Dear misguided boy,

Thank you for taking the time to share your deep and profound thoughts on how women should conduct themselves.

I admit that I’m luckier than your sisters. My parents never made me feel less than my brothers.

I teach in a co-ed college. I see lots of boys like you. Spoilt. Angry. Confused. Filled with hate and resentment. But then, I also see some boys who respect, love and encourage the women in their lives.

Women will no longer be packed into your little boxes and hidden away so you can feel superior. Change is here. Some have embraced it. Some are fighting it tooth and nail.

You go ahead and write condescending letters, ok?

thanking you for your concern. And in sympathy for your sisters.

teacher didi and not ‘Oye ladki’

Oye ladki, psssssssst!

Wearing jeans and sleeveless and walking alone. So shameless. Your parents never taught you anything or what? Talking freely with boys. Driving your scootie. Spending money. You think you are better than us kya?

My sisters toh cannot eat also before me. I get the first chai. I get breakfast pehle, pitaji ke saath… phir kuch bachta hai toh they get. I feel little bad but I’m the son. They don’t go to school. I go to school. My sister wants to study. Ha Ha. Stupid. Study karke what she will do? She has to marry only. Now she must help my mother in the house. Learn to cook and clean. Varna shaadi bhi nahi hogi and our family’s nose will get cut off.

Aaj kal some problem is there. Girls are speaking English and smoking. It looks so bad. This is not our culture. What about samaaj? You have no sharam or what?

You get raped and everyone blames us!

If you have a boyfriend and wear cheap clothes then you are only asking for it. Why you are crying then? Humne bola tha kya idhar udhar ghoomne ko? For years it is like this only. Men will be on top. Women will make khaana.

Some @#% girls are wanting to be independent. They are going to police chowkies and complaining against family members and rapists and stealers. No izzat only. No brains. Khaali phokat creating problem. Now everyone is thinking so much rape is happening in India. Arre Rape is always happening. You don’t go and wash your ganda kapda in hari bhari society! You just keep quiet. People will respect you more. Family will be proud of you ki ghar ki baat ghar mein rakhi. Everyone is happy. Why to give tension? Police also has kam numbers to report. India shining.

That is why I feel very proud of some big politicians and high status wale log. They are role model. Samajhdari ki baat karte hain but so many people are making tamasha. Why? Can’t listen to right things? Always too much question. Why why why … kya why why why?!


Choti si baat … faltu mein making badi baat.

wanting best for you. Always. but try to understand. ok?

locality ke saare boy log ki taraf se

Dear Intolerance,

You’re quite a slime, you know.

What are you doing in our country? What place is there for you with your ‘My way or the highway’, ‘Divide and rule’ and ‘I know best’ attitude?

You have snuck in casually and brazenly without a by your leave.

The rate at which you go about your daily chores, Mera bharat mahaan will soon be replaced by mera bharat kahaan. Will you rejoice then?

Please don’t try our tolerance too much.

With growing intolerance for your ways,

concerned, peace loving citizens

Dear Visitors,

I await with dread the incoming traffic today of all nature of emissions destined to take place in my space. Its strange but i rarely feel clean and i never feel any respite from filth. I’ve been mulling over my predicament and figured that its time i spoke out. I’m ubiquitous, almost. Airports, railway stations, bus stands, market places, multiplexes, highways, towns, cities, some villages, the list is endless. My presence is necessary and mandatory but basic respect unfortunately, eludes me.

As a public shauchalaya i feel abused and angry. My job is to be welcoming, clean and a haven for those who desperately seek release. I would like to take pride in what i do but I’m dependent on the management which seems to be managing every thing else other than its KRA.

The management does not have the basic material required to keep me spic and span. Not even cheap disinfectant.
They don’t have enough to hire cleaners so stains grow and residual matter collects and the rot sets in.
There is no maintenance provision so if the tank leaks or the tiles are coming apart … so be it.
There is no provision for hygiene education so most of the management and the public remain ignorant and, if i may say so … unwashed.

I’m tired of my own stench. You walk in and turn up your nose but i have to live in it!

Then the public walks in. Some of you don’t seem to know what a WC is meant for. It is definitely not a ladder with a hole on the top. Its a seat. Please do NOT climb on the WC and release your innards all over the place. Its offensive.

Sometimes, I’m able to offer tissues and wipes and all things nice. Sometimes, i can barely offer water. In all cases, it should not stop you from doing the right thing by yourself … and that is to follow basic hygiene.

There is something called a flush. I understand you cannot do anything if there is no water … but at least check once! The function of the flush is to pour a whole lot of water down the drain so the sewage gets carried along and the next person who comes to rest their ass is not confronted by a large turd or some floaters. I have, however, noted that an unflushed toilet does not deter some people …. they come right along and happily add to the collection. So now we have a pile up. Flies start buzzing and i have a whole new situation to deal with … the public no longer walks in. Stray animals do. All of you have by now contributed efficiently to converting me into a disease plaza. Which one would you like to rent today … i have on offer gastrointestinal afflictions, dysentry, bird flu, dengue …

You see where this is going?

Its not going in your favour and that’s for sure! If you want a swachch bharat … please get off the seat, pull the flush and wash your hands … for starters.

Reprovingly yours,

the shauchalaya union

Hello (adele style),

‘Hello from the other side
I must’ve called a thousand times’

Sarcasm doesn’t help. You never get it.

Anger doesn’t help coz you just clear your throat and ask me the same question for the 50th time.

Your responses start from a recorded message … to a very long wait listening to a very annoying update of all that you offer other than a quick response … to a very slowwwww and sleepy voice asking how you may help me.

Then the rapid-fire questions begin at a speed that questions the existence of speed and defies all speeds of comprehension. You want my DOB, my address, my pan card number, my phone number, my this number and my that number by which time i have emptied out my wallet desperately trying to feed you all the information you need while my voice rises in decibel levels and i think i may get a stroke. You may very well ask me to be patient but its 20 mins since i dialled the number and i haven’t even got to the point where my complaint can be registered. And i know that the actual navigation of comprehension, language and articulation will challenge every last cell in my being.

22.5 mins after my dialling the number …

My nerves are shot. My eyes are glazed. My hands are shaking. My phone is lying shattered on the living room floor and there is an ungainly dent in the wall.

The call dropped just as you asked me the nature of my call. It DROPPED!!


I can’t do this again.

I give up.

An irate, helpless and weary caller.

Oh God,

Will you answer some of the questions that haunt me? Give me the answers that i dread. The knowledge that i fear. No. i don’t know what I’m asking for. Spare me. Don’t spare me. Punish me. Punish them. Punish everyone.

I can’t stop my tears. I struggle to hold back the silent screams that keep wanting to break free. My sobs escape even when i think i have my pain packed in and closed off. When i think i don’t feel is when the sharp, searing pain stops me in my tracks and i double up and sink to the floor. I’m in pain when her name is mentioned and when everyone studiously avoids bringing up her name. I don’t know what to do with this pain. I can’t breathe. I can’t think clearly. I can’t hear anyone. I can’t taste my food. I feel nothing. Only pain. Terrorising pain. Pain for her pain. Pain for what she went through. Pain of feeling helpless. Pain that i will never see her again. Never scold her. Never hug her. Never say the things i always wanted to. Never see her in love or with her children. I can’t cope with the thought of ‘never’. Oh god. How do i accept this horror? This nightmare?

I read the newspaper reports again and again and again … not wanting to see and yet wanting desperately to share her pain and her last thoughts as she finally gave in. To hold her tight and wipe away the horror. Turn back the clock. See her smile. Hear her laugh. Stop her. Fold her in my arms and refuse to let her out of my sight.

What was she thinking? Did she know her time had come? How hard did she have to fight? Did she feel the horror or did she go away before the pain could reach her? Did they not feel any remorse or pity? Didn’t they hear her screams? Do those screams haunt them today? What about their mothers? Are they proud of their sons? Proud of what they did? What is wrong with these people that they can justify these heinous acts by blaming a young girl? I want to curse them all. I want to curse the families. The people around me. I want to hurt someone. I feel such rage. Such anger. What do i do?

I don’t want these thoughts. I can’t bear them. I can’t bear the thought of it … and then i think to myself … she went through all of it and i shudder at just having to think about it?

Its six months now but the questions keep surfacing like dead wood. The pain has become lead in the pit of my stomach. I’ve gone so deep into my self that i don’t know how to come out of this fog that surrounds me all the time. I fear i may be going mad.

Why? WHY?

A distraught mother

To ‘paan’ spitters,

Specially those who like chewing and collecting the residue in their mouths for a future projectile like spit directed at walls, staircases or an unsuspecting pedestrian. I am categorically stating that i would not like to visit your home. The thought is revolting. You must be living in a spittoon.

I would urge you to travel outside of india. Please exercise this right you have appropriated of releasing the red colour residue in any and every direction. Use this right outside of India. I’m confident you will discover how lenient your country is compared to the others. And i trust the experience will not be enjoyable at all.

yours disgustedly,

wary pedestrian