It is a new morning.
You know you will have to do this over and over and over.
Everytime, you get a little bit stronger. Not because it gets easy, but because you know the
battleground so well.
In our conversations, we also realized that we converged in our likeness for the same boys. These boys were out of our reach and with whom we could only dream conversations. I tried to show that I was jealous of us liking the same guys, but I don’t think I cared for them anymore.
So would you not
join me in the investigation
for the world to decipher
why (spoiler alert)
you killed “what a poor boy”.
predictably building up to a steamy lovemaking scene,
marked by the male gaze
and then there's the inseparability
I wasn't good
You weren't all bad
But that wasn't love
And that I understood.
Everyone was in their dormitory but loud whispers in the dark carried out through the hostel corridors. The warden had just retired to her room, and from there she bellowed out names, calling for silence. And I? I was there watching you. I was perched on the bathroom slab; of marble, cold and flat. I remember that. I sat on it unflinching still because I couldn’t allow myself to seem fragile. You had just finished washing your undergarments, and were slowly clipping them up to dry at the other end of the washroom.
In that moment, I realised that this was mostly everyone’s stance on the LGBTQ+ community in Mysore. No one was willing to talk about it, and those who thought differently about it were too scared to speak up because Mysore is a very close-knit community and family name matters a lot over here.
I got really tired of being a woman who had to be “perfect” at every turn. I could not have a many days where I could sit and do nothing because I was depressed. It was frowned upon. Depression is frowned upon.
As someone who had been the new kid too many times and didn’t have a close group of friends, I longed to fit in somewhere. I desperately wanted to be a part of the queer community. I took so many “Am I Gay?” and “Where are you on the Kinsey Scale” quizzes, modifying my answers to get the result I wanted.
Nudity or boudoir art is the oldest form of art which has suffered from perceptions of the audience. However, nudity in my body of work developed meanings and answers the question why on a daily basis but in its truest form it is a celebration of oneself.
This ideal, set in 1915, of female and femme presenting bodies, to have smooth, alabaster skin, was one of capitalistic opportunism. However, over the years, through perpetuation and amplifying media imagery, it has evolved into a defining characteristic of femininity itself.
We met when I was exhibiting Out Here and Now, a series of paintings that became my personal and professional coming out breakthrough. Only the week before I had ended a 13-year relationship, mostly hidden, with a younger man from my village. Our views of the future had diverged and began to conflict. I was coming out as a gay man and artist; he didn’t want to test the dangers of a more public life any further than we already had. I didn’t blame him.
The first episode of Netflix’s new reality series, Indian Matchmaking, is titled “Slim, Fair, and Educated.” Honestly, that tells you almost everything you need to know about this show.…
Your stare accuses me of a crime
I know not, gone is your faith;
But this jewel has always been mine
And the truth can never be changed.
My idiotic heart that clings to every false hope led me into believing that this change of place would mark a new beginning of acceptance, kindness and warmth. Little did I know that humanities can only teach such notions but cannot force you into practising it.
Living a bisexual life is to live in the shadows. To exist in the grey. You belong in the straight world, yet you don’t. You belong in the queer world, yet you don’t. Because our desires are both normative and deviant, we’re suspects everywhere.
The old year
may die – a dream
with the blistering sun
the blue-sea left me deep
I decided to get it all together, experiment and feel accepted by my own body in the form of Self Portraits.
I instantly had an impulse to pull her close to me and kiss her on her the curve of her neck. I fought that urge and decided to walk out and light the cigarette for her instead, she always had trouble with matchsticks. She breathed in the smoke, made a cloud that enveloped her face, I noticed my mouth was open in a rather odd fashion and immediately stiffened as she passed me the cigarette.
I grew up with an all-consuming love for Bollywood movies. They supplied the canvas for my visions and the soundtrack to my life’s cadences. To go to the theatre to watch a movie was to touch magic. And nowhere was that magic more apparent than in the quintessential Bollywood romance.