Kali

मै​ैं काली हू​ूँ तो तुम्हे क्या? আমি

હું

কালো�ো

કાળો

তাই

છું

তো�োমার

તો

কি

તારું

হবে?

શું?

ನಾನು ಕಪ್​್ಪ ಗಿದ್​್ದ ದೇನೆ ಹಾಗಾದರೆ ನಿನಗೇನು?

ഞാൻ കറുത്തവനാണ് അപ്​്പപോൾ നിനക്​്കകോ?

मी काळा आहे मग तुझे काय? म कालो हु​ुँ त्यसैले तिम्रो के छ ? ମୁ ଁ କଳା ତେଣୁ ତୁ ମ ବିଷୟରେ କ’ଣ? କ’ଣ?

‫زه تور یم نو ستا څه حال دی؟‬

ਮੈਂ ਕਾਲਾ ਹਾਂ ਤਾਂ ਤੁਹਾਡੇ ਬਾਰੇ ਕੀ?

‫مان ڪارو آهيان پو ِء تنهنجو ڇا؟‬ මම කළුයි ඉතින් ඔයා​ාට මො�ොකද? මො�ොකද?

நான் கறுப் பானவன் அதனால் உனக்​்ககு என்ன?

నేను నల్గా ్ల ఉన్నా ను కాబట్టి మీ సంగతే​ేంటి?

‫میں کاال ہوں تو آپ کا کیا ہوگا؟‬

Photography by Imdad Barbhuyan.

Contentsts

editor’s letter 10

feature: Sneha Moorthy 66

contributors and collaborators 17

object: henna 80

identity

poem: my body 82

is marriage my only purpose?

18

f*ck the society

feature: Salwa Rahman 24

oh, the audacity 92

object: sari 44

spotlight: Richie Nath 100

article: the pretext of muliebrity 48

object: bindi 118

body and sex

article: is freedom wasted on the female?

120

the policing of women’s bodies in south asia 54

Editor’s Letter सं पादक का पत्र

Self Portraiture by Shivangi Agiwal.

10

Society keeps barking at us, don’t they? Sometimes it’s brutal. ‘’Ladki ho toh ladki jaise raho!’’ (You are a woman, so act like a woman!)

Sometimes it’s so subtle and gentle that you don’t realise the actual hint they give. ‘’Itni moti ho gayi ho ki lagra hai kisi aur ko kha li ho!’’ (You’ve gotten so fat that it looks like you’ve eaten another person!) And other times, and most of the times, it’s “Dhoop mei mat jaana, kali ho jaogi!’’ (Don’t go out in the sunlight or you might get tanned!)

These sentences so gently dictate who I should be and so aggressively point out who I am not. I am not feminine enough, or thin enough or fair enough to satiate the gripping mouths of this society. They mean to put me in my place, a place only reserved for those who are devoted and obedient and acceptable by their standards.

But here’s the thing, the things we were inherently and innately made to feel bad about were never bad things.

Being kali was never an issue. Being fat was never an issue. Being a woman

was never an issue. Being queer was never an issue. Being our true selves were never an issue. Being alive and thriving was never an issue. But oh, how the society made it one.

Kali means ‘dark-skinned’ in Hindi.

Kali alternatively is also the name of the Hindu Goddess, Durga. Kali is a ruthless and true embodiment of divine rage and shakti; a defiant in her truest form. A symbol of both purity and sexuality, Kali is the paradigm of apparent contradictions. If noticed carefully, her rage and angst know no bounds; something that is shared equally if not more across genders, religions, identities and nationalities.

If you think about it, aren’t most of us a living contradiction? We want to be loving to the people we love, we want to be ruthless to the ones that did us wrong, and we want to just be when we’re told to be something we’re not.

In that, we’re like Kali, her beauty in the fact that she chooses to just be. And isn’t that what all of us want? To not be set by a set of defined rules and norms, but to be ourselves in ways that make

us feel whole and to do things that make us happy?

Kali is the culmination of apparent contradictions- a paradoxical deity.

On opposite ends of the spectrum, she is everything that she is not, and she is not everything that she is.

Totality is something fit for the gods and goddesses, but why wouldn’t and why shouldn’t it apply to us mortals, in general, and us women and queerfolk, who are under scrutiny the most? Kali is whoever she wants to be, without a single sliver of care or concern for the world that gapes at her. A quintessence of courage and stance, she is whatever we interpret of her.

She is as destructive as she is nurturing.

She is as dark as she is light.

She is as sensuous as she is pure.

She is as masculine as she is feminine.

She is a paradox, and she is nature.

She is divine, and she is human.

Kali is you, and Kali is me.

With rage, Shivangi.

Contributors and Collaborators Alison Cando, Amishu, Anjani Agiwal, Aporva Shekhar, Avalon Stevens, Charulata Mohta, Imdad Barbhuyan, India Amanda, Kritika Singh, Nikitha John, Pooja Ranjith, Radhika Muthanna, Rebecca Aitken, Richie Nath, Salwa Rahman, Samirah Chowdhury, Sneha Moorthy, Uddhav Agiwal and Varsha Agiwal.

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সালওয়া রহমান

Creative Direction by Shivangi Agiwal.

Photography by Radhika Muthanna.

Makeup by India Amanda.

Styling by Samirah Chowdhury.

Bengali-Bangladeshi Descent.

Salwa Rahman

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Salwa Rahman in conversation with Shivangi Agiwal.

Shivangi: Ramadan Mubarak! How’s your fasting going right now?

Salwa: Thanks, man. It’s been going okay; it varies for people. For me, it tends to get a bit tougher when it gets into the middle because that where your body starts adjusting, but aside from that, it’s fine.

Shivangi: How many days left for you?

Salwa: I believe about fifteen days left?

Shivangi: Fifteen days so halfway almost done! That’s amazing. So, let’s start jumping through some very interesting details about you.

Salwa: So obviously, my name is Salwa. I’m currently twenty. How old am I? I’m twenty-six! I was born and raised in London, particularly East London.

I lived in White Chapel for my formative years, and then moved into a borough called Barking.

Shivangi: Do you think growing up there has had an impact on you?

Salwa: Yeah, a hundred percent. For people who

might not be aware of the demographics in London, East London has quite a large South Asian diaspora and in particular, people from the Bangladeshi community.

It is a two-sided coin.

It’s great because you’re surrounded by people who look like yourself, you have a shared community, shared language, shared cultural and religious aspects. You don’t feel left out. When I was growing up, in my primary school, there was one Somali kid and everybody else was Bengali. It was nice because there was the aspect of community. But also, on the other side of things, it was still a relatively poor borough when I was living there. Your avenues to success would be distorted; to speak about my primary school again, we would have reading partners that used to come in from law and banking firms and more often than not, they’d all be white.

So, when you’d associate success, it would be to a white person. And when you’re a person surrounded by brown faces, most of whom come from working class backgrounds or are housewives, it causes some disparity as to what you want to be or how you want to be to achieve this.

It definitely did open my eyes up. There was always

something more and I knew that there was more, but how to get that more and what that more looked like?

I didn’t know too much.

Shivangi: How was your journey as a creative especially growing up with that notion of success?

Salwa: When I was a kid, I wanted to be a lawyer and I graduated in law too! But I knew I was creative. My definition of success at the time meant I wanted to be a lawyer and that I would want to work in a corporate job and that I would have a 9 to 5 and have a really good salary and make it out of the shitty borough. That was what I was working towards. As I grew up, I got to experience things at university where I met different people from different backgrounds who had different hobbies and interests, and those hobbies and interests aligned with me. That’s when I put my foot more into the creative element of life and my personality and started working on just doing things that’s a bit more joyful to me, which in turn led me to where I am right now. I don’t know what that is, but that’s where I am now.

Shivangi: It’s amazing though, how you’ve gone through this journey to end

up as a gorgeous content creator! So, you actually did a degree in law then?

Salwa: Oh yeah, I have a bachelor’s degree in law!

Halfway through university in my second year, I had a mid-university crisis, when I went to a networking event for a solicitor’s firm. I just realized I hated the people and I hated the environment. It didn’t reflect my morals and didn’t reflect my character. It’s one of those experiences where you genuinely feel like an outcast. And at that point, I decided I’m not going to try to fit in. I’m not going to push myself and mould myself to be quote unquote ‘acceptable’. I decided to finish the degree and thought I’ll take a gap year afterwards to decide where my heads at and then one gap year turned into five. I’ve done a couple of fun things in between them, but yeah, that’s just me, really.

Shivangi: it’s a testament to all your hard work that you have reached this point!

I really feel like you’re such an icon for South Asian women and young women in general, I have to be honest!

Salwa: No no! I’m not an icon, I really wish I was an icon!

Shivangi: From my point of view, I definitely think you’re an icon! You inspire me. I do love makeup a lot and watching you be creative with it can is so inspiring and has helped me touch more on my creativity!

I have never seen a role model like that. And when I see somebody like that, it’s always very inspiring. I am pretty sure a lot of other young women feel very similar to me.

Salwa: That’s so sweet.

Thank you so much.

Shivangi: Of course! What do you think were some of the major challenges that you faced in your journey?

Salwa: I suppose it was access? I think that’s one of the biggest challenges a lot of creatives will feel, whether you’re South-Asian or not. It’s one thing to have an idea, but to actually put that idea into something that then becomes tangible: that process is probably the hardest part! I had to move from being an ideas person to an actions person and to make that jump was quite a challenge.

It makes you take on a lot more responsibility and you become a lot more dynamic in how you are as a person. I think support has also been another issue. I say this now quite cavalier but, in the beginning, I

didn’t have support from my parents. My sister is your normal corporate gal, and when I started doing makeup, she would come like, ‘’Well, I don’t know what you’re doing, but okay’’.

Even my wider family, a lot of them still don’t really know what I do. Finding a community and finding a support system was a challenge.

Shivangi: I can imagine.

Especially if you’re coming from a South Asian family, a creative career surely hasn’t been an easy field? They’re not very supportive.

Salwa: No, they’re not hah!

Shivangi: I faced that when I was trying to pursue fashion. One of my uncles quite bravely told my father that he shouldn’t be sending his daughter to study abroad because what’s the point?

Salwa: Yep, yep, yep.

Literally, my parents say the same thing. Like, what are you actually doing with your life? And, you could have been in a proper job by now. You could have bought a house. And I’m like, well, that’s not going to happen. Whenever It’ll happen, it will happen.

Shivangi: So are you more of a person who is like,

‘’I’m going to go do my own thing and figure it out?’’

Salwa: Yeah! think one thing that I’m very grateful for my worldview changing.

I’m a lot less concerned about some of the more survivalists’ things that my parents are concerned about. And it’s a huge privilege for me to even say that, because my parents have managed to secure a home for me and I have got safety in that aspect.

But at the same time, I don’t want to survive. I want to explore. I want to be curious. I want to learn and just find things that make me happy. And I think it’s a very different perspective from what my parents have. A lot of South Asian parents have the immigrant survival mentality in life and it is ingrained. It is something that had to have had to happen for the future generations to have what we have. But by no means does it mean that I have to take on that to continue it.

Shivangi: It’s almost like you’re trying to break these intergenerational cycles?

Salwa: Yeah! I think it’s about time we did do that, right? We had the survival, now we are going to have the thriving then we’ll have probably have revolution.

Every generation holds a

different strength and a different power. Ours is truly, to live. To live and to experience and to put our faces and our feet in different areas so that then the future generations can automatically just feel at home there.

Shivangi: That’s such a beautiful sentence! South Asian women in this age, we are trying to do these things and we’re trying to break these intergenerational cycles and do our own thing at the end of the day. Knowing our parents didn’t have this, but still, there’s sort of a beauty in it because it’s the sort of the freedom which our parents didn’t get to exploit.

Salwa: It’s a gift! You know that proverb?

You’re planting a tree that knowing that you might not feel the shade. Everybody is doing something to gift to someone else. That’s what I like to think; I’m doing things which I can share, inshallah, when I have kids.

I’ve had this journey of life where I’m exploring and being more fluid with the way that I’m taking life and not focusing on the capitalistic aspect of it. So should my kids go through that same journey, I would be much more of an advisor and a mentor to them to say that, ‘’well, I’ve done it!’’

haha. I’ll tell them here are the things to know and now you go do your thing. It’s that aspect of knowledge we want to pass on.

Shivangi: Now when you put your art out in the world, is there any message or any specific reason you do what you do?

Salwa: I think my art’s been on a journey. I don’t want people to be intimidated by makeup.

I think makeup is stupid.

I truly I think it’s stupid.

I think it’s a thing that we’ve put too much focus on and too much focus on to mean something.

And at the end of the day, it means nothing.

It’s a tool. It’s colours, you know, it’s paint? Now when I when I started my makeup journey, to me, it was me interacting with the makeup and playing with it. And then when it became noticed, it was part of me which was almost performing this. And people loved that. But I feel, even with makeup, there’s this element of perfection that still exists. I think the danger of social media and the danger of the beauty industry is that once the beauty industry recognises that something is on the rise, they will swallow it up and then give it back to you.

It’s taking the thing that we are using to rebel and then

basically feeding it back to you.

Shivangi: With your makeup, do you think it has any relation to cultures, identity and religion? Do they play any part in what you are trying to achieve?

Salwa: Yeah, to a degree.

The way that culture factors is in two parts.

One that, as South Asians, we are quite a colourful community, as much as we have our flaws. One of the beauties that we hold is that we love colour, we love patterns and we love design. Having that present from a young age growing up, be it Eid or going to weddings or getting mehendi. Always being around colour has helped me navigate that playful side of how the makeup turns out. Because I’ve always had an attachment or close proximity to colour and design; the pageantry of being South Asian! I suppose on the opposing side of things, our cultures are still very prim and proper. You got to look a certain way and you got to be a certain way. And this is on an intersectional basis; whether you are too dark or you’re a bit lighter. Or if you’re acting too much like a boy, they say you should be more like a girl and so many things! When I wear my makeup in my

culture, it’s sort of that controversy, that has, if anything, motivated me more. Because I was never that person who is prim and proper. I was a chaos baby. I’ll be the one that was like, running around and making a mess and just being a bit wild.

Shivangi: That was definitely me as well!

Salwa: Yeah! I mean more often than not; creatives have always been a bit unhinged. it has motivated me to speak the truth to what may or may not be the norm in my South Asian culture. I’m still that person when I go to a wedding and everyone’s got a lovely smoky eye and me on the other hand has got a graphic wing or something with a different colour! Then the aunties and uncles are looking at me, like, okay. And I live for it, those reactions! I don’t focus on my identity when it comes to my art. This might be a controversial thing to say but I’ve always been connected to my South Asian identity, my Bangladeshi identity and also my identity as a Muslim. But I try not to make them my focal points.

I find it a bit cringey when it’s like, I am Bengali so everything is going to be in relation to me being Bengali. Does that make

sense?

Shivangi: it definitely makes sense, I guess that’s where I see the contradiction in myself the most.

Salwa: Yes, I understand.

I feel if I act all Bengali, I think it almost tokenises it. For example, I’m not going to have a bindi in all my looks. I’m just trying to be an artist. I’m trying to be creative. And it just so happens that the canvas, which is me, happens to be a South Asian Muslim woman. I’m always just trying to be Salwa and everything else is just background noise until it isn’t.

Shivangi: I agree. Do you think society has generic yet orthodox perceptions about women and more importantly, Muslim women? And have you ever personally felt that?

Salwa: I’ve been very grateful to say not really. There’s always an apprehension towards Muslim women, that I have faced. There’s an apprehension of how do I approach this person? How can I label this person? I might be in a shoot and people don’t know how to talk to me or people don’t know how to approach me. It’s very split second

honestly. But you still feel it is still impactful on the receiving end.

Shivangi: Yeah, I get that.

Salwa: But I’m also very, very blessed to have a ‘I give no shit’ personality.

It’s a blessing and a curse because it makes me blind to things that might happen to me and I might experience it. But because I genuinely don’t care about people’s perceptions of who I am or what my face looks like, I don’t give a second glance to those people and those experiences. I am blessed to have said that I have never experienced outright Islamophobia.

That being said, though, someone wants to do that, I’d probably box them in the face. If you have an issue with me, it’s a you problem.

I’m still going to exist. I’m still going to thrive. I’m still going to do what I’ve come here to do. And you can either get engaged or you can sit back and watch. I believe I’m easy.

Shivangi: On Instagram, have you ever faced any sort of hate or something like that?

Salwa: If people can perceive a weakness, that’s what they’re going to go for. But because I don’t care, I actually don’t get hate. The other day

I was on ig live, and one person said that my face should only be for women and I shouldn’t be doing this as a Muslim. But I’m like, why is this person even on my page? Don’t look at me then. There’s no compulsion. If they don’t like what they see, then they should simply go the other way. I think one time I got featured on Instagram and people were like, ‘’I can’t believe you’re wearing the hijab this way’’ or like, ‘’oh, this Muslim person shouldn’t be doing this’’. And my response to them is like, okay then fuck off. If you have an opinion, you’re more than more than welcome to share, but I don’t have to listen. So, I think that attitude has really protected me and love that.

Shivangi: I think this should probably be my last question. Are there notions and perceptions in the South Asian community that anger you?

Salwa: I think one of my biggest issues is women’s safety. It’s something that the South Asian community has always been bad at.

The generations coming, they’ll probably change that. But it has always been the attitude towards women: either we have the stereotype of being the housewife or the Madonna-

complex, where the guy can never stay straight in this marriage. It frustrates me that this type of mentality still exists. Even my coming at it as a Muslim woman, with the makeup that I do; some people might say that I’m asking for attention and I’m asking for the male gaze. This inherent sexualisation exists and it’s present in the South Asian community because sex is again, a taboo conversation. There are no such conversations in the appropriate forums.

Young boys and young girls don’t know how to engage with body. I would mention also colourism.

It’s been going on and it is still a thing. There are there are people out here fighting it like: Linasha or Sheera, obviously breaking down the stereotype of the darker skinned South Asian woman. But I think there are other people who are bigger and better advocates for it. And of course, there’s internalized misogyny. I definitely do feel it’s such a big thing among women in the South Asian community. It’s so patriarchal in its roots and it’s like, if you can’t beat them, join them. It’s very much like, all right, cool, we can’t beat patriarchy so might as well join these d*ckheads and hate on other woman. Like, no!!

Women hating women, that

energy is our worst enemy.

We are fighting the same fight!!

Shivangi: I couldn’t agree more.

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The sari, a nine-yard garment, with a complex history as old as time is truly a piece of cloth that is extraordinary: woven with many an intricacy and nuance of South Asian femininity. Deemed the dress of the ‘South Asian’ woman in the 20th century, it was previously a medium of exchange for spices between Europe and South-East Asia. As such, it is and has been the preferred traditional wear for the majority of women in South Asia because of its close relations to familial ties and community.

Traditionally worn in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka and Nepal, the sari has served as an object of monumental significance, shaping a woman’s rite of passage into adulthood. Its earliest depiction could be traced back to as early as the Indus Valley Civilization in 1300 BC. There are actually more than 80 recorded ways to wear a sari. The most common style is for the sari to be wrapped around the waist, with the loose end of the drape to be worn over the shoulder, baring the midriff. However, the sari can be draped in several different styles, though some styles do require a sari of a particular length or form.

It is one of the world’s oldest garments in history and perhaps the only surviving unstitched garment having

stood the test of time. The original sari style was a twopiece attire with the upper body left mostly uncovered and bare. However, the influences of many a colony that came to the then Indian subcontinent impacted its base. The sari went through a great change when Victorian morality standards and ideals of modesty as accompanied by the arrival of the British resulted in the normalisation of the choli for women, making the blouse a critical component of the sari known today.

The sari’s image was popularised by the printting press; well-known and iconic images of feminine Hindu goddesses in traditional saris, as painted by Indian artist Raja Ravi Varma surfaced and became the ideal standard for Hindu womanhood; Varma’s images connected women with certain feminine qualities drawn from only select religious texts and ultimately led to visual stereotyping of women as faithful, submissive wives and nurturing mothers. With that said, the fluidity of the sari has evolved throughout the years; where now the sari is seen as an ever-graceful, sensuous and staple traditional wear for South Asian women. Where the fluidity of the sari takes its wearer is affected by factors such as privilege, caste, financial position, education and religion.

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Photography by Shivangi Agiwal.

ॐ जयंती मंगला काली भद्रकाली कपालिनी दु र्​्गगा क्षमा शिवा धात्री स्वाहा स्वधा नमोऽस्तु‍ते।

her consort soothing her, assuring her, she has fulfilled her obligations and must now rest.

The personification of the primordial mass from which all life springs forth, she rises with her gleaming skin, as dark as the night, she comes donning a garland of skulls, draped in tiger skin bearing her scimitar. Her frowning face reflecting her displeasure at the things she sees, her sight crowded by the numerous figures of evil incarnate.

Her brow furrows as she perceives the pain and suffering that these creatures cause, she laments, but her duty calls to her, filling her with rage. The burden to restore order falls on her shoulders, and with a steely resolve, she proceeds to vanquish, not her foes but the foes of life itself. Where everyone else failed she rose to defeat the ghastly fiends. She moves swiftly and gracefully wreaking havoc on the demons in an attempt to secure the future for her creations. The burden of her duty and responsibility towards her creations bears heavy on her mind and she soon gets immersed, she loses all sight of the physical plane, concentrating on her central goal. She dances the graceful dance of death long after the foes have been slain, only stopping with the gentle, calming and stoic touch of

The divine entity who defies all expectations of established traditional femininity, embodies the perfect balance between the creative and destructive energies of the cosmos. In a world where women are forced to conform to a certain preconceived ideal, berating them for not fitting into a box that society has constructed to restrict their self-expression, the Goddess Kali bestows the perfectly realistic ideal that women can look up to. It is about time that we move past the primitive understanding of femininity and females in general since we as a society are no longer primitive beings so why should one segment of society conform to such archaic standards. Whether it is related to skin tone, facial features or genitalia, our society seems so eager to police every aspect of being a female, reducing a humans entire personality to a sum of their physical attributes which will never satisfy the insatiable standards of nonsensical perfection. Being a female is more than having the characteristics specified by society, its about embracing one’s cosmic energy like the goddess Kali.

While it is important for one’s mental well-being to find acceptance and validation from fellow human beings since homo sapiens cannot thrive in isolation, but is finding acceptance within your society even worth it when meeting these expectations comes at great personal peril. And since the moment we become sentient beings we look for appreciation from those around us in one way or the other, trying to squeeze into a box which does not accommodate any variations or diversions from its welldefined dimensions. Every individual is different from the other, so how can one measure their worth with just one fixed standard to be called feminine, while it is evident that humans have a tendency to gravitate towards order, but with respect to one’s identity itself can a single universal norm accommodate all the infinite personalities of humans. With the dawn of the 21st century, progressive ideas have greatly improved the scenario, but many people around the world cling to their old ideals in the name of self-preservation and morals. But it begs the question is it really moral to impose one’s own archaic ideology on another and discrediting their entire existence if they do not accept the dictate.

Society believes in crippling their females in the name of femininity, where goddesses are revered for their infinite power and wisdom real women and females are being silenced. Imposing the divine standards of female goddesses on living and breathing females is the norm whether it be the Roman goddess Venus or Goddess Durga.

How can mortal beings compare to the unfathomable nature of the divine, and despite this, real women are subjected to atrocities daily, in contradiction to society’s claims of being the embodiment of the divine women don’t receive half the reverence that should be accorded to them. Some women are even bereft of actually being called women because society refuses to cede their antiquated notions of tying femininity to a person’s sex. There was a time when women were strong and muscular and contributed equally to foraging, hunting and agriculture to sustain their families, but in the name of modernity, women have been relegated to conform to the standards of being fragile dainty creatures. The brilliant evolutionary adaption of our bodies to protect against harmful rays of the sun has been reduced to implied meanings of a person’s pecuniary attributes. Kali ma perfectly embodies all the characteristics that people today would not associate with femininity, but this divine entity perfectly projects the

idea of what femininity is all about and how it differs from person to person.

What we should learn from this deity is that one is not defined by their physical attributes but rather by their deeds itself, being feminine does not always mean having the rosy cheeks and fair skin contrary to what the nursery rhymes would have us believe. Femininity incorporates a myriad of diverse ideas and even though most of them might not fit the established standards does not take away their validity, like Kali Ma herself women should only concentrate on their goals and ideals for their own and loved one’s well-being rather than the impossible and nonsensical standards of the society.And while it is arguable that Utopia is an unattainable fantasy, we must all fight our own battles, embrace the cosmic energy of Kali Ma in us and prevail over the social evils that seek to diminish our light into the oblivion.

Words by Aporva Shekhar.

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Photography by Shivangi Agiwal.

சினேகா மூர்த்தி

Photography by Avalon Stevens.

Indian-Tamil Descent.

Sneha Moorthy

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‘‘I think rage is feminine.’’

S-E-X. The word in South Asia is as taboo as it can be. S-E-X, fornication, the meeting of two souls, making love, getting off, doing the ‘deed’. Ah, the act can be described in many, many ways. however, for South Asian culture, it is a word only reserved for the married and well, for the men, of course (irrespective of their relationship statuses). For women, the knowledge of this act, or s-e-x, is only imparted by their mothers, usually before their marriages, and for some, on the night of their weddings. Even then, this knowledge is made known for the sole purpose of reproduction. Because at the end of the day, women not knowing about their own bodies is not only normal but also preferred.

Now imagine when a South Asian woman chooses to take ownership of her body in ways that only benefit her. Not only is the society appalled but also threatened. And so goes the story of Sneha Moorthy, from Houston, Texas. Born and brought up in the United States, Sneha was in her second year of college studying graphic design when covid happened.

She decided to drop out of college and pursue her now job; content creation and sex work, ‘’My mental health couldn’t handle everything. So, I left college and found out that I can make a living by being a creator!’’

It did not help Sneha that her parents weren’t happy with her career choice. South Asian parents are notorious for controlling all aspects of their children’s lives, especially their careers. ‘’They didn’t take it well, so I struggled, dealing with their disapproval while also trying to make a living for myself’, Sneha

explains. Stuck in her odd situation, she looked for opportunities to make extra money. That’s when she started taking interest in OnlyFans, an internet content subscription service especially popular with sex workers.

The platform allows content creators to earn money from users who subscribe to their content- namely, their “fans”; helping the creators receive funding directly from their fans monthly as well as one-time tips and pay-per-view features.

When Sneha saw women on TikTok talk about how they were earning thousands of dollars monthly, she decided to try the platform. She started with posting only implied nudes, ‘’ (and) posting the pictures that I had not shown anyone and through that, I earned $4,000 the first month and then the next!’’ She continues, ‘’I was so grateful for it.

Because that allowed me to save up and move out of my parents’ house’’.

Sneha’s parents, of Hindu-Tamil heritage, didn’t take her move easily. ‘’I am in contact with them, but they are slowly starting to accept that this is not going to change anytime soon.

That this is who their daughter is.

And this is what she likes to do. And this is how she dresses. And that she has tattoos on her body’’.

Sneha’s work is deeply resonant with her upbringing and her artistic side, which she explains was ‘’heavily influenced by Hinduism’’. She loves to add a cultural touch to her content; be that a bindi or an Indian-inspired set. And it surely works, because it helped her find her niche on OnlyFans and on Instagram, which she uses to promote her work. With 50.1k followers on Instagram, Sneha’s

work has been her motivator. ‘’When my OnlyFans worked out, I started getting into solo sex work and was soon reached out by an agency, Devi Cartel’’.

But even though the growth has been constant, it is support which is lacking. Her account has been taken down by Instagram over 5x times now. Sneha expresses her annoyance, ‘’It’s not even about me doing what I love. It’s frustrating when women with lighter skin, doing the same thing that I’m doing, have their pictures promoted by Instagram while mine gets taken down’’. Consensual sex work has always been criminalised and stigmatised. But sex work as a South Asian woman is no easy fare, especially when the culture only wants to moral police women’s bodies whenever and however, they can. ‘’It’s such a tragedy that our bodies are used for men’s pleasure. For example, Bollywood. There is always a half-naked actress on screen and that is all fine. But when real-life women decide to do that themselves and profit from it directly, all of a sudden, they’re just dishonouring and ruining Indian culture’’, Sneha emphasises. It is a problem for men when women do things that they can’t control. She has been judged, ridiculed and slut-shamed by many, but more often than not, it is by men of her own culture.

Sneha wants to normalise the act of sex and how natural it is for women and men alike, but her message often gets lost in the hatred thrown at her. However, she doesn’t let that budge her and keeps going on, ‘’I think rage is feminine. A lot of women in my family have anger, which has not

been used productively’’. Sneha uses her rage and her pain of separation from her family to pursue her life and live it the best way she possibly can.

She goes, ‘’I understand the hatred, because my family didn’t have this freedom. So, it’s my duty to be like that creative person and really live’’.

Words by Shivangi Agiwal.

For over 5000 years, the art of Henna—known as mehendi in Hindi and Urdu—has been worn throughout Pakistan, India, Africa, and the Middle East. It was initially utilised to provide natural cooling for those living in scorching desert settings. A paste would be prepared, and the palms and soles of the feet would be bathed in it. It was also used medicinally, and was used to the skin to alleviate stomach problems, burns, headaches, and open wounds. Through that it was discovered that the paste left a transitory stain on the skin—the plant contains lawsone, a reddish-orange dye that binds to the keratin present in skin—usage Henna’s use shifted to ornamental, as it was affordable to people of all socioeconomic backgrounds.

Henna has a lengthy history of migration and cultural contact and has supposedly been used for body art for at least 5,000 years. According to some researchers, the earliest record of henna applications may be found in ancient Indian literature and paintings, implying that mehendi as an art form started in ancient India. Others suggest that the Mughals brought henna decoration to India in the eleventh century, centuries after it had been used in the Middle East and North Africa. Either or, its usage marks the pageantry of being South Asian, where women would get henna done before weddings, festivals or just to express themselves.

The usage of henna has now expanded over its primary purpose to act as an adornment in marital ceremonies to now act as a tool for self-expression. It has found its way into mainstream fashion and art, with major artists like Joy Crookes wearing henna up till her arms.The designs may have changed, but the art of henna continues to stand the test of time.

Photography by Hunar Daga.

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My body मेरा शरीर

Photography by Alison Cando.

Direction by Shivangi Agiwal.

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thin and thick, thick and thin, o how she changes with every passing season, my body hath no trouble attracting attention, but such attention she attracted, that only meant she was never sufficient. what does one find about my body so glorious? and how come no one find her mind ever so sumptuous? she didn’t know no better, so, she did what she did in her power. bruised and unharmed, unharmed and bruised, how she witnessed touch with nary a reason, but my body hath no trouble feeling and unfeeling, feeling and unfeeling every touch that travelled her bounds, but such touch that only meant her mind was never enough, and she was just a tool to satisfy men’s carnal lust. but what of my body that craves love and fairness, a love so just and right she’d feel right at home, I see how she weeps, and I see how she cries, how she buries her sorrow in a deep pit of ‘oh it’s alright’ she only ever wanted to know, to know her self was just enough. but how would my body know that, when the only touch she felt was that of lust. but this body hath her own mind and soul, so, she knew she had enough, I saw her suffer and break, into a million pieces a part, and I saw her mend them and stick them, with her own drive and blood. and she made sure that the touch she’ll now feel, Is only her own, a touch filled with love and fairness. a love so just and right she feels right at home, she understood her pleasure has always been in her control. and though I see her sway off the forbidden paths, once in every other while, I also see her dwell and shine sumptuously in her divine power. be she thin or thick, bruised and unharmed. she now at least remembers what she should have known from the start, that her body is enough, and she rests assured, that that is her power.

Words by Shivangi Agiwal.

Photography by Shivangi Agiwal.

Makeup by Rebecca Aitken.

Aitken.

Assisted by Nikitha John.

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In frame- Pooja Ranjith.

Self Portraiture by Richie Nath.

Burmese-Indian Descent.

A story of dreams and myths.

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‘‘Divine Reflections’’

Richie’s recent painting in February 2021, titled ‘’Bitch better have my democracy’’, in which he voiced against the military occupation in Myanmar. He is now seeking asylum in Paris.

Richie Nath, also known as Richie Htet, is a Burmese-Indian painter whose work is inspired by mythology and fairy tales and queerness.

Having grown up in Yangon, Myanmar, Richie often felt like an outsider; due to his darker complexion and his gay self. For most part, he suppressed and hid his Indian roots in order to blend in with the people at his hometown.

However, once he was in university, he started to revisit his Indian culture by remembering the many childhood stories and tales he had heard. So now, using traditional methods of painting, Richie uses his art to portray stories of queer love and ultimately, speak to himself. He never grew up seeing queer love portrayed in Burmese and Indian mythology, so he drew art that blurred those lines. He is also most mesmerised by the goddess Kali, in whom he sees himself; often at odds with his Burmese and Indian roots and for being gay in a conservative society. In his painting

‘’divine reflection’’, Richie mentions, ‘’I wanted to convey the dualistic identity and the feeling of being half and half. I feel like when you grow up as gay or in a very conservative household or any society, the image you put out to certain things are different from the image you put out to others. And I was trying to kind of find that dualism where even though you’re kind of playing two parts, you’re still the same person.

It’s still the same sort of identity’’. His art is something imagined straight out of stories and myths, and rightfully so.

bindi - बिंदी

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Bindi is a decorative and colourful mark worn between the eyes or in the middle of the forehead. Originally worn by women from the Indian subcontinent, bindis come in different forms, either jewellery or a small red circle made from vermillion powder. The term hails from the Sanskrit word bindu meaning “drop” or “spot”. Its meaning varies as well: at times, the bindi is considered to have religious significance and is worn during prayer; it can also dictate marital status. Owing to its placement between the eyebrows, it is said to represent the opening of the third eye. In South Asia as of recent, bindi continues to be worn by women of all religious dispositions and is not restricted to religion or region. However, the Islamic Research Foundation, located in India, says “wearing a bindi or mangalsutra is a sign of Hindu women’’.

Historically, the ornamental bindi consisted of a small piece of lac over topped with smeared vermilion, and that topped with a piece of mica or thin glass. In Hinduism, it forms a part of the Suhāg or lucky trousseau at marriages and is affixed to the girl’s forehead on her wedding and thereafter always worn. Now, self-adhesive bindis are available in various materials, usually made of felt or thin metal and adhesive on the other side. These are simple to apply, and come in many colours, designs, materials, and sizes.

The bindi has a long history of cultural appropriation in the west, having been worn by the likes of Gwen Stefani and Selena Gomez. In a culturally unstable world, South Asian women, from diaspora and beyond, use bindi and wear it as a part of their everyday outfits to reclaim their culture and to connect with their identities and heritage. Or just a way to say f*ck you to the society that expects too much of them.

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क्या आजादी नारी पर बर्​्बबा द है ?

It is a dark and ferocious night, the wind barely flowing in the air.

I find myself lost on a broken road with nowhere to go. The night seems young and fair, promising weird promises in the air. There is something odd about the night– is it that it weirdly feels safe? Or this sense of omen hanging loose in the air? Or maybe it’s a concoction of both- an omen and a promise of safety? It is peculiar all the same.

A sudden burst of fresh air hits my navel. A silk sari finds itself softly wrapped around the curves and contours of my body, its pallu revealing my modest cleavage and liberating my belly as I walk.

How did that happen? Confusion envelopes me, but I do not question it. It’s relieving to walk in this freeing garment alone at this hour. But is this a dream or a nightmare, a blessing, or a curse? The night is still young, so I keep walking on the road, lost and nowhere to go, questions and confusion surrounding my being.

My hair untamed, freely, and wilfully moves in the wind, like its true nature.

I caress it and I realise my feet are bare on the ground. Why didn’t I notice that before? Chaos everywhere. As I walk, feeling the sand and the wet ground, I hear something, a whisper, a question almost. It says, dearest and nearest, aren’t you scared?

Scared of the wild of the night- of

monsters and beasts? The whisper is low but slowly turns into a chant, its vibrations coursing through my body. I do not understand. Why should I be scared? I’m all alone on this road finding my way home. But the chants are now a song, with everything around me singing it along, taunting me as if I’m wrong.

me? A safe space, I guess. But this dance is slowly turning fast, my legs running as it never knew walking, my bare feet scratching against the ground. Then suddenly, the wind catches my hair in its prance, and I feel a force stopping me in my tracks.

I spin where I am and fading darkness is all I see.

The song is deafening, pulling me into a trance. A vivid nuance, is this real or am I imagining this? I do not know. But here, weirdly enough, I find myself lost in the same sari, on the same broken road, finding my way home. Fear presents itself in shades of the sky- pink, purple, indigo, and then charcoal. I know that as the night comes, so does the wild- its savages out to prey on the innocent.

Instinctively, I run, run to find shelter and help. I run, like my existence depended on it, for even in this trance I know it does. I run, fully aware that as I do, my sari is undoing itself and in a split second, it’s undone. That’s when I hear the whisper, nearest and dearest, are you scared? Scared of the wild of the night, of monsters and beasts?

Sometimes, I think it’s true what people say- that I am no more than an object of satisfaction and a vessel of recreation, why, look at my body, a mere temple of desire. But my mind, my revolting, tempered and righteous mind knows it’s not true.

So, it does what it does to protect me from the cruelty that society projects onto women like me, and the trance, nothing but its medium.

Through it, I know it best not to be naïve and foolish, to not have the freedom to be human.

The whisper knows my deepest fears and I blame myself, my revealing garment, and my futile situation.

Why am I alone at this hour? I keep running, no, waltzing in a direction unknown, my feet in rhythm with the whispers. Where is my body taking

As I come back to myself and out of this trance, I remember- not to get lost on a broken road with nowhere to go. I get up from the wet ground and in my liberated state, my body asks my mind, is freedom really wasted on me? My mind, empathetic to its vessel, says no and yes. It’s not fair to not have the freedom to be human, but what is the point of having this freedom if you live in constant fear of a dark and ferocious night?

Words by Shivangi Agiwal.

Photography by Imdad Barbhuyan.

काली