UNTAMED!Β 

UNTAMED!Β 


What do u call a slut in a saree? 
Slut!

What do you call the girl you may / may not be knowing from your social media profile wearing a bikini ? 

Slut! 

It’s not the saree or the bikini that outrages you. It’s the audacity of this ‘bitch’ to fall off the line. How dare she gather that strength to not give a fuck to the society or ‘You’. How dare she play with your hormonal balances!?! How dare she show off her waist or her skin ?!? How !??? Ain’t she got the sanity to think it’s not just hers . The skin she flaunt , the absurd waist size she has , it’s not just hers. It belongs to the society where lecherous eyes stare and greedy hands grab them . It belongs to the society where ‘her’ existence as a foetus is questioned! She wasn’t supposed to live! This bitch grew up to show her goddamned valour to this society! No doubt I was molested as a 12 year old! You won’t be taken aback either if I get raped!I asked for it! I risked for it ! No doubt I don’t get married at the age of 32. I was a wild storm to tackle in my twenties . Doesnt matter if I get beaten up by my husband . Domestic violence is the only way to bridle the untamed mare.Had her parents controlled her.Not a big deal my husband rapes me every night. Every one knew about my love flings with guys. Had I known being a virgin was such a big deal. But let that come upon that bitch. At the age of 35, I stand there wrapped from head to toe,a mark or two on my face , childless at the brink of depression. Doesn’t matter to you . The bitch brought it on herself. 

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But the life of this bitch matters to me coz’ m that bitch. 

Amusing it is to see a pic and comment on it. Hard it is to believe that it’s the same girl you played with as a kid. Extremely easy to  judge the parenting and the family she belongs to . But for once relax your brows , slower your breathing and think! Think wats easier? To let go and let an individual live her life. It’s long enough we lived under the burden of the society . The society is us! We decide what we let in and accept and what we don’t. In the end what matters is not how we controlled others’ lives or poked into it . What matters is how we lived. How can we expect a country like ours with people like us ;thought process of a third world nation to become a first world country. 

Damn sure you didn’t get it again .! 

To those who understood – Namaste !πŸ‘

To the rest – ‘ I seriously don’t  give a fuck!’

😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊

My heart πŸ’


Do you know the feel?  The sudden thud of pain in your abdomen. The feel when your gut is pinched and twirled like a maiden’s skirt. The feel when your intestines ( both small and large) are twisted and knotted up and pulled out frantically ; at unequal intervals. The feel of your abdomen burning with the dilute concentration of the digestive juices. Its complicated to decide at this ferocious moment what feels the most ; either the fact that your body gnaws you from the inside;or the truth that you WANT to feel the pain , helplessly. 

LOVE !

No ! It’s no air that you need every moment of your life to survive. It is nothing that has been forced upon you . It is that something which you choose, over all other things. One time it’s all the beauty that’s around you ; the soft breeze , the butterfly, the blooming red roses , the kisses, the touch , the heartbeats. And just moments later it is that heart wrenching ,gut pulling pain. But adamant to all this we stay together. Things fall apart sometimes but what pulls us up is not how long we loved, it’s how deeply we loved. 

You come home from school. Everyday the bus drops you at your stop. You walk the same lane everyday. Meet the same dog that wags it’s tail when you cross the house with the yellow door. Everyday , you climb two steps and step up the hutstar. Everyday you freshen up and your mum prepares you a meal.you talk and enjoy while your mum gently caress your hair. You love it when she does that ! Everyday! 

Now imagine some situations – 

The bus doesn’t drop you at your stop as it used to do everyday. No problem! You take another route. Get yourself acquainted with the new course. You might miss the dog and assume somewhere among the cerebra of thoughts how it would be wagging it’s tail, waiting for you to cross the house with the yellow door ; like you used to do everyday. The thought soon sublimes into the cerebra. Now imagine you hopped the two steps like every other day and enter into your abode. Unlike like every other day it’s desolate. The kitchen has all your food cooked. There’s your most comfy dress kept on your bed. But there’s no mum. There is no caressing like EVERYDAY!

You worry ! For moment you worry! It’s not the same as the lane you didn’t cross today or the dog you didn’t meet. It’s someone who is attached to your skin ,genuinely to your soul. You neither look for an alternative nor the thought disappears after a moment . It lingers. No one imposed it on you. This feeling, ;you didn’t ask for . It became a habit and then your need ; like your hearts tangled together , and if one drifts apart it pulls the other too, causing that ripping pain. 

 Yes ,that’s love . 

And if you never felt this ; you either didn’t  love or weren’t loved ! EVER!

They say you fall in love . 

 Actually you truly do fall in love . It’s like you are walking with your best of clothes on , your crazily sexy shoes ,singing your favourite song ; you miss a step and fall! Fall into a pit you know not how deep and the longer you stay the deeper you go , the harder for you to return to that road you were walking moments ago. 

But you decide to stay in that pit. You start loving how the WORLD looks from that pit. It’s lovelier than what it was when you were walking . ALONE.  

You didn’t choose to fall , but you chose to stay! 

Trust me , in my own words I say , no trust, no love, no respect ,no lust and nor the latest collection of the Victoria’s secret’s  collection (all of it) can help you choose to stay . 

Its just your unyielding strength to not to let go. The stubbornness to hold on ;let’s you stay. 

It’s nice to sit in the pit holding hands , unless you see what’s in the pit . 

Having told you to stay in d pit with a choice . CHOOSE WHERE YOU SIT.

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But if you still keep choices ! You ain’t in love  babe !!!! πŸ’

Lyf goes on…


When I was a little girl, there used to be a big Ashok Tree. It stood huge, proud,with  green leaves that lushed almost all the time.  It was so tall that it’s highest branch rested a few couple of meters above the terrace. The trunk had a huge curvature or may be I was too small and the tree seemed too huge for me. I used to carve my name on its trunk, play with its leaves. As far as I recall that Ashok Tree was my only friend then. 

My dad decided to extend a couple of rooms. The structure of my home was rectangular in shape. To extend a couple of rooms needed exact proportional extensions on its three sides. The huge Ashok Tree fell on the way. The solution: it was cut down. I felt bad. I couldn’t tell my dad not to cut down my only friend. I could just feel bad for it. Cutting such a huge tree wasn’t that easy a job. I recall that many men scattered around our house . Some climbed up to tie ropes, some stood on the terrace holding the rope so that it doesn’t crash down . A lot many stood near the lawn holding the ropes so that the tree doesn’t crash down the house. I wouldn’t be that sad had it wrecked down my house than watching the tree actually wreck; seeing it die. It took  a whole day to bring down the huge , proud Ashok down. The next day the workers dug the tree till it’s roots. 

The construction continued and after a few weeks my dad had his desired home constructed. I took the corner room , it had a lawn adjacent to it. On my door hung a wooden slab with my name carved on it. It was that part of the trunk I carved on the Ashok. I looked at my dad, he smiled. I smiled back. But that reminded me more of that beautiful tree. 

Days passed. Our floors were plastered with cement. Tiles weren’t a trend that time. The ground was first dug, watered for few days, plastered with cement, concrete and sand and at last a thin layer of cement was applied for the smooth finish. The floor thus remained strong and firm for almost a decade. Most of the time after coming from school I used to sit down on the floor. Draw, write ,paint ,study, eat or even if I wasn’t doing anything, I simply used to roll around. It was one such fine day that I saw small saplings coming out of the plastered floor. They looked miniature trees. Small stems and tiny light green leaves at the end. It was the same place where the great Ashok stood. The huge tree was broken down but these little buddies broke out the heavy concrete floor that could have stayed intact for at least half a decade. It was magnificent for me. What else a nine year old could have inferred from that. 

It has been more than a decade since that. Life has changed. I got lots of friends . I don’t play with trees, leaves or scribble my name on the bark. I actually would have loved to do that. Life is more than school,a scoop of ice cream and mom’s scolding. Now, life is tough! It’s depressing! There are times when I break down. I feel like giving up. I even feel like disappearing for a while. But life isn’t where we give up. Life is where we begin again and live. Life is more than a swamp of depression, it’s the audacity to dare; dare to swim to the other end. Life is not a plethora of problems , it’s the trick to solve them. Life isn’t only about survival, its when we start living. 

I have been that great Ashok Tree. I have had a part of better days of my life. I have also stumbled . I have fallen.I have been hurt. Hurt to the point that I thought I couldn’t recover ever again. I have been alone. But thats where life kicks in. Thats where I need to rise from where I have fallen . That’s where I need to brush my self up. That’s where I need too start all over again. I can’t give up on my life cause the baby saplings showed me  that life never gives up on us! 

To be or not to be … Beauty-fool!!👽

To be or not to be … Beauty-fool!!👽

Try our (xyz) cream to get 2 times fairer skin, try (whatsoever) serum to get diamond radiance. Use ( I don’t give a f@#* ) shampoo and conditioner to get silky soft hair .

Why has the world come up with a particular definition of beauty? Why are we supposed to look beautiful and feel beautiful? Why is it that confidence supposed to reach it epitome only when we feel good , we feel beautiful? Why is it that Cinderella gets to date prince charming? Why do we call the saga of beauty and the beast a legend? Why a rose looks exquisite and we don’t turn our eye on a cactus? 

Why am I supposed to be beautiful when I can be just me ?

Be so beautiful inside out that people wait to get your single glance. So beautiful that bards sing melodies abt your beauty. 

7 billion people on this planet where life thrives(until you are an official from NASA and allowing me to visit AREA18 I am sticking to this point ), and you have a sleek definition of beauty. Why to commercialize white skin when I was born black. Nature decided to paint my chromosomes and genes then what right does lakme have to call that ‘not beautiful’. Why to burn the shit out of curly hair to get their spine straight. Why to seduce a guy by painting my lips red ? Red or not ! You love me ? Pull me close and kiss me !!  Why to starve yourself and punish it just because you were born with a broad waist size? Baby !the right guy is gonna hug you tight and pull you up no matter how big the circumference is.  Why to put up a padded bra to show an extra cleavage? Honey ! I have seen a mom of two, suffering from breast cancer , with no boobs atall rock the party with her grace. The Pixar and the Disney show princesses , ladies ,- fair , sober, waist so small just like the strand of my hair , well behaved , good at heart, silky manageble hair (how do they manage to get that ?)…. And they get their prince charming !!! Their knight!! Well ! I am no cinderella . Nor I have the heart of Ariel to sacrifice my voice for the love of my life. I am no Snow White . I AINT FAIREST OF THEM ALL.  Does that imply that I won’t get my Prince. 

Who cares! 

My beauty is in my curls, just like dry noodles spread on the saucepan. My tanned skin. My dark brown eyes, just like roasted almonds. My rectangular body with little curves . No prince owns me . Technically no one owns me . I own myself . For the sake of the 22 years of relationship with myself I own my ugliness with a pride. 

Find a man, they said.

Who looks at you as the stars ponder over the horizon in dusk.

 Who looks at you as a traveller gazing the setting of the sun.

Who skips a heart beat with your single glimps . 

Find a man , they said; who calls you beautiful. 

Who cares!* I replied.

 I would love to have a man who would know how ugly I am. Who would accept me with all the ugliness. Embrace them as he would cuddle me. Why to wait for a prince to glide down by waist and handle the pressure of looking beautiful. Why not have a Shrek and enjoy the ugliness we are born with. Even if you dont find your Shrek find yourself lucky and be your hero. Merida asked for her own hands. Turned the destiny . So be you. Be ugly. Cause ugly has nothing to negate. Theirs no harm, no disrespect in being ugly. Its an adjective, it describes. And anything that describes you cannot be bad until you look upon it that way. 

Its my ugliness that makes me different,discribes me. And remember …. U are special!!!!!

Have a beautiful/ugly day !!!!!

Ladies take a bow!!

Ladies take a bow!!


It’s hard to strive as a lady in this world, but for a man , it’s harder!!!

It‘s difficult to cover whats already covered. I am a girl.My body and every inch of my skin needs to be covered. The hormonal and the chromosome structure forbids me to  walk on an empty street. The physiological structure (that’s totally cool with animals) demands special attention. I am a lady . I am beautiful. Though beauty lies in the eye of a beholder, my fury can put the streets on fire if you look down upon me. I am a woman and I am proud. What makes me more of a woman is , keeping an eye open for every man . All because,  Men Rape!

Take a seat ! 

Will you have some water? 

Sit back and relax! Cause what I m going to write needs patience and you need to keep your opinions and standards aside for a moment. 

How hard is it to wear pants ? I guess that’s normal! It’s normal for the world to put opinion with respect to the size of your wallet. No matter what you are, how good , how talented, how gracious God has been on your looks ,what matters is your bank account. Let’s call a spade a spade. You aren’t a man if you don’t earn well, feed your family. How hard is it for you to get the girl of your dreams , whom you love.love has no parameters. Love is unconditional. But it would be selfish to see tears in the same pretty face, it would hurt to let go all her expectations. There wouldn’t be love anymore. 
Superman, Batman, Phantom, Shaktiman! Isn’t it misogynous,for the authors to depict all strong characters to be male and the women are left to be either a feeble prey for the story to feed upon or ending up being a witch! 

Let’s take an another dimension of the story. Men, since their childhood have been adulterated with facts of being a tall muscular giant who saves the world and gets the lady . Great! Men are supposed to be heros. What if he isn’t a hero ! He is that shy little pretty girl who needs to get rescued!  The pressure to become better and strong. The fact that it’s a shame to hide your ass and run away in times of trouble ,because Men don’t do that , makes you less of a human you are. Being less of you certainly doesn’t make you more of a man. Some heroes don’t wear capes ! They come with little gestures of  humility, respect for all as humans. 

It happened not so long ago. It was barely 8 at night. I missed my bus. The only option left was to walk to my apartment. I fed the earphones ,played my favorite playlist and started walking. Skipping ,with uneven pace of the music I hit the kerb of the road. I balanced myself. Blessed that I didn’t strike my face on the pavement. I continued. Same pace , the skipping. I lowered my earphones a bit . I heard a faint noise. I turned. Two boys . Calling me out . Running towards me. I looked around . None! Without missing a slight moment I ran. My pace didn’t care about Rihanna’s beat. I ran!  It was when I reached the market area , I took a calm breath. I took a moment to relax and bless my stars and off course my shoes. 

 I sat down for a while. As I turned around my neck , I saw them again. What enraged me that ,the audacity to follow me so far and call out for me in public. The next thing I remember was the crowd on heels. I love it when people reach out to help a girl from such molesters.

Among all the chaos ,I heard that faint voice clearly . “Madam ! Your purse, you dropped it near the pavement.

Not all men Rape!! 
We as ladies have had enough of the share of stereotyping. We faced it with all grace and strength. Let’s applaud ourselves. But why to put the same sword on someone else’s neck. We have faced the evils of name calling !  Being called a slut! We have been molested at the age of 5 ! We don’t get what we deserve.  But just because I own a vagina I can’t blame a man for having a penis!  This man has been a son as we have been daughters. This man has fallen equally in love with me , and I am to blame myself equally as I blame him if it doesn’t work out. This man has been a father , as I have been a mother. And when you talk about father’s you know how much more your dad has put on for you ! This man has been my friend to talk ,hug and even kiss my pain away; and if nothing more he can just lend an ear even if I friendzoned his love. This man after a tiresome and weary day lends you his seat ( because that’s called manners) .  The world has been unjust to us ! I agree! But the men suffer the same too. 

Let’s take a glass of wine with them. Applaud each other for the ups and downs we faced together. It wasn’t a lady’s world ever . But it isn’t a man’s world either. Not anymore I guess!  Let’s make it our world. 

And for once let’s take a bow for these men!!

When they called me a hooker !

 I wear short skirts.

I drink beer like a 40 year old man.

 I smoke occasionally.

I wear red lipstick all the time. 

I dance like no one is watching . 

And yes, I am not a hooker.


It’s unjust to put the blades on the patriarchy alone and blame them to suppress the fire within a girl. It’s  wrong to blame men to oogle at the TIP of my skirt as if it’s gonna split up , exposing my bare ass on their faces. It’s unjust to blame a man to exchange glances at me (oh it hurts when it is a cute guy)and imagine he stands a chance to get  a one night stand with me. It’s unjust to blame 60 year old adults to glare at me every time I ask for a cigarette. It’s unjust to blame the entire xy chromosome dominance to think I m asking for it ,cause I wear a red lipstick. It’s unjust cause women pay equal Token to watch and be a part of this show of name-calling.

Wikipedia explains a hooker as a woman who is engaged in sexual activity in exchange for money. 

I am a woman.Done with the first criteria! 

Engaged in sexual activity. Well this is a confusing statement. Cause sex drives are basic human needs. Healthy sex with a partner or many partners is a question of choice to some and to others it’s the only option left. Let’s not call it a dirty business. Let’s not keep the things that go on behind closed doors as something nasty and something that is looked down upon. Let’s talk, if not do something not to molest it’s name. Let’s imagine the pain a woman goes though the entire time to mute the raging hormones of a man. Had it not been her, he would have searched for an easy target. That target could have been any girl . Any part of her which could be penetrated in and ejaculate his unresting libido. Spare a moment to thank her! Thank the hooker.

Imagine the end of a situation, the end whose limit is over the pain of hunger as if someone pulled out the gut and twisted it to a point to scoop out your soul. Something  much more painful. Something like seeing your new born cry his lungs out in hunger. Something more painful than the thought that if you could cut every piece of meat in your wrecking body to feed his little belly. Yes I  am talking about that something. Something more dreadful. Something that would make you sell yourself as a piece of meat . To be devoured, skinned , chewed to the last bit of your bone ; every night. The thing which you call lovemaking is nothing more than a barbaric horror that you would want to forget, but it comes as a horric ghost every night. Spare a moment to Pat her. Applaud her spirit to keep going and still desire to live in this world where she is no less than just a pebble . A pebble which we either hop off or kick to the side of the road. Applaud that hooker!

I have been a Bond fan ,the James Bond 007. Sleeping around with many hot women, chewing tobacco, that big cigar, cars, drinks , lavish life . I guess what would be the name of the movie if Bond was a girl. May be Bond , the Harlot.  But she is more than it . More than any Bond. More than Batman even (I guess the evils in Gotham didn’t penetrate him each night). She is more. She is more than her pretty face. More than her exposed dress. Whoever she is , I cannot imagine to be her. I can’t imagine to be someone so strong.  Sorry for your disappointment but after all your name callings I can’t pass off to be a HOOKER.

All you girls who dress modest, sleep early, don’t drink , don’t smoke ,don’t party out loud. Yes you are civilized. You are a girl whom a man marries. You are a girl who gets a respect in society . Yes you exist. BIG DEAL!  But I ponder over your enquiry over my tiniest pair of black dress, my high heels, my brightest red coloured lipstick, the increasing size of my ass(  I swear no man, but beer did that) , that how can that qualify me into the sleek section of your thesaurus to be  synonymous to a hooker. 

YES , EVEN IF I ….

…. WEAR SHORT SKIRTS,

….DRINK BEER LIKE A MAN,

….SMOKE OCCASIONALLY,

….WEAR RED LIPSTICK.

SORRY I CANT BE A HOOKER. NOT EVEN CLOSE. EVEN IF I PUT IN ALL I HAVE .

PERIOD!

Dear Dad

Dear dad,

I hope you are doing well!

Congrats ! Your little girl is all grown up now. She got her first paycheck. It feels so good. So different. But the credit is all yours . All the sweat, patience  οΌŒweary nights , stress , all that you endured quietly ; it’s all done today. I hope I have done you proud.

I was awarded the star employee. Two more months of this same effort and I am gonna outshine . There are 20 of us in our team. I being the only girl in the there. I sometimes feel unwanted, but I cope up with it well. I remember that day in school. When I won the championship trophy. I heard your clap . It was the loudest. It echoed down my eardrums. I had made you proud. 12 schools ,24 students and your daughter won it. I remember you all tall and proud, boasting that I was no less than any boy, in fact I was better than all boys.  I laughed the thing proudly. Well, I am keeping up  with it . My work is better than any of the boy’s in my group, it’s just that the people give that credit to my extremely good rapport with my seniors. Had you warned me to not to be me! Had you warned me that in this world of patriarchy I am only a girl! Never mind I’ll get over it .

I travel alone. Run my own errands. I even cook on my own. How secured I was when I was with you. You dared me not to enter the kitchen . I was no usual girl. I was your princess,and I was no less than any guy, and a boy is not supposed to enter the kitchen. Yet how secured you kept me. I didn’t step out of my house alone. Never . It was either behind you on the bike , or on the side seat of the car. But you didn’t tell me that all that care wasn’t because I was your princess. It wasn’t because I deserved the best . It was because you were protecting me from the worst that happens to every girl that dares to be a boy and walks alone. Something like that happened to me . A gang of bikers hit my posterior and squeezed my bossom as I confidently walked the street alone . Their laugh! It still echoes to give a quick shiver to my soul. Had you told me that , I am just a girl.!   Dont worry dad I am over it. Not even in my lamest dreams I would dare to stride down an empty road .

Well, forget all that. It happens. It has been happening for a long time. It’s just that this time it’s your daughter. Don’t you worry dad I am no less than those guys. They must have  forgotten me after that night but I shall let it linger to my soul.FOREVER!

Remember the day when I qualified for the air force. 13 lakh applicants and 200 selected. I was chosen for the flying branch. I heard your voice break over the call. I heard you cry. Their was something flooding that empty space in my heart. Those were tears of joy. I was better than many other good men of the country. I was a Proud citizen . What broke me was my being Better than any guy didn’t save you from the heavy burden of dowry. You didn’t put in so much of effort so that a settled boy can rate me and put a price tag on me. It was no more just on me. Had it a thing about my respect, love , ego, pride , modesty , I would have let it go . I would have said , ‘ never mind dad, I’ll get over it’. But not this time!

Dad , being better than a guy is tough. It’s heart wrenching to compare myself to some one who can put my effort and morale down . It’s hard to believe that I am anywhere near ,let alone being better than anyone who squeezed my modesty in an empty street. 

 Sorry to disappoint you dad but I am less than all other boys . I AM JUST A GIRL!

Your daughter.