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Showing posts from April, 2018

Letters To The Unbeloved #9

Dear two-faced-girl,
You were highly recommended. I had only recently broken up with yet another girl who seemed to be my ‘one and only’ and was wasting away. I had lost all hope of ever finding the ‘right’ one until my friend who couldn’t bear to look at my sad face, recommended you. You seemed perfect from the word go.
Remember our first date? We hit it off – the park was the perfect setting. The awkward moments were swallowed by your giggles thanks to my silly dog who decided that the jogging park was the ideal place to take a dump. I thought I would lose you then. But you apparently had room for the weird. So strong are your memories of the park that I have never been able to go back to it, and the poor dog must make do with the car park for his dump site.
Do you ever wonder what went wrong? I think we both were polite, to begin with, and slowly opened up to each other. I talked to you about my day, and you spoke volumes about the people you hated at work. It seemed perfect until…

Summer Lust

I have lusted after her for as long as I can remember. People speak of true love, smitten at first sight but for me, it was every bit lust. My desires, my dreams, my feelings… she drives me wild with frenzy. In fact, as soon as I realize, she is going to arrive, I feel my body stiffening. There are things I feel about her I cannot pen down; no, not because of its ‘adult’ nature but because I don’t know how to describe how I feel about her.
She is like no one else – born perfect as she is. Her curves, the buttery texture of her skin, her complexion! My days and nights are filled with her thoughts. I know if I could have my way with her, I could lose my mind. Whenever she is close or in the same room as I, I feel a strange tingling rush through me. Its like she knows she has that effect on me. Her scent, sweet, subtle and ripe like her. If I could make her mine, I’d run my fingers all over her, memorizing her body – every dip, swell and arch.
I do lust after her, but I feel she has the…

What are we becoming?

Today, I had a conversation with a colleague and the video on Harayana’s rape culture or rather what the natives of the state thought of rape became a point of discussion. My exact words were – what are we becoming? How can we think that rape is entirely a girl’s fault? Why is it accepted? His answer was simple – this is what the natives have seen, this is how they think, and hence, this is what happens. WHAT? Yes, apparently, the treatment women, what men see at home, they follow. Women follow the same as they look at their mothers, sisters, aunts, friends, etc. being treated shabbily and hence, it becomes an accepted norm.
He further added that the natives never harm their own women. Apparently, if they damage their own women, they will be beaten up or shot. The problem arises when they come across different cultures. The main issue though is the male-female ratio that is the lowest in Haryana. Poor women from remote parts of the country are bought and sold here, married off to mor…

Wordless Wednesday #13: Caption this picture

I remember writing an inland letter on behalf of my grandma. She was writing to her brother in Dehradun. This was before email or mobile phones so obviously, letters were how news of things was exchanged. It was a tedious process. The inland letter had four sides which she made up fill up quickly. As a parting message, she wanted me to mention her failing health (false news). I brusquely told her no. I believe an argument followed and she won it.
But what was more fun was the fact that we would walk up to the nearest post box, the red, cylindrical metal box, propped up on every second street then, and then quickly post it via the slit. Then began the wait – the postman would pick up the post real soon and the letters, postcards etc. would soon reach their destination. Yes, there was hope.
The red post box of my childhood and yours is fast disappearing. We have a lot to say but nothing to write to. We chat, we call, and we talk. We don’t write to each other anymore. Instant gratific…