#desi WLW

[shikanji]

bedside

[ramblingsfromthytruly]

no you don't understand finding the queer desi side of pinterest and tumblr has genuinely healed something in me that i didn't know needed healing

[deadpoetsorgy]

unlocking the ultimate desi gay aura

[janaknandini-singh999]

Being a desi sapphic is like hMmM wHaT is iT gOnNa bE ✨today✨?

*mere sapno ki rani kab aayegi tu uwu* yearny?? or *ek ladki ko dekha toh aisa laga* kinda cute lil crush???? or *jab bhi main koi ladki dekhu* simping bitch????? or *BACHNAA AE HASEEEENOO* gay hoe

[dhurrbyang]

rip to all the queer desi girlies who watched katrina kaif in the kamli video when they were 12. congratulations on your gayness!

[gayestwizardlord]

Bitches out here being like "my hobbies are staring at pictures of my girlfriend and making her feel loved and pretty." I'm bitches.

I love my girlfriend <3

[butchkaramazov]

tum aankhon se batana hum samajh jaayenge

[thewaltzofthelonelycity]

i've got 99 problems and having a beautiful girl in a lehnga tuck my free strands of hair behind my ears, and fix my dupatta for me while cupping my face and kissing me would solve all 99 of them.

[incoherentscreaming101]

another night another round of sapphic yearning

[hi-avathisside]

Girls are so beautiful it hurts.

[shikanji]

a piece based off of a veena I saw at the national museum

[houseofbreadpakoda]

Saudebaazi

It was 7 on a Monday morning. More than half the city was up, the traffic taking over the mellow atmosphere. Two ladies stood in front of an old house, with one rumbling her pouch trying to find the keys.

"Oho, hurry now will you?" Whispered Sarala.

"Hmm hmm" Damini replied shaking her head, trying to rid her mind of the daze.

Sarala and Damini had spent the night at their friends place, sipped on a little booze and passed out. This had led them to sneak back home this morning, hurrying between rickshaws and buses, avoiding everyone's gaze.

It wasn't easy for them to be out on such adventures. It wasn't easy for two widows. For two 50 year old widows. Especially when they were clad in white from head to toe. They had absently held each other's hands tight while sprinting back home.

The duo had grown up in the same neighborhood. Both being from extremely conservative families, had been married off at very tender ages. Damini was married to Vinayak, a rich bank manager when she was just two, whereas Sarala was married rather sold to an old man Jagadish, by her parents, to clear their debts, at eleven years of age.

Jagadish, lured by the dowry he received began to lament his job, barely turning upto work thrice a week. Spent all the money he had on gambling and alcohol. Within a year of his marriage he was thrown onto the streets. Eventually, lack of money had led to abuse.

It was Diwali, when Damini had rushed to Sarala's house to feed her the sweets she had made when she found her tending to her wounds, broken glass pieces scattered on the floor. She had tiptoed to Sarala, to find a slit on her forearm, dried blood surrounding the wound. The bastard had begun his wrath much before the sun had risen.

"Why can't I have a nice husband...?"

".....I can be your nice husband...." Damini had replied sheepishly.

"Arey, but how-"

"Or maybe I could be your nice wife?"

"......that would be nice." Sarala had said smiling.

Damini's Husband was no better. He would be out for days or sometimes weeks. And when he'd return, so would the abuse. He earned enough to buy ten white elephants, but never bothered to give Damini a penny. When he decided to eat at home, he'd buy the groceries himself, but when he was away Damini would have to make do with the little food Sarala managed to sneak to her everyday.

Both the girls, barely teenagers, spent most of their time together. They would tie gajras for each other, exchange anklets, braid each other's hair and apply henna on each other's hands and feet.

Jagadeesh's drinking eventually backfired, the man could barely pass a minute without breaking into a coughing fit. All Sarala had to do was sit back and watch him swallow the poison everyday, and within a few months, hopefully, he'd be gone.

One very fine day, when Vinayak returned home with a chicken in hand, Damini had accidentally dropped a chicken bone in the broth which he managed to choke on, while Damini had coincidentally left to fetch water from the well. Poor lad, choked on his food, struggled to breath and died.

Sarala and Damini were now widows, at the age of just seventeen. It was good riddance.

After all they had good company ;)

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This was supposed to come out months ago, but I was dumb fuck and forgot about it so here it is. My first non-fanfic series.

Tagging: @janaknandini-singh999 @talesinmyhead040122 @tenderhood @vijayasena @yehsahihai and whoever else wants to be tagged really

[justsomesapphicbimbo]

Being north Indian and gay is a hell no one deserves. And it only gets worse during pride. Cuz it would be fine if it was only Instagram comments you had to avoid but yahan toh ghar se bahar nikalte hi lagta koi gunah kiya hai just cuz I exist. How am I supposed to have friends when most people my age (the so called dharmic and all loving) are also homophobic assholes.

Man sometimes I do wish I was straight.

[deadpoetsorgy]

first pride with the loml <3

[janaknandini-singh999]

“बहुत अजीब थी वो

गुनाह की तरह छुपी-छुपी,

तो सवाब ही तरह ज़ाहिर

और कभी, किस्मत की तरह बेतुकी”

(“Strange, she was

Shrouded like a sin

Obvious like a sacred deed

And sometimes, illogical like fate.”)

- Khufiya, 2023

IN MY HEAD THEY'RE MARRIED AND LIVING HAPPILY EVER AFTER SHUT UP

[icantbelieveyouhavedonethis]

Give me a desi girlfriend to go on Pani puri dates with. I'll tie gajras in her hair, buy her big jhumkas and help her put on delicate payals.

Doing Kala Jadu for a desi sapphic girlfriend: