Chapal Bhaduri: The Man Who Reigned as Bengal’s Last Stage Queen

In mid-20th century Bengal, some of the most celebrated female stars on stage were, in fact, men. At the forefront was Chapal Bhaduri—better known as Chapal Rani—the iconic “queen” of jatra, the vibrant travelling theatre tradition that once drew massive crowds.

Male actors performing female roles were common across the world, from Europe to Japan and China. In Bengal, this practice thrived in jatra, a rural, open-air spectacle blending music, myth, and melodrama. Though often overshadowed by cinema, jatra captivated audiences with its all-sided stages, exaggerated gestures, powerful voices, and colorful costumes.

Sandip Roy’s book, Chapal Rani: The Last Queen of Bengal, traces Bhaduri’s journey from stardom to obscurity, capturing a vanishing world where gender itself became a performance.

For decades, female roles in jatra were dominated by purush ranis, or male queens. Yet the art carried stigma. Colonial-era elites in Calcutta often dismissed jatra as rustic, and 19th-century Anglo-Indian journals mocked boys playing women as “discordant” and compared them to “howling jackals.”

By the 1950s, when Bhaduri entered the scene, the landscape was shifting. Women were beginning to take the stage, narrowing the space for male impersonators—but Bhaduri stood out.

Born in 1939 in north Kolkata to stage actress Prabha Devi, Bhaduri grew up immersed in theatre. He began acting at 16, later reflecting, “I had girlish manners, a girlish voice.” On stage, he became Chapal Rani, embodying queens, courtesans, goddesses, and madams with meticulous grace.

Costumes were carefully crafted—even improvised when needed. Early in his career, rags shaped the silhouette of his bosom; later, he turned to sponges. His beauty rituals and attention to detail reflected a serious commitment to creating the illusion of femininity. “Femininity was always a part of me,” he said.

Unlike comic caricatures of queer-coded characters, Bhaduri’s performances were immersive and deeply felt. Roy notes, “In Indian performing art, where playing gay or queer was ridiculed, Chapal morphed into a woman and played his roles with honesty and an act of bravery.”

Off stage, Bhaduri navigated a complex life. Though he did not publicly identify as gay, he received letters of admiration, proposals, and offers of love. He once remarked, “I refuse to apologise for love.” His one long-term relationship lasted over three decades, even as his partner married and had children.

Yet the rise of female performers began eroding the space for male queens. By the late 1960s and early 1970s, “moustachioed queens of jatra” were increasingly marginalized. Bhaduri experienced rejection firsthand—booed off stage during a performance of an older female role, with a clay cup hurled at him.

Many contemporaries fell into poverty: some became seamstresses, tea vendors, manual laborers, or died by suicide. Bhaduri survived through odd jobs—cleaning libraries and performing on the streets as Sitala, the Hindu folk goddess protecting against disease.

In later years, Bhaduri returned briefly to public view. Bengali filmmaker Kaushik Ganguly cast him in films, and in 1999, theatre impresario Naveen Kishore documented his life through a film and exhibition. For younger generations, he became a queer elder, a figure living outside easy definition.

Yet Bhaduri resisted labels. He did not identify as “third gender” and dressed off-stage in simple kurta and pyjamas. As Roy writes, “He was a queer survivor.”

Today, Bhaduri lives in a retirement facility near his old home in Kolkata, battling geriatric health issues, surrounded by memories of a life once center stage. Revisiting his story raises questions about memory: why some performers are celebrated while others fade, and which art forms survive the passage of time.

Bhaduri’s six-decade career left an indelible mark. Though he lived on the margins of the culture he shaped, his life offers a powerful lens into a world where gender was fluid, performance was profound, and courage took center stage.