#white salwar kameez

[uniquewallartukshop]

Floral Embroidery Dress, Off-White Dress, Women Traditional Wear 3-Piece Set, Long Sleeve Elegant Dress, Casual Dress

Our Floral Embroidery Dress is a sublime choice for those who appreciate classic beauty intertwined with traditional flair. This off-white, three-piece set is meticulously designed to celebrate femininity and sophistication.

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Enhance your wardrobe with this enchanting ensemble and embody elegance wherever you go!

Upgrade your wardrobe with our elegant embroidered suit. This exquisite ensemble features a beautifully crafted cambric cotton short shirt, a luxurious chiffon dupatta, and stylish cambric trousers.

🌟Product Details 🌟

Stitched 3-Piece Set

Shirt: .: Colour: Off-White with vibrant floral embroidery .: Fabric: Cambric Cotton with a smooth finish .: Style: Short cut .: Sleeves: Long sleeves with intricate lace cut work .: Embroidery: Fully embroidered on the front and sleeves, exuding sophistication and elegance.

Trouser: .: Colour: Off-White .: Fabric: Cambric cotton

Dupatta: .: Colour: Off-White with colourful accents .: Fabric: Chiffon .: Style: Subtle designs throughout, adding a graceful touch to the outfit.

[samkkshopping]

Level Up Your Look: Daring & Dazzling Bridal Outfits by Samyakk

Introduction:

In the ever-evolving landscape of bridal fashion, the paradigm of traditional white wedding gowns is being challenged like never before. Brides today are seeking to break free from convention, embracing a spectrum of non-traditional bridal colours and unique bridal hues to express their individuality and style on their special day. From vibrant jewel tones to soft pastels, the options for alternative wedding colours are as diverse as the brides themselves.

Embracing the Shift: Modern Bridal Palette Trends

Traditionally, bridal attire has been synonymous with hues of white, symbolizing purity and innocence. However, contemporary brides are redefining bridal fashion norms by opting for bold bridal colours that reflect their personality and sense of style. This shift towards a more contemporary bridal palette has opened doors to a world of creativity and self-expression.

The emergence of colourful bridal attire has transformed the wedding fashion landscape, allowing brides to make a statement and stand out on their big day. Whether it’s a striking red gown, a dreamy lavender dress, or a chic blush pink ensemble, brides are embracing vibrant hues that resonate with their vision and personality.

Samyakk: Bridal Fashion

You can explore a stunning array of non-traditional bridal attire at Samyakk, where elegance meets innovation. Whether you’re searching for a vibrant wedding gown, a custom lehenga in contemporary hues, or intricately designed sarees with a modern twist, Samyakk offers a curated collection that celebrates individuality and style.

Furthermore, the fusion of ethnic and modern influences has added a new dimension to bridal fashion, allowing brides to celebrate their cultural heritage in contemporary ways. From gowns featuring Traditional bridal motifs to salwar kameez in vibrant colours, these hybrid ensembles beautifully blend the old with the new, creating a look that is both timeless and modern.

Personalizing Your Bridal Look: Customization is Key

One of the most exciting trends in modern bridal fashion is the rise of custom bridal colours. More brides are opting to work closely with designers to create bespoke ensembles that reflect their unique style and preferences by choosing to go for Unconventional wedding colours. From handcrafted lehengas adorned with intricate embroidery to sarees in unconventional hues, customization allows brides to bring their dream wedding attire to life.

Furthermore, brides are infusing their cultural heritage into their wedding attire by incorporating ethnic bridal colours. Traditional fabrics like silk and chiffon are being reimagined in contemporary shades, creating a harmonious blend of old-world charm and modern elegance.

Staying Ahead of the Curve: Bridal Fashion Trends

Furthermore, the fusion of ethnic and modern influences has added a new dimension to bridal fashion, allowing brides to celebrate their cultural heritage in contemporary ways. From gowns featuring Traditional bridal motifs to salwar kameez in vibrant colours, these hybrid ensembles beautifully blend the old with the new, creating a look that is both timeless and modern.

Fusion bridal wear has also gained traction among fashion-forward brides who seek to blend cultural influences with modern aesthetics. From gowns with ethnic motifs to salwar kameez in contemporary colours, these hybrid ensembles allow brides to celebrate their heritage while embracing the spirit of modernity. So whether you’re a bride-to-be planning your special day or simply a fashion enthusiast, dare to explore the world of non-traditional bridal colours and embark on a journey of self-expression and celebration.

Elevating Tradition: Classic Bridal Ensembles with a Twist

While modernity reigns supreme in bridal fashion, there’s still a place for timeless wedding shades and classic ensembles. Brides are incorporating non-traditional Personalized bridal colors into traditional bridal attire, adding a touch of novelty to age-old customs.

Opulent embellishments and intricate designs play a pivotal role in elevating traditional bridal ensembles. From embroidered bridal sarees to regal bridal gowns, these exquisite details add depth and richness to the overall look, creating a sense of opulence and grandeur.

People Also Ask:

How can I incorporate non-traditional colours into my bridal outfit? A: To incorporate non-traditional colors into your Fusion bridal wear, consider working with a designer to create a custom gown or opting for traditional attire in contemporary hues.

Are non-traditional bridal colours suitable for all skin tones? A: Yes, non-traditional bridal colours can complement all skin tones. However, it’s essential to choose shades that enhance your natural complexion and make you feel confident on your wedding day.

Where can I find inspiration for non-traditional bridal colours? A: You can find inspiration for non-traditional bridal colours from fashion magazines, designer collections, and online platforms like Pinterest and Instagram.

Can I incorporate non-traditional colours into my bridal accessories? A: Absolutely! You can infuse non-traditional colours into your bridal accessories, such as jewellery, shoes, and hairpieces, to add a pop of colour to your overall look.

What are some popular non-traditional bridal colours? A: Popular non-traditional bridal colours include blush pink, lavender, sage green, and dusty blue. These hues offer a modern twist on traditional wedding attire.

How can I ensure that my non-traditional bridal colours complement my wedding theme? A: To ensure that your non-traditional bridal colours harmonize with your wedding theme, consider creating a cohesive colour palette for your entire event, including bridesmaid dresses, floral arrangements, and venue decor. Conclusion In conclusion, the journey of exploring non-traditional colours in bridal attire has been nothing short of exhilarating. From the emergence of vibrant jewel tones to the resurgence of soft pastels and Custom bridal colors, brides today have a myriad of options to choose from, allowing them to truly express their unique sense of style and individuality on their wedding day.

Customization has emerged as a key trend, enabling brides to collaborate with designers to create Innovative bridal design that perfectly encapsulate their vision. Whether it’s a handcrafted lehenga adorned with intricate embroidery or a saree in an Unconventional wedding colors, customization offers brides the opportunity to make a bold statement while staying true to tradition.

As we look ahead, it’s clear that the trend of incorporating non-traditional colours into bridal attire is here to stay. With Bridal fashion trends continuously pushing the boundaries of creativity and brides embracing new possibilities, the future of bridal fashion is brighter and more colourful than ever before. Embrace the joy of finding the perfect ensemble for your special day and make your bridal shopping experience memorable at Samyakk.

Happy shopping…

[ehlnofay]

it was a mufti day today at work and one little girl showed up with such unmitigated drip that it is STILL on my mind. I'm talking a top from dance class, flower shorts, silver boots with pink ribbon laces. here is an artist's rendition (I managed to elongate this seven year old girl to the point of ridiculousness but the vibe carries through all the same)

[yinza]

I wanted to try putting together some queer couples in this style...

Stickers available in my Etsy shop, and prints via Inprnt!

[Image Description: A set of six flat-color drawings in a simple style. From left to right, top to bottom: 1, against the trans flag: a thin white person with a blue undercut holding a fat black woman bridal style. The black woman wears a pink flannel over a red shirt and jean shorts and red sneakers.

2, against the pan flag: a thin black man in a wheelchair with hot pink accents, his clothes in the corresponding purple and blue of the bi flag. Beside him walks a thin black woman in a white dress holding a rainbow umbrella.

3, against the gay man flag: two South Asian men in salwar kameez stand holding hands with their foreheads touching. The one on the left is wearing trans colors.

4, against the lesbian flag: a chubby South Asian woman with long dark hair and glasses sits embracing a petite East Asian woman with short hair. Together their outfits comprise the colors of the flag.

5, against the polyamorous flag: a chubby freckled Latina woman with long wavy hair and a skinny white person with a shaved head, tattoos, and a prosthetic leg stand embracing a hijabi woman between them. The two on the outside have outfits with the colors of the aroace flag, while the hijabi woman wears aromantic colors.

6, against the nonbinary flag: a fat white person with a grey beard and ponytail, using a forearm crutch, and a mid-size black man with long greying hair who is gently touching his partner's face. The black man wears ace colors, while the white person wears nonbinary ones. /end ID]

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

the swan and her princess (part 2)

summary: Swan Lake isn’t all beauty and grace, contrary to popular belief. And you experience firsthand that as you wage a one-sided war with your “rival” for the role of Odette.

chapter summary: A pleasant surprise turns out to be possibly not so pleasant after all.

pairing: Gwen Stacy (Spider-Woman) x fem!Ballerina!Reader [aka some sort of a messy Ballet!AU]

word count: 2695

warnings: cussing, ballet terms, creative liberties taken since I’ve never been to Lincoln Center and the research I’ve done may or may not be fully accurate

a/n: :D got a little carried away with this one whoops doing this is much harder than i expected this au is taking up my entire brain pls help

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 (pending)

glossary:

Barre: A handrail used by ballet dancers to maintain balance while exercising. One hand is placed on the barre at all times, and the dancer stands beside it.

Kitri: The feisty and wilful heroine of the ballet Don Quixote. When her father Lorenzo tries to marry her off for money, she doesn’t play the victim, but hatches a plan to marry Basilio, the charming barber who has won her heart, and pursue her own version of happiness. As a dancer’s role, Kitri is athletic and demanding. Kitri wears striking red costumes (look them up, they’re really beautiful) and gestures expressively with a fan in a nod to her Spanish heritage.

Don Quixote: Don Quixote is a ballet in three acts, based on episodes taken from the famous novel Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes.

Kurta: A loose collarless shirt/dress of a type worn by people in South Asia, usually with a salwar, churidars, or pyjama.

Dupatta: A length of material arranged in two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez. Usually worn by women from South Asia.

Right after you set foot in the studio and dropped your bag in the corner, you made a beeline for the cacophonous, eagerly buzzing crowd that had formed around the cast list.

You saw a familiar duffel bag and raised your eyebrows slightly. Surprisingly, Gwen had showed up on time. Miracles really did exist.

Murmurs of disappointment and cheers of satisfaction rippled through the dancers in the room as they dispersed one by one, either wearing an expression of genuine excitement or a mask of disguised regret that they hadn’t tried harder or trained longer.

You pushed your way to the front, your eyes immediately darting to the name next to Odette. Your heart sank as you traced over the curly loops and sharper lines of the handwritten letters.

White Swan/Princess Odette : Patricia Roberts.

Pat…?

Sure, she was good, but she was always a little bit too fast for the pieces. She was brilliant at lightning-quick steps in speedy variations, but couldn’t ‘dance like a flowy fairy’, as your ballet teacher said, to save her life.

And the White Swan was all about being slow and sad and graceful.

Your eyes travelled further down the list, going through the roles of Odile, the cygnets, the general swans, and the royals. Each time, you were disappointed. By the time you reached the end of the list, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit anxious. Your name just… wasn’t there.

You were a part of this, right?

The entire class was taking part in this production. It wouldn’t make any sense for you to not be there. Even if it was just as a regular background swan.

“Can’t find your name either, huh?”

You hadn’t noticed that everyone else had broken off into excitedly chattering groups to start warming up and take their places at the barre, leaving only you and Gwen standing and craning your necks up at the piece of paper that seemed to decide your fate in the studio for the next few months.

You shook your head no, earning a sigh from Gwen that lasted longer than it probably should have.

“Well, we could ask Miss Walker, but she’s not here yet. So…” She shifted awkwardly beside you. You tried to observe her from your peripheral vision without being too obvious. She sounded… tired. Exhausted, really, like she hadn’t slept in a few days and then had to run a marathon around the city. She had done a pretty shoddy job of concealing the heavy dark circles under her eyes — which truly was saying something, because her makeup was usually immaculate.

Fuck. You couldn’t believe it, but for a moment you almost felt sorry for her. Well, maybe not just almost.

“Hey, uh… you good?” You winced at your attempt at a nonchalant tone. Gwen turned to look at you like you had sprouted a third head, slight confusion reflecting in her eyes.

You had never noticed them before, but she had nice eyes, honestly. The expressive kind that could show every little shift in her emotions if she didn’t hide it. And right now she looked like she was about to grin or crack a joke, so you fixed a scowl on your face to ward off any amusing thing she might have been gearing up to say.

The smile in her eyes faded.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Time to poke the bee’s nest. “You don’t sound—”

You were cut off as the studio doors flew open, and Miss Walker, looking extremely hassled, practically sprinted in. Random strands of hair poked out of her unusually-untidy bun, and her glasses were perched precariously on the tip of her nose. She held her phone in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Class, pointes on and everyone to the barre right now, please! Finish your second warmup, I’ll be right with you. Gwendolyn, Y/N, may I have a word with the two of you?”

We’re in trouble, mouthed Gwen with a comically scared, wide-eyed, completely exaggerated expression that was very childish and definitely should not have made you want to laugh. You bit the inside of your cheek to clamp down on your smile.

Your ballet teacher led you both over to a corner of the studio, adjusting her glasses right as they were about to fall off. “Okay, so I have some very good news for both of you. You might have noticed that your names weren’t on the final cast list at all, correct?”

You both nodded.

“As it turns out, you’ve been selected by the School of American Ballet to feature in New York City Ballet’s version of Swan Lake! And not selected for just any role — you girls are playing both Swans!”

The words took a few seconds to register in your mind. The sheer improbability of it all was phenomenal — two mere teenagers chosen to perform by the most prestigious ballet company in the world, to dance alongside some of the best professional ballerinas-in-the-making? This was a dream come true; was any of this real?

“You’re joking,” you heard Gwen say beside you. You felt like you were about to lift off and float all the way to the sky when your teacher just gave a broad, proud smile.

Everything after that was surrounded by a hazy glow of euphoric shock — blurred by excitement and lightheadedness and disbelief. You might’ve blacked out at one point, bracing yourself against the wall while you waited for your vision to clear.

Gwen suddenly narrowed her eyes in a wince, squinting as if she had a headache. “I’m so sorry, I have to go,” She mumbled hastily, before grabbing her bag and slipping out of the studio. And just like that, she was gone. Again.

You and Miss Walker exchanged a look of slight confusion, but she shrugged. “Well, you’re dismissed for today, Y/N. They’re expecting you tomorrow. You know where the company is, right?”

“Yes, miss.” Of course you did, which ballerina didn’t? Of all the best aspiring ballet dancers’ dream companies, New York City Ballet was right up there with The Royal Ballet in London, Paris Opera Ballet in France, and the Australian Ballet in Melbourne. In other words: this was a giant fucking deal and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You’d have to be beyond idiotic to blow it off.

You arrived at Lincoln Center (which housed the New York City Ballet), fresh-faced and a few minutes early. Well, maybe not so fresh-faced, since you could barely sleep because of nerves. Throughout the night, what felt like a million thoughts that were all variations of what if I’m not good enough? and maybe I’m not cut out for this plagued you well into the early hours of the morning.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Gwen, looking annoyingly (and most probably effortlessly) put-together and honestly quite fashionable. Did she have to have such perfect eyeliner? Even her hair tips seemed pinker than usual.

“Wow, you’re early for once,” You tried to load snark into your tone but failed miserably, earning you an insufferably relaxed chuckle from Gwen.

You shook your head and focused on trying to find the ballet company’s actual studio. Lincoln Center was comprised of a complex of buildings in a giant neighbourhood that you had never been in before, and the David H. Koch Theater which housed the New York City Ballet was just one of those many buildings spread over 16.3 acres.

You were lucky you two had arrived early, because it took you ten whole minutes trying to find the theater - because, as it turns out, you and Gwen had entered from a separate entrance from the main one. Finally you entered the studio, and for a while the only sounds were that of your shoes squeaking on the shiny wooden floors.

Something that struck you was just how big everything about it was.

The light fixtures that lined the walls cast yellow light all along the hallway, illuminating everything with a soft glow the colour of honeyed amber. Just walking that corridor made you feel like you were approaching a royal ballroom, floating around in a gown that could put Kitri’s costume from Don Quixote to shame.

You finally saw the door to the studio. Someone was waiting outside — a man in an all-black suit with close-cropped black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. His face broke into a smile as he saw you and Gwen, and without waiting for you to fully make it to the door, he strode forward and clasped your hand.

“Welcome to New York City Ballet! I’m Carlos, the resident choreographer of this company. We’ve been expecting you! Your teacher has informed you of the production we are working on, yes?” He rattled all of this off at full speed in clipped, staccato pronunciations, so fast that it took you a second to register what he was saying.

“Swan Lake, right?” Gwen answered for you.

“Yes, yes. I assume you both know the combinations for both swans?” You nodded maybe a little too eagerly, eliciting a subtle eyebrow-raise from Carlos. “Very good. Come, I will introduce you to Shaoni. She is our support staff, and a former ballet mistress. She taught many young dancers who went on to become famous prima ballerinas. Don’t take her words too seriously; her bark is worse than her bite.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile and pushed open the double doors. Immediately the first thing you saw was a woman wearing a blue kurta with a gold-trimmed dupatta, her dark hair pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck. The thing that stood out most about her was her highly displeased scowl that had her looking like someone had insulted her entire bloodline three times over, spat in her face and then wrecked her favourite tutu.

Forget a simple resting bitch face, this was a prime, next-level display of an I’m-done-with-this-shit-and-I-need-a-vacation expression.

“Good morning, girls. My name is Shaoni Lahiri, you will address me as Miss Lahiri. You’re a bit early; please begin your warmup while we wait for the others. Also, our artistic director wanted to talk to you about your first day, so once he arrives meet him in his office.” Miss Lahiri had just finished her introductory monologue when her phone buzzed in her pocket with a notification.

Her eyes swiped over the lockscreen for a brief second before she tucked it away again, and you could’ve sworn you saw her roll her eyes slightly when she saw the name of the messager. “Mr. Osborn will see you now. The door to his office is in the far left corner of the studio. Try not to get lost, will you?” Even her sarcasm sounded effortlessly annoyed beyond relief.

And just like that, she abandoned you and went over to compare choreography notes with Carlos.

You turned and followed her directions, noticing a polished wooden door near the end wall of the studio. “Hey, wait for me!” Gwen had been busy gawking at the studio and, really, you couldn’t quite blame her. It truly was something else compared to the much smaller one you were used to.

You knocked once and pushed open the door once you heard a voice call out, “Come in!”

The moment the door swung open, you were immediately blinded by the brightest white light you had ever seen. The entire office looked like it had been bleached to within an inch of its life; there were no specks of dust to be seen and everything was neatly arranged in cupboards and on shelves.

“Oh, hello there!” Once your eyes had readjusted, you noticed a man with greying red-brown hair in a crisp suit with a green pinstripe jacket, an orange vest, and black pants. He sat with his hands clasped neatly on the lacquered teakwood desk in front of him, wearing a polite smile.

“You must be the new arrivals, yes? Let’s see, what are your names…” He opened a folder that had been pushed to one side of the desk, flicking through pages. “Gwen Stacy and Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes, that’s us,” You answered quickly, feeling slightly giddy with excitement as the truth sunk in properly. This wasn’t a dream, you had really been selected by the fucking New York City Ballet. You would be working alongside some of the best ballet dancers in the area. Better yet, you had more than a fair chance at dancing Odette. Of course, so did Gwen, but you were obviously the better choice… it wasn’t personal, really, just that she barely attended a full class and therefore should probably dance Odile instead.

“Excellent, excellent. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Norman Osborn, the artistic director of this company.” He stood up and shook your hand. He smiled at Gwen, but instead of smiling back, she just dropped her gaze, inhaling sharply as if she had been stung.

“Something’s not right with him,” She murmured to you the moment Mr. Osborn turned his back to retrieve a folder from his filing cabinet. “I can’t explain it, just… please trust me. I think he’s going to be a threat to us.”

You felt annoyance flare up inside you, white-hot maelstroms of anger expanding by the second. “Please excuse us, Mr. Osborn. Gwen and I need to discuss something.” You tried to sound as inconspicuous and well-mannered as you could. You grabbed Gwen’s shoulder and pulled her through the door, closing it behind you.

“Listen here,” You hissed, letting go of her. “I didn’t make it all this way and train for an extra four hours a day for three years just so you could blow this off. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re some sort of a package deal. So don’t you dare make up stuff and tell me this perfectly polite man is a threat. Is this some sort of scheme? You make me get cold feet, pretend like you’re dropping out, then when you convince me to leave the company you swoop in and snatch up the role of Odette? Is that what you’re playing at?”

Gwen stared at you in utter disbelief, rubbing her shoulder where your grip had tightened just a little too much. “What? No, of course not. I would never—”

“Okay, good. Now let’s get back in there and do whatever the hell he wants us to do, because this is the New York City Ballet and we are not leaving till we’re done with this production, got it?”

For a split second, intense desperation marred her features and she looked like she was about to cry. Then, just as quickly as it had come, all the vulnerability displayed on her face disappeared — but not from her eyes. Her mouth and eyebrows were relaxed, cool, but her eyes shone with a feverish light that made her look a bit manic. Finally she took a deep breath and glared levelly at you.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Something about her tone would have sent a shiver down your spine if you hadn’t been so pumped up about this whole ordeal. You dismissed it easily, penning it, possibly, as the sullen disappointment of a plotter whose evil scheme hadn’t gone quite according to plan.

You entered the office again, Gwen trailing behind you reluctantly, and gave Mr. Osborn a big smile. “You were saying?”

He passed you and Gwen two sheets of paper and a pen. “Sign this. It’s a contract that officialises your stay at this company for the duration of this production.”

You signed it eagerly. Gwen, who was studying the words intently, noticed your impatience and signed it too.

“Perfect,” said Norman Osborn, giving you a big smile. Was it just you, or did it look more plastic this time…?

Nope, definitely just you. He carefully filed the sheets away and clasped your hand in a handshake once again. “Welcome to New York City Ballet. I’m sure this contract will prove to be beneficial to the both of us.”

Gwen dropped her eyes to the floor. Probably just her odd headaches acting up again.

Taglist:

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @theprismyyy

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Annniversary Arshi Fiesta

Moodboard : Historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 05

I am not very good at writing ffs. I even read ffs very selectively. But it was an attempt of me to participate in the 13th-anniversary arshi fiesta. I might be wrong about certain aspects of that age and era, but it's a fantasy, so why not?

I don't own Arnav and Khushi and the story is purely fictional and has no relation to any living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 5

(continuation of previous chapter)

'' Arnav"

She pushed herself off the bed but stumbled to reach Arnav. He wrapped his arm around her waist before she could fall. Her hands splayed palm out on his chest. She stared at him like he hung the sun and the moon and his breath caught. The atmosphere between them undulated, changing into something heavier, something alive.

"Ummm...I want to ask you something," she tripped over her words, "Why is it that every time someone says your name" feeling her pulse quickening "or you come close to me" she whispered like it was a secret "My heart starts to beat harder? ", taking his hand she placed it over her heart "I tried to understand it, but couldn't." a silence came over between them, "bataiye na!!"

Arnav blinked, her words not quite making sense. He couldn't think and that should have disturbed him, especially because he held her so close. It had not escaped him how pretty she looked. She was always pretty, but today was special. Her hair hung loose but wavy, and the dress she'd chosen, a pure white salwar-kameez with red churni dupatta, hugged her curves in all the right places. He had noticed her curves earlier. But it's difficult to ignore at this moment, not with her body up against his. And that red bindi on her forehead, it would be the death of him someday.

His pulse felt thready. And he wanted to touch her. The simple impulse to touch the tips of his fingers to her cheek was almost more than he could bear. He raised one of his hands to cup her cheek and tilted her head toward him. There was a good reason why he shouldn't touch her, but he couldn't remember what it was. Her eyes searched his, her trembling lips slightly parted. He heard the words as clearly as if she'd spoken.

Kiss me.

The heat of her breath on his lips made him dizzy with need and he gave in. At first, Khushi couldn't comprehend what was happening. One second she was asking him a question, the next second, she was in his arms, and before she could quite recover from that, he was kissing her.

Or had she kissed him? Her brain was muddled. She was thinking about him the whole day-how handsome he looked in the white kurta. She was shamelessly looking at his lips the other day when he was eating Kheer. Had she acted on those impulses? Shy and confused Khushi ducked her head, breaking their kiss.

But almost as soon as their kiss was broken, he put two fingers under her chin, tilting her head up and claiming her lips again. His free hand moved from her waist to her back, pressing her flush against him. She whimpered and forgot everything else, anything else existed. If she'd lost her mind, so be it. Nothing ever felt as good as whatever was happening at that moment.

One of her hands crept up to cup the back of his neck and threaded her fingers through his hair, while the other hand went around his back, clutching his kurta in a death grip. She tentatively tried to return his kisses. Her heart was racing. She felt weightless. His lips were hard on her while he was holding her so gently. Khushi couldn't rightly tell, when he'd begun to walk her backwards, she only knew she found herself pressed against the wall. And then, as abruptly as it all began, it was over.

Arnav groaned from the back of his throat as he pushed away from her. He stumbled back. His hair was rumpled from her fingers, his lips still moist and parted. The five seconds they stared at each other were the longest of Khushi's entire life.

And then, he left her there, pressed against the wall, flushed-face, lips swollen from his kiss, without a word.

(end of flashback)

Arnav was sitting on the garden bench, threading his hands through his hair and tugging hard. The guilt he felt was a weight on his shoulders, pinning him down as effectively as any physical thing.

It wasn't just that he had no right to do what he'd done. What made it all the worse and what could be worse than taking advantage of someone under the influence, was that to this day, two years later, he still daydreamed about that kiss. He could still remember how very sweet it was, the emotion of that kiss, the tenderness of it and the taste of her lips, and the way her body fit the lines of his. And how powerful was the need that rushed through him then. Her warmth, her scent, everything about that moment felt vivid and real as if it was happening all over again. He had to close his eyes tightly until the feeling passed.

It was not like it was the first time that Arnav had kissed a girl. The first time he kissed a girl in the Valleys of Darjeeling was a girl from Darjeeling High School at 18. it was supposed to be fun, but as soon as he kissed that girl, he discovered something, like she gave him a disease, he heard a voice inside his head that sounded very much like his Nani's. The look he gave her afterwards, she must had thought he was insane.

'you are a womanizer, Arnav'. the voice thundered. 'just like your father.'

After that every time he thought about kissing a girl, his Nani would start talking. It was really difficult to do anything with your Nani in your head. Then one day, he with some of his friends out of curiosity went to a pub to taste some liquor. He should have known better, he ended up spending the night with someone he didn't even remember.

'See, I told you so' the voice taunted him continuously the day after.

After that, he tried his level best not to hear his nani ever again in his head. There was one thing that Arnav didn't want to be and that was 'just like his father.'

But why the voice was so quiet when he kissed HER? It felt the most natural thing to do, like he was born to do that, like he was destined to be fitted into her arms. After he fled from her room, he sat on the garden bench for hours.

There Arnav had realized, he had irreversibly fallen in love with her. And she had finally quieted the voice in his head.

But instantly another voice appeared that sounded more like his since that day and they had a serious conversation with each other on the evening of Holi two years ago, sitting on that particular bench.

'what have you done, Arnav? you've proved your nani right. tumne jis thali main khaya usmehi ched kiya. What will Mahindar chacchu and roma chachi will say? How could you do that to their daughter? How could you tarnish her reputation like that? Is this how you repay them for all the love and care, they've bestowed upon you, when nobody was there for you? And Aman, what will you say to him? '

Arnav clutched his head with both hands, resting his elbows on his knees. he felt like screaming. He argued with himself for a long time. He succeeded in almost quietening the voice, when it murmured, very faintly.

'You can marry her'

'And what can I give her?.' Now it was Arnav's turn to contradict 'I have nothing, no house, no money, no reputation, no family and what made you think that Chachu and Chachi would want to marry off their beloved daughter to a nobody like me'. A pressure bloomed in his chest. With every breath he took, it increased. 'And what made you think that she would want to marry me?'

'She loves you, isn't it obvious? '

His vision blurred 'Have you forgotten that she was drunk? and I took advantage of her drunken state.' The silence that followed was suffocating, and his mind raced back to that moment, the memory haunting him. He remembered the way she had returned the kiss, her eyes fluttering shut just before their lips met. He remembered the vulnerability in her gaze, the way she had leaned into him as if seeking something more. 'She may have developed a silly little crush.' He whispered to himself, the words barely convincing even in his mind. An invisible rope tightened around his throat, 'it's temporary.' he told himself, desperately wanting to believe it, 'it will go away with time.'

'Bullshit' the voice whispered.

<previous> | <next >

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte

[gunbun]

this post is about the cultural concerns regarding ffxiv: dawntrail

Hi doods. Activism has brushed up against fandom YET AGAIN but this time it punches me straight in the heritage and this time I wanna talk about it.

I'm a non-status Qalipu Mik'maq, for the record. An Indigenous American, if thou wilt.

I discuss some pretty heavy shit below the cut. I pray it persists across all devices. Please advise if you want me to tag this as something, or block the tags I have used. I do not need anyone to spread this on my behalf, I do not need anyone's defense. I just have some thoughts and I want to think them.

So it's been less than 24 hours since Dawntrail was announced and we got the Keynote.

We're going to Fantasy The Americas! Before Industrialization!

Many people went "oh hell yeah, that's Brazil, this is gonna be great! We don't usually see this!"

On Twitter especially, many MORE people lost their goddamn minds, citing CBU3's prior wobbles with depicting foreign/indigenous persons.

And of course, the White Community Leaders are out in force performing pre-emptive outrage or even asking people to quit FFXIV in light of this announcement.

I'm here to ask folks not to do that.

What follows is my tweet-thread about it.

"It is perfectly okay to be waiting and seeing how Tural is going to be portrayed in Dawntrail. It's okay to have a concern.

It is NOT okay to come out preemptively swinging and performing outrage.

Because blood quanta are their own touchy subject I usually don't bring this up, but I am the class of indigenous person what represents "what's left".

And I fucking tell you now I don't need the opinions of Concerned White People.

I do not need Concerned White People telling me what colonialism is.

I do not need Concerned White People telling me to be mad.

I do need Concerned White People to realise that the above two actions are microaggressive as fuuuuck.

"but Jai, aren't you White?"

colonialism and genocide comes in many forms. this includes forcing indigenous persons to assimilate or be killed.

also stuff like reinforcing the idea that being indigenous is shameful so that when their descendants find out, they deny it."

Thus ended my tweet thread. There's one more tweet linking to qalipu.ca.

So I want to write more about this on Tumblr.

I really want to make sure that folks take a hard look at what they're concerned about and why.

Like… a lot of White Concern about the use of indigenous motifs in Dawntrail is itself a brand of anti-indigenous racism.

Thinking that the MSQ is going to automatically be about the Scions starting a colonialism in Tural? That's a pretty gross thing to say in the same breath y'all complain about Always Fantasy Europe.

Calling "cultural appropriation" when everyday items are displayed and depicted in the manner in which they were/are used (gulal, curry)? Way to exoticise foreign and indigenous cultures by thinking that everything they make, wear, use, or eat is something of Deep Cultural Significance that Cannot Ever Be Shared With Outsiders. Saris and salwar kameez are just as culturally significant as skirts and slacks. Moccasins are just shoes.

And moreover, getting preemptively Concerned when thus far THERE IS LITERALLY NO NEED TO BE CONCERNED is actually kind of beyond the pale. I haven't seen many indigenous folks and/or folks from South America being anything but pleased that this time The Americas gets a cool pastiche like Europe, Asia, and India have gotten in the past. There's an undercurrent of "oh no, I hope it's not bad stereotypes" which is ABSOLUTELY OKAY. Reblog and retweet what THOSE people are saying. Do not add commentary.

Preemptively saying "you're worried" about your South American/Indigenous friends with zero indication that they're bothered? Come the actual fuck on. We are not a monolithic group that you can "be concerned" for to get a pat on the back later as a Good Person. Do not Perform the I'm A Good Person And The Worst Thing You Could Do is CALL Me A Racist dance.

Don't "get ahead of the discourse". Not every conversation needs your fucking input. Shut your mouth.

What is and isn't an Offensive Portrayal of Indigenous Americans is a lot more nuanced than most people who like to perform outrage make it out to be.

We can and will speak up for ourselves. Share our words and our concerns if you must. Do not go and distill our words and turn us into the monolith you hide behind to perpetuate white saviourism and neocolonialism.

We aren't a monolith of poor uneducated people who don't understand what the europeans did that need to be uwu protected.

[thepoopdokyeomtouched]

Okay I'm thinking about Seungcheol with a desi gf who sees her dressed up in the traditional salwar kameez and earrings and dupatta and all for the first time and he's even more smitten 🫡 can you imagine how good he'd look in a kurta himself

Summary : seungcheol loves his desi girl dolling up and this new attire made made him weak? hehe

Pairing : seungcheol x fem!reader

Genre : fluff, established relationship

Warning : suggestive, kissing, cheol in black kurta(yes a warning)

Word count : 681

Aznik note : i believe this ask was send just for some giggles, squeals and shit but i couldnt stop myself hehehehhehehe🤭🤭 + english isn't my first language so excuse me

Song rec :

_____________________________________________

seungcheol who is already head over heels for his desi girl, have seen her in saree before and almost lost his shit cuz how beautiful she was looking, cheol knows indian ethnic wears as you have showed him a lot of different styles when he once pointed how good that one short top with full sleeves with a ball type bottom looks cute, making a mental note to wear it once.

Today was the day, your mother send you a white salwar kameez for you and kurta pajama for cheol.

wearing it immediately you thought to surprise cheol, walking in the bedroom you spotted cheol lazily scrolling on his phone while laying on the couch, you called his name when he answer back a hm still looking at his phone, when no reply received he looked up, there you standing in your glory while fixing your white net dupatta, his eyes staring at you in surprise and adoration, you were looking so gorgeous his heart race up, the beet color on his cheek as he look at you from head to toe, mouth agape eyes wide open trying absorb the beautiful scenery  in front of him, he was down bad for you already but sky's the limit just like cheol’s love, he is so whipped looking at you right now in your beautiful colors and style it makes him want you more and more. 

He stood up from the couch walking towards you still with his eyes on you as if you are the only thing exist, he stood in front of you, he held your arms from both side saying “you are looking so pretty jaan, literally so pretty its taking my breath away.”making you shy at his compliment, he took your right palm spinning you suddenly, making you face the mirror behind, sliding all your open hair on the left shoulder resting his face on other, he said “look there, my gorgeous girl,” he kissed your shoulder, “always so pretty” he slide a bit up from the previous place and left a lingering kiss “so cute” another kiss sliding up on your nape, the words reducing into whispers, hands wrapped around your waist  “so endearing”, sliding up more he nibbles right below your ear as he leave another kiss ,you turned around still in his strong arms, keeping your hands on his chest to push him a bit, he pout at you wanting to go for a kiss before you stop him a bit more firmly, he raised his eyebrows with the pout still there, you tell him “my mother send it for me, and she send you something to wear too, so go and change into it” handing him the bag he peek down inside taking it and going to change, some time later the bathroom door open he walked out from it, pulling up the sleeves of the black kurta, looking so fine, and fit and muscular, his buff chest and his forearms showing with the veins, now it was your turn to be breathless, he looked so hot in it, you knew it he will look hot in it but still wasnt ready for this scene in front of you, “you look so hot in it cheol” you said while keeping your palm on your mouth in surprise, “ am i?” he smirks,walking towards you “well my mother in law choose it so obviously its going to look good” he kisses your forehead and continues “should we take photos and send it to maa?”

Taking pictures after pictures while cheol keeps stealing kisses from you, cheek, lips, neck, nose, hand, no part was spared by his kisses, and he did send those kissing pictures to your mother, hehe.

[sorcerous-caress]

Hell yeah I'm back, crushed my exams, now I have more time to think about everyone's favorite loser elf 💜💜

Your post a couple days back about posting homemade porn to the xhuman forum really got me thinking

What if one day you showed up at your loser elf's house in traditional elvish clothing?

You shrug and casually mention that you bought it at a market the other day because it reminded you of him, but he's only barely registering your words.

His eyes rake over your body from head to toe and then back up again, staring unashamed at how the light, airy fabric dances around your arms and legs. He can't stop staring at how perfectly the garment hugs your body, and since humans are more supple and rounded than elves, the fabric bunches up just so on your hips, accentuating your curves and making heat rise to his face, the tips of his ears going red as you notice the visible tent in his pants.

You smile devilishly at him as you lead him towards his bed, all the while he's thinking about how the organic fabrics you're wearing would be very delicate and so easy to tear through.

You're fully aware of what seeing you in his traditional clothing would do to him, so of course you prepared accordingly. He's in for a lucky surprise when he finally gets your overclothes off to find that you picked up some elvish-inspired lingerie at the market as well.

(somewhat inspired by my realization while dressing up to go to an Indian holiday party, when I noticed that a salwar kameez and dupatta kinda reminded me of what I'd imagine elvish clothing to look like)

Good job on finishing your exams, please make sure to rest.

I really like the idea of human reader trying to learn more about elf culture for their cute loser high elf

And yes, I imagine elvish clothes to be inspired by South Asian, Middle Eastern, and anciest Greek clothes.

Instead of reader buying it randomly, what if you've put research into it? Read about elf culture and found the perfect attire to wear.

Maybe it's something only newly wedded spouces wear for each other, or maybe it is a honeymoon phase kind of outfit. Elvish clothes are airy by nature, but this one you've found is more head-turning than the rest.

Almost like it was made out of large flower petals that hug your body just right with their vibrant colours. Wrapping your hips with two petals that conjoin in the middle, their pointy tips barely covering the insides of your thighs. Each petal trailing up your body and leaving small windows of bare flesh, the outfit is on the shorter side with no shoulders or neck, just going from your hips to your chest in a colourful chain of petals.

Or maybe a translucent outfit that shimmers and brims with life magic, a dark hue that matches the night sky. Various stars in shapes and sizes swimming on the print and gently swaying from place to place with every step you take. Your skin and curves are extremely visible underneath it. It's made out of one large and very long cloth that you have to wrap around yourself to from multiple layers and give it a shape. The material is so thin that the outfit never gets thicker than human clothes no matter how many you layer.

Or it's a long pure white silk with gold leaves trim, much like an outfit a greek god would wear. The silk is akin to a second skin as even the shape of your bare stomach is visible from underneath it. There's an almost invisible pattern wooven into the silk with the occasional glimmering sparks.

Whichever it was, one thing was clear when your outfit finally arrived. It's that this was never made for a human like body.

It's your size but longer than usual, it's too tight in certain places. You can't even wear anything underneath it because it wouldn't fit then. The shape of your chest is fully on display, the way the supposed airy outfit completely hugs your figure like a glove.

Your hips and thighs being squeezed so deliciously by the fabric. The material feeling almost strange on top of a human's soft skin, elves generally have tighter skin that's not as sensitive as the humans.

How each outfit is made out of various pieces and parts you have to put together to complete the picture. Unlike humanity's preference for compact clothes that are easy to wear or come as whole pieces, elves prefer complexity and a single shirt can have up to 13 steps to put on.

There aren't any buttons or seams or zippers. It's whole pieces that are held together by either magic or jewellery. Everything from the top of your head to your ankles has a specific piece that is important to complete the outfit.

It takes a lot of effort and after so many different youtube tutorials, mostly in elvish which you couldn't understand and had to relay on visuals only, you get the hand of it.

Since it was a surprise, you decline his offer to pick you up when you send him a message saying you're coming over. Walking through the street and getting curious and confused looks from other humans on your outfit.

You passed by a couple of elves that did a doube take when they saw you, blatantly staring at your short ears then your clothes. They looked like they wanted to say something to you, one of them even walked up to you and opened their mouth.

But nothing came out, they just turned around and went back to their friend. Completely red in the face as they kept stealing glances at you while whispering in elvish to each other.

After finally making it and opening the front door with the spare key he gave you, you step inside.

Expecting you, he calls out your name with clear excitement in his voice before clearing his throat and trying to attempting to mask his excitement as he makes his way to you.

The second his eyes register what you're wearing, his mind short circuits. His eyes have to blink a couple of times as if it's a trick of the light or an illusion, complete disbelief at the fact you're actually real and standing in his doorway in these clothes.

Just like the elves from before, his mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Then he's immediately picking you up and pinning you to the door. Lips hungrily kissing yours as desperate whimpers escape him.

It's his feelings are too much for his body to handle, his hands keep switching form place to place as he can't decide where to touch you first, where to feel and grope you.

His fingers are shaking, his eyes still looking at you with disbelief as his lips refuse to let up, as if he'll run out of air without the taste of your mouth.

You feel his hardness against you. He barely pays it any attention as he continues to admire your body. Marvelling at the way the clothes cling to your skin, at the various jewellery and elven designs, on you, a human.

If only a man can die from happiness, then he'll die happily knowing your current image was the last thing he has seen.

Do you even understand the effect of your outfit on him, little human? Do you even know what it represents? For all you know, you could've been walking outside with the equivalent of elven lingerie or a nightie.

He's calling you various endearing names in his original tongue, from endearing titles to ones exclusive to married souls. He seems in a haze as he urges you towards the bedroom, eyes pleading and knees weak as he struggles to switch betwern kissing you and pulling away to talk.

[cosmicnovaflare]

So I know how much you love exploring the world through historical fashion, and since the Eastern Commonwealth apparently spans all of Asia, have you dabbled in any of the more uncommon Asian garments for Cinder/Kai? I've been thinking about Cinder wearing a Saree but I'm also curious about Thai, Vietnamese, Burmese, Cambodian etc.

I have so many outfits saved that I’ve never got to (as I regularly fail them in practice). A lot of the time I’ll start out with a specific idea before I fail and revert back to hanfu since I’ve spent the most time practicing that so far. I want to make sure I do it right, so I’d rather wait until it looks correct. My current work for Kai will hopefully be a yellow Manchu (Yeah that was a lie, I failed again in colour and cloth in the middle of writing this.) I think both the E.C and Luna would wear chut thai (with makuṭa headdresses on the moon) and sarees, salwar kameez, dhoti kurtas, and other similar garments. I imagined Kai’s wedding attire in Cress/Winter to be traditional Thai wedding menswear with the “sash” being a sabai? For festivals I’ve always wanted to try drawing them in a white kosobe with a red hakama (there’s probably a single word for this outfit that I do not know) as well as try out something Mongolian, though I have no specific ideas with that, just a lot of options. Heading back south, anything that resembles lavalavas (skirts, wraps, trousers, etc) would probably be very common in the E.C. Sinhs could be common both in the E.C and the moon, maybe having a unique pattern depending on what sector you’re in. Perhaps the common fabrics used in things would change, which would be a way to include Persian silks and other fabrics, meshing traditional material with other cultural clothes (I think this would pair really well with Áo dài.) I can see garments like the deel and nekhii deel still being worn as everyday clothes, especially for warmer climates. Since the E.C seems fairly homogeneous, (maybe due to Asia being hit the hardest by the last world war, repeat imperialism, foreign government control, or assimilation) all these garments could start mixing and matching with each other. Maybe some of these things are global. This is how traditional clothing has merged and become its own thing in the past. I just really like to imagine these things being embraced because we have already experienced clothing bans and forced assimilation so much, and the world in these books has probably experienced more. Even before humans had the FOXP2 mutation that allowed us to understand language, we were making jewellery and art that meant something to us. It seems trivial, but keeping these things alive seems really important in both real life and fiction.

Once again, I am so very sorry if I have referred to things incorrectly. I’ll have some access to research papers that could help in a few weeks, but I am very much not a smart person, but I will still try my best.

[uniquewallartukshop]

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[never-fair]

green kurta || remus x you

Remus was absolutely terrified. In front of the mirror, he was practicing what he was going to say to your parents who he was going to meet in just about 3 hours.

He glanced down at his watch and his eyes widened. Scratch that, make that 2 more hours. It was safe to say that the sandy haired boy really cared about the situation that was going to come into play and your heart melted when you saw him getting into a kurta just to make your father happy.

He was fiddling with the collar of the bright green kurta. You know he only picked it out because you said it looked nice. The green made his eyes pop and match dreadfully well with the intricate gold designs that were sewed into the cloth.

It made him look ethereal but not as ethereal as you.

You decided to wear a nice and simple salwar kameez. It was a gorgeous dark red with gold that made the red seem even more dark and enchanting. You smiled softly as Remus who was now fidgeting around with the hem of the kurta, turning his body and checking all sorts of things with it.

You slowly made your way to Remus and snuck your arms around his waist. He giggled and turned around to meet your face before his eyes widened and jaw dropped down to his feet.

"Darling, you look ravishing in red," Remus whispers in your ear, his hands moving to your hips. Your breath hitched in your throat while you stuttered out a 'what' as your cheeks got red.

He smirked at you and gave you a quick peck before letting you go, you sighed deeply and looked into Remus's eyes.

The moment was disrupted when an alarm suddenly rang and in a split second, both of you were out the door, running to the car.

Of course, that didn't stop Remus from opening your car door and buckling your seat belt for you when you both got in the car.

The drive to your parents home was about 25 minutes from the hotel you were staying at and as the GPS kept signaling you were getting closer, the more nervous you and Remus got.

You hadn't even told your parents you had a boyfriend until a month ago and you yet you did tell them that he was white, you were still terrified.

Remus seemed to notice your distress and laid a firm.hand on your thigh. You turned your head and smiled at him, blushing ever so slightly.

"Don't worry dove, I got a few tricks up my sleeve," he said, making the final turn to your childhood home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A few hours had passed and all was going wonderfully well. Your parents were very welcoming of Remus and he couldn't be any happier. At first, they had their own thoughts about their daughter being with someone of a different race, but Remus did in fact pull that trick.

The entire time Remus was near your parents, he spoke Hindi.

You were amazed at his skills and knew it must've taken ages for him to learn. It took you a solid 2 years to get a grasp of the conjunction itself but Remus was gliding through it all, even adding a few jokes here and there.

Remus got to look at some of your old baby photos and sneakily took one from the album to keep with him and tease you about when you got home.

At one point, your mother even came over to you, whispering in your ear how you had won the jackpot when Remus said he could cook wonderful Malai Kofta.

You nodded, not really paying attention to her. Instead, you were entranced by Remus enthusiasm as he chatted with your father about the upcoming cricket game, the both of them laughing and having a splendid time.

Oh how you loved Remus.

[mariacallous]

In April, an unassuming old building in New Delhi’s furniture market housed roughly 30 youngsters. Some were hunched over their laptops crunching data on Excel or analyzing a heat map, while others huddled to discuss strategy. These were engineering graduates, economists, political scientists, and others. There were office chairs, desks, and a couple of white boards.

The entire setup could easily have passed as a startup office, but it wasn’t. This was an election war room.

From there, Sapiens Research founder Rimjhim Gour’s team served as the brains of Narendra Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party, or BJP. The party’s senior leadership had entrusted Gour with mobilizing 12.5 million female voters across India, and her team spent their days crunching historical polling trends, using data to pinpoint critical constituencies, browsing WhatsApp for real-time on-ground updates, and shaping electoral strategies to usher in BJP for a third consecutive term.

Gour’s team was successful: Modi was sworn in as the Prime Minister on June 9 after the BJP formed the government through an alliance with 293 seats. India’s general elections happen once in five years, and in 2024, a record-breaking 642 million Indians voted. Of the total voters polled, 312 million were women. This was BJP’s grand experiment: The party wanted to micro-target and mobilize female voters, and hired people like Gour to make it happen—revealing, says Amogh Dhar Sharma, author of the forthcoming book The Backstage of Democracy: India’s Election Campaigns and the People Who Manage Them, “the hidden power of a new technocratic elite that has become critical for parties and politicians to fight elections and win votes in India.”

“In most places [in India], electorates who are registered but not voting are always women,” says Gour, who previously worked as a media strategist at Indian Political Action Committee, the legendary firm widely recognised for propelling Modi to victory in 2014. Dressed in an off-white salwar kameez, with a big pair of round glasses keeping her hair off her face, Gour is suave and confident, and fluently switches between English and Hindi. “That’s when it struck me that if we have to mobilize someone, it has to be women; they make up 50% of the electorate but still haven’t been tapped into completely in a systematic approach.”

Over the past decade, the Indian electioneering landscape has been overhauled by the advent of social media, data-driven insights, and political consultants. “I think the 2024 Indian general election confirms … the inordinate role of campaign professionals in Indian elections,” says Sharma. From call centers being used for “screening” party supporters, to WhatsApp for real-time updates, and a specialized app for reporting and documenting meetings, each tool served a unique purpose in this BJP campaign. “The speed at which these technologies are being embraced by parties and the growing emphasis on them is certainly unique,” says Sharma.

The BJP’s use of technology and social platforms has evolved as politics has, as they have gone from being niche tools to essential infrastructure. The BJP emerged as the highest spender on political ads on Meta platforms this election. If the 2019 election was characterized as the “WhatsApp Election” because of the excessive use of the messaging platform, the 2024 campaign was the “YouTube Election.” It marked an unprecedented use of YouTube influencers by BJP that featured softball questions with political candidates and paid promotions. While rival parties worked to catch up, the BJP still leads the pack with dedicated cyber troops for year-round content creation—and not just during elections.

And the BJP’s decision to hire a dedicated consultant to woo women votes seems like the next step in this broader evolution of using tech.

Historically, women voters lean towards progressive parties. But over the past decade, under Modi’s rule—characterized by what critics describe as creeping authoritarianism due to attacks on civil society, religious polarization, and cracking down on dissent—there has been a noticeable shift, with both the 2014 and 2019 elections recording higher female participation and increased support for the BJP amongst female voters. The BJP had been launching female-friendly welfare schemes including subsidized cooking gas cylinders and maternity leaves, for greater equality. As a result, in 2019, women’s poll participation exceeded men’s for the first time. This time it was about going a step ahead to remind a specific cohort of targeted women about Modi’s policies and nudge them to go out to vote.

Gour’s get-out-the-vote effort, which used a potpourri of apps, data analysts, and personal outreach by party workers, thus represented a convergence of two trends in an attempt to consolidate a women’s vote newly open to the BJP.

For Modi to return to power, BJP had to win 272 of the 534 parliamentary seats. Gour’s young team was focused on 235 seats, which they identified as “critical seats”—areas where the BJP has either won or lost by less than 10% margin of votes in the past. The goal was to identify women self-help groups, or SHGs, in those 235 critical voting areas, and then use BJP’s party workers, or karyakartas, to meet, motivate, and mobilize female voters.

India’s rural SHGs are collectives of 10 or more women who pool their money and support each other through savings; nearly 100 million women are part of SHGs. And women involved with SHGs are already more politically active.

“Often the hardest problem for political parties who want to engage with women and get women to participate in public life is to figure out how to get these women to participate in a political cause,” says Anirvan Chowdhury, a postdoctoral fellow at Harvard University who studies the BJP’s attempts to target female voters. “And in a context where politics is often seen as unsuitable for women, reframing politics as seva [selfless service] or using existing institutional frameworks like the SHG structure helps solve that problem.” Because of this sustained effort, there has been a pro-BJP tilt in women’s political preference in many northern states which have a strong history of support for Modi’s BJP, research shows.

For Gour’s Sapiens Research team, the challenge wasn’t merely to locate these self-help groups but to identify potential BJP supporters within these groups—a task that requires data analysis. Ujjawal Agrawal, the program manager at Sapiens Research, spearheaded the initiative of meticulously mapping voter and demographic information to phone numbers of women in “critical” SHGs. Agrawal then mustered the BJP’s in-house network of 20,000 call center operators—run by another Indian Political Action Committee alumnus Diggaj Mogra—to identify BJP sympathizers within the large SHG cohort.

The call centers did so by asking a few pointed questions. One key question was whether the woman would help mobilize 10 other women for the BJP. If she responded positively, she was deemed a supporter. If the SHG member’s response was no, then she would be categorized as a swing voter or non-supporter. For instance, in West Bengal, Agrawal said, 10% of women who were part of the SHG refused to mobilize voters for the BJP. (Interestingly, this approach bears some broad similarities to the Donald Trump campaign’s strategy for this year’s US election.)

Soni Bam is the sort of SHG mobilizer Gour’s team was looking for. She is from the Leparada district in the northeastern state of Arunachal Pradesh and her eight-member group, called Hiri Molo, is dedicated to making women independent by finding ways to earn and save. But since October 2023, she has been involved in the BJP’s election-related work: going door-to-door explaining women about the elections, and advocating BJP schemes that will help women. She also asks women to attend meetings organized by the BJP workers.

Gour’s team used the 20,000 callers from the BJP’s call center to do 300,000 “screening” calls a day to create the final target list. “We are the brain and call centers are basically your eyes [of political campaigns],” says Gour.

It has become commonplace in India for political parties to set up call centers in the weeks leading up to polling, says Sharma. “These call centers can provide a range of functions—encouraging citizens to update their voter ID card, reminding them of the party’s manifesto promises, gauging their intention to vote, and even soliciting their feedback on the ticket distribution or chief minister nomination process.” But what’s unique, says Sharma, about the BJP is the massive investment in an in-house network of 20,000 call center operations across 350 locations. No other party has a comparable infrastructure for electioneering.

BJP’s central leadership monitored the SHG meetings organized by party workers through the revolutionary SARAL app, which stands for Sangathan Reporting and Analysis. (Sangathan in Hindi means “organization.”) It’s the BJP’s “digital handheld office.” Nearly 4 million BJP party workers use the app monthly, where they can upload party activities and share images of events, and details of people they meet during campaigns. In the months leading up to elections, the BJP ran a campaign on the app called “Shakti Chaupal” to mobilize female voters. It was overseen by Gour’s team.

The tech-savvy team of data analysts at Sapiens’ office in Delhi would then aggregate the trends, and submit weekly or monthly reports on the extent of voter mobilization to party leaders. “If they send us those two photos on a WhatsApp number, it will be difficult for us to monitor,” Agrawal said. “We get clear, systematic data from SARAL.” In the three months leading up to May, an estimated 5000 meetings were conducted, and 5877 party workers helped Sapiens team in mobilization.

In late April, during the first phase of the election, where nearly one-fifth of all parliamentary seats were going to polls, witnessed poor voter turnout. The dip in voter turnout compared to elections in 2019, gripped Gour and the BJP with panic. Early doubts over BJP’s decisive victory surfaced online. Soon, the BJP machinery redoubled outreach activity and notched up demands on state-incharges to address voter apathy.

One crucial battlefield for the BJP was the Kendrapara constituency in the eastern state of Odisha, which has been ruled by the Biju Janata Dal, or BJD, for two decades. Gour’s team was responsible for mobilizing the SHGs in the area. When it came time to vote, Gour’s war room sprang into action. Her team began calling party workers every few hours for updates on the SHGs voting. After that, a round of bot calls were made to the SHG women, since the human call centers were at capacity. At the end of the day, an automated call went out to SHG women, asking if they mobilized, who they mobilized, and if they could share pictures and data.

This process was repeated in constituencies across the country, to great effect: By the end of the election, Gour says, they personally mobilized 12 million women voters.

Despite Gour’s best efforts, though—and positive feedback they received on WhatsApp, SARAL, and call centers—the BJP suffered huge losses in their Hindi-speaking heartland states such as Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan. From being the single largest party with 303 seats in 2019, Modi’s BJP was cut down to size with 240 seats, and formed the government by entering into a power-sharing agreement with smaller regional parties.

Consultants like Gour continue to claim the election as a win, with a caveat that while their work contributed to the vote share of the candidates, they were “not the only factor.” Other experts tell WIRED that there were likely additional reasons women came out to vote during this cycle, such as religious polarization and welfare programs such as free food or cash handouts. The ultimate lesson may be about the enduring power of traditional methods.

“No Indian politician,” says Sharma, “can as yet dispense with holding public rallies, road shows, or door-to-door canvassing, which create momentum both for ordinary voters and for party workers themselves.”

[aisling-writes]

16. You're... Leaving

Time remaining: One week

“So, are you ready to go?”

You give a sheepish laughter and shrug, quickly looking elsewhere. The white chairs, the grey ceilings and the holy altar. Perhaps if they see that you’re distracted, they’ll get distracted too.

Eureka! It works.

The Aunty, clad in a heavy chiffon salwar- kameez, ruffles your hair and talks to the next, her long black hair swishing with her every dancing step.

You’ve evaded her and she’s forgotten you. But at what cost? To what extent?

A huge bubble of emotion threatens to spill, but you push it back inside and lock it under key. Not now, not yet. You’ll deal with it later.

Besides, you’ve always had a penchant for procrastination. If you can keep away from assignments and messy rooms, so can emotions wait.

Yes, later.

That sounds nice.

Time remaining: six days

“We have to meet up, man. You’re leaving in six days!”

Right.

Six days.

“Guys, think positively. Six whole days!” You exclaim. “That’s a whole lot of time!”

Your friends eye you suspiciously, as if they don’t believe you.

A small part of you agrees with their look.

Do you truly believe in that?

Right. No. Stuff the emotion back in. Deep inside.

Fake the happiness until it becomes real.

You pull them back inside, the whoosh of the door closing around you encloses you in a hug. A small thought threatens to pop up: This is probably the last time you’d be able to come to this store.

Stuff. It. Inside. Already.

You, instead choose to open the chips packet, the vinegar and salt smell overloading your senses.

See? This is good.

Denial works.

Time remaining: Five days.

“Chechi, I just have five more days left for camp! I’m so excited!”

You smile, genuinely happy for your sister and the fun that awaits her until your neurons fire up and make the connection.

Something bad unfurls in your stomach: A feeling that you’ve not yet experienced or heard of. It’s not jealousy, but a cousin of his perhaps?

You’re leaving for college the next day after your sister’s camp.

The camp she awaits  means it’s time for you to pack your bags and leave.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You’re … leaving.

The something-feeling settles in your stomach, taking route.

Nope, Nope, Nope.

Get out already!

Divert.

“So Malu, what are your camp plans?,” you ask, waiting to hear her babble of talk that soothes you.

She spills out her words and it runs all around you,

You’re just not sure if you can handle your awaiting spill of emotions anymore.

Time remaining: Four days

Last night was a bust.

Your parents sentenced you back to your room again.

You’ve been sleeping with them for the past two days lying that you’re afraid of the ‘ghost’. Of course, the first day it was genuinely true. You felt like you’d never make it till sunrise and that a lady dressed in white with choppy hair truly awaited you outside your door, but the other two days were a lie.

You realized that you liked sleeping with them because…

You’re…

Leaving.

But that was the end of that thought. You didn’t let it go anywhere.

Instead, you happily slept under the comfort of the weighted blanket and the cold icy A/C air. Like old times. I’m still a kid again.

Until yesterday.

Dada’s backpains were kicking in and he needed a full bed back to himself so, logically, you were out.

You could swear that dada saw the disappointment in your eyes, but you just acted all nonchalant.

Because… ghost problem over, right?

Right.

Then why were your pillows wet the next day morning?

Time remaining: Three days

“You don’t want you brother to be there when you’re entering college the first time?”

What you really wanted to ask was ‘Please tell me it’s not only me who’s being overly emotional’.

“Nope. Let him suffer with his exams.” The girl with the long hair, your friend, answers. She has a cheeky twinkle in her eye, and you’re supposed to share the joke with her but, everything feels like a façade now.

You’ve been lying for too long, anyway.

To others.

To your friends.

To yourself.

What’s one more?

“Ha HA. I know right? Let my sister also suffer. Anyway, she’ll come to visit me in a month anyway!” The lie tumbles out easily.

The moment had so much potential. You finally could’ve spoken to someone, but-

No.

Time remaining: Two days

“I’m skipping the meeting tomorrow. My daughter’s leaving for college in two days, so I want to spend that time with her.” Your mother cuts the call and un-pauses the television. The show goes on and the moment of silence passes.

Two days.

You didn’t realize how fast time flies.

It feels just like yesterday when your examinations were over, and you were promised a sweet, blissful month of doing absolutely nothing.

Where did that go?

In fact, you’re angry now. A week full of choking back your feelings left no other vent other than anger. That seemed like the only feeling that was permitted without you exposing your weakness? (Who are you exposing it to? And what weakness?)

Where did that free month go?!

Time remaining: One day

A flurry of emotions.

Denial.

Stuff it back just like how you’re stuffing the bag with clothes and necessities.

You’re leaving.

The instructions.

“Call your grandma’s every day, okay?”

“I’m not a kid, you know Mama?” You laugh.

You’re leaving.

It’s evening.

 The sun has set and the yellow lights you absolutely hate (I think I love them now) illuminate the room.

An actor on the telly stabs the villain. Yay.

You’re leaving.

“How’s the food?”, Mama asks.

You wish to say it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten but no. Lie. Lie through your teeth. “Eh, it’s fine.”

“Ha ha. You’re gonna wish you had this in your hostel.”

You’re leaving.

The clock chimes 10.

You’ve to sleep early to board the flight tomorrow.

You still have 8 more hours left. That’s a whole lot of time.

You’re leaving.

 You’re in your room, staring at the ceiling.

No ghost plagues you but only your feelings do.

It’s time.

Slowly, you let open the dam.

The unsaid words are whispered as a prayer. Your tears are your holy words.

 It rushes out.

 It threatens to spill, to pour, to ravage you.

You don’t know who you are without your family, your friends, your home, your church.

And you’re leaving them.

You’re leaving.

No.

No more denial.

You’re leaving.

Time remaining: Zero days

“This is the boarding call for Emirates flight EK563 travelling from Dubai to Bangalore.”

Part 16 of Finding Me

[elenscaie]

Title Tales Ask Game: mud-covered bones (churned with blood)

Part 1

Outside of executions and passing judgement on the guilty, on those who would dare go against her rule and against those she is sworn to preside over and protect, the only time Empress Amileen ran Zahashenie can sate the hunger crawling inside her is when she is on the battlefield.

The salwar kameez—more like flowing robes rather than anything else really—she wears starts out purest white. It does not remain so for long. Blood-viscera-gore drapes it crimson in a matter of minutes. It anoints the warm wheat-brown of her skin with the bloom of life and the kiss of death. Bodies, splayed and sundered apart, lie in the mud and muck as all palest bones and red-raw coiling guts as she dances to the siren song of war.

She has never felt more alive.

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Anniversary Arshi fiesta

Moodboard : Historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 09

I am not very good at writing ffs. I even read ffs very selectively. But it was an attempt of me to participate in the 13th-anniversary arshi fiesta.

I might be wrong about certain aspects of that age and era, but it's a fantasy, so why not? I don't own Arnav and Khushi and the story is purely fictional and has no relation to any living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 9

Arnav lay awake in the dimly lit room, the weight of the inevitable suffocating him. His arms felt like lead, every movement a struggle against the gravity of his despair. His body, usually full of restless energy, now lay still and drained. But it was his heart that weighed the heaviest.

For so long, he had carried this heartbreak, but never before had it felt so unbearable. Each breath was a reminder of the emptiness inside him, a void that seemed to grow with each passing moment. The memories flooded his mind like a torrential downpour, drowning him in regrets and what-ifs.

He was so deep in his thoughts that he missed the soft knocks the first two times. The third knock jolted him with surprise. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a familiar face he hadn't expected to see.

There she stood, draped in a white salwar kameez, her hair unkempt and loose. But it was her face that shattered Arnav into a million pieces. Her once-beautiful hazel eyes, now rimmed with red, stood out starkly against her ghostly pale face. Each delicate feature seemed to tremble under the weight of her inner turmoil, casting shadows where there was once light. Her gaze fixed on him with clenched fists and body frozen in place. The struggle to contain her emotions was palpable, evident in the quiver of her lip and the tense line of her jaw.

Arnav, momentarily stunned, sprang into action. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asked urgently. Khushi didn't respond. Instead, she barged into the room quietly. After checking to ensure no one had seen them, Arnav closed the door quickly. "Khushi, why are you here so late at night? You need to go back to your room right now. What if someone sees you coming to my room?" he whispered, trying to keep his voice low but forceful.

As she remained unresponsive, Arnav sighed. He gently took her elbow, guiding her to sit in the desk chair before seating himself opposite her. "What happened Khushi? batao mujhe."

Khushi had the whole conversation set in her head, but now that he was in front of her, words seemed lost to her. Her eyes fixed on her wringing hands, her lips quivered as she struggled to form a single sentence."I don't want to marry him."

"Oh," Arnav said as realization dawned on him. "Okay, I'll talk with Chachu. Don't worry."

" I don't want to marry anyone else, either," she murmured, still looking down.

A moment later, when Khushi glanced up and looked at Arnav with pleading innocent eyes, he wished she had remained looking down instead. "Don't you love me at all?" Her voice caught at the word 'love'.

How could anyone possibly answer such a question if it were asked by the love of their life? Now it was Arnav's turn to look down at his hands.He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to erase the moment like a nightmare.

Khushi continued with a barely-there voice, "If you don't, then tell me to my face."

"What?" Arnav whispered. His bewildered gaze snapped up to meet hers.

"Okay, I'll go first," she said with a quivering voice, "I love you." Two pairs of beautiful eyes gazed at each other, one hazel and the other caramel brown. They were having their own conversation beyond the comprehension of mortal language.

Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. "Since when, I don't know, but I do. And I want to spend my life with you," she said in a breath unless she lost her courage. And then, she looked away.

The words floated between them, desperate to be acknowledged and cherished like their owner. Collecting herself, she started again, "And if you don't feel the same way, then tell me that you don't love me... that you've never loved me... I need to hear it from you... maybe then I can move on without the what-ifs haunting me at night." Her voice cracked with emotion.

Arnav marvelled at the bravery of the slip of a girl before him, her beauty magnified by her courage. Tears streamed down his face unabated ever since she had confessed, each drop a testament to the storm raging within him. His heart yearned to sweep her away from these harsh realities and keep her hidden somewhere far from all of these heartbreaks. Her vulnerable yet hopeful gaze was begging for a response that he struggled to articulate, caught between the weight of his emotions and the gravity of the situation. Looking down, he pressed his fists in his eyes, " Don't ask me to say that I don't love you."

" Why?" she pressed further, "Why can't you just say it out loud if it isn't true?"

"BECAUSE I DO, DAMN IT!" he snapped, not able to contain himself, revealing his deepest, darkest secret. He hadn't meant to, but the words had burst from him uncontrollably, unleashing the truth he had guarded with utmost care.

He started pacing the room. His fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands as if trying to unravel the turmoil within him. The air felt heavy, tension hanging like a living, breathing being, as Khushi stared at him in wide-eyed bewilderment, tinged with joy and astonishment.

There was a spark in her eyes that wasn't there a few moments ago—a glimmer of hope she needed to chase. Nothing could stop her today. "Then why? Why are you denying your feelings?" Her voice carried a mix of frustration and anguish as she began to pace behind him as well with her suffocating questions."Kyun de rahe hain apni aapko itni takleef aur saath saath mein hume bhi?"

Arnav abruptly turned around and grabbed her upper arms on both sides. He pulled her body close to his. ''Don't you get it, Khushi? You deserve so much more, and I can't give them to you. I don't even have a steady job, no family to support us and not even a home of my own." Each word was punctuated by a shake. "When the initial bliss fades, you'll resent me for putting you through this. Love doesn't put food on the table Khushi." His grip tightened slightly, a plea for her to understand the harsh reality he was laying bare. "Ye duniya pyaar ki bhaasha nahi samajhti, ye duniya waise hi bedard aur patthar dil hain jaise hamesha thi." Releasing Khushi, he turned his back to her.

Khushi looked upward, desperately wanting her tears to stop. A suffocating silence filled the space between them. "So, you're letting me go, just like that? Without even trying? " she asked, her voice trembling.

When she got no response, she got her answer in his silence. She continued softly, "One day, you will have all of these things. I hope they bring you happiness,...... even if I'm not there with you." She paused, her body turning numb with each passing second. "Because I don't see myself being happy surrounded by all the things that you think I deserve,..... without you," she whispered.

Arnav closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. ''You will be happy, Khushi. You shouldn't have loved someone like me in the first place. Soon, you'll find someone you'll fall madly in love with, and you'll forget about me.''

"You don't get to tell me how I will feel or won't feel. If you had told me this two years ago when I was confused, I might have entertained your suggestion. But I have thought about it day and night, and my feelings for you haven't changed a bit in these past two years. My heart still beats the same way, despite you hurting me so much. So, You, Arnav Singh Raizada, Don't tell me what to feel and what not to feel. Samjhe App ?" She said with angry tears running down her face.

She was not finished though "And you are right. I shouldn't have loved someone like you...and if this is the way you love,.... I don't want to be a woman that you love either."

She knew exactly what she was doing. Fueled by anger and hurt, her initial intent was to inflict as much pain on him as possible. But when he turned around, the pain in his eyes quenched the words on her lips. But she had to do this one thing for herself, she mustered all her strength for one last time and said "Goodbye, Arnav."

With that, she left her heart in that room without looking back, with that stubborn man who had become 'patthar dil' in his 'patthar dil' world, while her whole being begged her to turn around and plead with him to accept her love. As the physical distance between them continued to grow, she felt the gap in her heart widening. She placed her hand on her chest to soothe the ache. When she had entered his room earlier, she had thought the worst he could do was reject her. She couldn't help but laugh internally at the bitter irony of the situation.

As soon as she found herself alone in the confines of her room, she sank down against the door and released everything she had been holding onto. Time seemed to slip away unnoticed as she sat there, her voice strained from suppressed sobs, her eyes dry with runaway tears.

After a while, she gathered herself and made her way to the sturdy oak desk that stood by the window. Her hands found her leather-bound diary. The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm, comforting light over the worn pages. Opening it to a fresh, blank page, she hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the smooth paper.

She was resolute in her determination not to plead with Arnav. Yet, in the quiet of her room, with no one to witness her vulnerability, she felt an inexplicable urge to beg—she wasn't sure to whom or for what. It was a desperate desire to bargain with fate, willing to offer anything to alleviate the searing pain that had taken residence in her heart.

With trembling fingers, she picked up the pen and let her hand move across the page, each stroke a silent prayer that her words would somehow find their way to him.

On the other side of Rajput Haveli, Arnav paced restlessly in his room, his mind consumed with thoughts of Khushi. The carriage that would whisk him away was due in a few short hours. The clock struck half past 4, marking the passage of time he could no longer ignore. Unable to bear the agony any longer, Arnav found himself outside Khushi's door, the pull towards her undeniable, like an invisible string tugging at his heart.

He knew he had to see her one last time, to assure himself that she was alright. The thought of leaving her in distress gnawed at him, compelling him to knock. As his hand hovered over the door, he discovered it was unlocked. With a hesitant push, he entered quietly.

Inside, Arnav found Khushi hunched over her desk, her flawless face marred with dried tear streaks. She had fallen asleep upon the leather-bound diary he had gifted her. In the dim light, he could make out her elegant handwriting. Curiously, he moved closer and found only two lines on that page that shifted his entire universe on its axis.

( Please don't divide me into two parts, Arnav. I cannot live without you.)

@featheredclover @arshifiesta @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @titaliya @deliciouspistachios @arshisrabbave @arshiradio @msbhagirathi

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