Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji terminus – or just CST if you don’t trust yourself to remember that extra h – was the subject of the first night of World’s Busiest Railway 2015 (BBC2), part of the Beeb’s India season. Treble-hosted by Dan Snow, Anita Rani and Robert Llewellyn with what sometimes appeared to be heavily caffeinated enthusiasm, this was a whistle-stop tour through some very impressive numbers.
CST plays host to 1,500 trains a day. Each of these trains carries up to 5,000 people. The incredible throughput relies on some inventive practicalities – there are no ticket barriers, and passengers can “double discharge” on to platforms either side of the train – and some alarming safety compromises: there are no doors on the trains, people tend to disembark while they’re moving and the rush-hour capacity is achieved by what’s known locally as the “super-dense crush load” – up to 14 people per square metre inside the carriages.
Our game hosts were dispatched to try to board trains at rush hour, and they all failed at the first attempt, inexperienced at the polite shoving and punching required. Rani could barely stand to spectate. “I’m worried for your safety!” she shouted at the people hanging from the doors. “I’m worried for your safety!” She’s got a point: on average, nine people a day get killed on Mumbai’s suburban network. Eventually, all three presenters managed to get aboard. “I’m literally not on my feet,” reported Snow from the centre of the super-dense crush load.
There were more courageous show-biz types on Channel 4. “I pray. I go to the mosque every week,” said Asif. “I fast during Ramadan. I finished the Qur’an. I’ve been on pilgrimage. I give to charity. I am a very good Muslim.”
Asif is also a drag queen, performing under the splendid name Asifa Lahore, part of Britain’s burgeoning but secretive “gayasian” community.
In Muslim Drag Queens, a Channel 4 First Cut documentary based on a Guardian film of the same name, it became immediately obvious why it’s secretive. Asif regularly receives threatening emails: “You call yourself a Muslim, you should be ashamed of yourself and killed.” Not that Asif himself is secretive, or daunted. “I’m saying fuck you to all those people who give me death threats,” he said, “and looking fabulous while I’m doing it.”
In Birmingham, Zareena, the alter ego is 28-year-old Imran, is hoping to find love online – but mostly finds married Muslim men. “Most of them just want sex,” said Zareena. “They’ll lie to you to get it.”
Zareena uses the flat of her neighbour, Donna, for assignations. It’s safer. “Sometimes she’ll get dressed up and then they don’t turn up, and she’s sad,” said Donna.
Asif has a protege, 22-year-old Ibrahim, who grew up in Mauritius, had come out to his parents just a week before and has chosen the drag sobriquet Sofia Less (“so fearless” – it took me a while). In the middle of their rehearsal, Ibrahim’s mobile played the call to prayer, and Asif suggested they go to the nearest mosque.
“Or we could just pray here,” said Ibrahim.
“I don’t feel comfortable praying here,” said Isaf, “just because we’re in a pub environment. We’re in a venue that does sell alcohol.” Ibrahim didn’t have a problem with that, he said. He went ahead and prayed in a corner, away from the bar. Asif gave every appearance of being gobsmacked. “I’m thinking: he’s brave,” he said. “I don’t think I could do that.” This is a bit surprising from someone who, as Asifa, will later take to the stage in a burka and niqab, and then strip it off.
I guess everybody has their own personal boundaries when it comes to transgression: once you cross a line, it’s up to you to draw the new line. Perhaps what Asif found brave was that Ibrahim was praying in a pub on television. This was a sensitive documentary, not to say an extremely cautious one – voices were altered, faces blurred, venues left unidentifiable – and necessarily so. Everyone who participated should be credited with bravery, but I kept thinking of that cry from the train platform: I’m worried for your safety.
Getting done up for a march with the help of his friend and make-up artist Sergio, Asif draped a veil over his dark wig. “For today I’m channeling Benazir Bhutto,” he said.
“Let’s hope you don’t get shot,” said Sergio.
In the end, Asif was rewarded for his bravery by Attitude magazine, and his mum even came to the ceremony. I’m not sure that Ibrahim wasn’t bravest of all, especially when faced with the prospect of having his genitals taped up – with duct tape – ahead of his debut. “Did you shave your pubes?” asked Asif. “Put it this way – they won’t be there in the morning.”
