#shokat

The first boy who held my hand, Told me boys don't want to hear about vagina’s bleeding. Younger me could smell the misogyny.

Vaginas only meant to be fucked, Breast only meant to be sucked, Mouths only meant to blow.

It’s true, I know.

My waist meant to be compared to an hourglass. My voice only meant to quiver, “Ugh, please, fast.”

Yet, I am silenced.

For all we boil down to is sexual interaction. Not just me, my mother, sisters, friends, All quicken their pace post 8:30 in the evening.

My mum telling me to wear skirts out less often. Nirbhaya and more left unforgotten.

We don't want to be another of India's daughters, do we?

So I wear my jeans long and wear my tops high. Don't show my cleavage or a hint of my thighs.

Don't want to be mistaken for wanting it Because if I wear less, I'm more than just flaunting it. I am risking it. Risking, not my virginity, but my life. My hymen seems to be sacred, told to keep it till I'm a wife. If not, I'm a whore, a slut, a skank and more. Not as pure as I was before.

15year old Laxmi didn't like 32years old Guddu back and Guddu dealt it with real maturely He made her the victim of an acid attack. Laxmi could be your sister, your girlfriend, your cousin, We're girls, women, human, not a burden.

So I ask my male friend to drop me home because his privilege will protect mine. I am Sorry, dad, for I was catcalled in my uniform at the age of 9. This isn't an all men thing I know. Trust me. I do. But the men I can trust are only a few.

At the age of 12, my bra straps were sexualised, At the same time, we don't get damn sexual rights

My aunt raped by her husband, but marital rape is fine Pucker up, it's a mad design, get in line.

So what I'm trying to say here tonight is I am sorry I was brought up in a family where my brother taught me wrong from right Where my mother believe in our generation to better the world and make it slightly easier for each and every girl.

Thank you; For I see men in this room Reaching out for help, realising the bane on the womb Being saved by the sane of a few We all are collectively reaching out for you.

Thank you.

lately, i have actually appreciated traveling out to our property out in Riverside, a 2 hour drive with traffic. quality time with my son and the radio, i sing to him, loud and happy. he responds with flutters of curiosity. 

at this stage, his feet and body are too small to feel like a kick, so they say his movement feels like popcorn or the fluttering wings of a butterfly. the first time, i felt popcorn. he appears to have progressed.