For Asifa

Why do we write blog? Of course to use it as a medium to express ourselves. Some people, however, prefer to take the superficial (and safe) path and their blogs depict a fairy-tale world and they are the nice protagonists of it whose life revolves around all things pretty and politically correct ALL THE FUCKING TIME.

Well, I am not a nice person. And even though my profession and designation demand me to be politically correct, more often than not, I am not. And despite feeling tempted to rant about what all happened during my absence here, I must talk about this horrible feeling at the pit of my stomach first. After all, my blog is no fairy-tale land.

I don't watch news channel, or read the paper. Neither am I part of the Facebook herd. So I think I saw it on Instagram first. When I saw the gist of the whole incident I swear I froze for few moments. I am basically a selfish escapist so I did not dare to google further. I am obsessed with reading murder mysteries but I don't want to read the gory details of an 8 years old girl having been gang-raped and butchered later on.

Everybody who knows me is well aware of my hardcore rightist status. I go to temples. Of all kinds. Except where females are forbidden to enter by religious law. I do hold pretty 'non-secular' view on many issues. I never claim to be a pseudo-secular asshole. But using the name of God to justify rape and murder of a little girl?? God had left this fucked up country longgggg time back. Long before when they were tearing apart that little girl. I wonder what was going through her mind that time.

The other day I was scrolling down my Instagram feed when I saw the made up face of one bimbo Bollywood daddy's girl diva holding a placard in protest. I am very sorry that the placard was covering half her outfit. What a waste. Fuck you. You know what exactly happens to the ordinary women like us whenever we come across another news of rape? We feel a tingling sensation between our legs. The sensation climbs up through the tunnel and hit the bottom of the gut. Then it chooses a comfy corner in the dark and sits there. Waiting. Foreboding. You don't need to get cancer to die. You can just get raped. They can claim your vagina anytime. Anywhere.

Shame on the cheeky bastard leaders who have gone mum. Shame on those fuckers who are trying to use it as a political ladder. How many more Nirbhaya and Asifa will have to sacrifice themselves before this monstrosity stops?

Rani Padmini must be smirking now.