So I walked in this footwear store and let my eyes sweep in the vicinity to have their treat, which was due on me from a long time. My eyes, oh well I had a bad squint and my… More
Since the comments on Priyanka Chopra’s photograph with Honourable Prime Minister broke the internet, it became mandatory for me to write this post. This substantiates that no matter how successful you are as a person, you would always be judged by what you wear as a woman. No matter how covered you are from the upper half of your body if your bottom half is showing…Well, Lady.. may the good Lord save you and deliver you from people (Amen).
It was the first day at the office and I wore a beautiful blue and black formal dress covered from my neck to my knees. Unaware of what was coming my way (to make it sound more dramatic), I sat on my desk feeling confident and happy about the new beginning. Later that day, I was called up by my boss in his office explaining to me why I shouldn’t be wearing a dress like that in office. The whole matter was about the people in the office not being able to digest my beautiful hairless toned legs.
My boss is a smashingly cool human but at that point of time, I was taken aback by the comments made on my clothes. Later I understood what he meant. All he wanted for me was to stay protected / safe and to be away from those meandering eyes, for all one knows, Delhi is so unsafe. But why cannot I wear what I want to? In this hot weather, I too want to feel the cold breeze and the air from the fan playing with my sleek legs.
Well.. we cannot overlook the fact that we live in an imposter society where you can wear a bottom nestling trouser, legging, long skirt which tightly hugs your buttocks whereas, showing your calf and ankle is a hell no. Viola! You are dishonoring the Prime Minister. What about all the aunties who would die to see you wrapped up in a saree showing off your belly, your sexy waist? On the other hand, you wearing a crop top is something they cannot abide.
I can go on and on with this. The point is that everything comes down to just one thing, “A Pair of Beautiful Hairless Legs”. Come on you people, they’re just legs, part of your body which help you to walk, run, sit and stand. The only difference between a female’s leg and a male’s leg is the hair which comes with it. Females wax/ shave/ remove them and guys don’t (well.. nowadays many shave too). Oh! not to forget their masculinity is in their body hair. 😛
For those who think that rape “happens” (it just happens) because of a woman’s clothing, the recent assault on a woman covered in Burqa from head to toe must have been a mirage because you know what they say – “No Skin Show, No Rape”.
Happy Leg Flaunting Ladies! ❤
I have a dinky bit of lightning left in me. It was way more glistening when I started. Things are getting worse as the days are fleeting. I comprehend that I may not be able to live alone perhaps it will be better than living with people I don’t wanna live with! I cannot decide what or how am I going to do things and make myself “settled” as this is the only thing we live for!
Intermittently, well most of the times I feel like migrating to some alien place but then, where else can I be?! I am falling, Oh yes I am falling. I remember how contented I was when I attended the gay pride. Ah! those colorful people all around me, dancing, laughing, hugging, grinning at each other, spreading the love! I wish it didn’t have a deadline. It felt like I was one of those colors of the rainbow on the flag. Conceivably, now I am gawking at my phone’s screen, desiring dad’s call.
Life isn’t atrocious though! Life’s always acceptable, it’s the people who lacerate their own kind! I can still see those people in my mind, their extreme close-ups, talking and laughing out loud just like a movie. But it was way more than the fight for choosing your own sexuality. It was about freedom, freedom from rapes and injustice, fight for women’s rights, bigotry on the basis of class, religion, ability sexual identity, and tribe!
Proud I am today to have attended the pride. Even though I have so many problems in my life, like my broken nail, I took out time from my busy schedule which includes sitting and thinking about how am I going to make my life right. In bits and pieces, I stood up for something which made me feel good about myself again.
Later that day I realized that people out there are actually fighting to live as their own selves, which is an enormous thing in itself. People like us, the “NORMAL” ones are still tensed wondering about what to eat in the next meal. On the other hand, the “GLADSOME” are on fire.
Fight for your right! Fight for your tribe. Happy pride!
Images by: Shivansh Johri
His nicely shampooed hair fell on his forehead and he didn’t mind them playing with him. There was exclusively this “not so manly- not so feminine” voice in the room and the molecules in the air seemed happy spreading it across the hallway. One’s ears wouldn’t mind listening to him for hours, such is his scent. Oh! the scent reminds me of his habit of bathing (well.. not literally) in his favorite Burberry perfume, which he always carries with himself.
Goodness, gracious! Our “men” be saved when he walks down those beautiful- staring, judging, harassing, stereotypical, hypocrite streets. Not to mention the streets are his ramp where his beard should be well brushed, his nose ring- properly placed, his dark painted lips- pouty enough and his clothes- unisex enough! His walk complements his look and those staring eyes encourage him to be whatever he is.
So what are the exact feelings behind this glamorous, shiny beautiful dark skinned face? What’s behind that pearly wide smile which can take hearts of many, melt them and even sabotage. What’s behind those attractive big brown innocent eyes? Was I thinking too much or was I just curious like others to know “WHAT IS THIS PERSON”?
With plenty of questions in my mind, I asked him, “Babe, what gender would you describe yours?”. Leaving me stung to silence he said, “Neither am I too manly to be called a man, nor too feminine to be called a woman. I don’t fit in your pink and blue boxes”. Somewhere in between is he, perhaps very confident about who he is.
A blossoming, talented, smart and adept mind is left to wander around once again searching for survival. An adroit voice and accent trainer, relationship manager and also a writer is extruded from his work. Why? There are countless “Whys” perhaps the answer is only one, ACCEPTANCE! We don’t accept something that is different. May it be a bad different or a good different, we have a tendency to neglect any and everything that is beyond our understanding or which doesn’t fit in the boxes that we have created!
Rejects to be referred as a “Mr” or “Ms”, he has quite smartly chosen “Mix” for himself. A mix of both male and female. I cannot forget him saying, “Whenever I wake up and look at my wardrobe, I ask myself – how much are you ready to be street harassed today?” Expressing one’s true self should be envisaged a beautiful thing, not a transgression.
“Mr” is preeminence, excellence whereas, “Ms” is still trying to keep up with all those big words. Where does “Mix” stand? Do we even know if a Mix exists or we know and try to keep ourselves away from this realism like all the other things if not ignored can make a difference in this world! What’s the fault of a person if that individual sometimes feels like a boy and sometimes feel like a girl? Sometimes it’s a blue on the palette and other times it’s pink or sometimes none!
Blue for a boy, pink for a girl. What’s the color for a Mix?!! Well.. I’d say let it be black, a beautiful color, a mixture of all, absorbs all. All the blues, pinks, reds, greens, yellows are the colors of my Mix! Full of brilliance, full of colors yet so sublime. Dwells in whom both the genders, perhaps no sign of arrogance such is my Mix and my Mix chooses to be GENDER-LESS EVER AFTER
Some of them are seen walking on the streets or sitting and laying down on the footpaths. Though some stand away from the crowd and watch big cars cross by. Their lousy dropped down eyes have nothing but despair and rejection in them. Well, they have their own reasons for living like this or maybe they had no other preference. It won’t be fair to call them beggars; I’d rather call them ‘Travelers in Rags’.
The other day I was traveling on a metro train in new Delhi, which was full like a beehive. I pushed my way through the crowd to sit, guess I was lucky. After one or two stations there was a sudden brawl in the horde. As I changed my view to see what was happening I saw two people in ragged clothes. A barefooted woman with her blind husband walked through the metro train nonchalantly without asking or saying anything. The mass divided itself into two parts just like the river Nile made way for Moses while he was crossing it. My eye swept across these mass of faces.Stamped on their faces was a look of anger, some disgust, horror and some felt sorry for them, while some were just wondering like me. There was silence in the horde for some time and in the background, one could hear the soft whining of the train. The human sound was stung to silence.
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