I took my colleague to a drag show tribute to Dolly Parton

My day begins with workplace conflict. How the hell does one pace their booze for a drag show that begins at 1 am? A tribute to Dolly Parton, in Delhi’s hottest of queer bars Kitty Su, no less. Nitya and I find ourselves in a back-and-forth all afternoon. This would be her first drag show ever. Serious work’s at hand.

An espresso martini will keep us awake! No, I don’t like espresso martinis. I’ll drink something else. Let’s do (gatekept regular spot). That’s too far man. I’ll go wherever in CP. I’ll go to Mars. No we are not doing beer!!!

It takes until 9pm to agree on (gatekept regular spot) and scram. It doesn’t take long for Nitya, bedazzled up herself without any prior instruction, to get over the fact that I’ve chosen to wear a blazer over a leather skirt and thick eyeliner. We pick our cocktails in a quick consultation, take to the dance floor, and eventually, find ourselves perched on the outdoor stairs to the terrace… trying to chase hints of winter in the Delhi air.

‘I feel like it’s going to be pink and loud with glitter everywhere when we reach. The show will obviously be late because queens need to dress up and get ready to lip sync, right?’ She pauses to drink. I neither confirm nor deny. When we reach The LaLit a little after midnight, we are greeted by silence. The five-star-hotel entrance sort of silence. It is broken only by Nitya’s wondering if we’ve reached far ahead of time.

We are soon escorted to Kitty Su through a small door near the dining area. The tracks have only slightly started to hit. Most people are dressed modestly, though we do spot some mesh shirts and high heels. Hands are being held, people are dancing with loved ones even while sober. One uncle in the corner is fast asleep. The stage, of course, is the right amount of high – not too much. The lack of pink glowyness (there’s more of a bluish disco ball and revolving lights) does not in the slightest bother Nitya. ‘I actually feel… comfortable. For this atmosphere, they've trained their staff very well,’ she admits. 

We duck outside to the patio to smoke without feeling the least bit breathless. Folks have their legs on the table. At 1.42 am, the mic finally crackles to life. ‘I request EVERYONE to come to the front!’

The crowd surges. We fight our way to the front to catch a peek: colossal blonde curls, razor-sharp makeup. The ravishingly gorgeous Lush Monsoon and Hash Brownie instantly commandeer the stage. ‘DO WE LOVE DOLLY?’ one of them yells. The music slows down, worming its way into Dolly Parton’s iconic catalogue. When the first notes of 9 to 5 kick in, our eyes are glued.

Next comes Jolene, spliced with vintage audio clips of Dolly’s iconic southern drawl playing between tracks, bantering about her life and her songs. It’s not a dance-heavy night… not yet. Queer celebration has always made a spot for grief. As the intro to I Will Always Love You echoes through the bar, the entire room melts and sighs. Lush takes the mic, looking out over a sea of upturned faces. ‘I'm sure she's smiling down,’ Lush says softly, calling Dolly an honorary drag queen. ‘We’ll always love you.’ Somewhere near the front, Lush’s mother reaches out, handing over a stack of cash like a true proud parent.

‘Dolly Patel! Dolly Mitra! DOLLY PATAK!’ The queens are fanning each other. They promote Kitty Su Beauty, a new makeup line, advising the crowd to wear it on… I’ll stop myself there. I’ve just realised Nitya’s fate has been sealed.

Hash Brownie leans over the stage, locks eyes with Nitya with a sly smile, and blows her a kiss. Nitya gasps, but quickly catches it, pulling it with her shaking hand to her cheek. Soon, Hash Brownie swoops down like a glamorous bird of prey and pulls her in. Nitya’s head is engulfed. The song goes on, until the show ends as suddenly as it started. No vote of thanks or showering of ribbons. Everyone is already back to dancing. For a bar that charges a fortune (for what are bloody good drinks, to be fair), this is as close to the true spirit of drag as it gets. Drag originated in the speakeasies of 1920s and 1930s Prohibition America, after all. 

I’m glad I didn’t warn Nitya about anything. Truth be told, we’d have charged the floor down even stone cold sober. ‘The boobs felt safe,’ Nitya reflects solemnly, staring into the distance. We return to the expanse of quiet outside The LaLit, and she asks for some time to sit before we book a cab. Bleary-eyed, we don’t want the night to end just yet. So we get coffee (at Seven Seeds) instead.