In small-town Neyyattinkara, about 25 km away from the busyness and bustle of Kerala’s capital Thiruvananthapuram, Thanima* leads something of a dual life.
The 25-year-old is a closeted asexual, but in an alternate universe online she runs Lavender Marriage Kerala & India, a year-old Instagram page for closeted queer people looking for potential partners in a lavender marriage. “I realised my sexual orientation only in college, through conversations with a friend who is bisexual,” she says.
For those who didn’t know, a lavender marriage refers to a marriage of convenience where a lesbian and a gay man enter a heterosexual-seeming marriage to hide their queerness. And Thanima’s page operates like their matchmaker. Users DM her with their requirements, detailing whether they are looking for a lesbian, gay or asexual partner, their preferred age, location, profession and other details. “Then, I post these details on the page, and those interested can get in touch with them,” she says. The page was initially meant only for people from Kerala, but soon she was bombarded with requests from all over India. “Sometimes, I get more than 200 requests in a single day,” she says. “So, I felt a website would be a better way to manage these requests while maintaining users’ privacy and security.”
As the page grew to more than 6,000 followers, Thanima launched the ‘Lavender Marriage’ website this month after weeks of beta-testing it and running polls to gauge what her followers wanted. It is similar to a matrimonial website but with certain distinctions—search results can be filtered according to gender (crossdresser, femboy, etc), orientation (asexual, bisexual, gay) and other standard categories such as state and religion. In their profiles, users write candidly about wanting a queer partner and the freedom to pursue relationships outside of the marriage while maintaining a facade in front of their families, living like ‘good friends’, and even being open to the possibility of having a biological or adopted child. Almost all of them talk of living with mutual respect, trust, and no expectations. The write-ups are filled with hope but tinged with anxiety.
Users pay a measly ₹30 fee to register on the website and are asked to provide details, including their email and Instagram IDs, along with some information about themselves. “That’s mainly to verify their accounts and ensure that they are genuine users and not those who are signing up for casual hook-ups,” Thanima says.
So far, the website has 75 active profiles. One of them is 22-year-old Sam’s*, who lives in Delhi and comes from an orthodox Muslim family. She is convinced that her parents will “honour kill” her if she ever came out to her family. “I’m completely dependent on my parents because they control me financially,” she says.
Sam discovered the Instagram page while scrolling online. “I was quite happy to find a place where it would be easier to seek out partners for potential lavender marriage where we can have our separate love lives,” she says, “although it would be good if our partners could get along.”
As a lesbian, Sam is looking for a gay Muslim man. “We would have to cook up some story about how we met each other,” she says. “My parents’ concern is that the guy should be Muslim, employed, and kind.”
But meeting potential partners can be a nerve-racking experience. For instance, Sam is unsure about a gay man she met recently through the website as he insists on having biological children. “Apparently, lesbians are supposed to act like surrogates for gay men,” she says, wryly.
In Gurgaon, 27-year-old Akshay* is also dealing with the mounting pressure of family “rishtas”. “I come from a typical north Indian Brahmin family. I have a huge family and they have expectations from me,” he says. “But I have always been an honest man, and I would never ruin a girl’s life by bringing her into mine without telling her the truth about who I am.”
And the truth is that Akshay is bisexual, with a preference for men.
“I am not sure if I can find someone whom I can trust,” he confides. “It’s a huge secret. What if in future an argument escalates so much that my partner reveals my secrets? Or what if I end up with someone who starts to blackmail me? That’s what I’m actually very scared of.”
There are other complexities, too. Akshay is fine with a non-monogamous marriage but recently met a woman who wanted to continue her relationship with her cousin after marriage. “I don’t know what to think about that,” he says.
Still, he is cautiously optimistic. “I’m still hoping there’s a lesbian girl out there in a similarly critical situation, where we both carry our own insecurities,” he says. “If we’re both equally vulnerable, it might be easier to trust each other.”
Thanima, meanwhile, is fully aware that one day she will require the services of her own digital creations. “I hope one day we’ll live in a world where we won’t need such platforms.”
*Names have been changed upon request
