I dwell in a world where pain for one is a pleasure for another. Where sophisticated cages are only an epitome of a free world. You know, where people thrive on Schadenfreude. Not to forget the “drama” in the name of societal norms.
And all I am left with today for someone who wants to go out and judge me is zero f*cks, two hoots and three words, “Mind your sh*t!”
When I say the above lines with no oscillatory hesitation, I suddenly become the bitch.
I am called the bitch because my skimpy skirts call for a leg party, or because my cleavage becomes a gossip among this Miss and that Mrs of my locality.
People like to think they know my story through and through just by looking at me. I feel at a pilgrimage when someone calls me a bitch today because I’ve been hearing it like a religion. I’ve been hearing it so often now, that I’ve merely (and obviously) stopped being affected.
By this acquisition [by being a bitch], I have the liberty of being me, which obviously, I am in love with.
I date, I say “no” more often than “yes”, I give men a run for their money, I hog at midnight and burn in the mornings, I hold Pepsi pegs at parties, but oh, I party like an animal, I’m strong, fierce and all things “inappropriate” for the society, yes, I’m that. I’m just like that!
With a heart of wax and a head of steel, I walk through the bridges of the middle-class societies, arranged marriage norms, dictating men, hoarded gold jewellery, local flea markets and taboo stuff, and everyday mess, and never ending bills, and all of that.
And I walk through it all like a boss lady, unashamed and unabashed.
Yes, with that, I also want you to know, I am not meant for weak and timid hearts because they won’t know what to do with me.
I am not meant for cheats because they won’t know how to deal with my brutal honesty.
I am not meant for show-offs because my rawness will only kill them.
I am not meant for badass boys because it is not ridiculousness, but humbleness that can tame me.
I am not meant for the irresponsible and stupid because I have my head and dreams high and no time for BS.
If you want to own me, come with me, to the real world, no, not the one we live in.
The real world.
The one in which you can love, party, pass out, kiss, make out, sacrifice, have your vice, turn up your voice, bleed tears of joy and honesty, trust and compassion. And scream as loud as you want, unwind the burqa, tear off that ghoonghat, do what you want, dance all day and sing a song, and be the BITCH, with the BITCH.
With love, from the BITCH.
Gain the momentum from the reads that mean to you with our personalised feed weekly. Let’s do this!