Yes, we’re horny and confused—here’s what young India is really asking about sex

Running a sexual wellness brand in India is a curious position to be in: especially when your primary audience is millennials and Gen Z. Curious not because young people in India are prudish (they’re not), but because they are incredibly open and deeply anxious at the same time.

What I’ve learned from building our intimate wellness brand Leezu’s, writing about sexuality, and having hundreds of thousands of young people share their questions and confessions with me online is this: Young India is horny, confused, and, most of all, hopeful. We want scientifically accurate, shame-free answers to our sex questions, yes, but we also really, really want community and care.

When the pleasure brand I co-founded launched, we knew there was a gap in the market. But what we were most driven by is the powerful personal and social change that comes with women claiming agency around their own body and pleasure, feeling entitled to a more pleasurable sexual life, and acting on it. Many women have their first orgasm with a vibrator. That was the case for me, too. Pleasure products thus often spark an inner revolution.

Every DM I receive, every review, every Reddit question—from love letters about our clitoral suction toy ‘pyaari’, to questions about lubrication, fantasies, or libido—is a quiet rebellion. A search for self-understanding in a culture that has long buried desire, and especially women’s desire, in shame.

What’s striking about Gen Z is how fluent they are in the language of identity. They will tell you their pronouns, sexual orientation, mental health diagnosis, and political ideology in a single bio. And yet, when it comes to their bodies, many still whisper. Ask anonymously. Or, second-guess their own right to pleasure.

Through my content and conversations—whether it’s on Instagram, my book, podcast, or the comments under a post about period sex—I’m constantly reminded that information alone is not liberation. Young people aren’t lacking data. They’re lacking trust. Trust in their families to hold space for their truth. Trust in institutions to offer them protection. Trust in themselves, even, to explore their desires without guilt.

It makes me feel a deep responsibility, not just as an educator and entrepreneur in the sexual wellness space, but as a fellow Indian woman navigating the weight of all that is unsaid. When I first started my YouTube channel nearly a decade ago, in my twenties—I was looking for a space for honest and accurate information about sex, for conversation that included diverse lived experiences, and for tools for a safer, healthier, more gender equal and pleasurable sexual life, contextualised for India. I couldn’t find one. So I went ahead and created it myself.

The way millennials and Gen Z engage with my content and with Leezu’s, reflects the fact that just like me, they too all want space to ask what’s true—for them, in their bodies, in their own time.

Some of the most popular content we’ve ever posted wasn’t instructional; it was emotional. A post about faking orgasms. A note about loneliness. A reel about the awkwardness of first times. These seemingly simple expressions strike a nerve because they mirror the lived experiences of so many. And for young people, especially in India, seeing themselves reflected without judgment is rare and radical.

In an ideal world, sexual wellness is not a luxury or a lifestyle trend. It’s part of our overall well-being. And wanting safety, health, pleasure and connection in your sexual and romantic life should not be too much to ask. It ought to be fundamental.

This is the mission that drives me. As an educator and founder, I don’t just want to serve demand, I want my work to help shape and shift mindsets. And as a person—just another woman who grew up learning to shrink her desires—I feel moved, every day, by the quiet courage of young people, especially the young women and queer folks, of our country. They’re not just liking posts. They’re thinking deeply about who they are and who they want to be.

Our hearts (and genitals) are hopeful.

All images: Getty Images

This article originally appeared in the print edition of Cosmopolitan, July-August 2025.

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