Hurtful Pretense

Ohhh pretentious men! Why do you behave as if you consider women to be equal to you when the slightest mention of a woman’s inconvenience makes you so uncomfortable?

Why do you bullshit about ‘feminist theory’ and ‘queer theory’ when all you can say to a sexual assault survivor when she reaches out to you is:

you can’t randomly walk into my DMs… and just ask me to do anything like this??

I’m sorry I can’t engage with this. I don’t feel comfortable at all.

I’m sorry no offence but I’m not your best friend for you to just be….yk..saying stuff like you are rn.

I don’t want to be involved in this///??

And I don’t want you perceiving me as a tool for whatever closure you’re thinking of.

I don’t even know you well enough, I’m sorry?”

You let me down, you misogynistic English major. I hope you receive whatever is the equivalent of my pain for a man…

About a Year and a Half ago

Something I wrote in January, 2020/(How a sexual assault survivor feels):

it is one of those times when im so sick and tired of being around people and sharing my personal space with them that i just want to be left alone.

i dont want to see anyone, i dont want to tell anyone why im not happy, i dont want to have lunch with those people and i just want to be on my own. 

i dont want to drink on thursday nights,  i dont want to hook up with anyone because i have feelings for absolutely no one.

the good memories of my past have faded and i cant remember what it feels like to genuinely like someone. 

my body understands me. my vagina no longer gets wet even after stimulation. my head aches when there are too many people around me. i feel like throwing up when im forced to talk.

it is now that i miss school

i miss school because in school i didn’t have to pretend to be happy, i didn’t have to justify anything to anyone and even the ones i was always with would blabber, but, never force me to speak. please keep these shit people away who affect my mental well-being

please God

give me the courage to go back to how i used to be 

i cant give up on those who’ve held me
but, i want my space i need some distance from everyone.

Masaru Yada (1)

Masaru and I met for the first time

in my neighbour’s house

(The neighbour was his classmate).

We were both seven years old

and were waiting to enter grade three.

I remember him asking me,


Is falling in love at our age wrong?

I remember myself say,

Not at all…

//more than a decade later,

it was Masaru who said to me

that love isn’t something

he believes in//

Masaru and I never spoke again.

He was in the class next to mine.

So, I kept seeing him.

He stayed near my house.

So, he was unavoidable.

But, irrespective of how many times

I caught him staring at me,

we never spoke to one another.

However, one day,

I stopped seeing him.

Turned out,

he shifted somewhere else

and had changed schools.

That never really bothered me.

Masaru was neither that good-looking

nor exceptional in academics

nor from a well-to-do family.

So, I couldn’t care less

about his existence.

But then, a day came when

I realised that

he still existed.

I was in a relative’s house that day

and was the only female cousin

present there.

So, all my male cousins could do

was to ask me to check facebook

as they did

what boys would do.

I remember opening facebook

and seeing Masaru’s post.

He, like me, was thirteen then.

What a relatable post that was…

(A cartoon character

speaking some sensible lines).

My instincts told me

that very day that

Masaru would soon

re-enter my life.


I am afraid of what might happen.

I am afraid of what love might do to me.

Love, after all, is always one-sided (I am never the ‘you’ for the ‘you’ in my poems).

I sometimes look back and think of what I was in 2017 (Just another homesick student of Scindia Kanya Vidyalaya who counted days to get back home).

But, I was still happy in boarding school (in 2017). I was happy with:

/the ‘one friend’ I had/

/the poetry I’d write in the torn middle pages of my notebooks/

/reading ‘The Namesake’ while studying for a Sociology exam (at the same time)/

/no concealer and curly hair/

/whatever little time I got with my phone during outings/

/writing and receiving letters from my pen-friend at Mayo College Girl’s School/

/mixing coffee powder in the sweetened warm milk during breakfast and teatime/

/sitting on the swing outside Chittarangada Bhawan on a rainy day and watching a peacock dance/

/making diary entries on the same swing while listening to music/

/eating parathas and taking long walks and baths on Sundays/

/underlining and drawing clouds around the important words in the Economics textbook/

/practicing before lunch for a singing competition, after lunch for art and before dinner for THE DEBATE/

There was love in all of these things I would do in 2017. But, I thought it was THE DEBATE where I found love…

Or maybe, that was love too…

The Gwalior sky appeared more beautiful from when I looked at it from the (Scindia) Fort. The Gurudwara seemed more magical. The debaters were more intimidating. And… My being was more hollow while returning to my very own SKV.

I sometimes feel sad for myself when I realise that that particular evening might be the best evening of my life. I feel as if I deserve a better ‘best moment’. But, I’ve never (ever) been as happy as I was that evening. I’ve never felt love with the same intensity.

Nonetheless, I am afraid of:

/falling in love with someone else/

/not being able to get over the 2017 love/

/neglecting the small (real) loves for the sake of one person who might never come/