Table of Contents

Letter from the Editors “Real and Truthful” A review of Lord of the Senses by Vikram Kolmannskog “I want to explore how we are all deeply connected.” An interview with Vikram Kolmannskog Bureaus By Maalini Krishna Daughters By Maryam Khan Uncrumple By Sherein Bansal Featured Artwork: Realisation By Diya Ullas Where We Thank You Letter from the Editors

Hello readers!

Welcome to the eighth issue of Chak Gay! India by Queer Desi! This month we’re talking about queer literature: novels, stories, and poetry. Thank you to all of our collaborators, without whom this issue would not exist. We love you and your work!

LGBTQ+ literature in India is growing with acceptance and more spaces for queer people to publish their work. It is so important to include queer perspectives when talking about India’s writing history. This issue, we’ve partnered with Vikram Kolmannskog, an Indian- Norwegian writer who released his book Lord of the Senses on September 6th this year, the one year anniversary of the 377 verdict.

This month also happens to be the one year anniversary of Queerdesi! We can’t believe a year has already gone by. Thank you to everyone who has supported us! We love creating this magazine.

Please let us know what you think! We welcome opinions, criticism, thought processes, and of course, more submissions (hint hint) (we’re just kidding) (not actually.)

Yours queerly,

Oviya Cherian and Ananya Vepa (Editor in Chief and Executive Director)

QueerDesi is a student-run initiative from Bangalore. Our aim is to promote inclusivity within the LGBTQ+ community and to bring new points of view to those outside of it. “Real and Truthful” A review of Lord of the Senses by Vikram Kolmannskog. Written by Oviya Cherian Vikram Kolmannskog is an Indian-Norwegian writer, psycho-therapist, associate professor at the Norwegian Gestalt Institute and also a scholar of law and socio-legal studies.

This month Queer Desi was fortunate enough to be sent a collection of short stories called Lord of the Senses by Vikram Kolmannskog. All in all, I gave the book 3.5/5 stars.

This book compiles 21 short stories celebrating and exploring diversity, family, spirituality, culture, identity, race, religion, caste and sexuality.

Kolmannskog doesn’t shy away from anything, his stories are honest and explicit. The emotions displayed are very real and the thoughts each character has are relatable. They were beyond my personal experience but are understandable and readers won’t have a hard time clicking with them, which is always a good thing.

The stories explore so many different settings and kinds of people, it explores how religion, culture, caste, race, spirituality still play into relationships today. It acknowledges the diversity and acknowledges that it is a process to throw away discrimination or prejudice, it recognises bias. It negotiates prejudices of caste and religion and more and doesn’t play into ideals of romance and sex, it is real and truthful.

One story that especially struck me with these notes was “Ravan Leela”, a story about a man who contemplates caste and meets someone on Grindr. It doesn’t hide the fact that the prejudices we see around us, though we do not conform to them, do come up in our own minds when we meet people and form relationships. At the same time, it shows us that the real question is how you deal with them, how you acknowledge that you are not a bad person for wondering and then push it aside and say “it doesn’t matter”. The stories make way for the hope that one day these questions won’t even exist because these constructs will crumble.

Something that I really appreciated in the collection was that it incorporated technology. So often, books set in our time ignore technology, which is unrealistic because you’re reading this on a screen, you communicate through a screen, and you probably met some of your best friends through a screen. Grindr, texting, other dating apps, facebook, etc are all acknowledged in ‘Lord of the Senses’ and applied in the narrative, which added to its realism and I think it makes the stories so much more relatable to readers, queer or not.

The book as a whole is very sexual and pretty explicit, it is unashamed in its dive into sex and lust. The stories speak about same-sex desires and lust with no barriers and no censorship. This is refreshing as it happens so often in Indian (and other) literature, due to the rampant phobic and dangerous behaviour and speech towards it. But, sometimes the sex or masturbation seemed disconnected from the rest of the story or setting like in “Surya”, a story about the narrator taking a cab back home from a party and striking a conversation with the driver, it did take me away from some of the narratives. I didn’t feel that they were always necessary or essential to that particular story as it didn’t really add anything to it.

The stories were intriguing and many of them left me with so, so many questions but funnily enough my favourite stories in the collection were the ones that left me with the most questions - “Nanima and Roger Toilet”, “Engagement”, “Ravan Leela”, “A Murder of Crows”, “Surya”, “J”, “CockTail D’Amore” and “The Sacred Heart”. They were poetic in the sense that they were open-ended or you didn't have the whole beginning, middle and end. You stepped into the character’s life at the point that they want you to and this made the stories feel honest and true to reality. Vikram Kolmannskog’s writing is vivid and colourful. It’s transportive and brings life to every narrative and setting. This is so essential in a book that travels across India, to Berlin, to Norway. It’s emotive and this carries through in every voice in the book, which is often a problem with collections: consistency.

In a lot of the stories he writes in a stream of conscious way, poetic, allowing you to look into each narrative’s mind, exploring a life rather than a single plot arc which actually works better with short stories in my opinion.

I think this book has something for everyone and it discusses important and oftentimes difficult topics in an easy and readable way. Thank you to Vikram Kolmannskog for giving us the opportunity to read your stories. The links to where you can buy this book and the author’s social media, website, Goodreads, etc will be linked below. https://www.amazon.in/Lord-Senses-Vikram-Kolmannskog/dp/ 0995516294/ref=sr_1_1? crid=LLUS3OIPGPCZ&keywords=lord+of+the+senses+vikram+kolman nskog&qid=1567921849&s=books&sprefix=lord+of+the+senses+vikram %2Cstripbooks%2C-1&sr=1-1 https://www.amazon.com/Lord-Senses-Vikram-Kolmannskog/dp/ 0995516294 https://www.bookdepository.com/Lord-Senses-Vikram-Kolmannskog/ 9780995516298 http://www.vikramkolmannskog.no/en/index.html https://www.facebook.com/vikram.kolmannskog https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/ 14987768.Vikram_Kolmannskog “I want to explore how we are all deeply connected.” An interview with Vikram Kolmannskog. Questions by Oviya Cherian.

Hello! Introduce yourself.

My name is Vikram Kolmannskog; it reveals my dual heritage as the child of an Indian mother and a Norwegian father. My preferred pronouns are he, him, his, they, them and their. I work mostly as a writer and psychotherapist these days. I research and teach psychotherapy as a part-time associate professor at the Norwegian Gestalt Institute. My first book was a collection of tales from therapy: The Empty Chair. Tales from Gestalt Therapy. I have also worked as a lawyer and socio-legal scholar, and some of my research has been on the Indian queer movement. Fun fact: I was born on the 6th September, the same date that the Indian Supreme Court delivered the pro-LGBT verdict.

How would you briefly introduce your book, Lord of the Senses?

It is a collection of short stories - queer, cosmopolitan, erotic, and spiritual. Most have some link to India.

When and how did you realise you wanted to be a writer?

From an early age, I loved stories and books - and I wrote fiction and poetry. Many factors may have played a role, including the exposure to literature and stories I got in my family. Perhaps a sense of loneliness and otherness as a queer, brown boy growing up in Norway also made me turn to reading and writing, which are part travelling and part homecoming. Writing also feels like something quite fundamental to me, a calling and a way of being in the world. An important reason I write is to explore and express the complexity and wonder that I experience in and around me.

Writing and getting published have not been easy for me, though. But I didn’t give up. According to James Baldwin, the supreme animating force of the writer is the irrepressible impossibility of not-writing: ‘Do this book, or die. You have to go through that. Talent is insignificant. I know a lot of talented ruins. Beyond talent lie all the usual words: discipline, love, luck, but most of all, endurance.’

What do you think makes a good story?

How a story is written matters, the form, the choice of words, its style and structure. Words are important to writers; otherwise one could use another medium such as photography. What a story says also matters, the content, the story itself. A great story appreciates and explores the complexities and paradoxical truths about human life. It leaves me with some wonder and awe. A good writer is one who is interested in words and language, and one who seeks truth but knows it is not easily put into words.

What kind of research do you do in preparation for a story or book?

Often research and writing are parts of one dynamic process; I don’t first research and then write. When I am working on a story, I like to go fully into that story. That influences what I read and listen to. Working on the title story, I really dived into Mirabai’s love for Krishna. I read about her life and poetry. And I read her poetry. There are many translations and renditions of her poetry; one that I enjoyed reading while writing was that by Robert Bly (Mirabai: Ecstatic Poems). A song I listened to, and danced to, was ‘Rang Barse Bheege Chunarwali’ from the film Silsila. Reading and listening to her poetry, dancing, looking at an idol of Krishna that I put up next to my Mac, it sometimes felt like I embodied or channelled Mirabai. What is your writing process?

When I first start writing, I often tell my inner critic that he can rest in another room for a while. That way I can write freely, without too many ideas of how a story should be and what others will think. At a later stage, I invite my inner critic back in, ask for and appreciate his contribution. I also share a draft with, and ask for feedback from, one or two reader-writer friends, who understand and appreciate what I want to say and how I want to say it, and whose own writing I really respect. A good editor is also crucial in the process.

Sometimes I am inspired, and writing is easy and fun, and I can suddenly start writing in the middle of the night. At other times, it’s more difficult. I have a regular meditation practice and that helps, I think. I tell myself that I need to just show up in front of the Mac, much like I show up on the meditation pillow, for a certain time, regardless of how I feel.

Writing is like life in general: In the end it is all important, the ups and downs all part of the process. And from a spiritual and therapeutic point of view, the most important thing is how I respond to those ups and downs. I don't need to inflate my ego when it is going well or beat myself up when it feels difficult.

You’re Indian-Norwegian. Have you ever lived in India? What was the experience like? How do you think you being raised in Norway has impacted your view of India and how you write about her?

‘Growing Up Queer’ is a story that is closely based on my own childhood. Growing up as a brown, Hindu boy in a very white and homogenous Norway, I was never fully accepted as Norwegian. Partly as a reaction to racism and othering, I started to distance myself from Norway and Norwegians, and romanticise India. The India I knew through my mother’s family was the India of the diaspora, a rather mythical place. My mother’s family is originally from Kathiawar, but my grandparents lived in Kenya and that is where my mother and her siblings were all born. Later, almost everyone went to live in Leicester, UK; my adventurous mother ended up in Norway in stead. They have kept much of the Kathiawari language and culture as well as the Hindu religion, but everything is coloured by being twice removed from India. We went to India only once while I was a child. But I travelled to India as often as I could through books. And as soon as I was 18, I went to stay for six months in Jamnagar, where I studied Gujarati, Hindi and Indian philosophy and history. There too I often felt like an outsider and other, of course. I was not completely Norwegian, nor was I completely Indian.

This sense of otherness is both the curse and blessing of being dual heritage, perhaps. We are seldom fully inside and accepted in any culture, but this also gives a different perspective on things others may take for granted and not question. It is similar to growing up queer in a heteronormative society. Questioning who and what we are, not over identifying with the surrounding culture and norms, being brave and true to oneself regardless of what people may say, this position and perspective can also be a form of cosmopolitanism and spirituality. And it can help create good literature and art, I believe.

Later I have studied and worked in India for several periods of my adult life. For the past ten years, I have been quite involved in the Indian queer movement and made many friends that way. As a lawyer and socio-legal scholar, I have carried out some research on the queer rights movement. As a writer, I have written for magazines such as Gaylaxy and Pink Pages. Several of the stories in Lord of the Senses were written during (and as part of) the mobilisation for LGBTQ rights in India. There has been a paucity of Indian LGBTQ literature.

It is important to find some recognition in a story, I think, to have your identity and experience somehow validated. This has been important to me. Indian LGBTQ literature speaks to me in a very special way. And I wanted to contribute to this growing body of literature. We create a community, a sense of who we are and can be, through storytelling.

Although I feel both Indian and Norwegian, I am not born and bred in India and I do not live there. I do feel there is a difference between writing that draws more directly on my own experience and writing that explores a rather different kind of life. The latter requires more, or a different kind of, imagination and empathy, I guess. And I feel somewhat cautious when doing this, knowing that I cannot really and fully know how it is to be a Dalit or a woman, for example – or even someone who is born and bred in India, which I am not. Still, I do take a chance and write stories with such characters. Often I then seek feedback from someone who does identify with one of those groups.

I think I can write about many things, but I do want to be aware of, and constantly explore, my own position and background and how it may influence my writing.

A question that has been on my mind since I first opened the book, what made you make the first story about Krishna and a girl?

The title story is based on the story of Mirabai and Krishna. This is also a queer story if queerness means challenging norms on sexuality and gender. Mirabai left her husband and her in-laws, her face uncovered, her hair loose, and mixed with people belonging to different castes and religions and backgrounds. She did this without shame; she did it out of love, a brave love. The object of this woman’s love and desire was Krishna, one who both is and is not a man. There are important commonalities and similarities between her love and life and those of same-sex lovers, I believe. Moreover, I think that all of us - queerer or straighter - long for a deeper connection and belonging, a divine love, even when we arrange Grindr hook-ups that end up being only partly satisfying or not satisfying at all. This is why the narrator in the title story talks about the love for Krishna as the first time you fell in love; this love for the divine and everyone and everything is the first and ultimate love, I believe.

To what extent are the stories in Lord of the Senses inspired by your own life?

In several drafts, some protagonists were called Vikram. One important consideration for me has been whether I want to change the names and other details in the stories mainly out of a sense of shame, often related to the quite explicit gay sex in some of the stories. I think it’s important that we own and celebrate that part of us. Partly for this reason, the protagonist is called Vikram in another homoerotic book of mine (Taste and See: A Queer Prayer). In the end, none of the protagonists in Lord of the Senses are called Vikram, but several have names that are quite similar (Ram, Vihaan). There is a part of me in all of them, but they are not me; they are more like sons of mine, perhaps – children who have been very much shaped by me and my experiences but now also clearly live their own lives.

Included in Lord of the Senses are also characters that in a sense are rather different from me, such as women, Dalits, Muslims and others. With identity politics, whether writers can do this or not has become more of a burning question. As I have mentioned in answer to another question of yours, I do believe that this kind of writing requires more or a different kind of imagination and empathy, and I feel somewhat cautious when doing this, but I still do.

A lot of the time the stories are very explicit and this isn’t spared in your vocabulary either. Did it take you time to get comfortable with writing in such an open and maybe private way?

I think ‘A Safe Harbour’, an early version of which was published by Erotic Review, was one of my first really sexually explicit stories. It has definitely been a process for me. I have had – and still have – some shame related to gay sex. Sex is after all a main reason why we were – and still are – considered sinful, criminal, sick or just dirty. Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code criminalised ‘carnal intercourse against the order of nature’. This is a good reason to include gay sex in some detail in literature and elsewhere; let’s celebrate it, be excited by it!

More than it being a political-literary project, however, I like to write about erotic encounters because it is a way to explore interesting psycho-social, existential and spiritual themes: our desires, our prejudices, what we find attracting or repulsing, our insecurities, our sensitivity to rejection, our longing to be liked and loved, our longing to transcend our small selves and merge with someone or something else.

One thing I appreciated about your stories was its acknowledgement of technology. It is the 21st century, smartphones and dating apps exist. What has been your experience with them?

My experience is that Grindr and other dating apps can be a blessing and a curse, and I explore this in several of the stories. Beautiful meetings - sometimes brief, sometimes more lasting - are made possible, such as the one in ‘Sweetie’. But there are also challenges when it comes to choice, commitment and contentment: ‘What about others I might meet through Grindr?’ the protagonist in ‘Shredded Dates’ wonders during a date. ‘Grindr is a bit like the drink and food menus with all their beguiling options, I think to myself. He is one of the first guys I meet in Bombay. I have already received a lot of messages, including dick pics, some of them quite impressive, from other guys, and some of them seem interesting and might be good matches.’ The idea that there may be someone better can leave you constantly searching and never content.

“A Murder of Crows”, this story especially seems to be a commentary on sexuality, rape and so much more in India. What inspired you to use the crows in such a powerful, protective way? Crows fascinate me. They are very intelligent. They can make tools. And they have an uncanny memory for human faces and can remember if a particular person is a threat. In Hinduism and many other religions and cultures, however, they are often considered unattractive and inauspicious. And the term ‘crow’ is commonly used negatively when addressing outcasts or people one doesn’t like. At the same time, crows can find a place and respect within counter-trends and traditions such as the Tantric, traditions that are often subversive and emancipatory. In this story, there is a connection between the crows and the woman who cleans the streets. There is a love between them - and there is shakti. More generally, I am fascinated by the love and connection that exists everywhere, even between various species and between us and plants.

A lot of your stories deal with casteism and religion. What is your experience with these things and what made you tie them into your stories?

In my writing I want to describe present reality, and that is one where people have bias, discriminate and are discriminated against based on caste, religion and more. At the same time, I want to explore how we are all also deeply connected and one.

As a person born and bred in Norway, with a Norwegian father and a very progressive Indian mother, I have had little experience with casteism. However, some members of my mother’s family identify quite strongly with the community that they - or we; I feel ambiguous about including myself - traditionally belong to, an upper-caste community. I can’t remember anyone in my family ever speak badly about another caste or act in a casteist manner, though.

A few years ago I dated a Dalit guy, and I was surprised to find casteist thoughts appear in my mind, thoughts about cleanliness - much like the protagonist in ‘Ravan Leela’. This says something about how pervasive casteism can be, appearing even in the mind of a Norwegian-born, progressive person. As a psychotherapist and meditator, I was able to become aware of the thoughts, and rather than identify with them or act automatically based on them, I could let go of them. I think much casteism - as well as racism, heterosexism, and other bias - operates on a rather unconscious level today. The important thing is to become aware and respond with awareness.

I continued dating the Dalit man, and we have remained very good friends after we broke up. He is conscious of his Dalit background and knows very well how casteism still operates in India today. Our love and friendship have helped me understand casteism in an even deeper and more personal way. Through him and others I have also become more familiar with the Ambedkarite form of Buddhism, Navayana.

I consider myself spiritual and religious. I grew up with a very inclusive Hinduism in my mother’s family, while my father and his family are Christian. I meditate daily; mostly it is vipassana or metta as taught by the Buddha. I listen to spiritual talks, read books, and go on pilgrimages and to retreats - Hindu, Christian and Buddhist. I try to practice awareness and compassion in my everyday life.

While I am closest to the Hindu, Buddhist and Christian traditions because of my upbringing and background, ultimately I don’t identify with any one religion; I would rather as Mirabai sing and dance with people of all traditions in divine praise and play. That is true religion, I think: this kind of love. And this is something I want to contribute to in my writing as well.

An important question for many LGBTQ Indians, and especially LGBTQ Hindus, now and for the future – a question that may contribute to defining both our individual and collective identity – is the following: Shall we focus narrowly on promoting LGBTQ rights, perhaps even entering into an alliance with the Hindu Right, or shall we show solidarity and ally with other, increasingly marginalised and oppressed categories of people, such as Muslims and Dalits? (Of course, many among us are both LGBTQ and Muslim or Dalit as well.) Needless to say, I want the latter.

The way I see it, being queer also involves a radical loving and questioning of norms and social divisions. This is reflected in the stories in Lord of the Senses – stories that deal with love across castes and religions, as well as same-sex love.

A final question to expose our readers to more literature, what are your favourite books, queer or otherwise, that you would recommend?

While working on Lord of the Senses, I read a lot of short stories. Saadat Hasan Manto is one of my favourite short story writers, and I believe he was as much in love with Bombay as I am. Another excellent Indian short story writer is R. K. Narayan. I also read stories by LGBTQ writers, especially LGBTQ writers with a link to India. The Boyfriend by Raj Rao is a classic, which I re-read. Other Indian LGBTQ books that I read and really appreciated include Sandip Roy’s Don't Let Him Know, Vasudhendra’s Mohanaswamy, and Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar’s My Father’s Garden. Someone in the diaspora that I have really appreciated reading is Rahul Mehta (Quarantine: Stories). Bureaus By Maalini Krishna The author can be found on Instagram @malls.k

In India, every home has a bureau. It’s like a closet – a compact metal box, in which we store our items. Inside, there lies a small box with a keyhole, containing our most valuable items – the gold, the jewelry – the things we use to impress others. It’s hidden, locked away, only opened on special occasions: large family functions in which we dress up, put on costumes and makeup, put on a front. It’s where our pride lies. The bureau in my house is large enough for me to fit inside. And I do. I envelop myself in the darkness, my figure squished against the clothes, that are folded up neatly, each having their own place in the bureau. My figure seems to threaten their order, but it doesn’t. The clothes grow wrinkles under the stress that my presence causes. I hold onto the walls of the bureau, the metal walls reeking of iron, like blood. Here is where I spend many days – in solitude, in apprehension. I am caged. Some bureaus have shelves or sections. The largest bureau of India – the national one – finally abolished the 377th section, allowing those items that are similar, to finally be kept together on the same shelve, where they belong. If two items fit together, what’s to stop them? Slowly, they’ll be taken out of the shelve, and used together so often, that they’ll be considered one item. Sometimes, I am not inside the bureau. I sit in my chair, looking out the open window. The brightness blinds me. Instead of warm comfort, it burns. I cannot just sit on this chair like all my classmates. Even though I’m out of the box, I still feel anxious and unsure. A gust of doubt hits my face. It encompasses me and won’t die down. The strong forces of the world’s wind, hold me down, not allowing me to return the bureau. I am trapped. I open my phone - another metal box. The latest sports news sports a Dutee Chand. Her name occupies the headlines, sparking debates with “experts” brought in from all corners of the country. The blaring noises of disapproval blast in the living rooms, as people settle down for their evening chai. All because she had worn two of the same items, and had opened her mini box, which did not have anything as desirable as what others wanted and expected. All because she ran through the winds of society and chased the rainbow. All because she opened her heart. I smile. It’s a curious feeling. She was free. I could be too. Day by day, I try to escape the box that confines me. I put a rainbow heart on my Instagram bio. I follow those who go with the drag of the wind. I follow those who have items placed on all shelves, those who don’t care about how it’s organized. Everything in the bureau – they’re all items. The labels on the clothes are taken off. Their boxes are open to the world. It’s the first day at school. I spot a girl who’s inside the bureau, like me. We look at each other knowingly. We have the same type of bureau. We start to share our valuable box. I hold her hand. It holds me steady from the winds, which have now turned into a tornado of fear. However, I have someone to hold on to, someone to share my bureau with. Not all houses in India have a bureau big enough to fit inside. Some people remain in the scorching light, getting sunburnt. They live in lives of discomfort. They are not given the chance to have a small box full of their true items. They will never get to use the clothes they wish too, but our country is getting there. I get out of the bureau. I come out of the closet. I open the small box, showcasing my heart to the world. I take a step forward, hearing the wails of the wind from outside, trying to shut the doors of the bureau. But I am free. Daughters By Maryam Khan Maryam Khan is a writer/blogger from London who studied Psychology at University. Maryam has covered a range of topics such as mental health within the desi community, racism in the queer community, homosexuality and coming out. She can be found on Instagram @mazkhan96 and https://sapphicthoughtscom.wordpress.com/

Here’s to any daughter who’s been taught to know her limits. That her dreams are too big or unrealistic. Don’t settle for mediocrity because I know you’re hungry for more. Your hopes and dreams add fuel to your fire. You must keep that fire alive and stay young at heart. You can be more than what they tell you to be. Keep challenging yourself and don’t lose sight of the big picture. Push boundaries and break down barriers. Be fearless and dream out loud. Make all your desires come true. Act out each one of your wildest fantasies. Most importantly, fight the resistance. You’re destined for greatness. You are a revolution and apocalypse waiting to happen.

Here’s to any daughter who carries the family reputation on her back. You are not an extension of your family or community. Feel free to be who you are. You are your own person.

This is for the daughters who are fixated on healing generational trauma. Courageous women who are devoted to breaking the cycle So the next generation of daughters doesn’t have to suffer like they did. Your never-ending determination makes you a force to be reckoned with. Your strength and resilience remain unmatched.

This is for the daughters who have been led to believe that their worth is tied to a man. You’ve been told that if you’re not married by a certain age then you’ve failed as a woman. It’s been made clear that women who do not get married are viewed as a liability. Yet you’ve never questioned it, a generational curse passed on from woman to woman. Your grandmother, mother, and aunt have been passed on from one man to another like they’re damaged goods. But for you, god has bigger plans.

This is for any daughter who’s been told that she needs to act more like a girl. That she needs to sit up straight and change her ways Because the way she walks and talks scares men away Don’t ever change Darling, I love the groove of your walk, your talk and dress Please don’t ever suppress yourself or try to impress Your femininity is determined by you not anyone else.

This is for the daughters who have been deemed as the family disgrace because they’re unwilling to play by the cultural rule book. I admire your boldness and authenticity. Please don’t ever change your ways.

This is for the daughters who have been left behind or ignored. Girls who were cast aside even before they were bought into this world. I’m sorry you’ve been led to believe you’re anything less than important. Your existence alone is the miracle of life. You are a divine entity. If anything you deserve more admiration than mankind has given to any sunset, sky rise or skyscraper.

This is for the daughters who wrap their arms around the soul of the world, of all who love their and those who need to love. Despite never feeling a mother’s love their hearts still remain intact.

This is for my future daughter. Your arrival will be the beginning of a brand new legacy. Your birth will be the new moon that comes through darkened stone walls. I look forward to meeting you. I love you. I’m already proud of the woman you will become. I’m certain you will fulfil prophecies and honour your bloodline. You are worth everything and this world will be yours. I can’t wait to love you and teach you the ways of life. Uncrumple By Sherein Bansal The author can be found on Instagram @shereinbansal.

I'm a crumpled piece of a letter

That held carefully written memories

Censored stories

Promise of future

Now they don't know what to do with me

They'll straighten me out

And try to make me sit

With family and friends

Of before

But I don't quite fit in

They see my creases

I see theirs

Their creases of laughter

Effortlessly flow into the room

That witnessed a dozen fights last week I curl back

I crumple

I am not supposed to write my own story

On me

They don't talk much anymore

Around me

To me

They don't know how to.

They discarded me once

They can do it again

So in anticipation of war

I rage

Unduly

Long overdue

I hold their stories

That they wrote on me

With ink

At ransom I ask for love angrily

Throwing myself at them

A crumpled piece of paper

They don't even flinch

I no longer carry weight

I uncrumple

Creases become me Featured Artwork:Realisation The moment you see, it's okay to just be. By Diya Ullas Diya Ullas is a human. She draws, drinks tea and is awkward as can be. She can be found on Instagram: @diyaullas

Where We Thank You

Thank you, dear readers for reading the eighth issue of our magazine. We hope you enjoyed this presentation of queer literature in India. Thank you to everyone who contributed! This magazine wouldn’t be possible without our audience and supporters. Thank you for supporting us for a year! This is just one of the platforms that we use to reach out to you. Our aim is to inform you of things that you didn’t know, or maybe just didn’t think about. We hope this issue (and we hope our future issues do the same) shared different perspectives and experiences and inspired new thoughts, ideas and topics of discussion. These topics may seem ‘small’ but they are important, which is why we’ve created this magazine to provide a medium of expression for all that want or need it. If you have any ideas for articles, (constructive) criticisms, or submissions of your own, please email us at [email protected]. Tell us what you’d like to see next! We’re always open to opinions and contributions! You can also find us on Instagram @queerdesimag. Much love, stay weird!

XO QueerDesi