A child, a mirror, a tale of acceptance: The story behind 'The Mirror'

I remember the first time I watched The Mirror. I was still early in my self-identifying journey, too scared to say out loud that I was queer — I was bisexual — let alone embrace it fully. Growing up in India, queer representation in advertising was — and still is — a rare sight. Fewer than 1% of advertisements showcase LGBTQ+ representation, and when it does appear, it’s often through a tokenistic lens or steeped in pity, forced into a heteronormative mould that makes queerness palatable for the masses.

But The Mirror was different. It didn’t try to explain or justify. It simply reflected.

The UNAIDS campaign, directed by Shashankha Chaturvedi, portrayed a young child recognising their gender identity, and in doing so, it did something revolutionary — it made space for quiet self-acceptance. Without excessive dialogue or dramatic scenarios, the film laid bare the struggles of coming to terms with one’s truth and the vital role of one's family’s support. 

I remember watching it in the solitude of my room, my heart pounding as I saw the child in the ad looking at their reflection, hesitant yet yearning. That moment struck a chord deeply because I had lived it too — standing in front of my mirror, questioning, fearing, and yet, hoping. The Mirror gave words to the emotions I had buried inside me. It wasn’t just an ad; it was a quiet affirmation that my feelings, my existence, were real. It made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t before.

Finding authentic queer representation in Indian ads has always been a challenge. But The Mirror was a rare exception, a testament to the power of nuanced storytelling. Revisiting it now, ahead of Transgender Day of Visibility, feels more relevant than ever.

I had the opportunity to speak with the creative mind behind this groundbreaking campaign, Swati Bhattacharya, as she reflected on the making of the film, the stories that inspired it, and the evolving landscape of transgender representation in Indian advertising.

The genesis of The Mirror

The Mirror unfolds in a quiet, intimate moment — a young boy twirls in front of a mirror, draped in their mother’s dupatta, a bindi on their forehead, lips painted with stolen strokes of lipstick. In the solitude, away from the chaos of the world, they find joy in their own reflection. But when their mother and grandmother walk in, the moment stills. For a brief second, silence hangs heavy.

Then, instead of questioning anything, the mother picks up the fallen dupatta, places it gently over their head, and begins to dance with them. A simple, tender gesture — one that speaks louder than words. A gesture that carries the weight of unconditional love.

For Bhattacharya, this ad was never just a film; it was a deeply personal project shaped by lived experiences. The idea for The Mirror first took root during her work on Sindoor Khela, a campaign that aimed to make Durga Puja celebrations more inclusive.

"Through that campaign, I discovered a sisterhood with trans women," she recalls. "Most of their stories revolved around rejection, particularly from their own families. Many had been forced to leave home by the time they were 14 or 16. That realisation was heartbreaking. I wanted to create something that acknowledged that pain."

It was this understanding that shaped The Mirror. "A mirror doesn’t judge—it simply reflects. Before we talk about transition or therapy, the first step is for parents to truly see their child, without fear or prejudice. That’s where acceptance begins."

And in that one quiet, powerful moment—the mother choosing love over hesitation—that acceptance shines through.

The Power of Storytelling

Some stories don’t need words to be heard. The Mirror is one of them. It unfolds in quiet moments, relying on raw emotions and unspoken understanding to tell the story of a child’s self-discovery. There is no dialogue, no overt explanations—just a tender, intimate exchange between a child and their mother, where love speaks louder than anything else.

'Most of their stories revolved around rejection, particularly from their own families. Many had been forced to leave home by the time they were 14 or 16. That realisation was heartbreaking. I wanted to create something that acknowledged that pain."

That pain — and the longing for acceptance — led her to the metaphor of the mirror.

For many trans individuals, the first moment of self-recognition happens in front of a mirror. The image staring back is both familiar and foreign—a version of themselves the world refuses to acknowledge. In The Mirror, Bhattacharya captured that moment with aching simplicity. 

It was never just about visibility. It was about healing.

Bhattacharya’s work has often centred on the small, deeply personal objects that hold untold stories. In another campaign, Unbox Me, she drew inspiration from the secret boxes trans children often keep hidden—holding a stolen lipstick, a cricket ball, a bangle. Trinkets that represent who they are but cannot be, until one day, they leave those boxes behind.

"When they ran away from home, those boxes were left behind. Through that campaign, I wanted to symbolise acceptance—to create a world where those boxes wouldn’t have to exist in secret."

Trans representation in ads 

Despite the growing push for inclusivity, trans representation in Indian advertising remains scarce. A study analysing Indian audiovisual ads found that in urban settings, only about 10.48% featured transgender characters, while in non-urban settings, the number was slightly higher at 20.95%. The disparity reflects a larger issue—the invisibility of trans lives in mainstream media.

Bhattacharya, however, believes representation shouldn’t be treated as an announcement.

"I’ve started incorporating representation in my work without making a big statement about it. For example, in one of my campaigns ‘Streedhan’, one of the brides is played by a trans actor, but we did not announce it as a trans ad. It was simply an ad. That’s how normalisation should happen."

This approach — one that prioritises organic representation over tokenism—has started making its way into Indian advertising and entertainment. Trans characters are finding space on OTT platforms, and more brands are embracing inclusive workplace policies. But Bhattacharya knows there’s still a long road ahead.

"We still have a long way to go, but the key is to embed trans representation naturally rather than sensationalising it."

What’s next after representation? 

Representation is important, but it’s just the first step. True change happens when it’s followed by action.

"Many trans individuals are denied access to homes, schools, and workplaces, pushing them into cycles of poverty and vulnerability. If brands truly want to be allies, they need to focus on employment and education opportunities. Creating a safe space at home and school can change a child’s entire future."

The economic challenges faced by India’s trans community run deep. According to the 2011 Census, nearly 490,000 people identified as transgender. But a 2017 study commissioned by India's National Human Rights Commission found that only 6% were formally employed in the private or NGO sectors. Many are forced into informal work, some turning to sex work or domestic labour due to the lack of other opportunities.

There have been efforts to change this—initiatives that provide alternative livelihoods, skill development programs, and policies promoting workplace inclusion. But systemic change takes time, and in the meantime, many continue to struggle for basic dignity.

As our conversation drew to a close, Bhattacharya left me with a thought that stayed with me long after:

"Before a parent talks to their child, they need to see them. A mirror does exactly that—it shows us who we are without bias. If we can do the same for our children, we create a world where they don’t have to run away to be themselves."

At its heart, The Mirror isn’t just about trans representation in advertising. It’s about how we, as a society, choose to see people — not as categories or labels, but as they truly are. Visibility is only the beginning. The real work lies in acceptance, empathy, and the quiet, everyday choices that make the world a little kinder.