It is all up to YOU

hashtag me too hashtag survivor hashtag askew hashtag heifer These are not, just a bunch of hashtag(s), but are the reflection of how much you brag, to showcase your actions; but alas, you did not realise what would be the reactions. Actions like holding her hand and pressing it hard like a monster, when she was just three years old. She did not even think of protesting at all, because to your false love and fake trust was she sold. You were appointed to improve her grade. Instead "I am just helping you to write properly" was what you said. Yes, hashtag me too. I was a harassed by my tutor. hashtag me too hashtag living hashtag accrue hashtag grieving These are not, just a bunch of hashtag(s), but are the results of your lust. To feel the luscious curves of my body and to grope my big round bust. To grope my butt under the bench, during the boards exam, because your lust woke up and you started to cram. When asked, you replied that you merely

I looked at her in a way as if she was my Geeta. She looked at me as if I was a part of her Qur'an. My eyes started sparkling and her eyes did glitter, because all Gods were happy for this religious shun. She celebrated each day of my Durga Puja and I happily celebrated her Eid. We were slowly planting a non religious tree, where I was the water and she was the seed. I crossed her Mosque by keeping my hands open, she visited my temple, keeping her hands closed. There was nothing to be ashamed of, we thought; because we weren't creating a juxtapose. I didn't feel the need to see whether she was a Khoja, Bohra, Sunni or Shia. I guess that was my flaw, and my only hamartia. I didn't need to see whether she had a hijab on her head or kept it open, because that was totally her decision; a moral one and was not at all my pain. She too didn't feel the urge to ask whether I am a Shudra, Kshatriya or a Brahmin, because her thoughts were very open and high

Seventy! It is not just a number, you see. Rather this number marks the soul which is free. Free from being bullied, because I am brown. I was bullied by the white people, who has the Kohinoor on the Crown. I was not the only one though, to see the torture; because I myself heard my brother to murmur, the pain he was going through that day. How helpless I felt because I had nothing to say. We didn't forget the date when our bond got lost; till date, we are both, paying the cost. Well, I personally did achieve a lot. Till now I cry and wonder how my babies fought in Kargil and secured me from other fights, I still remember the formation of Constitutional Rights. I still remember how badly I got terrified, when the Emergency period got me petrified. My this very brown skin was crowned in Miss World and Miss Universe. I went to the moon and back, and also succeeded in touching the Mars. I suffocate all the time because of the pollutions  caused by the cars. T

In my country I am treated so well, that there is not a single moment I thought of staying under the veil. Whenever I went to shop for my meal; they always offered the dual combo deal. But I didn't want the combo, rather something which would fit my diet. Diet that would make me look thin and smart; though that wasn't my real appetite. But I had to change my taste, because society taught me that is what is best; for me, for her and for all our fat ladies out there. Else people will talk for wearing dresses, which are partially bare. So, you see the amount of love that I get, and mind you, this is not body shaming. Because right from my childhood I have been taught that it is cute if someone is naming. Naming that hurts you the most, and makes you realise that beauty also comes with a cost. But what about Jane? My friend, who is insane, and is always busy buying cosmetics; because for her, it is more important to flaunt her aesthetics. Because witho

I lost a friend of mine at the age of nine. A friend who was as if, carrying my blood. Still now my memories do flood with all the moments, penned down by us. He got lost, because of a single fuss. A fuss that started way back, when his parents heard him cry. Asked him to stop, on his very first day, because crying is not what he should try. His parents' belief that tears would make him weak, actually made him weaker instead. It didn't matter now if he got beaten up, or got sick; he still wouldn't cry, even if his face become red. No one actually said to him that crying wasn't bad, it's actually letting your emotions flow when you are sad. The mistake we made by not knowing what real feminism is, put up a huge burden of responsibilities on those little shoulders of his. The shoulders that cracked up, because of those huge responsibilities. Lying weak at night but standing strong in the morning, was one of his abilities. Or perhaps, that was the

We don't always want someone who would always love. Sometimes we want some one to scold us, and hold our silly selves together. Someone who would guide us how to curve the path of our life without a fuss. And will catch us even when we are falling like a feather. They will give the blow of support.. Teach us how to fly.. My family, but he isn't my dad, she isn't my mother. Sometime their words are as sharp as a sword, especially when someone is rude and sly. Though not by being our parents, because she is my sister and he, my brother. They didn't give me birth.. But looked after me ever since.. Been there beside me with the promise of forever... With them, I didn't feel dearth of love, as they always rinse all the negativity and didn't let them come back again ever. Their promises were unsaid... They silently take care of my heart's province.. They make my dumb self clever... How kind that God really made them for me, since they rea