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#desi wlw
shikanji · 7 months
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bedside
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the desi urge to go on pani puri dates and have a competition to see who gives up first, dance with your love on pashmina, plan every single thing down to the last detail about diwali 3 months ago cause you cannot contain your excitement, eat parle g for dessert, get tattoos in forbidden places that'll slyly be visible with a shift of your pallu, have a signature itar that reminds everybody of you, fight the traditional gender roles that are pushed onto women since their birth in class then be it students or the teacher, have baraf ke gole that turn your tongue different colours and get ready to meet your beloved in secret with cause your parents don't approve of them and that adds to the thrill
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Being a desi sapphic is like hMmM wHaT is iT gOnNa bE ✨today✨?
*mere sapno ki rani kab aayegi tu uwu* yearny?? or *ek ladki ko dekha toh aisa laga* kinda cute lil crush???? or *jab bhi main koi ladki dekhu* simping bitch????? or *BACHNAA AE HASEEEENOO* gay hoe
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the-forest-goth · 1 year
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hey ( with the intention to take you on library dates and long drives with hozier playing in the background)
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houseofbreadpakoda · 2 months
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Saudebaazi
It was 7 on a Monday morning. More than half the city was up, the traffic taking over the mellow atmosphere. Two ladies stood in front of an old house, with one rumbling her pouch trying to find the keys.
"Oho, hurry now will you?" Whispered Sarala.
"Hmm hmm" Damini replied shaking her head, trying to rid her mind of the daze.
Sarala and Damini had spent the night at their friends place, sipped on a little booze and passed out. This had led them to sneak back home this morning, hurrying between rickshaws and buses, avoiding everyone's gaze.
It wasn't easy for them to be out on such adventures. It wasn't easy for two widows. For two 50 year old widows. Especially when they were clad in white from head to toe. They had absently held each other's hands tight while sprinting back home.
The duo had grown up in the same neighborhood. Both being from extremely conservative families, had been married off at very tender ages. Damini was married to Vinayak, a rich bank manager when she was just two, whereas Sarala was married rather sold to an old man Jagadish, by her parents, to clear their debts, at eleven years of age.
Jagadish, lured by the dowry he received began to lament his job, barely turning upto work thrice a week. Spent all the money he had on gambling and alcohol. Within a year of his marriage he was thrown onto the streets. Eventually, lack of money had led to abuse.
It was Diwali, when Damini had rushed to Sarala's house to feed her the sweets she had made when she found her tending to her wounds, broken glass pieces scattered on the floor. She had tiptoed to Sarala, to find a slit on her forearm, dried blood surrounding the wound. The bastard had begun his wrath much before the sun had risen.
"Why can't I have a nice husband...?"
".....I can be your nice husband...." Damini had replied sheepishly.
"Arey, but how-"
"Or maybe I could be your nice wife?"
"......that would be nice." Sarala had said smiling.
Damini's Husband was no better. He would be out for days or sometimes weeks. And when he'd return, so would the abuse. He earned enough to buy ten white elephants, but never bothered to give Damini a penny. When he decided to eat at home, he'd buy the groceries himself, but when he was away Damini would have to make do with the little food Sarala managed to sneak to her everyday.
Both the girls, barely teenagers, spent most of their time together. They would tie gajras for each other, exchange anklets, braid each other's hair and apply henna on each other's hands and feet.
Jagadeesh's drinking eventually backfired, the man could barely pass a minute without breaking into a coughing fit. All Sarala had to do was sit back and watch him swallow the poison everyday, and within a few months, hopefully, he'd be gone.
One very fine day, when Vinayak returned home with a chicken in hand, Damini had accidentally dropped a chicken bone in the broth which he managed to choke on, while Damini had coincidentally left to fetch water from the well. Poor lad, choked on his food, struggled to breath and died.
Sarala and Damini were now widows, at the age of just seventeen. It was good riddance.
After all they had good company ;)
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This was supposed to come out months ago, but I was dumb fuck and forgot about it so here it is. My first non-fanfic series.
Tagging: @janaknandini-singh999 @talesinmyhead040122 @tenderhood @vijayasena @yehsahihai and whoever else wants to be tagged really
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maryoliverdotcom · 6 months
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tum aankhon se batana hum samajh jaayenge
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I should've hugged you longer.
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justsomesapphicbimbo · 2 months
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Are the queer Indian girls in the room with us?! In this world?! Ughh pls where are yall I swear everyone is straight in my life and i hate it all.
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dhurrbyang · 2 months
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rip to all the queer desi girlies who watched katrina kaif in the kamli video when they were 12. congratulations on your gayness!
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the desi urge to call your love nicknames from your native language and not tell them the meaning, dance in random baraats with your friends, travel in autos instead of booking an uber, chase your sibling barefoot on the road despite it being sweltering hot and burning your feet, enjoy the monsoon by either eating pakoras and filter coffee or dancing in the rain in a salwar kameez, make rangolis for every festival, choose cooler over ac cause the Mitti Ki Khushbu™, be the best at kite flying, add small jhoomars to all your chunnis, use jaanam to address small kids, keep telling bhayiya to add spice to the pani puri water even if your eyes start watering and wear brown lipstick and thick kajal to look like the kind of women elders warn children against
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janaknandini-singh999 · 6 months
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“बहुत अजीब थी वो
गुनाह की तरह छुपी-छुपी,
तो सवाब ही तरह ज़ाहिर
और कभी, किस्मत की तरह बेतुकी”
(“Strange, she was
Shrouded like a sin
Obvious like a sacred deed
And sometimes, illogical like fate.”)
- Khufiya, 2023
IN MY HEAD THEY'RE MARRIED AND LIVING HAPPILY EVER AFTER SHUT UP
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yagynaseni · 10 months
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POV: you skip classes together. fangirl over your favorite retro movies together. go on chaat and samosa dates together. go to mandir on special occasions together. plan your future together.
because of you I know heaven without dying
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hornscorns · 10 months
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জুঁই
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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
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thedimlaltain · 5 months
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Found a great desi sapphic short film!
youtube
Number of times sapphics found a love while walking on desi cinema = 2 now
(this and the other love story)
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She's the only kiss that matters. The one that made me realise I didn't want to kiss anyone else.
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drunkwalkhomecore · 7 months
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The feminine urge to write a homoerotic Indian teenaged middle class wlw love story is quaking again
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