Tag Archives: confident woman

His torturous existence.

I am a woman

And by default I have a best friend.

I met ‘him’ at a tender age,

When I was 14

And for everyone I knew

I was already late.

When the first time I called my friend ‘him’

I was frowned upon.

“It is she, my dear! It is only your chance.”

But I didn’t want that chance, you know.

Who would want a friend

Who comes unannounced

At all the wrong times

When you plan to go for a swim

Or have a dance show

Or better yet

When you already have 10 different aches,

Who would want a friend that will just add another set of pains?

But there I was, at 14

And just because I ticked the box ‘Female’

I had a best friend,

Who would be with me till times inane.

And so I complied,

Now, if I have to have him inside my body every month

Why not make the best of it?

So, every month I would cry

When he would enter me

And I’d simply shy

Wouldn’t know how to walk-

Did he make everyone this uncomfortable?

Or was I the only one who would feel as a

Combustible?

So I would sit and complain,

I can’t go out

I am not well

And I just want to sit and read and eat and sleep and rest-

My excuses were never enough,

For I was a woman

And people were after equality

So it didn’t matter

And so I had to plaster a smile

Even when my cramps would let in no air.

As time went by,

My best friend became consistent,

Ever month, after almost 35 days

He’d visit me

And make me want to become a man.

“Why did he not have any pain?” I’d wonder.

But then if ‘he’ was the one giving me so much pain

How could he himself accustom to such cruel gain.

I call him

And every man, and woman would cringe-

But come on, it has to be a ‘him’

Who else would think of harassing a woman

The likes of this-

If it weren’t for a ‘him’?

It can only be a him

Who gives me such a headache,

Who makes me a throbbing backache?

Who makes my walking difficult,

With his unwanted intrusion,

Who makes my stomach bloat

Who takes away from my own body, my very own blood,

Who makes me consistently wet

And pains me with his very existence!

Of course it has to be a ‘him’-

Its name itself involves ‘Men-‘

Of course it has to be a him-

Ladies, at least must agree,

But then we live in a conventional society

Where talking about being wet is grimaced upon,

Let alone the talk of staining your pants,

Shhhhhhhh—-

You are making it very clear, woman

Stop talking!

We are at the point where we fight for equality

And you saying these things

Isn’t helping

You are a woman

And you just have to live with your best friend.

And so I tell myself

I am a woman,

As if I didn’t know so far

And since I am a woman

I will just have to live with it.

As if I could literally do anything about it!

And so I make sure that I carry ‘things’ with myself

Everywhere,

Carefully hiding it from the men’s stare.

God forbid they know

What we go through.

Let alone ‘him’ being the only reason we go through.

Then comes the choice of colors of my dresses

Where I will make sure to avoid

The white and lights

When I will somehow know

That ‘he’ is going to visit me.

And then suddenly I will have to cancel all the fun plans

Only because I am not up for it,

And my mood is so unreliable

That I will hate even myself

But I still go and work just as such

For I am a woman,

And that is just a part of me.

That ‘him’ is just a part of me.

And just suddenly, because I am the one inviting problems,

I will have the unknowing urge to visit a temple,

Why?

I am not even that religious

But just because I am not “allowed”

I want to go in-

And I will somehow land up at my relatives place

Where again I am not ‘allowed’ to

Sit on the sofa

On the bed

Or eat just as naturally.

For I am dirty on those days

And I just don’t love it.

But then again I am a woman,

And that is how I am ‘suppose’ to be.

My friend will come and visit

That is by default-

In my system-

And I will have to just live with it.

I don’t have a choice.

‘He’ is just a part of me.

And just like all other men

He is just another sour ache on my body,

My mind

Straining my life with his very existence.

 

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A Scarlet Woman.

With hidden aches

With pasted smiles

She pretends to shy.

 

With muffled gags

With screaming moans

She feigns to have her mind blown.

 

Biting the bullet

Her body, sold-

She attempts at being dignified

Rendering herself to be bold!

 

The Mystical Pishogue.

I am meek

I am mild.

I am an emblem of docile.

 

I am innocent

I am polite.

I am an insignia of comply.

 

I am submissive

I am conceding.

I am an image of yielding.

 

I am sweet

I am honest.

I am a metaphor of a lonely forest.

 

I am kind

I am tolerant.

I am of all these, a conglomerate.

 

I am I.

I am what I am.

A fable in a flesh.

 

I am I.

I am what I am.

A conceited allegory in oneself.

 

Whispered mocking

She stood there, staring blindly at the silvery wall, with no engravings on it. She hoped she would change them one day to a brighter colour, never liking the dull, un-happening colour. After all it was her personal space, where no one had the right to bother her, except of course a knock every now and then, but otherwise it was her place, her space. And no one would burst in here without her accent.

Leisurely she turned the knob on to let the water cascade from all sides. She stood there calm, a battle raging within. And yet she smiled. Did the water cool her?

She shut her eyes, and sat down on the floor, letting the water reach her from all sides, leaving no escape from it. She seemed to enjoy it. The water was cold, but so was the temperature outside and so were the people that she just left in the middle of a movie.

Her face was wet, but she knew not, if it was the shower or were there some tears involved? It had been usual for her to be mocked at, and she had long lost the hope to make people understand that it wasn’t her fault after all, she needn’t be laughed at.

And now, just after a long shower, she was past it, she was the strong adamant girl again who would fight any one off, who would knock your nose if you misbehave, who would punch you in the stomach if you say something disgraceful.

Sluggishly, she got up holding onto the curtain. She did not mind her nude body, not her bulky stomach, not her flappy arms, least of all not even her friend’s mockings. Giving a bright smile looking at her reflection in the mirror she voiced herself, “I am a beautiful woman. I am strong and I am invincible.” Almost priding on humming to the song “I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman.” And suddenly the scoffing’s and scornful comments on her bulky body by her friends, or by anyone else did not matter.

She was well past that.

Turning the shower off, she came out of the room wrapped in a towel. Her mother asking her to wear a robe instead was waiting with some weight loss drink and a reminder of her workout session.

Silently, smiling at her mom, thanking her, she drank from the tall glass, and took out the tracks from the cupboard.

Just when her mother left, she whispered to herself, “Who cares if I lose weight or not, I don’t. I am not a fan of size 0.”

The breaking of iron

I am a strong independent woman,

They say, but I do have my own doubts.

You are built of iron, but does it never break?

 

You are self-sufficient,

You don’t need anyone,

But how can I be my own doppelganger?

 

You are a confident woman

They say, but I do have my reservations,

For deep down I am shattering bit by bit

The iron has been hit too hard,

It’s moulding and remoulding,

Losing all its true essence.