On July 2, 1999, a rainy day, a group of 15 had set out for a walk in Calcutta. They knew that they were doing something meaningful, but had no idea that the walk would be celebrated later as the first Pride march held in India.

Twenty-five years later, it is being seen as a landmark event.

The times were different then, as was the vocabulary. A fire was raging in India, literally.

Right-wing activists had gone on a rampage protesting against Deepa Mehta’s film Fire, which had been released in India in November 1998. The film, which portrayed a lesbian romance between two sisters-in-law in a conventional Indian household, had been pulled off the screen in major cities, with Shiv Sena and Bajrang Dal activists storming theatres, smashing furniture and burning posters. “But they could not do anything in Calcutta, where the audience chased away the mob,” says activist Pawan Dhall, founding-trustee of Varta Trust. He was one of the organisers of the walk from the city.

The same city has now been accused of being the most aggressive towards the MSM community (men who have sex with men) by a study conducted by academics from four institutes in the country. “I do not think Calcutta is more or less violent than other Indian cities towards the community,” says Dhall. He says that the sample size — 50 persons in six cities — of the study could be bigger. “Such conclusions can be arrived at only after several studies are conducted across places and over a period of time,” he adds.

Those sampled in the study in Calcutta reported the highest rates of verbal (72 per cent) and physical (46 per cent) violence, while in Delhi the 50 MSM people reported the highest rates of sexual violence (44 per cent).

“In Calcutta our community still faces less violence in the streets,” says Dhall. In any case Calcutta was the natural choice for the first walk, which says a lot.

A conference of the gay community was held in Hyderabad in early 1999 — “we were still not using the description LGBT”, reminds Dhall — and the community felt strongly that it should make itself more visible.

It was decided that a public walk would be organised. Bangalore could be a choice, but Calcutta was selected as the venue because of its tolerant environment, and the fact that two queer organisations were already active here, Counsel Club and Integration Society. The city had the basic infrastructure.

The July date was in honour of the Stonewall Uprising, the spontaneous protests that followed a police raid on Stonewall Inn, a popular New York bar for queer persons, on June 28, 1969.

Dhall, with Ranjan — both were members of Counsel Club and Integration Society — took the lead in organising the Calcutta walk. “But it wouldn’t have been possible without Owais Khan, who threatened to march alone if no one else was going,” laughs Dhall.

On the eve of the walk, it did look like it would not take place. “We were expecting about 50 participants at the beginning,” says Khan, an activist and “happiness consultant” who lives in Bhopal now.

Many were giving in to last-minute jitters of being identified in public and its consequences. There was another fear, says Khan, who lived in Bangalore then. “We were afraid of being arrested by the police,” he says. “If I was arrested, I would lose my job,” says Khan.

“So on the day of the walk, we had just wanted it to get over without any hassle,” laughs Khan. When at a point it seemed no one would turn up, Khan said he would stage a one-man walk.

That did it. “We had deliberated on the risk involved in naming ourselves. It can also increase the ‘othering’ of that identity, lead to more discrimination,” says Dhall. But that risk had to be taken.

On July 2, 1999, the small, brave crowd of 15 gathered slowly under the gazebo in Park Circus, unafraid also of the rain. They were wearing bright yellow T-shirts that carried an ironic design: the inverted pink triangle that was stamped by Nazis on homosexuals.

The group included Dhall, Ranjan, Khan and other members of the community and sympathisers, such as Aditya Mohnot, Rajarshi Chakraborty, Santanu Giri, Susanta Pramanik and Niloy Basu, and a journalist from an English daily. Most were from Calcutta and other Indian cities. Some were from other places in Bengal — Bongaon, Kurseong and Darjeeling. Gay rights activist Ashok Row Kavi had come from Mumbai.

The walk turned into a talk. The participants conducted a short walk in the grounds and split into two groups, which spread towards the north and south of the city, meeting various individuals and organisations.

“We did not face any adverse reaction. The worst we faced was ignorance,” Khan laughs.

And the rain. It poured. The participants had to wade through knee-deep water.

“But it had to be Calcutta. The city has always been, and still is, forward-looking,” he says.

The south group visited the state human rights commission, where the official they could finally meet appeared clueless.

In the evening, they met at George Bhawan in Moulali and held a news conference.

Now that Pride marches have become such a spectacle in all Indian cities, including in Calcutta, the scale of the walk can even seem unremarkable. But it was huge in its significance. No one in India had done it before. But the participants were unaware of what they had done.

“A few reports were published. And we went back to our lives,” says Dhall.

It was held again in 2003, and then for a few years. But the first walk, and its quiet defiance, became a symbolic assertion of boldness and pride, when “Pride marches” were not familiar words.

In recent years the Pride march in the city, to be held shortly this year, has become a huge event. It is a great affirmation for the queer community and to the city. Dhall welcomes it. “But it is becoming commercial and that’s why it is not as inclusive as it could have been, in terms of demographics and class,” he says.

Aditya Mohnot, a Calcutta resident who was one of the youngest participants in the walk, remembers that he had joined just after hearing about it. But in hindsight, Mohnot, an activist and a fashion designer, but who would rather not use labels to define himself, sees what a remarkable thing it was. “The power and the impact of that first march has never been repeated,” he says.

Mohnot also thinks that the walk could have been hosted only in Calcutta then. And that the city is still more hospitable than many others towards the queer and other marginalised communities. “It is not as if the queer community in Calcutta does not face discrimination or violence, but the study was shocking,” says Mohnot. The city lets you be, more than many others.

“I believe that in its soul, Calcutta, still, is not harsh towards any people because of gender, or economic status, or religion,” he says.