Photo Project: Kodolibala the Alien Bride

Kodolibala is not just a photo shoot. It’s a story I needed to tell—one that blends tradition with science fiction, gender with glitch, and the everyday with the extraordinary. In this project, I explored two very different drag forms: one as a traditional bride, and one as an alien bride. Through this contrast, I wasn’t just playing dress-up—I was reflecting on what it means to belong, to be rejected, and to live in-between.

The name "Kodolibala" came from my imagination. It sounds like it could belong to folklore or tribal myths, or even a distant galaxy. It doesn’t have a fixed meaning, and that’s the point. It’s a name for someone who doesn’t fit, who exists beyond definition. And in many ways, that’s what queerness feels like—always shifting, never fixed, always questioning.

In the first look, I became a bride—wearing a red saree, jasmine flowers, and the full weight of what it means to be "woman" in traditional Indian culture.

The bride is an important symbol. She represents purity, family honour, and the beginning of a new life—but only if that life is approved by others. As a drag performer, wearing that identity was not an act of mimicry, but a way to challenge it. Why must femininity be defined by marriage? Why must rituals be reserved only for cisgender people? I wore the saree, but I rewrote the story. My version of the bride didn’t smile obediently—she stared back, boldly.

Then came the second look: the alien bride. Silver skin, elongated features, a sense of being not from this world. This form was liberating. I didn’t have to follow rules—I could create my own. The alien bride represents every queer person who has been treated like a stranger in their own culture, their own home, their own body. She’s not here to fit in—she’s here to remind you that difference is beautiful. That alienation is sometimes a superpower.

Putting the two forms side by side created a conversation. The traditional bride showed the expectations forced on us. The alien bride showed what happens when we refuse to follow those scripts. But both wore the title of “bride.” That’s important. Because even in their differences, they both longed for union—for connection, love, and recognition.

Kodolibala is not a fantasy. She is a reflection of who I could have been if I followed society’s path, and who I became because I didn’t. She’s the bridge between what is familiar and what is feared. She exists at the edge—where sarees can be worn in space, where rituals can be rewritten, and where drag is not just about beauty, but about truth.

This photo shoot was a performance, yes—but also a reclaiming. A way to say: I am not your version of woman. I am not your version of queer. I am something else entirely. And that something deserves to be seen.

Through Kodolibala, I invite others—especially queer people—to imagine their own alien bride. To create characters that don’t exist in history books, but deserve to. Because sometimes, the most radical thing you can do is not to belong—but to arrive from a place no one expects… and take up space anyway.