When Alok Vaid-Menon took to the stage in the Alex Theatre on Saturday night, they were greeted with applause and cheers from a sold-out venue filled with adoring fans. Alok smiled graciously, thanking the crowd while appearing statuesque in a shimmering rainbow floor-length gown. Located just 200 metres up the road from the Victorian Pride Centre, the theatre was a symbolic safe space – a place where attendees were free to be who they were, to laugh and to cry together as they were entertained by Alok, a born performer. Alok describes themselves on their Instagram to their 1 million-plus followers as an author, speaker, poet, and comedian. First and foremost, they are an artist deeply fascinated by the human experience and the ways in which society restricts us from showing up as our most authentic selves. They are gender non-confirming and transfeminine, and enjoy experimenting with fashion in ways that are bold, colourful, joyful. The way Alok presents in the world, however, does not always receive this warm welcome. Alok recalled in their show the countless times they’ve been met with homophobic and transphobic verbal and physical attacks – including a violent experience in Melbourne during their last tour of Australia. Their social media profiles are regularly inundated with hateful comments, where strangers take it upon themselves to ‘punish’ Alok for daring to defy gendered sexual identities or appearances. The vitriol they receive for living in the public eye is made more complex by another layer of their identity – that of being a South Asian American. Alok was born to Punjabi and Malayali immigrant parents in Texas and continues to navigate the complexity of their identity through their performances. Their part-comedy, part-spoken poetry show doesn’t shy away from challenging themes – the comedy employs sarcasm, dark humour, absurdity, and X-rated punch lines to deal with the very real issues of trans human rights, racism and abortion.  Alok’s racial identity is just as much a target of hatred as their trans identity, and more often it is the intersection of these identities that invites further oppression and violence. As Alok reflected on these incredibly complex themes through sometimes belly-laugh-inducing jokes – “For the longest time I thought white art was drawing borders between countries” – and heartfelt, deeply vulnerable poetry, it became increasingly challenging to avoid the Indian elephant in the room – where were the South Asian people? In the almost 500-person Alex Theatre, it was evident from the first arrivals to the final stragglers that very few South Asian people, or even people of colour in general, were in attendance that night. Alok’s Melbourne supporter base is very much a cohort of queer people, allies, and artists, just like them – but the majority of whom are white. This made for an interesting captive audience to a performance in which Alok shows they are more than their identity as trans, non-binary or queer. They are a South Asian person – they opened the show by wishing there was a ‘lazy immigrant’ narrative they could aspire to as opposed to the constant need to achieve; later in the show, they spoke about feeling like a “bad Indian person” for being terrible at yoga compared to their white counterparts in perfect Lululemon twin sets. And in a deeply moving spoken word poem, Alok spoke of the support of their grandfather with such heart-wrenching honesty that it left most of the audience in tears. Navigating familial rejection or acceptance is certainly not an experience unique to LGBTQI+ South Asian people. Nor are ideas of shame, belonging, or identity. We know, however, from documented experiences of LGBTQI+ people in India, and also South-Asian people living in the UK and in the US, that many fear disclosing their identity to their families, and those who do come out risk losing connection with immediate and extended family all together. It has even been shown that compared with other ethnic groups in the US, it is South-Asian American LGBT children who face a greater risk of suicide, depression and drug abuse. It was therefore not just moving, but deeply radical for Alok to share the story of their relationship with their grandfather up until the last moments of his life, and to describe it as one that was filled with profound acceptance, understanding and love. For LGBTIQ+ South Asians around the world, this would be a relationship that is yearned for, but not always one they would receive. Alok’s grandfather was an immigrant who spent years in a refugee camp, a mentor to Alok who shaped their acceptance of who they are. In a tribute on Facebook dedicated to their grandfather on the day of his funeral in 2020, Alok wrote affectionately of a man who influenced their art and life: “When I told him I was trans years ago, grandpa said it made complete sense because ‘all great artists aspire toward androgyny’. He was always supportive and inquisitive…he came and saw me perform back in 2015 and sat in the front row with the biggest smile.” This kind of generational allyship is heart-warming to bear witness to, especially considering so often LGBTQI+ kids simply want acceptance from those they love most. It is also a rare show of solidarity that queer South Asians do not often get to experience. Does the fear of shame and rejection from their community explain the absence of South Asian people at Alok’s show? Maybe. It is far more likely that the reason is a historical network of colonisation, a culture of secrecy and shame, and the desire for conformity that plagues the experience of new migrants the world over. In the show, Alok recounted the experience of moving back in with their mother during the beginning of the pandemic, and of asking them to take their Instagram photos in their front yard. Their mother was aghast – “I don’t want the neighbours thinking I live with a cross-dressing hooker!”. Alok’s reply was even more biting – “I’m nowhere near attractive enough to be a hooker – and that’s half your fault.” The audience roared with laughter, but instead I gasped. As a South Asian person, I know that this response is not just hilarious, it defies all expectations of how a South Asian child would speak to their parents, and the nuance of this was lost on the monolithic audience. It spoke to not only Alok’s unapologetic existence, but to the clear boundaries they have set in their lives for even the people they love, to which shame, cruelty and fear cannot penetrate. Whether Alok noticed the demographic makeup of their audience on Thursday night is up for debate, but what is clear is that Alok’s message is intended for all. Ultimately, their wish is for everyone to experience radical self-actualisation and forgiveness. In their concluding poem, Alok declared to us: “I don’t care if you accept trans people – do you accept yourself?” Alok is no longer touring in Australia and the pacific, but will be performing across the US and Europe over the next month. You can read more about them on their website, as well as their new book 'Beyond the Gender Binary'.  Jess is a freelance journalist and currently works for the Victorian Multicultural Commission. You can connect with her via LinkedIn.