1.0. I remember seeing it on Instagram and thinking, ‘Okay let me just show up.’ I showed up in drag, and the organisers asked me to perform at their next event!
My drag persona, Daddy Freddie, is a clumsy, mischievous guy who tries to dance and make jokes. I didn’t know if I could manage the makeup and the costume, so I didn’t—I showed up in a white banyan and jeans for Freddie’s first look.
I’ve been making mistakes quite publicly with drag so that I can learn. Because I’m doing it for fun. I don’t want to have an intellectual barrier at the start.
Drag isn’t just one thing; there’s comedy, there’s lip syncing, there’s humour. So much of my understanding of how playful gender can be and how I can take space with Freddie, I want to incorporate into my own life. It lets me explore masculinity in ways I hadn’t seen growing up. It has taught me a way to be all the things that I had denied myself.
You received gender affirming top surgery a little over a year ago. What was the process like for you?
I made the decision to get surgery during the pandemic. I was already presenting that way and living that life. I just found the words then. It took me two and a half years to secure the funds. That was a very proud moment for me because at one point, I couldn’t see a future. I didn’t have jobs in hand. I just had this discovery within me and I thought that with this discovery, I wouldn’t have a career. I almost left acting. I wasn’t seeing anyone who looked like me who was doing the things that I wanted to do.
Then, when Elliot Page came out, I thought, ‘Oh, it’s happening somewhere in the world, so it’s possible.’
So there’s a whole phase of navigating mental health to recalibrate and understand that you can and will have a future.
Luckily, with the online community, there are so many resources. I relied heavily on that. I looked at my trans brothers, where they got surgery. I would research hashtags, trans men, and find friends who had gotten surgery, then check out their doctors. Once, for fun, I looked up ‘plastic surgeons near me,’ and I happened to find my surgeon, whose clinic was literally twenty minutes from my house.
I had a misconception before, that once I have surgery, my life is suddenly going to be rosy and I’m going to feel on top of the world. And while the background noise has lessened, I am still dealing with challenges that are the result of trauma over the years. This journey is going to be lifelong.
But once that noise is gone, you’re able to put your energy into working, and focus on the things that bring you joy, not on how you have to present, or how your shirt is touching your body. It’s really hard to describe. It’s something I call ‘background static’. It had started affecting everything.
Now, I couldn’t feel more at home.
As an educator, what do you hope your students learn from you? What have you learnt from them?
I think the children I taught were often more ready for queerness than adults were. There have been moments when I have not known how to respond to them, because I myself struggled with what and who I am, so I didn’t know what to tell them. But their curiosity and openness really encouraged me.
I’ve always encouraged the work where they’re able to sit with emotions like humor, joy, anger so it reflects in their art or they can write about it. We would often talk about ways of being and their struggles at home and their challenges and the real world basically.
It matters so much for them to see people like us be where we are and do what we’re doing, so I had to question time and again what my boundaries with teaching and conversations about gender and sexuality were. If I put up a shirtless picture online, I wonder what my students will see. At the same time, I want them to see that people like this exist. It’s something I grapple with.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Image sourced from Lauren Robinson