#desi lgbt fest

[toripar]

নিজের মুখের আয়না আদল লাগছে অসহায় ।।

@desi-lgbt-fest : fear, guilt

[teaah-art]

Desi LGBT Fest 2023 (hosted by @desi-lgbt-fest)

Day 3 : Fear/Guilt

CW: Aphobia, Homophobia, Misogyny

POV you're Ace/Aro/Aspec/Arospec in a 'get hetero married, have kids' heavy culture but not really very out to people. I mean, at this point the marriage culture is so deeply ingrained being out will probably exacerbate the guilt haha hahahahahaha haha hah....haha

Anyway, text flowed better in Hindi for me but ALT text available with translation+transliteration of the scribbles as well as the narrative text. English translation+transliteration of just the narrative text under the cut

Transliteration:

Hath Peele Nahin Honge,

Na khilegi mehendi ki lali,

Ghar me baaraat nahin aayegi,

Rishtedaron ko nyota nahin jayega

Safar ka humrahi bhi nahi hoga,

Jeevansathi bhi nahi hoga,

Humdard hokar bhi dard nahin samajh aayenge.

Humraaz hokar bhi raaz nahin rujhayenge.

Kabhi kabhi ek sukoon sa lagta hai,

Na rishte banenge, na dard hoga.

Lekin kya dost ke dard me sukoon pana,

Wajib hai?

Translation:

Hands won't stain yellow,

Neither will the red of the henna flourish,

The wedding party won't come home,

The relatives won't get an invite,

The journey won't have any fellow travellers,

There won't be a life partner,

Pain doesn't make sense despite being empathetic,

Secrets don't seem enticing despite being a confidante.

Sometimes, there's a sense of relief,

Bonds won't form, there won't be any pain.

But is it fair to seek relief in a friend's pain?

[browngurl99]

@desi-lgbt-fest

Day 1 - Dream Gay Aesthetic

When you simultaneously want to give Cool-Funny-Popular Boy vibes and also Friendly-Caring-Shy Girl vibes and can't decide on one

[doeeyeddyke]

Marigold

Desi LGBT Fest

Day 10: They Bring Me Flowers

@desi-lgbt-fest​

[desi-yearning]

A Little Freedom is All I Need

@desi-lgbt-fest Day-5: A Little Freedom is All I Need

A little freedom is all I need

To live like me with the girl I love To sit and watch the Moon above

To hold her hand and kiss her face To melt into her warm embrace

To stop living in this closet of glass To start living without the contrasts

To make a house and call it home To share the home and a last name

All I want is to call my girl my wife By marrying her and building our life

Is it too much to ask for? Because a little freedom is all I need.

Thank you so much Koko (@watchingblsnowandforever) for beta reading it and also calling it post-worthy, I wouldn't have done it without you!🩵💛

[desifandom-draws]

[I.D.: A digital drawing of the O.P., a brown androgynous-presenting person with short black hair. She is holding the bisexual flag behind her and grinning widely. The stripes of the genderqueer flag surround him. The artist watermark is desifandom-draws. End I.D.]

@desi-lgbt-fest Day 2: Legacy

I want to leave behind a legacy of pride and hope! I'm here, I'm queer, and I will not back down because of fear!

(reblogs appreciated more than likes)

[desi-lgbt-fest]

Day 29: Defiance: of Gender, of Expectations

Heyya @desi-lgbt-fest! Kinda late again, but here is a prompt submission 😊

------‐--------‐-

You know, being an Indian girl, you got to meet certain expectations, like being quiet, wearing only feminine clothing, not use curse words, don't be loud and rowdy, and the list of nonsensical restrictions goes on.

I did have a lot of questions about such things as a kid, and I stood out quite a lot because I loved stuff that boys tended to enjoy, such as motor cycles, having short hair, wearing shorts, a good brawl, etc. (Still do, though!)

As I got older, I expressed my personal preferences to my parents and rebelled against them, like getting a masculine haircut, swearing (only when necessary, of course), and taking up Judo.

Through the years, my parents got used to me being me, mostly because they understood. For instance, my mom knows I get a little cranky if I don't get my hair trimmed at the barbers, especially during summertime.

Recently, my mom joined me in my jacket collection! So far, it has mostly been denim since I take up after my dad, but I got myself a lovely leather jacket straight out of the men's section because why the heck not.

Other than being masculine, there are times I tend to be feminine, such as wearing kurtis and hoping to wear the saree I once wore during my farewell but with freshly trimmed hair, a rather bold move that I hope to achieve someday.

Nowadays, I get a lot of heads turning towards my direction because I embraced myself by defying gender and societal expectations. And boy, does it feel so good.

[anaccidentwaitingtohappen]

@desi-lgbt-fest day 1 - dream gay aesthetic

idk for a while now I've been dreaming of having The gay wedding and being safe and loving people and being loved by people.

(i know I can do better than just this but it's day 1 so I'm going into it slowly)

[indian-kahani]

Day 28: Walk of Pride

sorry for not posting in ages guys i was struggling through my writer's block -_- anyway here you go! hope you like it <3 i struggled to write it ngl, idk if I really like it but ah well.

tags: @desi-lgbt-fest, @manujanolavu @morally-gayy @desi-yearning (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

Rati had always been scared to attend a Pride festival.

It felt like admission: yes, I am gay. Yes, I am proud.

Proud of what? What did she have that made her special? She had always been a blank puzzle, with missing pieces that could be scattered anywhere across the globe. How was she supposed to colour herself in rainbow and call it Pride?

Rainbows had always seemed like sad, fickle things to her. Small chinks of happiness that were erased by the sun. That were only possible with the most specific combination of events. Rain, and sunlight slanting exactly the right way.

Then what did that say about herself?

What did that make her?

Delicate? Impossible?

She had always been such a good girl: she sat in the front row. She played two instruments. She handed her work in on time. She didn’t doodle, didn’t gossip, didn’t daydream. Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t. Her entire life had hinged on couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t.

What could she do?

She was named for the Goddess of Love, after all. Then why wasn’t she confident in her own? Did that kind of confidence only come with straight love? Was she really as broken as her mother implied when she talked about lesbians? Every time she felt butterflies in her stomach, she locked them away. The day she called herself gay, she felt something inside her that she hadn’t felt before.

A sense of belonging.

That was the only reason she persevered, if she was being honest. That feeling had lit a flame inside her, a tiny sun of her own.

God knew there was enough rain in her heart. Maybe this little sun would make her own rainbow.

So when she went to college, she kept her head up and a smile on her face. She knocked at the door of the college Pride Club, and when the leader, (‘Padma’, her name tag read) opened it, she plucked up all her courage and asked:

“Excuse me, does this college have a pride event?”

She was half expecting Padma to laugh at her. For her to shoo her away and say that young girls, in their first year at college, didn’t belong at Pride.

Except – that wasn’t what happened at all.

Padma held the door open with a gentle smile and beckoned her in. “Of course! In fact, we have a pride event tomorrow, to mark the end of Pride Month. Do you want to meet the rest of the team?”

Rati hesitated. If she stepped over that line that marked the boundary between corridor and classroom, she would be safe. She could go back to reading in the library and not stirring up a fuss and presenting as ordinary. She could be good little Rati that never stepped out of line, just like she had been for the last seventeen years.

But something inside her was tired of being good. A little voice (her namesake, perhaps?) whispered to her that perhaps it was time to try being bad for a change.

And so, she offered a radiant smile for what she hoped to find in that room.

“I would love to.”

Pride Club was not like what she had expected at all. In fairness, though, she didn’t know what she’d expected. Whatever it was, it wasn’t this.

Ten to fifteen students lounged around the classroom, eating their lunch and chattering playfully with each other. Padma, perhaps sensing that she was getting a little shyer, put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Guys!” she called to make herself heard over the chatter. “Oi! Guys!”

Everyone turned to look at her, and Rati dropped her gaze to the ground at their subtle scrutiny. “This is our new member, Rati,” Padma gestured to her. “Be nice, all right?”

“Hi, Rati!” A short girl with choppy bangs grinned at her. “I’m Anshika, Padma’s favourite-” she lowered her voice, winking as if divulging a secret, “-and only – girlfriend!”

Padma blushed. “Shut up.”

“H-Hi, Anshika-ji.” Rati managed to smile shyly at her.

“I’m Khushi!”

“Anshuman.”

“Hey! Ravi here.”

As they made their introductions, something settled in Rati’s heart that had been fluttering around inside of her. She allowed the smile on her face to settle. This… this felt nice.

The next day, it took far less courage to show up to the Pride event.

This is it. She thought. I’m finally admitting it.

She held her flag tightly, and when the moment came, waved it high in the air. For once, the rainbow seemed strong, invincible. More than a trick of the light.

This felt like belonging.

This was her family.

This was her place.

And this was her pride.

hope you guys like it! feel free to tell me what you think in reblogs/comments etc :]

@desi-lgbt-fest

[hornscorns]

জুঁই

Desi LGBT Fest 2023 by @desi-lgbt-fest

Day 10 : They bring me flowers

the first love of my life would bring me flowers like joba (hibiscus) & jui (jasmine) & genda (marygold) from her mother's potted plants. i was never really too careful with them and would either lose them or dispose the soggy flowers before the last school bell. while returning back home, i remember my hands often reaching the end of the pocket of my skirt that once had the flowers in them. id be able to smell them on my fingers. i think liked that i smelled of them the potted plant of jui in my balcony still reminds me of my time with her (sometimes)

tried my hands at pressing some flowers with a sheet of glass. multiple photos that i clicked of the pressed flowers and some shadow pic were overlaid in different angles. cut out some bengali newspaper fonts for the title and a little collage of all local flowers i click photos of mainly on my way to swimming <3

[witnesscrescentsuns]

The Mechanical Sage and the Twelve-Eared Tyrant: Akshar and Kushagra

Day 3 of Desi LGBT Fest: Fear/Guilt

“This joy, this peace, this deep solace from your companionship, is my greatest fortune. My heart beats for you with a clumsy gangling stagger and it embarrasses me to share this with you, but you must know it, just as I must know the warmth of your fingers and the steadfast comfort of your lap. My cunning beloved, you have captured me, stolen me from my duties and orphaned me from this world. Your briefest glance is my skin exploding with warmth. Your shortest call is my soul rushing back Home. Your invitation is my hunger and your touch is my asthenia. 

I live, not as myself, for the first time. I live, knowing the face of my Beloved, for the first time. I live, for the first time.

You must know it. You must know it now. Because now that I live, I think of dying.

What will it mean, when I lose this? What will it mean, when my desires do not have you hiding inside them? What will it mean, when your hands turn cold and you stop knowing the gracelessness of my untaught heart? 

Will I loathe my freedom from your embrace? Will I lose my hunger and my fatigue? 

When the last of your flesh is pecked away by the World and you become It, you will turn into Sorrow and when you do, balm of my heart, you must kiss my cheeks so that they are wet and burning. So that I could recognise you as the World again. So I could finally stop being so afraid.”

---

Akshar [the figure laying on Kushagra], is an immortal Sage. There are few secrets of the universe that he doesn’t know, yet he ponders Kushagra’s eventual demise and finds himself unsure of what will lay ahead. 

Kushagra himself is the ancient (but much younger) king of the Air Kingdom, which he rules with an iron fist and a steelier heart. Yet, he has seduced the Mechanical Sage himself and regained his youth through partial immortality - but he is on borrowed time.

@desi-lgbt-fest​ 

[toripar]

tethered.

@desi-lgbt-fest day 5, a little freedom is all i need.

[teaah-art]

Desi LGBT Fest 2023 (hosted by @desi-lgbt-fest)

Day 6 : 5+1 Things

The mental gymnastics one has to do sometimes in Asian households to present information is truly something

[doeeyeddyke]

Marker Mehndi

Desi LGBT Fest

Day 7: Faith/Rituals of Love

@desi-lgbt-fest​

[browngurl99]

Day 7 - Faith/Rituals of love

"Come on! Say it, Nikita. It's a ritual."

"But I don't know how to make one on the spot. You just happen to be good at that, Aai."

Nikita and Trisha held a post-wedding get-together exclusive to certain relatives and close friends. They had come a long way since their first meeting at a jogging park 5 years ago.

Although Trisha was a couple years older than her, they got along very well. Trisha loved to make others laugh and sometimes Nikita laughed at her unfunny jokes just to see her proud smile. She was also a great friend. She always looked out for others, including Nikita. She always checked up on Nikita when she did not come to the park. One time, when Nikita came down with a fever, she came to her place by herself and then took drove her to a doctor.

It took them a six months-long friendship for Trisha to confess that she is bisexual is to Nikita. Nikita could not help but immediately come out to her at the very moment. Ever since then, they started slipping their presence into each other's lives more often. Then the obvious happened. They slowly realised what they felt for each other from a long time, was not one-sided at all. The confession was kind of a mess as it happened due to a playful flirting session between them that ended up with them kissing. But they worked it out in the end. Nikita could not even believe how quickly the time passed since their confession. And now, they were married.

"Ukhana doesn't have to be perfect. Just try it. It's the ritual that matters." Aai said.

It took some time for Aai and Baba to accept her fully. She came out a couple years ago. That time, they were shocked and worried. But later on, their daughter's happiness became the top priority for them. They still seemed hesitant some of the times as they were still not very used to the whole concept. But they were still learning. They were trying their best and that was enough for Nikita.

Surprisingly, Ashish was present at the gathering too. When Nikita came out to him, his reaction was positive. He stated that he forgave her 'betrayal' because he completely understood her situation. They got divorced for the better. But ironically their friendship got stronger after the divorce. He had been one of the few people who wholeheartedly supported Nikita's identity.

"Okay. I will try to say it." Nikita said nervously but also with a hint of excitement. Trisha winked at her ; To motivate her or to wish her luck? No one knows.

Nikita took a deep breath. It had been a long time since she said an ukhana. The last time was during the Satyanarayn Puja after her marriage with Ashish.

This time Nikita had to say ukhana for her the person she truly loved, Trisha. It was a little confusing. "How could I describe my wife in just some little poem?". She thought. Trisha deserved a thousand poems written about her. And Nikita would write those thousand poems but she would not want the world to know a single word of it, as if it was only reserved for Trisha.

Nikita pushed her too-many thoughts away and started reciting the poem

"Tujhya premachi challi ashi jaado

Prem geet aiktana tu lagli disu

Kontyahi phula peksha jaast sundar

Aahe Trishacha hasu"

[Translation: Your love had such magic on me

I started seeing you everytime I listen to a love song

No flower in the world can compete

The beauty of your (Trisha's) laughter]

"Waah! Waah! Kya baat hai!" Yelled Nikita's friends enthusiastically, as if they were attending a poetry recital.

Nikita gasped "You guys are trolling me. That was cringe. "

Then, Nikita heard a laughter to her side. Her wife was laughing. Her usual stern voice sounded very light. Her cheeks were brushed with a shade of pink.

"Oh my god!" Trisha said between laughs "That's the cutest thing I have ever heard. I loved it, Nikita."

Nikita's ukhana was completely true. In fact, not only flowers, but the beauty of the entire nature could be seen Trisha's laugh. She was truly lucky to have this woman as her wife.

...

@desi-lgbt-fest

[navarice]

A Box of Pictures in Ma's Attic

//@desi-lgbt-fest // Day 18 Fest Submission

Sometimes when I look back at my childhood photos I wonder how such a sweet little girl could ever become someone like me. It’s not a feeling that’s purely negative, though. It’s just a thought. I see the little me holding dolls and hugging her family and then I wonder just when did I stop feeling the joy of existing and start worrying about the space I occupy in this world. Every person stands at their own crossroads, yet mine feels like standing right in the middle of a roundabout of identities. A Muslim girl that isn’t particularly devout, a Bengali who’s lived in America more than her own homeland, the eldest daughter that disappoints her family more than makes them proud, a fraud in her educational institution and workplace, a fat girl (really that’s just the reality of it), just a general person who is easier to let go of then to hold on to. Most importantly, however, a person who doesn’t understand all these identities she grapples with. 

When I do ponder on this, I remember that little girl in the picture, so sweet and so innocent, somehow knew back then that something about her was different from what she has known her whole life so far. There was never a dawning horror or a sudden shift of the universe, but something more quiet and sure…almost as if it was just a truth born within her. Now, innate acceptance is different from the reality of seeing it. Truth be told, learning about the queer community at 11 years old was absolutely overwhelming. Queer culture in 2014 was far from the progressive as it is today, and the passing of the Marriage Equality Act began a sort of Rennaissance of new identities, definitions, and cultures. Yeah…quite overwhelming. 

Eleven-year-old me didn’t know what to do with all of it. Neopronouns? Nonbinary? Genderqueer? Asexual? All I know is that I like to kiss girls sometimes. Maybe I liked boys too, but the more I get to know boys my age the less I like them to be honest. The more I learned new things, the more questions I had, and the more I felt like a failure because I didn’t understand it right away. The quiet acceptance was gone, instead replaced with new verbiage and cultural politics. Absurdly, I wondered if I was even doing this gay thing right. Should I be thinking about defying societal norms and change my pronouns? Should I hate sex? Love it?  Should I discard my religion and Bengali identity because it is not as progressive and denies my existence? For the first time in my life, I began to question myself. 

The best thing about being gay in the early 2010s is that you can shove yourself back in the closet as many times as you want since being open about it was so new. And that’s exactly what I did. Up until my senior year of high school, I didn’t bother thinking about any of it (other than consuming an insane amount of gay content because hey a girl’s gotta have an outlet somewhere). Perhaps it was a blessing rather than a curse that the pandemic made us experts in introspection because the next round of reformation felt akin to psychological warfare on my younger self. 

I look at the younger photo of me and I look at the me right now and wonder how, after all that, I still come back to a full circle to the place I once was: quiet and innate acceptance. I am not out to my family (I tried with my mom but that was a complete disaster). It doesn’t really mix well with me being Muslim-Bengali. However, I am out to myself. In other words, I gave up caring about definitions and what should or should not be, instead focusing on the painful, joyful, simple existence I lead, making a difference when I can wherever I can. I am still on that roundabout of identities, continuously faced with unprecedented uncertainties, but now, I take that little girl’s hand, and we face the future forward together.