When I was sixteen, I’d slip away to my little bedroom in Delhi—its walls covered in film posters and fairy lights—and carefully apply a bright red lipstick I’d secretly picked up from the local beauty shop, fully aware my parents would disapprove. In the warm glow of my bedside lamp, each bold swipe felt like a quiet rebellion: here was someone confident, unapologetically herself. Raised in a home where modesty and decorum ruled, I’d spent years hiding my true colours. But in those stolen moments before the mirror, when I let myself be seen—just by me—I tasted a sharp, exhilarating freedom, a silent freedom that no rule could take away.
For many queer and trans young people from our communities, joy can feel like a prize that’s always just out of reach—not because our desires aren’t valid, but because we’ve been taught to tuck them away. This guide is for young folks navigating sexualities, identities, and relationships within India’s rich, though sometimes restrictive, cultural tapestry. Drawing from my own late-night WhatsApp conversations, secret diary entries, and supportive video calls on Zoom, I’ll share down-to-earth practices to help you reclaim pleasure in your body and nurture bonds that celebrate who you are. Let’s begin.
Redefining Pleasure Through Self-Acceptance and Cultural Pride
In India, beauty ideals often revolve around fair skin, slender figures, and heteronormative and cissexist norms that leave little room for those of us who don’t quite fit the script. Growing up, I’d catch snippets of my relatives whispering about “proper” dress—saris in muted tones, hair neatly pinned—and I learned to tuck away anything that felt too loud. Yet joy and pleasure belong to us to claim. We begin by embracing ourselves fully: celebrating the curve of our shoulders, the warmth of our laughter—and by weaving in the traditions that ground us. Whether it’s draping a vibrant dupatta that belonged to your aunt, or sharing your first rainbow-hued nail art in a safe digital group, each act of self-acceptance and cultural pride helps us redefine what it means to feel beautiful on our own terms.
Cultural pride connects us to our ancestors’ strength. Slipping on my grandmother’s jhumkas, I felt her courage pulse through me. You might trace a kolam design at dawn, its curves grounding you, or sway to garba’s rhythm at a Navratri gathering, each step a celebration of self. Even humming a childhood lullaby while braiding your hair can weave love into your daily rituals.
These aren’t just adornments or old customs—they’re living affirmations that you belong fully in your body and your heritage. Through these acts, you reclaim pleasure as something deeply—and proudly—your own.
Growing up in a joint family, I often caught cousins and aunts murmuring that my bright kurtis and statement earrings were “too loud” for our gatherings. Yet slipping on those bold pieces felt both defiant and healing—a way of honoring my heritage while shedding the shame I’d internalized.
Try this for yourself: pick one tradition—a spice-laden snack your grandmother used to make, a melody from your village folk song, or the art of tying a neat braid—and dive into it fully. Then share it with a close friend over a voice note or a short video call. Many of us have discovered that small reconnections with our roots bring a quiet pride and remind us that joy can grow from the simplest cultural rituals.
Self-acceptance begins when you challenge that whisper inside saying you’re “too loud” or “not enough.” I started by jotting down five things I love about myself—maybe the warmth of my laughter on a video call, the gentle curve of my shoulders under a favourite kurti, or how my chosen name feels on my tongue—and I saved that list as a note on my phone. Every morning over my first cup of chai, I’d read it aloud, reminding myself that these qualities are mine and mine alone. When I shared this little ritual with a friend on WhatsApp, we felt a spark of pride replace years of doubt. That mindset—seeing your body and your identity as yours to celebrate—is where lasting joy takes root.
“Embodiment” might sound like a fancy term, but it really means simply feeling at home in your own skin. Try this quick practice: stand barefoot on the cool mosaic tiles of your home, close your eyes, and focus on the gentle pressure of your feet against the floor or the soft rustle of your dupatta as it brushes your arms. Notice the rhythm of your breath as you hum a favourite Bollywood tune or a folk song your grandmother taught you. If looking in the mirror feels hard, skip it and pay attention instead to how your favourite kurti brushes your shoulders or how your braid swings when you turn your head. These small moments—feeling the breeze on your face during a balcony chat, sensing the warmth of a chai mug in your hands—are all part of claiming your space and celebrating the simple joy of existing exactly as you are.
Joyful Self-Exploration Strategies
Self-exploration means trying small, brave experiments to discover what truly makes you feel alive in your body and identity—a radical act when conformity feels safer. I still remember the thrill at nineteen, in my tiny Delhi hostel room, unwrapping a discreetly ordered chest binder from an online queer collective. As I gazed at my reflection under the soft glow of my bedside lamp, my silhouette finally matched the person I’d always known inside, and I felt weightless, as if I could fly. That moment of pure alignment was mine—no one else’s.
Mindful self-pleasure is another way to get to know your body on your own terms. Create a private, comforting space—perhaps in the early morning when everyone’s still asleep, or during a quiet afternoon break after classes. Play soft Hindustani instrumentals or a familiar Bollywood track through your earphones, lock your door, and wrap yourself in your coziest bedsheet or blanket. Explore touch gently, noticing what brings warmth or tingle without any pressure to reach an outcome. If guilt or shame sneaks in—a feeling many of us inherit from cultural taboos around sex—pause and remind yourself: your body is yours alone to understand and enjoy. I’ve shared these moments of discovery over discreet messages with close friends, and we often reassure each other that knowing ourselves is a step toward deeper confidence and joy.
Gender euphoria can light up your world, especially for trans or nonbinary youth in India. It’s that rush you feel when someone on your late-night voice chat calls you by your chosen name, or when you slip into a gender-neutral cotton kurta that finally feels like yours. Try small experiments: change your name on social platforms where it’s safe for you to do that, jot it in your diary, or wear a fusion outfit—maybe a crisp shirt with your favourite jeans—that affirms your identity. I’ll never forget the first time my friend addressed me as “Aarav” during a Zoom class instead of my old name; my chest felt lighter, and I knew I was finally being seen. That’s pure, personal validation.
Exploring queerness beyond sex is equally empowering. Your attractions, labels, or the very freedom of rejecting labels can be sources of joy. Perhaps you find butterflies when you spot someone of the same gender in your college canteen, or your heart races during an exchange of shy glances on a school bus. You might question whether you’re bi, pan, or asexual, and that uncertainty can itself be thrilling. Try jotting these moments in a private note on your phone—who made you smile today, what kind of relationship stories resonate with you in the latest Bollywood flick. Or confide in a trusted friend over voice notes about the crush that surprised you. These small reflections remind you that your queerness is fluid, valid, and entirely yours to explore, without needing to “prove” anything to anyone.
Create a hidden phone folder—you can name it ‘My Truth’—to collect images, quotes, or symbols that reflect your identity, like a pride flag or a bold outfit that feels like you. Or write a letter to your future self imagining your chosen name and the life you’ll lead. These quiet acts—whether collecting inspiration or penning dreams—plant seeds of hope and build confidence at your own pace.
If finding a quiet corner feels impossible in a busy household, there are gentler ways to spark joy. Take a sheet of paper—maybe the back of an old notebook—and sketch your outline, then use coloured pens or gel pencils (even the ones from your daughter’s art kit) to label the parts you cherish: “resilient” on your shoulders, “warm” on your smile, “strong” on your calves. Or, after a steamy shower in the family bathroom, stand before the fogged-up mirror, place your palm over your heart, and softly say, “I’m learning to love you,” watching the words clear on the glass. You could even sit on your balcony at dusk, trace your shadow on the floor with chalk, and whisper affirmations as the evening breeze brushes past. These small, private rituals—whether drawn on paper or whispered in mist—remind you that your body and identity are yours to honour and celebrate, no matter how loud the world outside might seem.
Building Affirming Relationships
Connection is where joy really blossoms—be it with a friend, a partner, or the family you choose. I felt this deeply when, at twenty-one, I began swapping late-night WhatsApp voice notes with a college friend who truly saw me—who cheered on my colourful kurtis and understood the quiet thrill I felt when I first used my chosen name on Zoom. We’d share silly GIFs from our favourite Bollywood comedies, gush over our crushes, and celebrate festivals together virtually when hometown obligations kept us apart. Those moments—in which I could be wholly myself, without editing—felt like pure, unfiltered ease.
Open, honest communication lays the foundation for any affirming bond. Practice using gentle “I feel” statements—“I feel understood when you ask about my day” or “I feel safe when we agree on boundaries before being intimate.” Setting boundaries isn’t a mood-killer; it builds trust. You might say, “I love our late-night cuddles, but I need a little heads-up before anything more physical.” I’ve seen friends in my Delhi queer circle use simple digital messages to clarify comfort levels, and it makes all the difference: everyone feels respected, heard, and free to express what brings them joy.
Try a gentle hand-hold when you meet in person or carve out a weekly ‘tea time’ to sip masala chai and reconnect. Disagreements will crop up, but they don’t have to snuff out your happiness. Once, my roommate in Pune and I clashed over last-minute plans to visit home—her sudden train ticket booking meant our Holi celebration fell apart, and I felt hurt. We decided to pause the conversation and resume later with clearer heads. When we came back to it over a voice note, we each shared one feeling—she said, “I felt guilty for cancelling,” and I said, “I felt disappointed.” That simple “pause and reflect” approach kept our friendship strong. You can try this too: the next time you feel upset, say, “Can we pause and talk after dinner?” and then revisit the issue when you’re both calmer.
Connection fuels closeness—with friends, partners, or chosen family. At twenty-one, WhatsApp voice notes with a friend who cheered my kurtis and chosen name felt like pure ease. Consent builds these trusted bonds. Before any touch—holding hands in Delhi’s monsoon rain or a chai-date kiss—ask: “Is this okay?” A gentle check-in made my moments feel safe, deepening trust. When everyone’s heard, connection becomes an act of self-love and cultural pride. Learn more about consent in Scarleteen’s Driver’s Ed for the Sexual Superhighway. Use “I feel” statements like “I feel safe with boundaries.” Pause during disagreements, then share feelings calmly to keep bonds strong.
Addressing Body Dysphoria and Intergenerational Trauma
Sometimes, our body’s landscape feels foreign—any kind of dysphoria or disconnection can make everyday mirror moments painful. When I first noticed my chest didn’t align with my inner sense of self, I felt trapped in a borrowed identity. I found grounding by pressing my bare feet into the cool marble floor of my home temple and slowing my breath to the rhythm of a simple mantra: “Sa — ta — na — ma.” You might try seated breathing—inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four—while focusing on the warmth of your palms pressed together. Small self-soothing acts like wearing a soft cotton kurta or painting your nails in bright, bold shades can also affirm your body’s right to comfort and care.
Intergenerational trauma often whispers in our bones—expectations about “proper” behaviour or gender presentation, shame around pleasure, and silence on topics our elders found taboo. I grew up fearing any conversation about desire, recalling my grandmother’s hushed warnings about “immodesty.” To heal, I began writing letters to my ancestors—thanking them for their endurance, then gently releasing the guilt they carried. You might light a diya at dusk, offering it as both remembrance and release, or choose a folk song that speaks of resilience—perhaps a Maithili lullaby your mother sang—and let its melody wash through you. In online queer BIPOC groups, I’ve found solidarity in stories of others unraveling inherited shame. Sharing in trusted circles reminds us pain can be met with collective compassion, and that joy can grow even in the soil of trauma.
Claiming joy in our bodies and bonds is a radical act of self-love and resistance for queer Indian youth. Whether you’re draping a grandmother’s dupatta, humming a folk tune in your room, exploring your identity through private notes, or setting clear boundaries in your relationships, each small ritual affirms your right to pleasure and belonging. Healing from dysphoria and intergenerational shame isn’t a straight line, but every grounding breath, compassionate letter to your ancestors, or shared story in a trusted group and a safe space helps nurture resilience. Choose one practice—perhaps a daily mirror affirmation or a weekly playlist swap—and let it spark a ripple of confidence in your life. In celebrating yourself, you light the way for others to do the same.
