vellostha

'vellostha' is a photographic project reflecting on my evolving gender-queer identity and how its expression is disrupted and reformed everytime i visit my hometown of vijayawada, india.

‘Vellostha’, in my native tongue Telugu, literally translates to ‘I will go and come back’. With this phrase, when you say goodbye you instantaneously promise a return. In returning to my hometown in India, I am saying ‘Vellostha’ to my current gender-queer self, revisiting a nostalgic traditionally gendered self and repeating the process in reverse as I come home to Brooklyn. This photographic project is a reflection of this iterative journey. 

I am fully myself – queer and gender non-conforming in Brooklyn. When I visit my home in India, despite a family that is evolving to accept me unconditionally, I find myself anxiously surrounded by traditional gender norms. A part of myself is disconnected and always hiding. How do I reconcile these parts of myself? Do I even have to? In my hometown, I lean into the familiar, but not quite comfortable, femininity of my gender identity because it is ‘easy’. I shave my beard and leave my hair down. I cope with this disassociation by observing gender expression in daily life. I make images of women working, playing, being, and men staring. My grandmother in a saree, kids in a lehenga, women in sarees in domestic work, in leisure and being active. I exist in these spaces, after shaving my beard and hiding my undercut, with conflict, grief and self-compassion. I don’t look different, but I feel vastly alien. 

In my Brooklyn studio, the visual materials from these visits converge. Using Telugu text and Telugu cultural signifiers, I create collages that act as a space for reflection and agency. The layout in these collages are patterns of 'kolam', a South Indian decorative art form created by women to invite prosperity and signify a harmonious relationship with nature. The Telugu text in these collages are words I often hear used to describe me, ‘మగరాయుడు’ (magaraayudu) that translates to ‘tomboy’, and ‘అందగత్తె’ (andagatte) that translates to 'beautiful woman'. The third phrase used in the collages is ‘నేను, నీ కూతురు’ (nenu, nee kuuturu), which translates to ‘it’s me, your daughter’. I occupy these spaces as myself, a gender non-conforming queer person, and also my mother’s daughter. 

With ‘vellostha’, I am hoping to create a visual archive of a gender-queer experience in my hometown of Vijayawada, India. Through sharing my story, contextualising it and speaking to the universality of queer experiences, I hope to provide language and perspective to queer people in my hometown.