Art For The Queer Desi Heart
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To The First Girl I Fell In Love With
the first girl i fell in love with had a shy smile, a just born style
and a profile of a life lived in black and white
see, for the rainbows in your pocket peeked out sometimes
Do All Queer People Experience Emotional Homelessness?
I am not sure of my idea of ‘Home’, but I feel homeless at times. When I want to sleep for days, people seem unbearable, 'I don't see the point' of doing anything, my body aches, I feel I don't have any home to go back to and rest in my cozy bed.
The Lesbian Friendzone: Do You find Yourself Caught Too?
Jokes aside, I wonder whether Matt LeBlanc could have envisaged that his character’s quip about “The Friend Zone” from 1994 would evolve into this phenomenon of male-entitlement a decade later. Yes, it’s competing for the top-spot against stealthing and marital rape, y’all!
Falling In Love With Your Best Friend
Coming back to my dilemma, which I know is annoyingly cliché like a LOT OF HETEROSEXUAL ROMANTIC FLICKS! Except the fact I’m undoubtedly GAY for my best-friend. Period.
Musings Of A Desi Lesbian
I am a shell of what’s left of me
I’m not who I used to be
So if you run into the girl I was
Don’t hesitate to tell her, her cause
Give her kindness and give her love
Before she disappears above
And becomes another constellation in the sky
Why “Thappad” Does Everything Wrong
The film does nothing to challenge patriarchal norms but rather neatly works within them, and that’s one of the reasons for the film’s success. It doesn’t require us to look within and change anything, but it reinforces already held beliefs and, at most, asks for minor readjustments to allow the audience to applaud their ability to learn and revel in their liberal and progressive world-views. We’ve learnt so much. Let’s not slap the good self-sacrificing woman, shall we?
Queer Wedding Alert!: Vaibhav And Parag
Both Parag and Vaibhav decided to wait until the family was ready to wholeheartedly support it and help them plan a wedding in the most traditional way possible.
Poem: Going Through My Instagram 3 AM At Night
Don’t get me wrong,
My fight is not with that woman, I am just a different kind of woman.
Of Ropes And Borders: Being Queer In The Anti-CAA, Anti-NRC, Anti-NPR Protests
It's ironic that we were just talking about borders in class that day. Invisible borders. The rope was a physical manifestation of the border between the crowd of men and women, and me, a person who was neither.
Poem: Meena Put Her Lip Gloss On
Meena put her lip gloss on. Litchis filled the air.
Both of them, thinking the same, of how fruits beg to be plucked.
Poem: She
The symphonic rhythms of her breath etched into my being,
I look up at her face as she gently presses her lips on mine.
Dear Bollywood, Stop Telling Me I’m Not Enough
I’m sorry, but who are you Mr. Khurrana and team to tell anyone that they are "incomplete"?
Pride
What if I could not celebrate 6th September publicly,
What if I could not join the Pride march,
What if I was not the torch bearer,
What if I was not the path clearer,
That doesn't make me more or less important.
10 Funsies Gifting Ideas This Pride
No, obviously, all I am being is suggestive with this thrilling list of goods that you can get to spice things up this Pride season!
Poem: Not A Love Letter
It is words strung together
trying to make sense
of what I want to tell you
and what I need you to understand.
Poem: Love As Submission
He says things to me, he does things to me.
Shh, don’t tell them, we’ll be embarrassed.
Two loveless souls trying to fill each other’s voids.
We make love, and tame those devils.
Animals we were, but don’t you see that this is our way of love?
People ‘Like That’
when i joke and ask her/ what if i was in love with a girl,/ it is not a joke either.
How To Love Someone Without A Gender, A Manual In Four Parts.
You are the object.
She comes and asks me who I am
Asks me to grip harder.
When the moon is unreachable
I push myself into the breachable
Her eyes feel my insides and suddenly
I am nobody.
First Dates With Pretty Girls
You fumble and drop sentences, your leg trembles and beats a staccato rhythm on the pavement while she patiently hears out your half-complete, constantly backtracking stories, nods and keeps brushing her hair back.
